With one last, residual shudder, he collapsed on top of her and kissed her forehead. “Leah,” he whispered. He loved her, he knew he did, and the Three Big Words were on his lips, just at the tip of his tongue.
“That was fabulous.” She kissed him, raked her fingernails up his back. “You are so sexy, Michael. I just want to eat you up.” She wriggled out from beneath him, moving gingerly to dislodge him from her, and stood up. “I’ve got to have something to drink,” she said, and walked across the apartment into the tiny kitchen, completely and gloriously naked.
Michael rolled onto his side and propped his head on his hands, watching her. The Three Big Words slid off his tongue, back into that place inside him where he’d kept them all these years, all shiny and new, never used.
There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Leah, but there was at least one big thing he couldn’t do—he just couldn’t seem to be the guy she wanted, the guy who could go the distance. He was like a marathon runner who would make it to within ten yards of the finishing line of full commitment, where he would inevitably peter out, falling flat on his face, gasping for air and wanting a drink.
He told himself he was doing the right thing. His job, his history, and his lifestyle said he was doing the right thing. He was. He just had to keep reminding himself of it.
A half hour before the curtain went up on Leah’s last performance as Christine, a bundle of orchids arrived for her with a note from Michael. Break a leg, baby! it read. I need to talk to you after the show.
Leah blinked and read the note again. I need to talk to you after the show. A shiver of delight raced up her spine— what if her best friend, Lucy, was right? What if Michael was going to ask her to marry him?
“Nah,” she said with a laugh, as she arranged the orchids on her dressing table. The couple of times she had broached the subject, she had gotten the very serious vibe that Michael wasn’t ready to settle down. Maybe because words like not ready and commitment is a big step had come tumbling out of his mouth on those occasions.
But what else could he possibly want? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen each other quite a lot the last few days. Maybe the tide had turned. It was obvious he loved her, wasn’t it? Granted, he’d never actually uttered those words, but what guy ordered orchids once a week? Or had very expensive origami paper shipped to her when he was overseas? Or sat in the front row of her play, shouting bravo, bravo? Or made love to her like he’d just crawled out of the desert after being lost for twenty years?
Oh yeah, Michael Raney loved her. He might not say it, but she could feel it.
Of course she hadn’t said it, either. Lucy had warned her about that. “The guy has got to go first,” she’d said. “Otherwise, you come off as needy and end up with egg on your face.” Maybe that was true, and maybe it wasn’t, but Leah hadn’t yet found the courage to say it.
She thought of Michael as he’d been this morning after they’d made love. She was combing through trade papers while he lay sprawled across the bed, sleeping. The top sheet was wrapped around his leg, the rest of him wonderfully naked. His shoulder-length, thick black hair, which he often wore in a ponytail, was covering part of his face. He was beautiful—a strong, square jaw, high cheekbones, and a single dimple in his right cheek when he smiled. And he had beautiful penny-brown eyes with thick black lashes that made her absolutely melt.
But it wasn’t just his looks that she—and most every other woman in New York—loved. It was that he was so good to her, so supportive. And witty. And smart.
Leah picked up the note again, which she had put down on a stack of reviews that called her “brilliant and exciting” and “a sure bet in Hollywood” and a “genius comedic actress,” and read his note again. I need to talk to you after the show.
Maybe Lucy was right. It had been nine months. They were perfect for each other. And they hadn’t talked about the future in a long time. Maybe, she thought with a smile, her career and her love life were reaching new heights. Maybe everything was coming together in perfect symmetry, a gift from heaven.
“In ten!” someone shouted outside.
She still had her last performance, then the strike party. And then, tomorrow when she woke up, she would be headed for a new life altogether.
Maybe they’d get a new apartment, she thought as she tossed off her dressing gown and did one last check of her costume. Something bigger. Something uptown.
THE play ended to thundering applause, and the cast was brought back for three curtain calls before the lights came up. At the strike party, the cast was aglow—many of them would be touring with the production in the next few weeks.