Exit Stage Left Page 17

Especially not myself.

  I pause at the marquis, smile up at my name in the buzzing, flickering lights even as they shut off a moment before flashing on again. I laugh. How perfect.

  This place may be a little tattered and run down, not quite ready for the show. But it’s been home for two weeks. And I can’t think of a more fitting place for Riley James to show the world what she’s made of.

  Aunt Vonda hugged me on the way out of the apartment, already dressing to come to opening night herself.

  “I love you, pet,” she said, calling down the hall after me. “I’m so proud of you. Good luck tonight.”

  I smile at the marquis. Thanks, Aunt Vonda. But I don’t need luck.

  I’m going to be just fine.

  The side door is open, welcomes me into the cool darkness. Feels like the air conditioning might be having trouble. Doesn’t faze me in the slightest.

  I don’t think anything can, tonight.

  My dressing room—a tiny closet in the back of the theater—overflows with flowers. I laugh at Aunt Vonda, finding a bouquet from Aleah and Piper. I sniff the gorgeous roses and thank them silently for this traditional tribute.

  “Riley.” Malik hugs me, my leading man bubbling with excitement. So fun to work with Latanya’s boyfriend, with someone I already knew and thought of as a friend before we worked together. He bounces back, dark eyes sparkling. “Oh my God, I’m so nervous. Are you nervous?” He fans himself before straightening his broad shoulders, voice dropping into a sexy bass. “My darling Moira,” he says.

  I swat at his chest, loving how close I’ve become with the cast. Two of the girls hurry by, waving and blowing me kisses as I grin at them and then up at Malik. Swoon back in an over-done version of my character.

  “Alas,” I say, “I never loved you, Raoul.”

  Dae happens to be striding by with her clipboard in her hand and groans.

  “Tell me you’re going to do a better job than that tonight,” she snaps.

  I laugh and lunge for her, kissing her cheek after a firm hug. She snorts and whacks me with her clipboard.

  I’m high, floating all over again. Only this time, as Malik leaves, head down, talking with Dae, I feel in balance with it. Like it’s not controlling me, but I’m the one holding the reins. I’m not going to float away. I’m grounded, Moira firm inside me, ready to come out.

  I’ve been holding back, on purpose. Worried I’d use up the best parts of her in rehearsal. But as I look at myself in the mirror, I smile. Tonight is the night I let her out.

  And then, we’ll see. The critics, the haters, let them come.

  Somehow, I know their attitudes and attempts to hold me back will never bother me again.

  Aleah rushes to my door, knocks. “Half hour call,” she says. “Ready?”

  I kiss her cheek. “So ready,” I say.

  She grabs me, squeezes me, black t-shirt blending into the darkness of backstage, her eyes and teeth bright against her skin as she steps away, eyes sparkling. “I’m so proud of you,” she says.

  “I wouldn’t be here without you,” I say. “I love you, Aleah.”

  One of her hands covers her mouth before she bobs a nod. Lunges for me again and hugs me so hard I hear my ribs creak.

  “Love you, too,” she whispers hoarsely in my ear before hurrying away.

  I sit in my dressing room, applying my makeup, hearing the others chattering as they pass my door. The crew, the cast, even Dae. They all sound nervous. And though I know I should be terrified, I can’t summon any fear.

  Is that wrong? Do I need the fear to make this work? But no, the giddy happiness, the joy I feel, is more than enough.

  As I slowly transform physically into Moira, I whisper my lines to myself, sitting back at last to observe the large-eyed, red-lipped woman in the mirror, her hair in a French roll, sparkling fake diamonds in her ears. Old class gone to seed is my Moira.

  I can’t wait to get out there and share her with the world.

  Then I can freak out when this is over.

  Five minutes is called just as I adjust my clothes, the cross-tied dress skimming my body close. Heels follow, pumps just high enough I won’t trip. I turn and leave my dressing room, almost running into Aleah as she hurries by. Grins at me as I sneak to the edge of the curtain and peek out when Malik vacates the post.

  It’s my first shock of reality. The small theater is full, thirty or so people waiting and watching, murmuring over the programs in their hands, faces I don’t know. Faces I do. I spot Aunt Vonda in the front, nervously twisting her program in her hand while Susan and Dwight chat with her. So nice to see them here.

  My biggest shock comes when I see Dad, two rows back from them. He’s wearing a tie and a suit and I almost don’t recognize him, eyes skimming over him before returning with a gasp of breath.

  What is he doing here? My first flutter of nerves wakes, quashed by my sense of Moira. She won’t let him ruin this, if that’s his goal. He can just sit there and watch us. And weep for our talent.

  I actually laugh at Moira and accept. Besides, I don’t have time to let my anger seethe because my eyes leave him and settle on the blonde on the other side of the aisle. Bianca sits with Ruben. He’s whispering to her while she waves at him like an irritating fly.

  My stomach settles instantly, the last thing I expect. But I smile and step away from the curtain’s edge, thanking Bianca, Moira coiling like a snake, ready to strike her enemy dead with her performance. Seeing Dad shook me, but knowing Bianca is here…

  I’m going to put on the show of my life just to show her what a real actor looks like.

  She might be here to shake me, but she’s given me a gift and I hope she chokes on it.

  Aleah comes up behind me, pulling me back away from the stage as the lights flicker and go out on the other side of the curtain. She gives me a gentle shove through the edge and I’m on the stage, first position.

  The lights go up, blinding in my eyes.

  I call on Moira, embrace her eagerness and let myself go.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  I don’t know how it’s happened, but I’m bowing suddenly, hands grasped firmly in those of Malik and my stage daughter, Amber. They’re smiling to the sound of applause, to the audience standing and clapping for us while the lights still blind me.

  I release their hands, blow Aunt Vonda a kiss, then the Ferrises, even as I ignore my father. But it’s hard not to catch the anger on Bianca’s face, to enjoy it like a long drink of cold water on a hot day.

  The curtain falls with a jerking thud, the weights in the bottom hitting the stage so hard I jump. But I’m laughing, it’s hilarious, isn’t it? I’m not the only one who finds it funny, the cast giggling along with me.

  Malik hugs me, Amber hugs me, Aleah is there and she hugs me. And then the curtain is lurching its way up again and the applause is even louder as we step out and bow while the audience shows us how much they love us.

  Two more curtain calls and the applause finally goes quiet, the sound of people talking on the other side muffled by the worn velvet curtain. I’m spun around and embraced so many times I know I’ll have bruises tomorrow, but I don’t care, whispering thanks and I love you’s into the ears of the cast, the small crew, until it’s just Aleah.

  She bounces as she hugs me, lets me go with a huge smile.

  “Riley Skyley!” Aleah sings my name. “You… woman, you…” She laughs again. “Holy shit, girl.”

  I held nothing back. And from the vague memories I have of the last hour, I think it worked out for the best.

  “That was so much fun,” I say, shivering on the inside. “Let’s do it again right now.”

  The others laugh, cheer, volunteer for a second show even as Dae appears. We all fall silent at the look on her face and I feel a sudden thrill of fear. Did I suck after all? No. Moira denies the possibility even as I shake my head. I was awesome.

  Awesome.

  Dae looks like someone hit her
, as though she’s had a terrible shock. I go to her, Aleah at my side, touch her arm.

  “Dae?” I say, fearful to ask in case she crumbles on me, but worried about her when she lifts her eyes to mine, hers tight and full of an emotion I can’t identify. “Are you okay?”

  Aleah rubs her back while Dae shakes her head. Nods. Shakes her head again while the cast whispers, their own concern pressing against my back as I keep my focus and caring on our director. No matter what happened, even if we did suck, we’re all in this together.

  “He came.” Dae sways, one hand on her forehead. “Darren Wright is here.” Gasps erupt and it takes me a minute to remember he’s the critic Dae talked about that first night. The one who canned Bianca. I shiver, then shrug and grin.

  “Screw him,” I say, while the cast titters behind me.

  Dae shakes her head one more time. “No,” she says, “you don’t understand. I just talked to him.”

  I refuse to let disappointment have a place in tonight. “Whatever he said,” I tell her, turn to the others, “we were fantastic. And we don’t need some critic with a bad attitude to tell us otherwise.”

  A soft cheer this time. Smiles, nods. I feel so powerful now. Nothing can stop me. Not Bianca, not my father, or my love—yes, I still love him—for Miller. And definitely not some New York theater critic who likes to tear people apart for fun.

  Dae grabs my hand, a dazed smile appearing on her lips as she finally pulls herself together. “Riley,” she says. “He adored you.”

  He adored…?

  I’m deafened by the screaming, jostled by the bouncing, excited cast and crew, by Aleah who grabs me and twirls me around, laughing. I smile, hug Dae when Aleah lets me go.

  “That’s great,” I say, honestly not caring. Though I’m happy for the rest of the cast.

  Because I meant every word I said.

  Dae’s dazed state breaks as she releases me from a monster embrace. “And he thought the play was brilliant.”

  “Well, of course it was.” Aleah kisses her soundly, hands lingering in Dae’s hair. “You wrote it.”

  I leave them to celebrate when I spot familiar faces at the stage door, run to hug Aunt Vonda. She’s crying, pulls away with a sniffle, dabs at her cheeks with a tissue.

  “Oh, pet,” she says. “I’m breathless. That was beautiful.”

  Susan and Dwight take a turn, Ian’s mother kissing me softly on the cheek, his father hugging me hard, his handsome face reminding me of who and what I lost. I hold their hands before slipping my arm around Aunt Vonda’s waist.

  “This is for Ian,” I tell his parents. “I only wish I could thank him. He was right. This is exactly what I’m supposed to be doing and I wouldn’t. Not without him.”

  Susan cries while Dwight blinks rapidly, holding back his own tears.

  I let them go after a short chat, Aunt Vonda, too. Stand still at the sight of my father waiting, silent and dark, at the door.

  At first I’m going to just turn, already see me doing it in my mind, my back to him, rejecting him as he rejected me. But I can’t bring myself to let our relationship end this way. Not when he came to the show. Even if it means I only have the chance to rub my success in his face.

  But Dad’s expression is soft, hurt, lonely. He holds out a small bouquet of flowers, daisies and other spring blossoms, hand shaking as I take them from him. Touch the white flowers Ian loved so much as Dad speaks.

  “You look just like your mother,” he says, voice cracking. “She was so talented.” He draws a breath. “And so are you.”

  My shock is so powerful I almost don’t say anything in return. I can’t formulate words into coherent sentences. Until he turns away. My hand reaches out, catches his arm and, for the first time, I see him as he truly is. A damaged man with a broken heart.

  I hug him on impulse, something I haven’t done since Mom died. Dad goes rigid before melting and hugging me back.

  “I know it doesn’t make up for all the years,” he whispers. “But I’m really proud of you.”

  He pulls away and, leaves me standing there, staring after him with tears in my eyes.

  If only he knew, no matter how tonight turned out, those few words are the only ones that can make me cry.

  I retreat to my dressing room, hear the others finally packing up, drifting off in twos and threes until the back of the house is quiet and I’m alone but for the couple of crew still resetting the stage for tomorrow.

  Daisies wink at me, their soft petals hanging open, bright yellow centers shining like little suns thirsty for the heat and light of the real one. I lift one free of the bouquet Dad brought and stroke my cheek with the soft whiteness and think of Ian.

  He comes to me, stands over me, looking at me through the mirror. He looks healthy, happy, as though he was never sick. I don’t know where this crisp image of him comes from. I have no experience to draw on to make him look this way. Seeing him as he could have been makes me shiver, wonder at the sight of his handsome face, the way he looks at me with so much love.

  Like he’s really there.

  He raises one hand. Smiles. Blows me a kiss.

  Fades away. And I know it's for the last time. Forever.

  Laughing, crying, hugging myself as I whisper thank you into the quiet air, I close my eyes.

  And I let him go.

  ***

  Chapter Thirty

  Dae’s loft is full of people, crowded with actors and audience, cast and crew. I squeeze my way through the tight hall, accepting yet another round of congratulations, taking offered business cards, endure several people whispering, “call me,” as I make my way from the bathroom back into the living room.

  Aleah grabs me, hands me a glass of wine, but I only sip it, unable to eat any of the food laid out for the opening night party. I’ve changed into a little black dress, let my hair down, feet bare. It feels more natural without Moira’s makeup on. Like I’m me again, though I can feel her, ready and waiting for me.

  It’s a great feeling.

  I suspect it’s going to take a lot of getting used to sharing my soul with the characters I play. But I’m more than excited to see where doing so takes me.

  Dae grabs my hand, points at a tall, dark-haired man in the corner. “That’s Darren Wright,” she hiccups. She’s already swaying, though if she’s just drunk on alcohol I’d be surprised. We’re all a little exhausted from the show, not to mention high on the results. “Do me a favor. Go make nice.”

  I roll my eyes, but smile and nod. Turn to make my way through the chattering group. I'm about to approach him when I see who he’s with.

  Bianca’s flirting is pathetic to me as I observe her with a critical eye. All coy and bright, tossing her blonde hair, hand resting near her cleavage. Totally transparent in her need to impress, at least to me. A sudden bolt of understanding slices through my awareness. Aleah said once, not so long ago, Bianca was a bitch because she struggled with her confidence. And I can see it now, how false she is, almost desperate to be appreciated. Noticed and loved.

  I shift my focus to Darren. To the subtle signs of his irritation. The way he half-turns from her, sips his drink, eyes drifting away as she speaks. I smother a laugh. I called Aunt Vonda a flower whisperer for her understanding of people through the flowers they buy. I’m suddenly seeing what she does, without the need for blossoms in translation.

  The view is so clear I feel giddy from it. Even as I’m aware it’s not only an understanding, passive and quiet, but a tool. I do have a brief moment of guilt over my need for vindictiveness when it races through me. But Moira, bless her, gives me the edge I need to shunt my old empathies aside.

  I’m not going to hurt Bianca. Just teach her a lesson.

  With a grin I can’t shake, I slip through the crowd and stop at Darren’s side.

  He glances my way. And smiles, instantly turning his back on Bianca. I encourage him with a soft touch on his elbow. Nothing overt or flirtatious. Relying on my natural generosity and op
enness to put him at ease. It’s almost ridiculous how at ease I feel.

  Why did I ever doubt?

  I catch Bianca’s frozen glare out of the corner of my eye even as I shake Darren’s hand.

  “Riley James.” He releases my hand, his deep voice soft, fingers lifting to slip his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. “I have to say, I hesitated to come tonight.” His hazel eyes are large behind his lenses as he adjusts his leather satchel over his shoulder, drink sloshing. “But Dae was right. You are fantastic.” He pulls out a small notebook, a pen. I take his drink from him, smile graciously when he flashes me one of his own. “I understand you’re Marie St. Claire’s daughter.”

  “I am,” I say without hesitation. “And you’re so kind. Thank you for coming. It means so much to the company to know you were in the audience.” I mean every word. I know they are still high on his presence. What him loving the show could mean for us.

  “Do you have plans once the run is over?” He’s almost hunched over me, pen scratching on the page. Bianca tries to sidle between us, opening her mouth to speak, but I tilt my head to shut her out, just a slight turn to my shoulder blocking her slim window.

  “Not yet,” I say. “Though I hear Miller Hill is writing a new show.” I drop that on purpose. Hoping Bianca caught the message loud and clear.

  Darren’s eyes widen behind his glasses. “Really.” I can see him taking mental notes even as he jots physical ones, and I hope this is enough impetus to get Miller to write again, no matter what happens between us. Which makes me think of him and wonder what I’m going to do about us.

  If there even is an "us" anymore.

  “Well, no matter the role,” he says, tucking his book and pen away before shaking my hand again, “I look forward to seeing you perform.”

  He leaves quickly, bobbing a nod to me.

  Avoiding Bianca.

  The moment he’s gone, she’s in my space, staring her hate.

  My grin is back. I close the distance between us before she can even muster a word, look her up and down.