Exit Stage Left Read online

  The van is gone, probably still at the shop, out back. Leaving me a full view of my car.

  Jacked up on bricks. Tires and rims gone. Front window smashed. I slow as I near it, realize I’m not going anywhere, at least in my car. I see my stereo is missing when I drag my now overwhelmed and defeated ass to the driver’s door. The thieves even pried open the glove box and slashed the seats as an extra insult to the assault.

  One of my suitcases thuds to the ground as I release the handles and let my bags fall to the concrete. I can’t cry, just shake my head, shoulders slumping. My life just can’t get shittier.

  I need to be careful what I wish for.

  The desire to sink to the dirty garage floor and sob my heart out is a distant feeling. Instead, I turn and lift my bags again, hooking the large suitcase that fell over with my free hand and dragging it upright.

  Head for the ramp to the outside on foot. To hail a cab.

  Exit Riley James.

  Stage left.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  I sit at the bus station, hating the Port Authority terminal is only one block from Time’s Square, three from Broadway, just another reminder of my failure. I hug my purse to me as a pair of young men argue together a row of seats down, one finally handing over some dirty bills, the other quick with a small plastic baggie. The security guard ignores them as though drug deals in the open are commonplace.

  I guess they are. And it’s really for the best I’m leaving.

  I spent the entire drive over here in the back of the stinking cab telling myself that very thing. It’s best I’m leaving. Look at the prostitutes standing on the corners, their brittle smiles masking their hurt. It’s best I’m leaving. The bums and the druggies who beg for change before following people into alleys to rob them at knife point.

  It’s best I’m leaving.

  I can’t handle it here, I know that now. And though Clifton calls me, I know I won’t stay there long, either. I don’t belong there anymore. I’ll find a job doing whatever I can, apply for state college and move on as soon as possible. Get a real job, a real career and forget any of this happened.

  Forget I wasted my dream on a guy who didn’t deserve me and a vindictive bitch who will probably end up a star.

  Numbness has taken over from my anger and pain, forcing me into logic to save me from the ache I can barely stand when it surfaces from time to time. My bus ticket sticks to my sweaty fingers, the air conditioning either broken or nonexistent in this place of transition. Are they like me, the people waiting for their bus, walking through past the shops like this isn’t a hub to nowhere special? Normal, ordinary people, or broken, like me? Looking for a new chance when this one failed them? I have a sudden image of me sitting in endless bus depots waiting for my next chance, my new start, only to fail over and over again.

  She sits beside me, the spicy scent my first indication I know the intruder in my space. I glance over, not meeting her eyes, finding Aleah with her legs gracefully crossed, hands in her lap. She isn’t looking at me, staring out the big, dirty windows at the city going on outside without me. I shift, uncomfortable, not sure what to say.

  Did she know about Miller and Bianca?

  “He’s known her forever.” Aleah’s voice startles me, low but clear, conversational. “Since they were kids.”

  I nod, I’ve heard this from him already, but I want to close my ears because she’s going to make excuses for Miller and I don’t want to hear them.

  But she goes on and the numb can’t tune her out the way I’d like it to.

  “He’s been in love with her at least as long.” She shakes her head, her full, wiry hair corkscrewing around her in a crown of shining curls. “Damned fool. I tried to tell him she wasn’t worth his time. But I met him long after she did and I was way too late to talk him out of her.”

  She just verified what my damaged heart figured out last night, seeing him hold her naked body and kiss her. Is that why Aleah’s here? To tell me I’m right?

  Now I really want her to shut up, because this is only making me feel worse.

  “That first show he wrote?” Aleah shifts in her seat. “He wrote it for Bianca. He wrote them all for her. And when he told her, do you know what she did?”

  I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.

  “She laughed in his face.” Aleah sighs, an exhale of frustration even as my heart contracts for Miller despite hating him right now. Okay, so he’s her toy, I get that. He has no spine of his own, she’s using him. It’s not the strangest thing that’s happened. Guys do stupid ass stuff for girls they love all the time.

  “When he sold the first one, Bianca, she came running.” Aleah snorts a cynical laugh. “But no one would cast a nobody, even though Miller tried to influence the producers.”

  I almost smile, nasty and hurtful. I hope they crushed her like she crushed me.

  “She rejected him when they wouldn’t,” Aleah said. “Led him on until he was a puppy dog in love and then snapped the leash so hard she almost killed him.” I hear the fury in her voice, feel it in her body as she vibrates next to me. “I was the one who held his hand through the meltdown, made sure he didn’t overdo the meds his shrink prescribed.” Meds. Bianca’s drug problem? Real, too, then. Though not the kind of drugs I thought she meant. “He wrote another play, for her. By then, I knew him well enough I wanted to beat the crap out of him for being such a blind ass.” That makes two of us. “But he was in love, in hard and deep and she pulled him back in when she found out about the show.”

  I refuse to feel sorry for him even as I relent slightly. I know how hard love can hit. Losing Ian felt like part of me died. Okay, so maybe I can forgive him. Eventually.

  “He sold that show, too,” Aleah said. “And for the second time, when the producer said no to Bianca, she ripped Miller’s heart out and handed it to him.” She thumps her fists against her thighs. “I held his hand one more time, while he cried. I brought him out of the dark, took the damned drugs away, made him face the truth. Made him quit her. But he couldn’t, Rye. He just couldn’t let her go. And so he wrote a third show. Told the director and producer he wouldn’t sell it unless they cast Bianca.”

  I turned to look at Aleah. She still scowled out the glass, not focused on me at all.

  “They said they would. Took the show from him. And cut Bianca loose.”

  My heart screamed it wasn’t his fault, my hands closing convulsively knowing what Bianca would do to him. To punish him.

  “She broke Miller,” Aleah says. “Shattered him into a million pieces. And he hasn’t written another show since.” She finally turns to meet my gaze. “He didn’t go back to that damned shrink, either. He pulled himself back from the brink all on his own. Promised me—swore to me—he was done with her and her shit. But no matter what I do, what anyone does, he won’t cut her loose completely. And the others, they love her because she’s rising, going to be a star, don’t you know.” Aleah snorts. Takes a moment to let that sink in. “Except, things changed not so long ago.”

  This is the part I don’t want to hear, and yet I cling to her words like a lifeline.

  “He started writing again. After he met a young actor who blew us all away.”

  No, bad enough I’ve lost my love for the stage, but to think they hadn’t lied to me. That I really was good… no, I can’t tolerate it. Better to believe I was never anything. Could never be more than small town.

  “He started smiling again,” Aleah says. “Talking about acting instead of watching all of us play at it.” She flops a hand over in her lap, silver rings sparkling. “He even welcomed her into our group, when no one else has been allowed to join us forever.”

  I stare, swallow bitterness and dead hope.

  “He kissed her,” I say. It’s all I manage.

  Aleah rolls her eyes, slaps my hand. “The only reason that bitch,” her expressive voice drops to a hissing growl, “showed up to seduce our boy was to hurt you.
She’s already destroyed him enough to know how to do it again. But.”

  I cough softly around the choking sensation seizing my throat.

  “But this time, he didn’t break.” Aleah’s full lips lift into a small smile. “He lost it. You missed the whole thing, rabbiting like that.” As though running away wasn’t an option I should have considered. “I’ve never seen him so angry. Or stand up to Bianca like that. He frog-marched her down the stairs in her buck and dumped her ass on the street.”

  Now I’m wide-eyed and open mouthed. “He what?”

  Aleah chuckles, crosses her arms over her chest, her sandaled foot bobbing over her crossed knee. “If Ruben hadn’t moved his traitor ass, she’d have been in serious trouble. Last I saw he was covering her with his shirt and hailing a cab while she screamed at Miller like some kind of banshee from hell.”

  Classy. And I really, really wish I’d been there to see it. I laugh out loud, sober. Then hang my head.

  Aleah lets the silence go on a moment before speaking again. “He’s a fool,” she says. “And he’s made so many mistakes with that bitch. But Riley, he’s my closest friend. And I love him. Enough I’m here, with someone I thought was my other closest friend.”

  I twitch, reach out and take her hand, broken heart now sobbing silently for the mess I’ve made. For believing Bianca’s carefully constructed half-truths.

  “You’ve both screwed this solid,” Aleah says. “But the saddest part isn’t you leaving, Riley Skyley.” I’ll miss her nickname for me because I’m still going. Now out of humiliation and shame for how I treated Miller. “He’s no angel, he admitted he kissed her. Lost his head when he saw the woman he always wanted, offering herself to him.” Aleah lets me go, turns in her seat. “For that alone, I’d kick his ass so hard he’d never come down from it.”

  I nod, sniffle.

  “Nope, the saddest part is Bianca is getting exactly what she wants.” Aleah stands abruptly. “And I really worry that without you, I don’t know if Miller will ever write again.”

  She leaves without another word, striding off, singing a wordless song to herself. Down the aisle, out the glass door and into the city, disappearing from my view.

  From my life.

  I shake in my seat, hating myself now as much as Bianca. Still mad at Miller for being a jerk. But knowing I chose to let her win.

  Fucking Bianca.

  I can’t just let her win.

  And yet. She’s right about me. I blew it. I ran instead of standing my ground. Again. It seems I’ve been running from one thing or to another since I arrived in New York. And now, here I am, everything a mess, and I’m about to leave.

  I’m so confused, the ticket in my hands trembling as I stare at it.

  And think of Ian.

  Look up to see him standing there. Smiling in a beam of sunshine. Waving at me.

  Sweetie. I don’t know what to do. I lower my head so no one will see me cry, just in case. Because my heart is wide open, my soul begging for an answer from the shadowy image of my make-believe need. If I’m supposed to stay, if this is where I’m supposed to be, I have to know. I have to find some kind of sign I can make this work. That I haven’t ruined everything.

  I used to talk to Ian in my head all the time. Now it feels odd, as though he’s not a part of me anymore. I’m a little light headed, and I have to open my mouth to draw a full breath of air.

  Wait for a sign that’s not coming. And my bus for home.

  Someone walks past me, pauses. I wish they would just move on. But whoever it is bends, lifts something from the floor. Hesitates again.

  “Miss?”

  I look up at a young man, clean cut, lips curving a little. He’s holding a piece of paper in his hand.

  No, not paper. A photo. One of my headshots.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says, before handing the sheet to me and moving on.

  I sit there, dazed and shocked. Look down at myself smiling back.

  There’s no way this could have fallen out of my bag. And yet, there it is, there I am.

  My eyes lift to the sunbeam, empty, though I can feel him with me again.

  “Thank you,” I whisper to Ian.

  I have my answer.

  The ticket goes in the trash as I man-handle my bags out the door.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  I hear Dae shouting from the lobby, push through the thin curtain to the auditorium and march my way to the stage. The girl she’s screaming at is in tears, hand over her mouth as Dae dumps all over her.

  Three steps up and I’m beside the girl, guiding her away from Dae who glares at me with wide eyes before opening her mouth to shout at me, too.

  I’m done with people shouting at me. I hold up my script as calmly as I can and flip it open. “What’s the scene?”

  My presence, my collected composure, seems to floor her. She splutters and chokes as the cast stares at us. I still hear the girl sobbing quietly behind me, but I ignore her. I have to play this right or I’m out and I know it.

  Dae finally pulls herself together, fury snapping on her face. “You’re done,” she says, hooking her thumb toward the door.

  “I’m not,” I challenge her, knowing pushing Dae will get me nowhere if I don’t produce. My only remaining fear is I can’t. That this is all for nothing and I’ve thrown my life into more chaos. But I feel fresh, alive again, my bags back at Aunt Vonda’s, cheek still feeling her multiple kisses and neck tight from hugs, feet sore from tromping down the street in a hurry. I kick off my sandals, pick a page at random.

  I’ve read the script over, at least parts of it, desperately reviewing it in the cab on the way over. So I’m aware of the story, and I'm able to sink partially into the part, grasping for Moira.

  Who rises to the surface and takes over. I like her. She’s sultry, full of spunk. She gives me an edge I lack in my own life, a harshness I embrace fully.

  One of the guys responds as I give the first line, Moira pushing him. I feel him respond, fall into the role, the sexy and suggestive character putting a swing in my step, a thrust to my hip.

  He stumbles over his line, breaking the moment. But it’s enough. It has to be.

  I turn, see Dae watching me with hope and fear and anger.

  “You walked out on me once,” she says. I catch sight of Aleah in one of the seats, watching, beaming. Blowing me kisses. And I smile at Dae.

  “My evil twin was an idiot and a quitter,” I say. “But that girl left on a bus for home.” I hold out the script. “I’m here now and, if you’ll have me, I’m going to give Moira the most authentic voice she’s ever had.”

  Dae is still hesitant. I can see it on her face. And I can hardly blame her.

  I cross to her, hold out the script.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “All I can do is tell you it won’t happen again. I know I’m not the only one who has issues. Or reasons not to trust.”

  Dae shrugs as though heaving a weight from her shoulders. “You quit on me again,” she says, voice low and harsh, “and I’ll ruin you.”

  “I quit on you again,” I say, “and I’ll already be ruined.”

  She nods. “Fine,” she says. “Now if you don’t mind, we have less than two weeks,” the rest of the cast groans softly, “and a hell of a lot to do if we’re not going to bomb.”

  My chest loosens, knots unfurling from my stomach as I spin toward the others. “Hi,” I say, “I’m Riley.”

  Enter an actor. Stage right.

  ***

  I didn’t think two weeks could pass so quickly. One minute I’m barely learning my lines and the next I’m preparing for opening night.

  Bless Aunt Vonda. She embraced this flip over with gusto and enthusiasm. I will never be able to thank her enough for all the time off she gave me from the flower shop, the early mornings drilling me on my lines, the way she took care of me, not asking for anything in return.

  I’m going to have to find some way to repay her.
>
  Even better, I’ve spent the last thirteen days immersed in theater, in rehearsals on the tiny stage during the day, in a small, cramped space above it at night while a burlesque show does its best to draw a crowd. The place is old and rickety and the lights don’t always work, but I don’t care.

  I’m an actor.

  Aleah chose to come on board as crew, clamping herself to my hip from the moment I stepped off the stage that first night. Inseparable, my best friend. And I can only hug her and thank her repeatedly while she laughs at me.

  Her suggestions I call Miller, I choose to ignore. Not to hurt her, or him, for that matter. I’m already moving past the night of darkness, as I think of it, letting go of how I feel about the way Bianca almost broke me. I know now I need to focus. To do this, on my own, without him. Without anyone. Just me. So I know I can.

  So I can finally see him knowing I did it. That I only need me so I won’t wonder if the reason I’m here is because he believes in me.

  Silly, maybe. This need I have to succeed before I tell him I’m sorry. Like it will make me more powerful or on more solid, even ground. But I need to finish what I started before I can decide if being with Miller is something that will fit into my life.

  As an actor.

  I do see Piper, hold his hand when he tells me he’s broken up with Ruben.

  “That queen,” he snarls before crying on my shoulder. “I should have known he was Bianca’s bitch all along.”

  It’s hard to see Piper suffer. But it’s time we both got over it.

  I walk to the theater tonight, down the humid streets, feeling the city around me, embracing it despite the honking horns and shouting, the rude pedestrians and angry bums. This is my city, now. And no one is going to take it away from me.