Exit Stage Left Page 10

  And no matter what I do to shake off the feeling, I can’t seem to manage it.

  But Aunt Vonda is gone and there is no one else to serve her. I feel my cheeks heat as I walk to the counter, oddly embarrassed Bianca is seeing me like this. Self-conscious, smoothing the front of my pink apron even as I wonder if I look like crap and hate that I care. I meet Bianca’s eyes.

  Expecting a bitch to stare back at me. Some harsh words, bitterness. Instead, she smiles at me, full of charm and charisma, leaning over the counter to squeeze my wrist as though she didn’t do her damnedest last night to squash my heart and stomp on it with her high heels.

  “Riley,” she says in her sultry voice. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

  She is? I stiffen as she pulls back, blonde hair rippling. She looks flawless, perfection, exactly how a New York actor should look. And I’m all frumpy in my stained pink apron and hair haphazardly hanging from the messy knot at my neck.

  Bianca’s smile fades a little as she rests her manicured hands on the counter. “I wanted to apologize,” she says. “For last night. Thank you for coming to my show.”

  I know I’m staring and look like she just hit me, but I can’t seem to call up much more than that. Is she bipolar? Has an evil twin?

  “You really did make an impression last night,” she goes on. “That street scene of yours… it’s nice to see Miller acting again. Since all the trouble.”

  Trouble? “He’s incredible,” I say. Whisper, actually.

  Another flash of smile. “He really is,” she says. “I just wish he’d decide if we’re on again or off again.” She tosses those words off with a regretful smile even as my stomach plummets.

  “You’re together?” Why didn’t he tell me that?

  Because, we’re friends, not dating, so he didn’t have to tell me anything. And I’m an idiot. Of course someone as beautiful as Miller is with Bianca.

  The disappointment bites deep though I think I do a great job not showing it. Hope I do. I don’t want her to see how much knowing this hurts me.

  Ian’s memory calls and I let him appear behind her, scowling down at her when I can’t, when I’m forced—by my own sheer refusal to give in to my pain—to just nod when she shrugs.

  “Honestly, he’s been such a train wreck the last year or so,” she says, rolling her eyes, voice dropping into a “just us girls” tone. “I guess I saw you with him and was feeling a teensy weensy jealous.” She laughs then. “Silly, right?”

  I nod, numb. “Very,” I say. “Miller is just a friend.”

  She leans against the counter, head cocked to one side, blue eyes batting lashes at me. “You do know everything I said last night was meant with heart, right?” She pouts a little. “I didn’t mean to be harsh. But this is a tough business and I’ve seen so many girls stumble and fall.”

  I know she’s playing me, feel it in my soul, but I want to believe her, pulled in by her charisma and the fact she’s who I want to be. Well, at least, she’s where I want to be.

  “Thanks,” I say. “I know it’s tough. I watched my mother go through it.”

  Why did I say that? Because I want her to know. I want to impress Bianca, drop Mom’s name. What is wrong with me? It's like I need her approval when every bone in my body vibrates with instructions to back away from her and not listen.

  From the slight narrowing of Bianca’s eyes, I realize she already knows who I am. “Yes,” she says. “I have to say, I had no idea Marie St. Claire even had a daughter.” She flashes her teeth. “You certainly look very much like her.”

  I absorb her antagonism, thinly veiled now behind her veneer of big sister concern and feel my stomach tighten into the tightest knot I’ve ever experienced. This is surreal and painful as Bianca straightens, tosses her blonde hair in her favorite move and shrugs.

  “I’m sure you’ll do fine,” she says. Turns to go. Pauses, blue eyes staring over her shoulder at me. “I just wanted to touch base. In case you needed anything.” She taps her fingers on the strap of her purse. “You’re new to the group. Maybe you can keep an eye on Miller for me. To make sure he’s not backsliding.”

  “Into what?” Oh, the train wreck she mentioned. I’m curious despite myself, despite the need to shove her out of the store and into the street and slam the door in her face. Ian continues to hover, to glare as Bianca’s lips turn down.

  “Just…” She stops. Tinkles a laugh. “I’m sorry,” she says, rueful smile under her hard, glittering eyes. “His drug use isn’t your problem.”

  She leaves as the doorbell rings and a man in a suit enters. I watch her sashay her way out, hips swaying to a slow, sexy beat. My customer’s eyes lift from her ass to mine and he clears his throat.

  It’s not until I’ve served him, handed him his change, alone again in the shop, I realize my phantom summoning of Ian is gone.

  My heart is beating way too fast.

  Aunt Vonda bustles back in, dropping the keys to the van on the counter, patting my hand. “Thanks for holding down the fort,” she says.

  I bob a nod, pull myself together. Smile, even, when another customer arrives. I sort flowers for a small spring bouquet and tell myself it’s not only none of my business Miller and Bianca are a couple but that his drug problem—whatever that means—really doesn’t have anything to do with me.

  By the time Melissa, Aunt Vonda’s part-timer, arrives to take over for me at five o’clock, I’ve convinced myself both are true.

  I wait for my aunt to finish before heading home. With a purposeful detour. I’m nervous about the headshots, and I want her with me to see them.

  It’s only another two blocks to the printer. The smiling girl behind the counter retrieves my photos when I tell her my name.

  I turn to Aunt Vonda and hand her the thick envelop of 8X11’s. “I can’t look.”

  She practically rips the flap off in her haste, slips one of the images free even as the clerk says, “You’re very photogenic.” Aunt Vonda’s huge eyes and gasp of surprise makes me finally duck around her and peek.

  “Marie,” Aunt Vonda whispers, voice rough. “Riley, pet. You look just like your mother.”

  I stare at myself, at the masterpiece my friends made for me, and feel near to tears myself. My fingers shake as I take the slick photo from her, looking down at my face. Piper’s photo shop skills are clearly formidable. My skin is flawless, the makeup Aleah applied so perfectly it has to have been altered. By the time I arrived home last night and looked in the mirror, I was a fright of stress-rubbed eye shadow and sweat-streaked foundation topped by my messy hair.

  Aleah had worked a miracle with a flat iron on my natural waves, giving me a bouncy curl at the ends, sweeping my bangs in a wave of awesome. I wish I looked like that all the time. I can hardly believe it’s me but for the large “Riley James” written in the bottom right corner.

  When I flip it over, I realize Miller had my resume printed on the back. Aunt Vonda notices at the same time. We shuffle to the side to allow the next customer by and hunch together in the quiet store to read it, me as much in awe of his words as my aunt.

  “He makes you sound so professional,” she says even as I gape at the description of my acting experience.

  I pause part way and have to stop. “I just did some school and community theater,” I say over the glowing words he used. “This is…”

  “Perfect.” Aunt Vonda squeezes my arm and slips hers through. I replace the picture with her help before accepting the sleeve of photos and leaving the store with her, still stunned.

  I just hope this little charade my friends are creating won’t get me into trouble.

  I can barely eat dinner, already planning to head out to Miller’s for rehearsal. Aunt Vonda chatters away and I’m grateful for her conversational skills. I barely have to nod and murmur agreement to keep her happy. I know it isn’t fair, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

  I’m heading for the door, my purse over my shoulder, when the phone rings. Aunt Vonda answer
s, while I slip on my sandals, mind already on the street, on Aleah and Piper. A flare of brief pain when I think of Miller.

  Squashed when I consider I’m about to rehearse for my first audition.

  “Yes. She’s here. Just a moment.” I turn to see Aunt Vonda’s face scrunched into unhappiness. She covers the receiver with her hand, mouths, “your father” at me.

  The last person I want to talk to right now.

  “Riley, pet,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry. I emailed him to tell him how excited I was for you.” Her distress is still growing even as I feel like she’s just punched me in the stomach. “I should have left it to you.” Aunt Vonda winces. “I’ll tell him I missed you.”

  I shake my head, reach for the phone. “It’s okay,” I say, registering the dull, dead tone of my voice, furious I’ve lost my excitement in the sinking feeling I have whenever I think about Dad. “He would have found out eventually anyway.” I’m really not in the mood for a lecture, but putting Dad off will just make things worse later.

  Aunt Vonda sighs sadly and hands over the phone. I take a breath, go over the talk I had with Aleah last night. Focus on how acting makes me feel.

  And instantly feel better as I say, “Hi, Dad.”

  “Your aunt seems to think you’ve decided to start acting.” His cold tone vibrates with anger, his wording so reminiscent of Bianca’s first words to me my temper crackles. I know that tone. Have been on the other side of it most of my life, only this time he’s really pissed.

  “I’m auditioning for a show tomorrow,” I say, keeping my own voice light as I repeat a mantra in my head and decide not to engage him no matter how much I want to let loose my anger.

  Remember how it feels. Remember how it feels.

  “What the hell are you thinking?” Dad blows much more quickly than I’m used to. “I told Vonda no acting. You’re supposed to be making money for college, not hanging out with losers and wasting time on stupid theater.”

  I don’t comment, struggling to cling to the scene on the street as my temper fires off.

  “I gave you leeway when Ian was alive,” Dad says, voice dropping again, ice cold and full of fury, “but it’s time to grow the hell up. Either you give up this ridiculousness or you get your ass back home.”

  Delores hums in the back of my head, the character reminding me why I’m even willing to argue with him. “Mom wanted me to act,” I say, heat finally breaking through my tone. “And so did Ian.”

  Dad’s silence is so long I think maybe he’s hung up. Until he speaks again.

  “They’re dead,” he snaps. “Both of them. And I’m your father.”

  I almost say, “So?” but hold my tongue.

  “You’re making a fool of yourself.” Dad’s voice shakes, and I can picture him standing in the kitchen at home, hand fisted on the counter, face a black cloud of doom and anger. “And I won’t have it. There’s no future for you in acting. You need to get your priorities straight or I’ll do it for you.”

  My thumb hits the end key before my brain realizes I’ve hung up on him.

  I stand there for a long moment, staring at the phone as though Dad is going to magically appear through it. The world shakes as my anger recedes and I turn. Hand the phone back to Aunt Vonda. Her eyes are wet with tears, cheeks pale as she reaches for me with one hand. I dodge her, shrug Dad off. Head for my room instead of out the door.

  Close myself into my little oasis as my brain explodes with anger.

  ***

  Chapter Sixteen

  I need to go to Miller’s, but I can’t bring myself to leave. I pace my room, fury driving my stomping steps around the end of my bed to the window and back again.

  My phone vibrates. I check the message, expecting a hateful note from Dad, only to see Susan’s smiling icon staring back at me.

  I call, on impulse, sink to the edge of the bed, still shaking.

  She answers right away. “Riley!” She sounds happy for once. “Sorry to bug you, honey. I just wanted to check in and see how you were.”

  I sob in frustration, hear her soothing croon on the other end of the line, gasp an apology. “I’m fine,” I finally say, wiping my nose on the back of my hand before reaching for a tissue when I realize I’m a slimy mess. “It’s just Dad.”

  She listens as I rage about him, up and pacing all over again. By the time I’m sitting once more, my anger has dissipated somewhat, though my determination to tell him to piss off hasn’t gone anywhere.

  “Your father loves you,” Susan says while I snort my disbelief. “He does, in his own way.” Her sigh is heavy, sounds like static. “But he’s wrong. You’re so talented, Rye. And you need to be acting. Ian knew it. And Dwight and I know it, too. You’re a natural.”

  At least someone approves. I correct myself, Aunt Vonda has been wonderful. My new friends. “I just wish he wasn’t such a…”

  Asshole seems too mild a word.

  “I don’t understand Rick’s problem,” Susan says, soft and kind. “But I know he wants what’s best for you.” She lets that sink in while I fume. “But you’re a grown woman now, honey. And you need to do what makes you happy.”

  “Even if it pisses Dad off?”

  Susan sighs again. “Even if,” she says. “Riley, we are so proud of you. You are the most beautiful, courageous, strong young woman we know. If Ian had lived…” she goes quiet a moment, I know she’s pulling herself together, “we would have been delighted to have you as our daughter-in-law. But he didn’t. So we have to be satisfied in loving you as the daughter we never had.”

  I want to cry all over again, this time in gratitude. “Thanks, Susan,” I say. “I love you both so much.”

  “Now,” she says, sniffing softly as though trying to hide it from me. “You let us know the minute the audition is over. I want to celebrate.”

  She’s assuming I’ll get the part. A crooked grin lifts my lips and my spirits. “Will do.”

  We part with more love you’s. When I set down the phone, I’m calmer, ready to face whatever comes.

  A soft knock on the door raises my head, Aunt Vonda’s nervous face poking in.

  “Are you okay, pet?” She looks so upset, I offer my hand to her. She enters immediately, sits beside me, trembling hands patting my knee. “I’m so sorry, Riley. He’s such an ass sometimes. And I should have minded my own damned business instead of trying to make that stupid oaf admit he’s wrong to be so hard on you.”

  I almost qualify her “sometimes” with “all the time”, but don’t bother. “It’s really okay, Aunt Vonda,” I say. “I’m glad you broke it to him.” I am, too. Yes, the call was unpleasant. But it’s over and I’m moving forward. “I’m going to do it anyway.”

  She smiles, tentative and anxious. “I’m so glad.” One more pat to my knee and she relaxes.

  “I just wish I knew why he can’t love me,” I say, verbalizing the question for the first time, amazing myself I even bother to ask. I’ve never spoken of it, told myself I didn’t care. But I obviously do from the lump rising in my throat. “He treats me like I’m a mistake.”

  All our years alone together, after Mom’s death, pile on top of me in layers, suffocating, smothering me.

  Aunt Vonda shakes her head, clutches my hand in hers, pulling me loose from my own oppression, helping me breathe again. “No, pet,” she says. “Not a mistake at all. I think, because you remind him so much of Marie, he has a hard time with the hurt he still carries. I know he doesn’t mean to be cruel to you. But he’s never gotten over your mother’s loss. And in such a tragic way.”

  I swallow the grief rising from my chest. “If only she hadn’t gotten sick,” I say, remembering the night Dad came to my room. Hovered at the door. Told me Mom had a sudden illness and she was dead, just like that. His dull and lifeless voice, the first time he felt like a stranger to me. He's been a stranger ever since.

  Aunt Vonda’s sudden frown makes me frown, too.

  “Sick?” She seems shocked, angry, s
o angry all of a sudden I worry her temper is aimed at me. “Who told you your mother died of an illness?”

  Her words are a slap across my face. I don’t answer. I don’t have to. Her fury turns to denial and then to guilt tinged with bubbling rage.

  “Richard Morris James.” She mutters Dad’s full name, hands still trembling, but two hot points of red stand out on her cheekbones, mottled pink crawling down her neck and over her chest as her unhappiness simmers. Her eyes meet mine, snapping with temper. “He told you your mother… Oh, Riley. Pet, this is my fault. I should have been there for you.”

  “Aunt Vonda.” I’m proud of how steady my voice is, how calm I feel despite the fact I now know the explanation Dad gave me that night, to a little girl waiting for her mother, wasn’t true. My aunt’s reaction tells me as much. “What happened to my mother?”

  Aunt Vonda shifts on the bed beside me, as though suddenly nervous, though her anger remains. “Rick fell in love with Marie from the moment they met,” she says, ignoring my question, her words tumbling out of her mouth as though she’s been trying to decide what to say to me for years. “I remember the first time I met her, thinking she was more alive than he was. More than any of us.” Aunt Vonda’s fingers tightened. “Not in an arrogant way. Just that she shone so much brighter. Everyone loved her. She was a star, even before she was a professional actress.” She slumps beside me. “I loved her, too. I idolized her, Riley.” That word makes me think of Bianca. “But my brother adored her and would do anything for her. He used to laugh, at least a little, when Marie was alive. When they were first together.” One hand rises to wipe at her eye as a tear falls. “He had so much trouble showing his emotions. Our father wasn’t the kindest man, and Rick took after him.” I don’t remember my grandfather, who died before I was born. “But when Marie was around, my brother was a different person.”

  So difficult for me to believe. And yet, not so much. I recall moments of happiness with the three of us, seeing Dad smile, though the memories are dim and warped. It’s so long ago and I’ve pushed that part of my history under my current feelings for him. I guess I didn’t want to remember.