Exit Stage Left Page 5

  There, I said it out loud before my fear could stop me. Knowing Dad will have a fit. He wants me to be a teacher or a nurse or something “useful”. He made it clear when I started acting in school and community theater, it was only a phase I was going through and I’d be moving on to a real career.

  Aunt Vonda’s little smile tells me she’s not going to give me the same lecture. “I think it’s a great idea, pet,” she says.

  So do I. And, finally smiling again, so does Ian where he stands, shoulder against the wall, watching me.

  “You just promise me one thing.” Aunt Vonda sets aside her sandwich, leaning toward me over the narrow table. “You won’t ever let life knock you down. You’ll get back up and keep going. Because you’re the only one who matters.”

  She must think I’m focused on Dad, not the fuzzy image of Ian I’ve made up in my head. I smile and nod and continue to poke at my salad.

  The bell rings, but before I can get up, Aunt Vonda rushes past me with a soft pat to my shoulder, her body barreling through Ian’s shade, breaking apart my illusion. She leaves me to brood and try to make him come back, to reform the fantasy even as last night’s memories do their best to win out over his fading ones.

  So what am I brooding over, exactly? What is my problem? I had a brilliant time last night, met some actors just like me. Actually held my own, if I do say so myself. It was incredible and I’m sitting here like someone pulled my pigtails and called me names while I mope over the fact I had so much fun I can’t hide in my imaginary boyfriend anymore.

  I think of Piper and his fabulous ability. Of Aleah and Ruben. All the talented actors I met last night. I do my best not to think of Miller, though he appears in my mind more often than anyone else. Superimposing himself over Ian. And I shake myself loose of my melancholy.

  I’m being an asshole. Now that I’m no longer moping, I smile into my greens, feeling a tingle of happiness race through me. Just because I’m having a little trouble keeping Ian front and center doesn’t mean I don’t love him anymore. And it’s probably good for me to live a little. Besides, I still have our private moments. But the thought of having a life to live is nice, and I know the real Ian—not the construct I’ve use to guilt myself into hiding for the last year—would never want me to hold back.

  Next class isn’t until Monday, but that’s okay. It gives me lots of time to work on my own. To dig out some of my old monologues, Google some more. Research theater schools here in New York.

  And just like that, my path unwinds before me. I shiver a little, knowing Ian isn’t at the end of it. But I’m excited to think I just might be able to make this work.

  As for Miller… I can be his friend. That understanding makes me grin. God, I’m such a freak. Of course. Friends, how perfect. I can hang out with him and not date him or anything. If he’s okay with that. And if he’s not, I’ll find some other actors to befriend and spend time with. I don’t have to be afraid to lose Ian. Nothing—no one—will ever take him away from me.

  His fantasy smiles at me as I dump the remains of my lunch and go back to work.

  I help Aunt Vonda close up shop that night in a much better mood. We link arms for the walk home as I chatter to her about the three schools I’ve been reading about in Backstage. We’re bouncy and giggling by the time we arrive at the apartment.

  I leave her to her favorite cop show on TV and go up to the rooftop with the trade magazine and my laptop. It’s a warm night, but not humid, perfect for looking out over the city, practicing characters, singing some show tunes I find on YouTube.

  Ian’s shade perches on the edge of the rooftop ledge, feet kicking like he loved to do, shoulders hunched forward, sweet smile on his face. Maybe I should feel lonely, being by myself up there on a Friday night. But I don’t. I’m so wrapped up in what I’m doing, I barely notice time passing, performing for the make-believe Ian I’ve perfected. When I look up from a study on Shakespeare and modern theater, to tell him how cool this is, it’s almost midnight.

  Someone is singing below me. I set down my computer and lean over the edge of the roof wall, looking down at the street. A small group of people are walking by. No, dancing by, laughing and talking and singing in harmony snatches of song.

  It makes my heart ache to run down and join them, to be part of what they have. I think of my new acting friends and how, if I’d not been such a loser last night, I could have found a taste of the magic walking by my apartment building.

  They are gone far too soon, three guys, three girls, their voices mingling like heaven’s choir when they sing, laughter almost as beautiful. I heave a huge sigh when I finally stand back, the last echoes of their street party fading away.

  Ian is still smiling at me.

  I’m crying all of a sudden, my heart crushing into a tiny ball of hurt so powerful I can barely breathe. I used to experience these moments, but haven’t had one for months. Way worse than my cry in the car on my way out of Clifton. Debilitating, crushing, the black pit of despair sucking me in. I’m aware of my aloneness then, of being one half of a whole that will never be again, our harmony—mine and Ian’s—dead with him as his image just watches me.

  It’s terrible, and I feel guilt even as I dial, but I have to talk to someone. And I can only think of one person who will understand.

  Susan answers on the first ring. From the coarseness of her voice, I’m not the only one who’s been crying. Hearing the thickness when she says, “Rye,” makes me burst into tears. I hear her sobbing on the other end and cling to the phone as I sink with my back against the roof wall, next to Ian’s shadow, gravel digging into my skin through my jeans as I hug my knees to my chest. I feel him sink down next to me as I weep and grind my teeth and try not to fall into the despair I’ve embraced so many times in the last year.

  We’ve done this before, Susan and I, but not for a while. When Ian first found out his cancer was back, I called his mother and heard her crying. Cried with her. Since then, any time one of us felt like bawling, we called.

  I just wish I had the courage to tell her I keep him with me just in case she didn’t answer the phone.

  It’s a long time before either of us speaks. Susan manages first. “Oh, Rye,” she hiccups softly before drawing a shaking breath that hisses over the line. “Are you okay?”

  “Are you?” I kick at some gravel with the toe of my sneaker. “You were crying before I called.”

  She’s quiet a long moment. “Just going through some old things,” she says. “Trying to sort out the last of Ian’s stuff to send to charity.”

  Damn it, I was going to help her do that before I left. “I’m sorry,” I start to say, but she cuts me off.

  “Don’t you even,” she says with a laugh through the last of her tears. “You’ve done enough. Now, tell me how New York is so I can live vicariously.”

  I almost don’t tell her about acting, even as Ian whispers at me to share everything. But Susan has been a mother to me since my own died, my best friend’s—and then boyfriend’s—amazing mom. I spill about the class, skim over Miller, focus on how cool it was.

  When I ramble to a halt, Susan’s excitement is clear when she answers.

  “You have to tell us when you’re doing a show,” she says. “We want to be there.”

  I hear Dwight’s voice agree with enthusiasm in the background, know he’s up with her, at least, someone to hug her and take care of her now that our cry is over. A real person, not a shadow like I have.

  It’s the first time I wish I’d let Ian go in favor of a flesh and blood someone and wince at my betrayal.

  “I will,” I say. “Thanks. For being here for me.”

  Susan chokes even as I feel my chest tighten all over again.

  “We will always be here for you,” she says, voice loud and distorted. I picture her lips very close to the phone, probably clutching it with both hands. “Always.”

  I say goodbye, hugs for Dwight. Hang up and lean my head back, dropping my phone into my
lap as I let my legs stretch out across the graveled surface of the roof.

  School is a yes. I love acting too much not to give it a try. I’ll spend the summer figuring out what I want, making money. Apply when I know which one I want to attend and keep my fingers crossed for the winter semester.

  Meanwhile, I’m going to need more experience. And though I could go to another class, I like the people I’ve met in this one.

  I wipe at my tears, stand and retrieve my laptop. Pause to see Ian’s left me alone on the roof.

  That I’ve left myself alone.

  I think I’m finally done with that.

  ***

  Chapter Seven

  I’m crossing the street, eyes locked on my destination so narrowly, I bump into someone.

  “Nice to see you’re back,” Miller says as he catches me, holds me gently but firmly in his hands.

  I blush immediately on the crowded street, tucking close to him to avoid being jostled by passing pedestrians. He guides me aside, close to the corner building, body curved around mine to protect me. It’s sweet, but I don’t need to be protected.

  So why haven’t I stepped away yet? Or shrugged off his one hand still resting on my waist?

  At least there’s no sign of my guilt about standing here with him so close. My imagined Ian is nowhere in sight.

  I smile with calm I don’t feel. “I had so much fun last time,” I say, trying for some sparkle in my voice, mentally wincing and dialing it down when all I hear from my own mouth is fake yuck. “You were right about the class.” That feels better, more normal, less hysterically trying to come across as real. “It was great.”

  Miller lets his hand drop, but his smile remains, warmth in his blue eyes, in the soft frown of his brow as he leans close, intimate but not overpowering, just a private moment in a not-so-private setting. I’m acutely aware of him, how he smells like coffee and sugar, and, peripherally, of the street around us, horns honking, people striding past.

  They fade, the whole world does, when Miller speaks.

  “Piper said you were brilliant,” he says. “And what I saw really impressed me. Who was your mother?”

  I gulp down a breath. “My mother?” Oh, yes. Hadn’t I told him my mother was an actress? “Marie James,” I say. “But she worked under Marie St. Claire.” Her maiden name. I think it bothers Dad to this day. Not that I care.

  Miller’s eyes widen. “No wonder you look familiar,” he says. “I adored your mother’s work.”

  He knows Mom? I almost latch onto him in excitement, forgetting my nerves, my shyness, the discomfort of my body’s soft yearning for him. The little girl in me is desperate for a connection to my mother beyond the hazy memories I still carry. “You watched her movies?” Mom was a “B” actress at best, at least according to her.

  But Miller shakes his head. “No, not at first,” he says. “I saw her on stage when I was twelve. She was incredible.” It’s his turn to blush. “I had a huge crush on your mother.”

  Maybe that should be creepy, but it isn’t.

  “I went to every show of hers I could,” he says, now leaning against the brick with one shoulder, hands in his pockets, smile easy and open. “And when I found out she made movies, I watched those, too.” He laughs. “You must think I’m crazy.”

  Miller doesn’t know crazy.

  “I never got to see her on stage.” Admitting it makes me want to cry, the old pain surfacing as it hasn’t in a very long time. “But I rewatch her movies at least once a year.”

  Miller straightens and bows to me. “You may not know it,” he says, “but your mother is a bit of a legend in the theater community. Using her name could open some doors for you.”

  Now it’s my turn to shake my head. “No thanks,” I say. “Besides, Mom died a long time ago.”

  Miller shrugs, offers me his arm. “Your secret is safe with me,” he says. “But don’t expect it to remain one for long. Especially once you’re cast in a show or two.”

  Good to know. I realize then, beyond seeing her films, I know so little of Mom’s life as a performer. Time to do something about that.

  Miller pauses at the bottom of the stairs to class. His face creases in concern, voice low. “I forgot to mention,” he says, “if you have any trouble with Roger tonight, just let me know.”

  Trouble with—

  I sigh. Roger, right. And smile at Miller.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, marching up the steps. “But thanks.”

  It used to bother me when Ian acted protective, I think because he was so weak and didn’t have the energy to waste standing up for me. But I don’t seem to have a problem with Miller doing it.

  I’m mulling that over when I walk through the door, Miller behind me, to a huge hug from Aleah. She pushes me back, her dark eyes narrowed, huge hoop earrings tossing as she glares.

  “You’re coming out with us tonight,” she says.

  I grin. “I am,” I say. “Thanks for the order, captain.” And salute her.

  Aleah laughs, swats my arm. Bats her lashes at Miller.

  Who winks back.

  I smell a conspiracy, but don’t complain as I pay my ten dollars and follow Miller to the center of the room, still not sure if I want to pay Roger his full fee or not. I feel more at home tonight, less like the new girl. When I spot the gorgeous blonde woman staring at me again, I stare back until she looks away.

  Piper lunges from the crowd, hugs me around the neck so tight I choke.

  “Riley,” he says. “Where have you been all my life?”

  I kiss his cheek, totally outside my comfort zone, but I adore him completely. “Right here, waiting for you.”

  He gasps, touches the place my lips were, flutters his thick lashes much as Aleah had just done. “Didn’t I tell you how incredible you were?”

  Ruben snorts, tosses his head at me. Then smiles. “Don’t make me jealous, hon.”

  I hug him, too and he hugs me back. “As if.” I look down at his boots. “You need to take me shopping.” Yes, I love mine, wearing them right now actually, but his are gorgeous. Chocolate leather with soft black etching and chrome tips.

  Ruben slips his arm around my waist. “We’ll talk,” he says. Eyes my figure. “I can make you look so good.”

  Piper grabs my arm, pulls me free. “She’s already hawtness,” he says. “Leave a girl be.”

  I see Miller watching, laughing, and I have to laugh, too. Even while my cheeks flame with embarrassment. Not from the guys and their banter. But because of the way Miller looks at me.

  Or the way I imagine he’s looking at me. I shake off my assumptions. For all I know, he’s just being nice. Even though the soft heat in his blue eyes stirs things in me I forgot were alive and well despite Ian’s loss and I find myself wondering what Miller looks like in the dark.

  With his clothes off.

  I gasp when I realize where my imagination is taking me.

  Roger appears, saving me from my overactive fantasy life and near-death from acute embarrassment just for thinking like that.

  Another lecture, this one about as interesting as the last. I’m not paying attention, running through the weekend I spent working on my acting and researching techniques, especially improvisational techniques. Roger barely looks at me, doesn’t ask me a question this time. Aleah comes to my side, takes my hand when he finally breaks us into groups.

  I’m supposed to go off with Ruben’s this time, but Aleah has other ideas. She pushes Piper toward his boyfriend and drags me with her. It’s not until I’m in the circle I realize Aleah and Miller are both beside me.

  Knowing he’s here, that I’m going to have to perform in front of him, makes me feel queasy, frozen. I’m certain I’ll fall flat on my face, ruin everything even as the first person steps out. Aleah. And she’s still holding my hand.

  The stunning blonde is across from me. I turn my back on her only to have Miller in my direct vision. Ian stands behind him, smiling, urging me on.

  Ale
ah doesn’t give me time to think, dives into a scene.

  She’s so expressive, her face so full of emotion, I forget everything around me and react. Fly free of myself and give her everything I have.

  I’m aware when she trades out, feel the shift when a handsome guy takes her place. He’s more dominant than Aleah, I feel his need to control the scene and ebb around him, allowing him to do so while I support him. And then he’s gone and another young woman is there, perky and hilarious. Everything twists into funny and I’m happy to oblige her.

  I feel like I’ve been there, switching personas, forever, when the gorgeous blonde appears before me. I can feel her aggression, but she doesn’t engage despite the fact I’m ready to continue. Turns away from me and points at Miller.

  “I think she’s had enough,” she says. “Who’s up?”

  It’s shocking to step back, to glance at my watch and see I’ve been in the circle for almost a half hour. Aleah is scowling at the blonde, Miller, too. He doesn’t step out, one of my former partners going instead. I watch and absorb the blonde’s performance. She’s talented, really talented, and I wish I had the courage to enter the circle again, to challenge her and see what the two of us could do together.

  Too late, she turns and leaves our circle. Miller finally takes the center and, on impulse, I join him.

  His face crumples, hands lifting to me, shaking as tears moisten his eyes. “I loved you,” he says. “And you broke my heart.”

  I feel his hurt like a living thing, reach for him on impulse. Step away. I’m not acting. I’m living it. And even as I do, I know this, this is where I’m supposed to be. Not just out of myself, but coming back in as a new me. Present as the girl who broke his heart.

  “I had to go.” Quiet, murmured, my body trembling. “I didn’t want you to watch me die.”