We barely made it over the threshold of his apartment door when he backed me up against the wall, pressing against me, the soft fabric of his satin tuxedo lapels smooth like warm butter sliding over my skin. I sucked in a quick breath, caught off guard by the way my legs buckled under my weight as he dragged his fingertips down my arm to clasp my hand in his.
He drew my arm up over my head, pinning me between his body and the exposed brick wall behind me, and I was grateful for the force of him keeping me upright, since my limbs had almost completely given way. His other arm wrapped around my waist, simultaneously pulling me close with his hand but continuing to press against me with his hips.
Breathless, I gripped a fistful of his jacket, wrestled it from his thick arms, and tossed it to the floor. Before it even hit the ground, he kissed me hard, his lips inciting an avalanche of emotions, the earth crumbling away under my feet, causing me to fall faster and farther than I ever thought possible. Rooted in place by his body crushed against mine, I was dangling somewhere between our passionate past and the intense present, between solidity and free floating, and all I knew was that I never wanted to come down again.
Gabe wasn’t my first, but he was the first that mattered. He taught me everything about my own sensuality and sexuality. Those nights we’d lie in the living room bathtub together were some of the most romantic of my life. It had been a real relationship, and it was Gabe who showed me how important it was to voice my wants as much as my boundaries. We’d taken the time to get to know each other in the most intimate of ways, and it seemed he hadn’t forgotten a thing.
Gabe licked at my bottom lip, and I moaned for more as I met his tongue with my own. He grazed the top of my exposed shoulder, his hand cool against my warm skin and forcing the swarm of butterflies who’d taken flight to rush south. I writhed against him, trying to get closer until we were sharing more than just our breaths.
He spun me around to unzip my dress, and the momentum of urgency slowed when he was met instead with two tiny buttons securing the halter top behind my neck.
“Oof, these are tough. I’m not sure I can . . .” He fumbled with the small clasps, his large hands doing him no favors. “I’m afraid I’m going to break it.”
I coyly glanced at him over my shoulder and ordered, “Do it. Just rip it.”
A naughty glint twinkled in his eye and he said, “Your wish is my command,” tearing the collar’s seams apart like an animal unleashed. The top of the dress fell to my waist and his eager hands met it there, sliding the fabric the rest of the way down my hips. In one surprisingly graceful movement, he scooped me up in his arms as I wrapped my legs around his body, and he carried me the rest of the way to the bedroom, where we didn’t leave until the sun came up over Tribeca.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Two weeks later I was back at the Greenwich House Theater, nervously pacing up and down the long hallway waiting for my name to be called into the studio room for my second audition for Marley Is Dead. I’d spent every spare moment over these last fourteen days rehearsing the songs and scenes, Lyla generously offering to read in for every character and Charlie selflessly staying after every shift to work with me on the material.
Since the night Gabe and I spent together, I was struggling to balance everything on my plate. Gabe wanted to spend more and more time with me, which at present I seemed to have less and less of between work shifts and audition prep. I compromised by promising Gabe we could take a weekend trip to enjoy some much-needed time alone away from the city when the audition was over.
“Avery Lawrence, we’re ready for you,” Joanna, the casting assistant, called out from inside the room.
I nodded, took a few deep breaths remembering Miss Tilly’s advice about how to breathe in a way that opened my chakras and third eye, and stepped into the studio only to be greeted by many more people than I’d expected. A table full of faces that I recognized from the first audition plus about ten brand-new ones looked me up and down as I entered the room.
Over in the far corner was the same piano accompanist from last time. Thankfully, the audition materials were the same for everyone, so there’d be no last-minute song selections for him to worry about. As soon as I took my spot at the center of the space and gave him a clear nod, he started to play the first song, the tempo of the music just as quick as it had been on the bootlegged YouTube version I’d been rehearsing from. Though I’d been worried about stumbling over the lyrics at such a breakneck pace, all of my hours of rehearsal paid off when I hit every note and articulated every syllable in perfect time with the music.
I could see smiles and enthusiastic nods firing around the room as others were fiercely scribbling notes on legal pads.
One of the producers leaned forward in his seat. “That was lovely, Ms. Lawrence. Let’s do the scenes you prepared followed by the ballad, and then we have some new pages we’d like you to take a look at.”
We worked through the scenes I prepared, one going better than the last. The director provided notes and adjustments along the way, all of which I tried to implement to showcase how well I could take direction. When we finished that part of the audition, I knew in my gut it was going well.
The ballad, however, was a slightly different story. Although I managed to hit most of the showstopping notes and express the emotionality of the piece, something just felt a bit off. I didn’t know if it was nervous energy or maybe the excitement from the audition having gone better than expected up to this point, but I could actually feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, making me a bit shakier than normal. It took everything I had to hold on to the final note of the song, my voice falling off at the very end. It wasn’t a complete disaster, and certainly not the moo-numental mishap that had been my Wicked audition, but I could’ve done better. I knew it and sensed the room did too.
When I finished, Joanna handed me the new scenes and told me I had fifteen minutes to look them over. I accepted them with trembling hands and headed to a bench outside to prepare. I slipped on my coat and made my way through a group of actors taking a cigarette break, the plume of smoke wafting through the temperate March air. I nodded a quick hello and moved to a bench along the sidewalk.