He wrote something on his form.
“When you are intimate with your wife, does she like to have the light on or off?”
I folded my arms across my chest.
“None of your business!”
He peered over his glasses at me.
“You do realize, Mr. Novak, that we have every reason to believe that your marriage to Miss Hennessey was to obtain U.S. citizenship? The odd circumstances that you yourself have described, the haste with which you married: these questions are valid. If you cannot answer them, we will be forced to draw our own conclusions. It is in your best interests—and hers—to answer plainly.”
I stared up at the ceiling, furious and impotent. He was just like Sergei, but without the psychopathic violent streak. And he wore glasses.
“Lights off.”
Laney didn’t like her body. She thought she was too thin, too shapeless. But she was all woman to me.
“And what position does she prefer?”
I clenched my teeth and refused to answer.
He sighed. “This is my last question, Mr. Novak.”
“All of them!” I grit out.
I stood up and walked into the kitchen. I couldn’t stare at his smug face for a second longer without wanting to punch it.
At that moment, Laney walked out of the bedroom, looking pale and upset. I wrapped my arms around her in silence as her small hands gripped my t-shirt tightly and she rested her head against my chest.
“We’ll be in touch,” said Phillips as they left.
I swore loudly and Laney turned away to fall onto the couch, her hands covering her eyes.
For the next few days, we were both on edge, expecting a phone call, letter, or another personal visit from the Immigration goons (my new favorite word that I learned after watching re-runs of ‘Breaking Bad’). And each evening I had to go to the theater and do my best to entertain an audience that seemed to be shrinking fast.
We were all waiting for the axe to fall, so when Dalano and Mark asked everyone to come in ten minutes early, I had a good idea what they were going to say.
We gathered in a circle on the empty stage, Sarah leaning against my shoulder while Dalano hushed everyone then cleared his throat.
“Thank you all for coming in early. I have some bad news. Ticket sales have not been going great. Those asshat reviewers don’t know class when they see it. Mark has done an amazing job of choreographing you,” and he turned to smile sadly at his boyfriend, “but launching just before Christmas—which was the theater’s choice—has worked against us. We’re going to have to take a break, so our final show for now will be Christmas Eve. I know this will be a shock to all of you, and we hate having to say it, but I promise you all from the bottom of my heart that this is not the end of Broadway Revisited and we will rise like a phoenix from the ashes.”
He took a deep breath while we all stared at him stonily.
“I feel so much love in this room tonight, and I’d like to thank you for all for being a part of this amazing vision. We’re ahead of our time,” and he gave a small laugh. “I’m expecting you all to dance your asses off and prove the critics wrong. Break a leg.”
Nobody clapped, but Dalano and Mark didn’t seem to notice as they stared into each other’s eyes.
We all headed for the dressing room and after I’d shaved, I sat next to Sarah while we started on makeup. I could do mine in three minutes: gel eye liner, foundation, bronzer topped with powder, finish with mascara and lip gloss. It wasn’t my favorite part of being a dancer, but I’d been doing it for years and it didn’t bother me. Although if you’d asked me when I was 14, you’d have gotten a different answer.
“I booked my flight back to London a week ago,” Sarah said while she dotted concealer under her eyes.
“Yeah? Are you coming back to Chicago after?”
“I doubt it. Well, I’ll go wherever I get hired. A friend of mine from RADA works at the Sydney Opera House, and she’s always trying to get me to visit. Maybe I will—some winter sun would be fab. What about you?”
I shrugged. “Look for another job, I guess.”
“You should give London a try, Ash,” she said, smearing foundation across her smooth skin. “My friend Paula told me that there’s a couple of shows that are hiring in the New Year. You wouldn’t even need a work visa as Slovenia is part of the EU. Laney could come with you. She usually works from home, right?”
I couldn’t help laughing, and Sarah gave me a confused look. Wouldn’t it be ironic that I’d married Laney for a green card, but if I worked in Europe it would be the other way around—she’d be able to work in Britain because we were married.
“You’re a weirdo,” Sarah said, throwing a powder puff at my head.