Chapter 9
Jill
When rehearsal ends I head for the ladies room to reapply my lip gloss. If I can catch Patrick on the way out, I’m going to ask him out. I can’t keep falling into my director’s arms when the man I’ve been waiting for is here at last. I push this morning into the trunk of forgotten memories, then lock it up and throw away the key.
There. Done. Gone.
As I smack my lips together, one of my cast mates, Shelby, pops in. She’s a few years older and a chorus girl too. She’s an amazing dancer and has a sort of ballroom flare to her moves, all hips and sexy sway.
“Hey there,” she says. “The whole cast is going out to Zane’s for drinks. Want to join?”
The whole cast. Yes, that’ll be my chance! “Sure, that sounds great.”
“Cool. I need to grab my bag, so meet me by the elevator.”
I leave the restroom and head for the elevator. I spot Davis talking to Alexis inside the doorway of one of the rehearsal studios. Her hand is on his arm, and something flares inside me when I see them. I try to look away, but I can’t. She’s like a villain in a Marvel comic book, all over-the-top campy, and she has these hideous long red fingernails that she’s digging into his arm, as if she owns him.
“Of course you’re the best, Alexis,” I hear him say in a low voice. “You know there’s no one I’d rather have as Ava. No one in the whole wide world.”
She loosens her grip and then pulls him in for a wide embrace.
What the hell? He told me this morning I’m the one he wanted to cast. He seemed so incredibly sincere. Was he lying to me? Or is he lying to her? Or is he playing us both?
Ding, ding, ding!
I can hear the bell going off in my head, because I’ve figured him out. He thinks we are all fragile little flowers who need praise like we need the sun. So he gives it to us, and that’s how he coaxes out such great performances. Insidiously clever, and totally Machiavellian.
I have to hand it to him. I was fooled. I wanted his words to be true. I want to believe I was his first choice. A hot rush of anger floods my veins, and I’m dying to march up to him and tell him not to toy with me ever again—neither with kisses that I can feel for days, nor those words that undercut. But I won’t give him the satisfaction on either front, so I don’t look at them as I walk by, stepping into the elevator with Shelby.
“That dance number was brutal,” Shelby says, stretching her neck from side to side, as I force myself to eradicate Davis and his puppeteering ways from my brain. I don’t have any extra mental real estate to devote to him. “I thought I was going to die.”
“Yeah, totally,” I say, even though it’s not true. The dance number was all cardio, and I’m kind of like a wizard at cardio. But I also really like fitting in. So I even tack on an addendum, “I think I might collapse later because of that number.”
Shelby gives me a pointed but playful look. “Drinks before collapsing.”
“But of course.”
At the bar I look around for Patrick, but he’s not here yet. Alexis has joined the crew, though she’s off in the back of the bar with her publicist, so I hang out with the other chorus members at some tables we’ve pulled together. I down a beer and we talk about the show, and other shows we’ve done. When Kelly Clarkson’s “Catch my Breath” starts on the bar’s sound system, a group of us grab our imaginary microphones and start to sing along, loud and boisterous and totally on pitch. When the number ends, the other bar goers clap and cheer, and some even hoot and holler.
I head to the bar to order another beer. As I wait, I take out my phone and text my brother Chris in California. We talk—okay, we text—every day, and I like to keep him up to date on my life. Maybe it’s my way of making up for the things I never told him about Aaron. We were close growing up, and he always looked out for me, but somehow I was never able to get the words out, to sit him down, to tell him what I’d done and all that had gone wrong. The least I can do is give him details of my life now that I’m living on my own in New York City. It’s like I’m making up for my silence years ago.
Rehearsal is great. But director is strange.
I send off the note, wondering briefly why I brought up Davis since I’ve got him figured out. Right? There can’t be any more to him than a master craftsman who knows how to use each tool perfectly. We are the tools. And boy, did he know how to manipulate me by telling me I was the one he really wanted for Ava, and then saying the same thing to Alexis.
Chris writes back quickly. Define strange.
But I don’t know how to define strange and I don’t even know why I wrote to Chris about Davis. I make something up. You know, like Broadway director strange.
He replies: I know this may shock you, but I know nothing of Broadway directors. BTW, I’m probably coming to NYC next month for a work trip. Can you make some time for your big bro?
I nearly squeal. I haven’t seen Chris in a year.
Yes!!!!
I put my phone away and Shelby joins me at the bar, pushing a hand through her dark, wavy hair. “On a scale of one to ten, how hot is Patrick Carlson?”
I nearly spit out my beer. But then I realize I’m not the only one in the cast with, you know, eyes. Nor am I the only one who is possessed with feminine hormones.
“Ten million,” I admit. “Is he coming tonight?”
“I heard he was on his way. He’s carved by the Gods or something, don’t you think?”
“Yeah.”
“I worked with him in South Pacific two years ago, and everyone was in love with him. You should have seen our dressing room, and heard all the times we talked about how beautiful he is. Pathetic. Like some sort of shrine made by lovesick teenagers. That’s what he does to women. He was dating Christine in Phantom at the time, but we were still practically clinging to him.”
“Is he still with her?”
“Not that I know of. But he’s a freak of nature. A dancing, singing, acting gorgeous straight man who’s also the nicest guy around? He’ll be taken by opening night if he’s not already dating a supermodel.”
“Yeah, he’s a rare find, isn’t he?” I say coolly, but inside my nerves are unraveling. I need to make a move as soon as he arrives tonight. Then it hits me—what if Shelby has her sights set on him? I don’t want to be the kind of woman who goes after a guy her friend is eyeing. Even though I hardly know Shelby, I have a rule—once we sit down for drinks we’re buds, and I don’t violate the girl code. I’m practically crossing all my fingers and toes as I ask the next question. “Are you going to pursue something with him?”
Shelby laughs, and shakes her head. “No, but if you like him you should go for it. I just like to window shop. I’m taken.” She waggles her hand, showing me a gumball-sized sparkly rhinestone ring. “It’s not a real diamond, obviously. More a promise of a ring to come. I’m involved with someone. He’s an actor too.”
“Oh cool. What’s he in?”
She sighs, and her brown eyes look sad. “Nothing right now. He just moved to Los Angeles since pilot season is starting. He’s hoping to land something soon. He’s working as a personal trainer in between auditions.”
“What about you. Are you acting full-time?”
“I used to moonlight as a hair stylist. I worked at one of the blowout salons for a while, and did a ton of updos for weddings. I loved it. I’ve been doing hair for fun my whole life. But now I mostly do voice-overs to support myself and then this kind of gig, of course, when I land one.”
“That’s so cool that you can do hair, though. I grew up with two brothers and my mom worked all the time, so my French braids are pretty much the worst ever. We’re talking lumpy, bumpy, and strands out of place everywhere.”
“You’d look gorgeous with a French braid, with that perfect long blond hair. I’m going to do yours next time we’re bored at rehearsal because mine are epic. I did hair for Maria when I was a nun in The Sound of Music back in high school.”
“Nun and hair stylist for the school production?”
“Yup. Isn’t that crazy? But we were killing time while the Von Trapp kids were rehearsing so I did Maria’s hair, and voila. As soon as the director saw my handiwork he had me styling Maria’s hair every night for the week-long production.”
“Maybe Davis will enlist you then for your mad hair skills.”
She pulls back and gives me a you-can’t-be-serious look, and for a moment I think I must have offended her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you would have to work double.”
“No. That’s not it,” she says with a laugh. “Do you really call him Davis? No one calls him Davis, except for Alexis. He’s Milo to everyone.”
Red starts to rush to my cheeks. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I just…” But my voice trails off because I don’t know what to say about why I call him Davis. I call him that because he asked me to. Because that’s who he is to me.
“I’d say to go for it with him, because he’s got that whole tall, dark and broody thing going on, but he doesn’t date actresses.”
My head swims from hearing this the second time today. Is this some commonly known fact about him? “Oh yeah?” I ask, trying to sound as disinterested as I want to be.
“Yeah, ever since Madeline Blaine—” then she cuts herself off. “Hey beautiful!” She catches someone’s eye and waves. I follow her gaze, and my heart leaps to my throat when I see him. Patrick walks over to us and wraps Shelby in a big hug. When he lets go of her, it’s my turn to be the recipient of a Patrick hug. I wish I could say it happens in slow motion, and he lingers on me, and that it feels like coming home—this first real contact of ours. But all I know is the embrace ends far too quickly.
“Hey Jill! How are you?”
“Great!”
The bartender scurries over, and I can only surmise that he recognizes Patrick. “What can I get for you, sir?”
“I’ll have what they’re having,” he says, placing one hand on my shoulder and one on Shelby’s, as if the three of us are long-time friends now. Shelby was right—he is the nicest guy.
As he waits for his beer, the three of us chat about today’s rehearsal, then Shelby excuses herself for the restroom, leaning in to whisper to me, “Go for it.”
It’s now or never, I reason, and it’s just Patrick and me at the wooden bar. One Republic’s “Feel Again” plays on the bar’s stereo system, and I will forever remember this as the soundtrack to the moment I’ve waited for, for so long.
“I love this song,” I say, as I begin. “We should add it to our demo.”
He snaps his fingers in approval, then launches into the song, singing to me. His voice is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard, like a dream, and it gives me chills. He drowns out One Republic in seconds and Patrick is all I hear, every note, every word, making my heart beat wildly.
The lyrics feel so true, and he’s not dismissing a song I love. Instead, he’s inviting me into it, gesturing for me to join him. I layer on the next words and here we are again, meant to be. Clearly, we are meant to sing together, and perhaps, to be together. Our voices mesh, even in the bar with the sounds of glasses being washed and beer being poured and orders being taken.
Then, meeting my eyes, we sing the chorus together.
“With you I feel again…”
When we stop, he smiles at me. It’s such a magnetic smile, sweet and beguiling at the same time. Six years from afar have led me to now. I take a deep breath and go for it. “The flowers I sent you after Guys and Dolls? I hope you’re not seeing anyone, because if you’re not, I’m seizing the moment and thinking maybe six years later, I could try again and ask you to have coffee with me.”
“A date?” He asks cautiously, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes, as if he likes the idea. It’s enough for me to keep going.
“Yes.”
He steps closer, takes my hands as if he’s some sort of old-fashioned gentleman come to court me. Oh, how I love that idea. Court me, take me, romance me. He looks at me softly, and I’m halfway to heaven as he gives the only answer I’ve ever wanted. “I would love to go on a date with you, Jill.”
Then there’s a pause, and I wait nervously for him to fill it.
“But…”
That word punches me in the chest with its three awful letters, and I wait for the rest of rejection.
“I have a rule about dating co-workers during the delicate stage of a show’s rehearsal, because we all want to make sure the show is the best it can be. Let’s use this time to get to know each other as friends. Learn if we can hang out together as well as we sing together.”
“Yes,” I say and we’re still holding hands, so I squeeze back, and it feels good. Warm and friendly.
“Why don’t we have coffee this weekend? Maybe even Sunday afternoon?”
Honestly, he doesn’t even have to finish the sentence. He could be taking me to see a revival of Cats at three in the morning. I can’t stand that show, but I’d say yes.
“Yes.”
“So it’s not-a-date, then,” he says in a playful voice as Shelby returns.
“How are you two doing?”
“Fantastic,” Patrick says then winks at me, and like that, my day has moved from utterly confusing to thoroughly wonderful.
Then, my skirt is soaked. “What the…?”
I turn around to see Alexis has crashed into me, and the beer she was holding is now spreading in a puddle across my clothes.
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” she starts, feigning contrition. Then her tone turns dismissive. “Whatever your name is.”
“It’s Jill, and you just spilled your beer all over me,” I say, annoyed.
She narrows her eyes and looks down her nose at me. “I said I was sorry. You don’t have to be snotty.”
I hold up my hands. “I wasn’t snotty. I’m just covered in hops now.”
Patrick hands me a napkin, ever the knight in shining armor. I try to blot up the mess, but it’s all over me.
“Excuse me,” I say, and head for the bathroom because I’d rather not paw at my skirt in front of everyone. I rub the cloth napkin against my clothes, but I’m fighting a losing battle. Even my tights are wet. “This sucks,” I mutter.
Someone opens the door. I look up to see Alexis stumble into the bathroom, her crystal blue eyes steely and cold. “You.” She points a finger at me, and I want to smack her, and I want to smack Davis too for telling her she was the only one. “Whatever your name is. This isn’t going to be some All About Eve situation here.” I can smell the beer on her breath.
“I never implied it would be.”
She snorts. “Oh right. Oh sure. I know your type. You want my part. I’ll be watching you, and I won’t be the only one. If I even think for one second that you’re trying to pull something on me, your career will be over like that.”
She snaps a finger. The gesture is so over-the-top. Oh, that’s it. That does it. The gloves are off. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Alexis. I’m not sure if you got the memo, but take a look around. There aren’t any hidden cameras and we’re not actually on a reality show where you need to say and do annoying things like that.” I lean in a bit closer so she knows I’m serious. “So why don’t you stop focusing on me, and focus on the job you were hired to do instead?”
I give her a wink, turn on my heel and leave her standing there with her mouth open while I enjoy a small victory from getting the last word in. A victory that feels entirely Pyrrhic when I have to say goodbye to Patrick and Shelby since my clothes are wet.