He hasn’t said anything, but he knows it’s me in those pictures. I can feel his disappointment like a vibration in the air. I’ve been a lot of things over the years, but never the other woman. His affection for Angel makes it even worse. I know he wants to be on my side, but how can he be? I’m the one in the wrong.
“Let’s reset please, everyone,” I say. “From the top of this scene once more.”
Liam looks over at me. I studiously ignore him. In the light of today’s drama, the pressure for me to be objective and professional is higher than ever. The cast needs to be reassured that as far as the show goes, everything’s under control. It’s the old duck illusion: No matter how frantically the legs are paddling below the water, we need people to see us gliding along with serene grace.
“No, Liam! Downstage, dammit! Downstage!” It seems Marco didn’t get my memo about the duck thing. “Downstage is forward. Upstage is back. Do I need to remind you of basic stagecraft, man?”
I put my hand on Marco’s arm and whisper, “Please breathe.”
Marco pinches the bridge of his nose. Both Liam and Angel are off their games, but Liam’s definitely the worse off of the two. There’s also an air of resentment from the rest of the cast that he’s dropped us all in shit. In my case, the resentment is well-founded.
“Sorry,” Liam says. He glances over at me, and I look away.
He doesn’t even deserve eye contact.
For the rest of the day, I double-check earlier than usual that all cast members are set for their cues. The last thing I need is for Marco’s patience to wear any thinner. Every time I go near Liam, my emotions flare, but I force them down and get on with things.
“Stand by for your entrance, Mr. Quinn. Don’t forget to exit downstage left after ‘It shall be what o’clock I say it is.’”
“Liss . . .” He leans down to talk to me, but I cross to the other side of the room to cue Angel.
Poor Angel looks as bad as I feel. Of course, knowing I’m responsible for her misery makes me feel even worse. I’ve been on the receiving end of this kind of hurt so many times, you’d think it would suck less being the perpetrator and not the victim, but it doesn’t.
“You okay?” I whisper.
“I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry.” For lots of things.
She shakes her head and stares at Liam, who’s just entered the scene. “I thought we were always honest with each other. But this . . . My whole family is mortified. My father didn’t come out and say it, but I’m pretty sure he thinks all this happened because I’m an idiot who can’t keep her man satisfied.”
“That’s ridiculous. None of this is your fault.”
“No. But it does make me wonder what else Liam’s been keeping from me.” Rain. His mouth. Hands all over my body. “He could have been fucking this girl for weeks. He denies it, but I’m inclined not to believe a single word he says anymore.”
Me either. I shake my head and check my script. “Okay, stand by for your cue, then exit with Liam downstage at the end of the scene.”
“Thank you, sweetie.”
“You’re welcome. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
The day drags on. We finish blocking the final few scenes, but the tension in the air negates what little sense of achievement that brings.
By the time I call an end to rehearsal, everyone breathes a sigh of relief. I think we’re all emotionally exhausted.
While the rest of the cast leaves, Angel and Liam retreat to the conference room along with Anthony and Mary. Their press conference is in an hour, and Anthony wants to drill them one more time. It’s clear a spontaneous and heartfelt apology takes a crapload of rehearsal.
I’m tidying up the production desk when Josh touches my shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yep.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nope.”
He grabs my hands and turns me to face him. I can’t look him in the face so I stare at my knuckles instead.
“Listen, I have a date tonight, but if you want me to cancel, I can.”
I squeeze his hands. “I’ll be fine. I’m used to this, remember? But there is someone who I’m sure could use a friend tonight.”
“If you say Quinn, I’m going to punch something. Probably him.”
I shake my head and look up at him. “Make sure Angel isn’t alone. She doesn’t have any friends here, and I’d be with her, but . . . well, awkward.”
He nods. “I’ll take care of her. Now, go. I’ll clean up here.” He pulls me in for a tight hug, then passes me my bag.
As soon as I hit the street, I’m accosted by at least a dozen reporters and photographers, all screaming questions as they shove recording devices in my face.
“Any comment on the cheating scandal? How’s Angel coping with Liam’s betrayal?”
“Is Liam sorry? Has he done this sort of thing before?”
“Can you tell us about the woman involved? Is she an actor, too?”
“If they break up, will the show close?”
I stay silent and push through them. When they start to follow me, I run.
By the time I get home, I’m in need of a Valium, a shower, and tissues. I slam the door behind me, then lean back against it, and when all the emotion I’ve been suppressing for the past ten hours threatens to bubble out of me in big, frustrated sobs, I let it come.
SIXTEEN