New Fiction: 'Unscripted Changes'

A second short story from Marc Friedman.

Chapter 1: "Relent-Les"

The courthouse hummed with quiet chaos—lawyers in tailored suits flitting between courtrooms, clerks balancing stacks of documents, and plaintiffs waiting anxiously in hard wooden chairs. Lester “Les” Rathburne strode through the corridors, his polished Oxfords clicking with purpose. Each step was deliberate, a practiced rhythm that matched the controlled chaos of his thoughts.

Despite the veneer of confidence, a flicker of unease crept into his mind. Though Les had just won a large verdict for a 29-year-old client struck by a car in a crosswalk, he felt unfulfilled. A nice victory, for sure, and a large fee—but it was just one of many he had already experienced in his short career.

Each step echoed his steadfast resolve, a mix of pride and pressure. The weight of his reputation as "Relent-Les" bore down on him, a badge of honor he wore with equal parts satisfaction and fatigue. His mind churned with the details of his next case, but beneath the surface lingered a faint, unacknowledged yearning—a desire for something more than the structured chaos of his legal world. At 39, Les was a fixture in the Manhattan legal community, known for his unyielding determination. Opposing counsel often whispered his nickname with a mix of respect and trepidation: "Relent-Les." But in Les’s mind, a small voice kept asking, “Is this all there is?”

After the jury verdict, Les returned to his office that mirrored his personality—pristine and calculated. Minimalist decor. A framed law degree from Columbia University. A single photo on his desk: him and Janice Sloane, his girlfriend of one year. Janice, with her auburn hair and wide smile, radiated warmth in stark contrast to Les's cool demeanor.

"Mr. Rathburne, the Martinez deposition is scheduled for two," his assistant, Maggie, reminded him as she popped her head in.

"I know," Les replied, without looking up from his notes.

Maggie lingered. "Anything else you need?"

Les glanced up, his expression softening slightly. "That’ll be all, Maggie. Thanks."

As she left, Les’s phone buzzed. He checked the screen and saw Janice’s name. Answering, he heard her cheerful voice on the other end.

"Hi, Les. Just calling to remind you about dinner tonight. Verona’s at seven?"

"I remember," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Looking forward to it."

"Don’t bring your work," she teased lightly. "I mean it."

"I’ll try," Les replied, though they both knew how unlikely that was.

Les working was Les in his element—methodical, detached, efficient. Emotions were tools for manipulation in the courtroom, not indulgences to be experienced in everyday life.

But beyond the courtroom, his reputation wasn’t as polished. When Les returned to his Upper West Side apartment at the end of a long workday, he’d quickly remove his suit and necktie, then slip into a T-shirt and sweatpants and watch reruns of Seinfeld. He found that somehow, they helped to ground him. Les especially liked watching Julia-Louis Dreyfus as Elaine: cute, funny and bright, just like Janice. Seinfeld and a tuna fish sandwich with chips and a bottle of Heinekin were often the perfect way for Les to end a long, hard-fought day in a New York City courtroom.

Les’s friends rarely described him as approachable, and colleagues who joined him for after-hours drinks often remarked on his unshakable aloofness. Les didn’t mind. His work spoke for itself, and his relationships—especially with Janice—felt like enough.

Still, even Les couldn’t deny that his career demanded sacrifices. His nights were often spent preparing arguments rather than sharing moments with Janice. She’d hinted that she'd noticed this pattern, although she'd never directly addressed it.

Chapter 2: Dinner with Janice

That evening, Les met Janice at Verona’s, a cozy Italian restaurant with dim lighting and soft jazz playing in the background. Over candlelight, Janice’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. She wore a deep-green dress that brought out the color of her eyes, and her perfume, light and floral, was just enough to turn heads when she walked past other tables.

"Les, I got some exciting news today," she began, setting down her glass of Chianti.

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I’ve been invited to audition for a new off-off-Broadway play!" Janice’s enthusiasm bubbled over. "It’s a big opportunity. Jeanie Thorne, the playwright and director, reached out to me personally."

Les nodded. "That’s great, Janice. Congratulations."

Janice’s eyes sparkled as she shared her news, but as she spoke, she noticed Les’s gaze flicker toward his phone. A shadow of disappointment crossed her face, and she exhaled slowly before continuing.

She tilted her head. "You don’t sound very excited."

"I’m happy for you. Really. What’s the play about?"

"It’s called The Color of Impermanence. Jeanie said it’s about love, loss, and self-discovery," Janice explained. "The audition is next week. Would you come with me? We could make a day of it. After the audition we could have dinner at that cute bistro you like."

Les hesitated, imagining the stack of briefs waiting for him at the office. But her hopeful expression softened him. "All right, sure. I’ll come."

The rest of the evening unfolded with light banter and shared laughter, but an undercurrent of unease lingered for Janice. She noticed how often Les drifted back to his phone, his fingers dancing across the screen to respond to emails, or jotted down hurried notes in his pocket notepad. Each time, it felt like a subtle reminder that his work held a larger piece of his attention than she did, leaving her with a quiet ache she tried to ignore. Despite her efforts to focus on the warmth of their conversation, the moments of disconnection cast a faint shadow over the celebration. It was a small thing, but it stung.

Still, she chose not to dwell on it. Tonight was about celebrating.

Chapter 3: The Audition

The audition room in Manhattan was buzzing with nervous energy. Two dozen actors and actresses mingled, scripts in hand. Les stood awkwardly against the wall, feeling like a fish out of water in the tailored suit it hadn't occurred to him not to wear.

The bustling audition room, filled with actors radiating charisma and creativity, only heightened his sense of not belonging. Les stood stiffly against the wall, tugging at his cufflinks. The scent of coffee and sweat was overwhelming, the air made even thicker with anxious whispers. He adjusted his tie for the third time, a telltale sign of his discomfort.

The actors moved with a fluidity he envied—including Janice. Their ease made his awkward stance all the more obvious. Every detail, from the hum of whispered lines to the sultry weight of the air, seemed to conspire against him, pressing on his self-assured exterior. Beneath his polished facade, an unfamiliar vulnerability stirred: a quiet echo of doubt he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge.

The hum of whispered lines layered with the soft creak of chairs and the rustle of scripts created an almost tangible tension, as though the walls themselves vibrated with anticipation. The dim lighting cast shadows on faces etched with determination and anxiety, heightening the electric atmosphere of potential and vulnerability.

A strange thought suddenly passed through his mind: Les was glad he was only there to watch.

"All right, everyone!" Jeanie Thorne clapped her hands, commanding attention. She was a petite woman with a fiery presence, her cropped silver hair spiked like a crown. She introduced herself and said a little bit about the play and when it would open. Looking out at the sea of nodding heads, she called, "OK! Let’s start with readings."

Janice went first. Her voice was steady and expressive, weaving the lines with a poignant vulnerability that seemed to fill every corner of the room. Her words carried a rhythmic cadence, her tone shifting seamlessly between hope and despair. Even the subtle quiver in her voice during an emotional passage drew the listeners in, as though she were baring her soul. The room seemed to hold its breath, captivated by the raw intensity of her performance.

Les watched, arms crossed, analyzing her performance like a closing argument. She delivered her dialogue with a vulnerability that felt raw and real. For the first time, Les saw a side of Janice he’d never fully appreciated. Her passion was palpable, and he realized how much this moment meant to her.

But it was a redhead in green leggings and a sweater the color of oatmeal who kept the audience wrapped around her little finger. Her every word and movement commanded attention, and Les could practically feel Janice’s certainty that this woman would win the part. A flicker of disappointment crossed her face, but she masked it quickly, clapping for the performance.

"You there," Jeanie suddenly pointed at Les.

He blinked, startled. "Me?"

"Yes, you. Take this and read," she said, handing him a script.

"I’m not an actor," Les protested.

"Neither are half the people in this room," Jeanie quipped. "Just read."

Feeling foolish, Les complied. He stood up, pushing past everyone else in his row, and made his way up to Jeanie, who handed him a script and told him where to stand on the stage. The room quieted as he read the lines, his courtroom-honed voice resonating with gravitas. The script described a man on the brink of emotional collapse, and though Les read it stiffly, there was an unpolished honesty in his delivery that caught Jeanie’s attention. When he finished, she nodded, murmuring something to her assistant before moving on.

Les stepped down awkwardly, handing the script back to Jeanie.

Afterward, over dinner at a small bistro, Janice’s excitement about the audition was palpable. "What did you think?" she asked.

"You were good," Les said flatly, taking a sip of wine. "But I still can’t believe she made me read. I felt ridiculous."

Janice frowned. "You didn’t think I was great?"

Les hesitated, sensing a trap. "I said you were good."

The moment passed, but Janice’s disappointment lingered. She stirred her pasta absently, her appetite diminished.

Chapter 4: The Offer

Four days later, Les’s phone buzzed as he reviewed case notes.

“Lester Rathburne," he answered brusquely.

"Mr. Rathburne, this is Jeanie Thorne."

Les sat up straight. "Oh. Hello."

"I’ll cut to the chase. I want you to play Michael, the male lead in The Color of Impermanence."

Les laughed. "You’re joking."

"I’m not," Jeanie replied. "You’re exactly how I pictured Michael—tall, professional, glasses, the works. Your reading was raw but compelling."

His first instinct was to say no, but he quickly concluded it was a new challenge that he would enjoy. He took a deep breath and answered, “Jeanie, thanks so much for the opportunity. I’m sure I will learn a lot from you. I’ll see you at the first rehearsal, then! Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. By the way, did my girlfriend Janice get a role?”

“Unfortunately not,” said Jeanie. “Is that a problem for you?”

Les replied, “Well, I hope not. I’ll have to handle Janice gently on this one. Thanks again.”

The conversation Les and Janice would need to have loomed before him. Les figured she would be deeply disappointed not to be offered a role, and maybe a little bit hurt. He didn't want to hurt her. But of course he'd have to tell her that Jeanie had offered him a role. And besides, as a lawyer, he’d had many conversations with disappointed clients that he’d handled well. He felt confident he could handle this one with Janice.

That evening, over dinner, Les hesitated, swirling the wine in his glass. "Janice, there’s something I need to tell you."

"What is it?" she asked.

He braced himself. "Jeanie offered me the lead role in that play."

Janice blinked. Then, to his surprise, her face lit up. "Les, that’s amazing!"

He hesitated. "You’re not ... upset?"

She laughed softly. "Of course not. Sure, I wish I had gotten the part, but I saw that redhead who went right after me—we both know she nailed it. But you? You’re not even an actor, and you got the lead. That’s incredible!"

Relief flooded him, though a new pressure quickly settled in. If he was going to do this, he needed to do it right. And for Les, that meant mastering it completely. He had to cast himself into the role with the same gusto that he brought to every trial. He would be just as “Relent-Les” here as he was in the courtroom.

Chapter 5: Rehearsals Begin

Les stood on the stage, script in hand, feeling wildly out of his depth. The spotlight illuminated the worn wooden floor, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. The faint scent of paint and dust lingered in the air, mingling with the murmur of distant voices and the occasional metallic creak of stage equipment. Rows of empty chairs were his expectant audience, their silence amplifying his unease. The faint hum of the theater’s old ventilation system was a low, steady rhythm, grounding him even as his heart raced. He clutched the script tightly, the crinkling paper the only barrier between him and the overwhelming sense of inadequacy he felt. The theater was intimate, with those rows of empty chairs staring back at him like silent judges. His co-stars, seasoned and confident, moved across the stage with a grace that Les envied but couldn’t replicate.

The rehearsals had just begun, but already Les felt as though he was being asked to climb a mountain in dress shoes. On one occasion he even told himself he couldn’t possibly do this play, that there was no way he could look the redheaded actress in the eye and tearfully tell her, “I am so so sorry for what I did. I totally embarrassed both of us. I don’t know what got into me.” Apologies were hard for Les in real life and they were hard for him on stage. And tears were not something Les had experienced since early boyhood.

“Les, stop thinking so much,” Jeanie’s voice echoed across the theater. She was perched on the edge of her seat, her sharp eyes focused on him. “Michael isn’t about perfection. He’s about vulnerability and softness. Tap into that.”

Les resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Vulnerability and softness were not his strong suits. Still, he nodded and tried again. This time, as he delivered his lines, he forced himself to soften his voice, to pause and let the words hang in the air. He thought about Janice, about her unwavering belief in him despite his shortcomings. Les thought about her joy when he told he'd won the role: She'd never shown anything but enthusiasm.

He tried the line again. It was a small shift, but it was enough to catch Jeanie’s attention.

“Better,” she said, leaning forward. “Now do it again. And this time, do it like you really, really mean it.”

Rehearsals became a grueling routine, demanding a level of emotional intensity Les had never encountered. Each evening, after spending the day with the courthouse’s stern walls and rigid decorum, he plunged into the raw, unpredictable world of the theatre. The scent of old wood and faintly burning stage lights greeted him as he slipped into his second life—one where he swapped legal briefs for scripts that seemed to defy structure and reason. The lines he practiced felt less like words and more like living fragments he had to piece together from the depths of himself.

At first, his instincts as a lawyer worked against him—everything was too measured, too polished. The vulnerability Jeanie demanded seemed to be unreachable: a foreign land he wasn’t sure how to traverse. Janice, however, became his lifeline. She brought him coffee and sandwiches during late-night rehearsals, her quiet presence in the back row an anchor in the chaos. Les would catch her watching him—not just with support, but with an unspoken hope, as if she saw in him a potential he hadn’t yet realized.

The breakthrough came one night when Jeanie stopped a scene mid-way. "Les, you’re still holding back," she said. "This isn’t about saying the right thing; it’s about letting the wrong things spill out and seeing what’s there." Her words haunted him, pushing him to dig deeper.

Slowly, haltingly, Les began to shed the protective armor of his legal precision. In its place came raw emotion—uneven, unpolished, but undeniably real. He found himself laughing, crying, and improvising with a freedom that startled even him. And with every stumble and small triumph, he could feel the distance between himself and Michael—the character he played—shrinking. By the time he returned to the courthouse each morning, it was as though traces of Michael lingered, reminding Les that change was not just possible, but transformative.

It wasn’t easy. There were moments when he wanted to quit, when the vulnerability Jeanie demanded felt too exposing. But something about the process intrigued him. It wasn’t just about acting; it was about discovering parts of himself he’d long buried beneath his professional façade. And as he grew into the role, he noticed a change in how Janice looked at him—a warmth, a pride, and something deeper he couldn’t quite name.

Chapter 6: Opening Night

The night of the first performance arrived with an electric energy that seemed to hum in the very air. The theater buzzed with anticipation, the soft rustle of programs and the low hum of conversation weaving together like an intricate melody. The dim glow of the chandeliers cast a golden sheen over the crowd, enhancing the vibrant hues of the evening’s playbills. The air carried a unique blend of fresh paint, old wood, and the faint aroma of freshly popped popcorn from the concession stand. Every sound, every flicker of light seemed to magnify Les’s mixture of exhilaration and dread as he prepared to take the stage.

Backstage, the atmosphere was equally charged—the quick shuffle of stagehands adjusting props; the warm glow of the dressing room mirrors that reflected the controlled chaos. Les stood by the heavy velvet curtain, his palms damp and his heart pounding. He’d argued in front of judges, faced down intimidating opponents, and handled high-stakes cases—but this was uncharted territory, where there was no script for redemption if he faltered. This was a deeply personal challenge.

Janice found him moments before the curtain rose. She placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. “You’re going to be incredible,” she said, her voice steady and sure. “And, break a leg.”

Les nodded, swallowing hard. “Thanks for believing in me.”

The performance was a whirlwind of emotions and sensations, every moment etched into Les’s memory with vivid clarity. The moment before he spoke, Les hesitated. His palms were damp, and the words felt heavy in his throat. Though he could not see Janice in the audience, Les knew she was there, likely on the edge of her seat. Taking a breath, he let go of the instinct to control himself and, instead, allowed himself to feel for the first time in decades. The transformation was subtle at first, but then, with each line, he found himself lost in the role—not as a lawyer performing for a jury, but as a man discovering himself through the words of another.

His nerves melted away the instant he stepped into Michael’s shoes, as though he were shedding an old skin. Each line felt alive, each gesture imbued with a purpose that transcended the words on the page. The courtroom instincts he’d honed over the years provided him with commanding presence, but it was the vulnerability Jeanie had drawn out of him that gave his performance its soul. He felt Michael’s struggles and triumphs as if they were his own, and the energy of the audience seemed to pulse through him, amplifying his every move. By the time the final scene concluded and the audience erupted into a thunderous applause, Les was overwhelmed by a sense of accomplishment so raw and exhilarating it left him momentarily breathless.

Backstage, Janice threw her arms around him. “You were amazing,” she whispered.

For the first time in a long time, Les let himself bask in the moment. Still, he knew he could never have done it without her. “We were amazing,” he corrected, pulling her close.

Chapter 7: A Leap of Faith

The weeks following the play’s short run were a whirlwind. Les returned to his legal practice, but he was a changed man. The experience had cracked something open inside him, and he found himself approaching both his work and his relationship with Janice with a newfound openness. Even Maggie, his assistant, surprised Les by popping in just before she left one day, hesitating a moment, and telling him, “You know, Les, over the last few weeks, it’s been easier for me to help you. I’m feeling more appreciated, and I thank you for that. I look forward to being here each work day.” Her sincere smile let Les know he was on the right track.

One evening, as Les and Janice strolled along the Hudson River, the city lights reflected on the water like scattered jewels, Les came to a sudden stop, his breath visible in the cool night air.

“What is it?" Janice asked, her brow furrowing as she turned to face him, her scarf fluttering slightly in the breeze.

Les reached into his pocket, his hand trembling slightly as he pulled out a small velvet box. The soft texture of the box showed signs of wear from being handled repeatedly in anticipation of this moment. With a deliberate, almost reverent motion, he opened it to reveal a delicate diamond ring. The facets caught the glow of the nearby city lights, scattering prisms of color that danced across Janice’s face. Her breath hitched, her eyes widening as tears began to form.

As he held the ring in his trembling fingers, a line from the play echoed in his mind: "Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is let yourself be seen." He looked at Janice and realized—this was his moment to truly be seen. “Janice Sloane,” he began, his voice steady now, “will you marry me?”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she nodded, a radiant smile breaking through. “Yes, Les! A thousand times—yes!”

They embraced tightly, the gentle hum of the city fading into a distant melody as the moment enveloped them. The cold air, the shimmering lights, and the quiet pulse of the river all seemed to blur, leaving only the warmth of their connection. For Les, it was a leap of faith—an act of love and hope—but one he was ready to take without hesitation. The walls he’d built around himself were no longer necessary; with Janice, he felt safe enough to knock them down.

Epilogue: Twenty Years Later

The restaurant was elegant but unpretentious, with soft amber lighting casting a warm, golden glow across the room. Each table bore a single flickering candle that lent the setting a romantic intimacy, while the gentle clink of silverware and low murmur of diners blended seamlessly with the soothing strains of jazz in the background.

The air was rich with aromas—earthy rosemary, pungent garlic, the smoky allure of seared steak, and the comforting scent of freshly baked bread. The décor was understated yet refined: crisp white tablecloths, polished wooden floors, and a wall adorned with vintage wine bottles that whispered stories of celebration.

The atmosphere enveloped Les and Janice, making their corner table feel like a private haven amidst the quiet energy of the restaurant as the soft amber glow of the restaurant’s lighting cast warm hues over their faces. The faint strains of jazz floated through the air, mingling with the quiet murmur of other diners. A bottle of wine sat between them, its rich ruby color catching the candlelight as they exchanged a smile filled with years of shared memories. The years had etched laugh lines into their faces, but their connection was as vibrant as ever.

“Can you believe it’s been twenty years?” Janice asked, her eyes sparkling with the same joy that had captivated Les all those years ago. The soft flicker of candlelight reflected in her gaze, and Les found himself momentarily lost in the memory of their first meeting. It felt as though time had folded in on itself, bringing the raw excitement of their early days into this warm, serene moment.

He smiled, raising his glass. “To twenty more.”

They clinked glasses, savoring the moment.

“We’ve come a long way in that time, Jan,” Less said, and his wife smiled in quiet agreement. "Back then you were hunting for off-off-Broadway roles, and now here I am, having dinner with a real, honest-to-God movie star!" He beamed at her.

Janice blushed. “Don’t sell yourself short, Mr. Superior Court Judge. But I think our best achievements are Michael and Samantha.” She reached for her wine glass and took a sip.

"Oh, they're great kids,” Les said, grinning. " And both love being at NYU. You know, it’s because of your success that Sam chose to study drama. Kudos to both of you.”

“I am so proud of both of them. And you, of course! You know,” Janice said, setting her glass down, “if it weren’t for that audition, we might not be here.”

Les chuckled. “If it weren’t for Jeanie forcing me to read, we might not be here.”

“But it wasn’t just that,” Janice continued. “It was how you changed through that role. I saw the way you allowed yourself to be vulnerable on stage, to truly open up and connect with emotions you’d always kept hidden. It wasn’t just acting—it was a transformation. That’s when I realized there was so much more to you than I’d seen. I saw a side of you I didn't know was there—a vulnerability, a willingness to grow. That’s when I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Les reached across the table and took her hand. “And I’m grateful every day that you did.”

At that moment, a young lady sidled up to them—one of the waitresses, with an awed look on her face. Instead of taking their order for wine, she asked breathily, "Is that—Are you Janice Rathburne? Oh, my God, I just ... You, your performance in 'Oceans Between Us" is, like, why I became an actress! I've always wanted to meet you, and I just ... Can I have your autograph?"

She barely got the question out before the manager chased her down. He turned to Janice and Les, "Folks, I'm so sorry. She's new. Amy, we can't bother the guests! I—”

Janice interrupted him. "It's no bother at all. I'm happy to! Oh, thank you," she said as the waitress handed her the pad and pen from her apron. "Amy, was it?" The waitress nodded, and Janice jotted off a short note, leaving both ladies smiling.

After Amy and her manager had retreated with their drink order, Les couldn't stop smiling. "I'm so proud of you," he said. "Look at you. One day looking for your big break; now you're inspiring the next generation, and not just Samantha!"

Janice flushed with pleasure. "You haven't done too badly yourself, Your Honor," she said.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of their shared history filling the space between them. The world outside the restaurant continued on, bustling and indifferent, but inside, everything felt perfectly still. It was a reminder that sometimes, the most unexpected moments—an audition, a chance encounter, a leap of faith—could lead to the most profound changes.

Together, they toasted once more, the clink of their glasses a quiet yet profound tribute to the trials they had overcome, the joy they had cultivated, and the enduring love that had shaped their journey. The sound seemed to echo with unspoken words, a shared understanding of all they had created together.

Les, who was teary-eyed, then looked Janice in the eye and uttered, “Let’s remember, Jan, that the most unexpected choices often lead to the most profound changes. We are fortunate it happened to us.”

Jan gently smiled, and as she winked at her husband, his heart melted once again.

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Check out Marc Friedman’s first short story, published in November, and subscribe to his Substack: