Exit Stage Left Page 6

  His eyes widen, hands falling slowly. “But you’re alive, here, with me.”

  “For now,” I say. “For a little while.”

  Miller closes the distance between us, hand cupping the back of my head, fingers wound in my hair, his other pressed to the small of my back. His lips hover over mine as I feel myself go limp in his arms, breathing in small, sad pants.

  “For as long as we have,” he whispers. Then kisses me.

  I die in his arms.

  Applause breaks us apart, Aleah wiping her eyes between claps. I stand, breathless as Miller bows to me.

  I shiver at Ian’s sad smile before he fades away.

  “Like mother, like daughter,” he says before backing away to the edge of the circle.

  I retreat, too, taking deep breaths, knowing I’ve finally found exactly what I was looking for. This was what Mom talked about. Being someone else inside yourself. I’d been close before, but with Miller, I found it.

  And I love it.

  I almost cry when the two hours is over and it’s time to go. Roger’s, “And that’s class,” breaks my attention and the spell this whole experience has held over me. I spin in a circle, hugging myself, wanting to laugh and weep and squeeze every one of the other actors. I do hug most of them, at least the ones in my circle, thank them for a wicked time. They all seem happy, bouncy and excited, raving about my performances, how much fun they had with me. Their comments are all the same, run together into one big bundle of glowing joy.

  I look for Aleah to hug her, too, and see her once again in conversation with the beautiful blonde. But this time they both look angry. Whatever their argument is about, the blonde leaves in a huff, Aleah scowling after her.

  And then Miller is beside me, his familiar smile as good as a hug. “You said you were coming with us this time?”

  I nod, my nerves jangling, but not wanting this night to ever end. I think of Ian, grateful he hasn’t appeared again to shatter my wonderful good humor, and promise myself Miller is just a friend. For now. Maybe, at some point, I’ll be willing for it to go further. But I tuck Ian into my heart even as I smile back at Miller.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” I say.

  I’m part-way down the stairs when I realize I’ve forgotten my purse. “Damn,” I say to Piper as Miller and Aleah talk, walking down ahead of us, heads close together. “I’ll be right with you.”

  Piper waves, Ruben too, and thud down the stairs, voices loud. I spin back, squeeze with a smile of apology between two people and hurry down the hall back to the room.

  It’s mostly dark, only a single exit light casting illumination. I spot my purse on a chair by the far wall and go to retrieve it, shaking my head at my own silliness.

  Bend to pick it up, mind racing over tonight, the most amazing night I’ve ever had.

  And scream as someone grabs me from behind.

  ***

  Chapter Eight

  I turn on instinct, nail my attacker with my elbow just like I learned in self-defense class. I hear a grunt, catch a whiff of alcohol and stale weed mixed with pungent aftershave.

  Spin to see Roger bent over his ribs, one arm protecting them while he scowls at me.

  I let out a shaky breath, sag as I nab my purse and drape it over my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “But you scared the crap out of me.”

  He straightens, tossing back his long hair now free of its ponytail. “Nice hit.” He winces. Smiles like a leading man on a soap opera. “You impress me more and more, new girl.”

  “Riley,” I say, feeling my tension return as he plants himself in front of me. Between me and the door. “My name is Riley.” What is he doing? He can’t mean to block my way out. He’s just being friendly.

  Riley, Ian’s voice says, the loudest I’ve heard it in a long time. Get out. Now.

  “Your scene with Mr. Hill was quiet impressive.” Roger doesn’t seem to take the hint I’m not interested, leaning closer. From the faint tracing of veins in his eyes, he’s had more to drink and probably to smoke than is good for him. “I know a few directors who would love to talk to you, no matter how raw your talent.”

  That makes me pause. Is he being genuine? Ian scowls over Roger’s shoulder, angry, protective. I know better. “Thanks,” I say, softening a little despite my growing unease. I can handle this if all he wants is to hit on me a little. Especially if he means it. “That would be great.”

  Roger’s smile turns wolfish. “A little private work with me,” one of his hands lifts to land on my waist while Ian’s voice shouts at me to run. Roger shuffles closer, head bowing over me, “Some private sessions, and you’ll be ready for Broadway.”

  So, not genuine at all. I need to learn to trust Ian—to trust my instincts feeding Ian’s furious apparition. My original assessment Roger just wants to screw me seems to be accurate. Time to go.

  I push against him, trying for as nice a rejection as I can come up with, but he just advances on me, forcing me back faster than I’m prepared for. I retreat, knowing I should just hit him and run, but I’m already moving, two chairs squealing over the floor as he forces me between them and toward the wall. My back hits the plaster with a dull thud. Before I can gather my thoughts and my breath, Roger presses close to me, trapping me between the cold brick and his body.

  Ian glares at him, unable to help me, as unable as I am to help myself in that terrible moment.

  I’m smothering in Roger’s rancid scent, the heat of his body, his hands suddenly everywhere as I feel panic for the second time in only a few minutes. But this time I freeze, forgetting my self-defense training in the face of a real assault. I know I should move, act. Instantly blame myself for not just fucking doing something.

  Riley. Ian’s voice is loud in my head.

  Heart pounding, lips parted, gasping for air, my body flinches from Roger’s roaming touch, my muscles seizing, breath stopping at last as his mouth descends.

  And his hand squeezes my breast.

  RILEY!

  Light bursts behind my eyes, smashes my inability to move into a million pieces as Ian’s shout shatters my freeze. Reflex lifts my right knee and nails Roger between the legs with all the strength I have.

  Roger screams, falls back from me and I can suddenly breathe again, cold air washing over me, his scent still lingering, clinging as I lurch forward, stumbling over him where he writhes on the floor. I stagger past Ian’s shade. To the door and out.

  Out into the hall stinking of urine and vomit, wanting to add my own puke to it, breath whistling out of my lungs as I pound down the stairs, fly toward the door.

  Through it while Ian chases me.

  And into Miller’s arms.

  He holds me as I sob once, clinging to him, shaking. His hand makes soft circles on my back until I pull away, fury finally rising in place of my terror, a surging response to my own weakness.

  “Son of a bitch!” I’m snarling like an animal, arms thrashing. I turn and kick the door with the toe of my boot. The glass cracks at the bottom, spiderwebbing out from the point of impact. I’ve just vandalized the wretched place, but I don’t care.

  I don’t care.

  Miller’s scowl is so deep he looks like an angel ready to throw off his halo and descend to hell. “What happened?”

  I tell him, voice still shaking, only then realizing the image of Ian is gone and there is only Miller with me. Have to hold him back with the full weight of my body to keep him from going back upstairs.

  Miller quivers against me, stronger than me by far, but allowing me to keep him here for whatever reason.

  “I handled it,” I say, fighting to pull myself together, to shake off the irrational rage mixed with loathing I have for my own inability to defend myself, no matter I finally managed to strike back. “He won’t be walking for a while.” I hope I hurt him so badly he’ll never walk again.

  Or touch another girl. Like he touched me. My body shudders and I just want to go home and take a shower. Burn my c
lothes, because that’s a rational reaction to being pawed by a disgusting old man.

  Miller nods, sharp and tight, though he still strains against me. “I’ll make sure everyone knows,” he says. “Roger’s done.”

  “I should call the cops.” I really, really should. I can’t be the only girl he’s done this to. But I don’t reach for my phone, and Miller’s anger turns to sadness.

  This isn’t a TV show. It’s reality. I could report him, try to charge him. Because I don’t want this to happen to anyone else. But it’s my word against his. For all I know, he might turn this around on me and charge me with assault.

  I have no proof. We were alone. Ian’s ghost doesn’t count.

  Pisses me off, knowing Roger will get away with it. Until I absorb the grim look on Miller’s face. This is a big city, but a small community. I have a feeling Miller will be good to his word and Roger won’t be teaching again, at least not here.

  I hate to let it go, but I have no choice.

  Miller offers his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you went back in there alone.” I take his fingers in mine, welcome the firm warmth of his skin. “And I had no idea he’d go so far. To my knowledge, he’s only ever been a creep in the past.”

  I suppose I should be flattered. By now, with Miller beside me, the fresh air in my lungs, I’ve shaken off most of my fear, anger starting to cool. “Not your fault,” I say. “Maybe he learned a lesson.” The good girl in me whispers maybe I misjudged, overreacted. Asked for it.

  No way. I can still feel his hands on me.

  I just hope this isn’t the norm or I’ll be on my way back home. Already making a plan to protect myself in case there’s a next time with someone else, I allow Miller to lead me down the steps, knowing I won’t be back here, to this class, regardless.

  “I hope this won’t make you think about quitting,” he says, real concern in his voice, clearly reading my mind.

  But no. I’m not going to let one disgusting bastard ruin this when I’m just getting started. I clench my jaw against the already fading memory of Roger’s stench and answer. “Not a chance.” I flash Miller a smile, refusing to let Roger and his groping hands ruin my night any further.

  Miller seems to relax. “You’re a natural,” he says. “That scene was amazing.”

  I know exactly how he feels.

  Miller pauses, squeezes my hand before letting me go. “If I’d known how good you are,” he says, “I would have told you not to bother with Roger. A few of us go because we like the setup. But you won’t learn much from him.”

  Except to avoid his groping. Yeah.

  “You really want a place to play?” He seems hesitant, shy almost. I’m amazed he’s even asking, and that he seems nervous around me of all people. “Because I know the perfect place for you.”

  I don’t know why I trust him so much. But I do.

  “Let’s go,” I say.

  ***

  Chapter Nine

  We walk in silence, not awkward at all, a lovely, companionable quiet. Miller leads me deeper into Hell’s Kitchen, further from the center of the city and toward the water, until we pause in front of what looks like an abandoned warehouse. The top floor is flooded with light, though, and music pours out of the open windows.

  I shiver, wondering what I’m getting myself into even as excitement builds.

  “Come on,” Miller says, his shyness still in place, sweet smile on his lips. I follow him to a side door, the pale blue paint peeling, rust making hardened trickles from a couple of dents. But the lock looks new and the door itself is fairly substantial. I feel eyes on us, know this can’t be a great part of the neighborhood as most of the buildings seem more run down, a few corners dominated by working girls in skimpy clothes with dead eyes staring into the night.

  I wonder if I'm doing the right thing.

  Miller holds the door for me, pulling it shut behind us, not bothering to lock it, sort of defeating the purpose as far as I’m concerned. A creaking elevator carries us from the brightly lit lobby area, worn but clean, up to the top of the building.

  The doors open onto a huge space, giant windows on two walls. The source of the light and music. And it’s filled with people my age, all laughing, talking. Acting out scenes, from what I can gather, as Miller continues on toward the back of the big room to what looks like an industrial kitchen. Aleah spins, drink in hand, spots me. Comes running, a huge smile on her face. Her lips are moist on my cheek before she pulls away.

  “You’re here!” She spins me around, and I laugh.

  “I said I’d come.” I look around, breathless with my growing excitement. “What is this place?”

  “Miller’s,” Piper says, handing me a plastic glass with what smells like beer in it. I smile, don’t drink it. I hate beer with a passion. I spot Miller, still on the move, heading past the kitchen to a door. He disappears through it, closing it behind him as I gape around.

  “This is his house?” It’s massive, and though in a rougher part of the city, I know it has to be pricey. “He’s rich?”

  I don’t know why that bothers me. No, not bother, not exactly. Just feels like I’ve uncovered something private about him I instinctively know makes him uncomfortable.

  Ruben rolls his eyes, sighs dramatically. “The Great Miller Hill,” he says, “is loaded, sweet cheeks.”

  “Do you all live here?” I can only imagine how amazing it would be, like camping out with the coolest people I’ve ever met.

  “We might as well,” Aleah laughs. “And now, so do you.”

  I take a minute to sneak away, find a quiet corner and call Aunt Vonda. I already warned her I’d be out late, but I want to check in anyway.

  “I’m not your mother, pet,” she says over the sound of her TV. “You have fun. Besides, you’re young—and you don’t work until lunch.” Her laughter makes me giggle.

  More beer arrives through the elevator with three new players and six giant pizzas five minutes later. I settle on the arm of the couch with my beer traded for soda and a slice of pepperoni in my hands. Miller reappears, coming to sit next to me, changed from his button up into a t-shirt.

  I’m expecting some kind of crazy party, my only real experience with this kind of thing the ones I attended when Ian was healthy enough to go. The old shale pit back home made the perfect weekend party spot, though what anyone saw in drinking until they threw up, staggering around, groping each other and smoking weed until they passed out was beyond me.

  I needn’t have worried. This particular party is nothing like the small-town escapism I am used to. For the next few hours, I sing and laugh and join impromptu scenes, read from pages handed to me, try my voice at harmony on show tunes I only vaguely know the melody and words to and learn some new dance moves I’m sure make me look like a clumsy idiot.

  I hardly care. Piper continually cracks me up, his flamboyant nature counterpoint to Miller who pairs with him in the most outrageous scenes. I finally accept a cooler from Aleah who wrinkles her nose at the beer, too, “who likes that crap?” and have the most brilliant night in history.

  Roger’s little aberration is now only a blip on my radar.

  This is what I’ve been craving, what I hoped to find in New York. This is my dream, being surrounded by those who share my passion. I loved rehearsals at home doing theater, the fact the cast always felt like family right from day one. But the feeling always faded when the show was over.

  This, these people, give me the feeling I’ll never lose my family connection again.

  I’m shocked and flustered when Miller pulls Piper to a halt after a particular scene and raises his glass to me.

  “Roger Doger,” he says while the others groan, “decided our darling Riley,” all eyes turn to me and now my cheeks are on fire, “was a blow up doll earlier.” I freeze for the second time that night, feeling like I’m being assaulted all over again as he goes on. “What do we do to those who think groping actors is allowed?"

  A moment of
utter silence falls when my bubble bursts, and I am suddenly afraid they’ll hate me for what happened, blame me somehow.

  And then, in a roar, they boo and hiss and curse. At Roger.

  “The ass,” Piper says, rushing over, hugging me. “He’ll never teach again.”

  They all nod, offer me condolences and suggestions for punishment while I gape and feel tears threaten at their support.

  From that moment, if I hadn’t felt loved already, they surround me, engage me in every activity, fighting over me at times while I laugh and do my best to make everyone happy. Miller’s beaming face flashes in my view from time to time, Aleah glued to one hip, Piper to the other.

  “Silly,” Aleah whispers in my ear at one point. “I saw the fear on your face. But shit like that? Don’t fly, not with us. We look out for each other. Because no one else is going to.”

  Very good to know.

  I’m belting out the alto part of “Seasons Of Love”, the theme song from Rent, when my eyes drift to the window. And the sight of the sky turning pale orange. It’s morning already? I don’t want the night to end, feel more energized and full of power than I ever have.

  This has been the most incredible night of my life.

  Aleah and Piper suddenly fade, as though morning casts some spell over them. They cuddle together, Ruben with his head on Piper’s lap, on the end of the couch as I sink to the arm and look around. Realize, with a blush of modesty, some of my new friends have paired off, are murmuring to each other in dark corners in the most intimate ways.

  I think it’s time to go. Stand and see Miller watching me. He rises from his chair, comes to my side, leads me toward the elevator as though knowing what I’m thinking.

  “I want to show you something,” he says.

  We go up instead of down, rising to the roof. I step out into the early light of morning and breathe deep, catching the hint of salt from the Hudson, the flashes of sun passing across windows of the distant high rises. Miller and I stand on the edge of the roof, leaning over the wall, looking at New York, so beautiful in the dawn.