6. Elena
My trembling hands grip the water glass tightly, causing ripples to form on the surface. Sweat beads on my forehead as I bring the cup to my lips, trying to steady my nerves. Liam stands over me, his concerned eyes fixed on my face like a doting lover. My mind is swirling with panic and anxiety. It”s opening night, and Nina, our lead actress, was just involved in a harrowing accident. A massive truck slammed into her cab just hours ago, landing her in the hospital. And now, amid all the chaos, I have to step up as the understudy and take her place in the show. Overwhelmed doesn”t even begin to describe how I feel in this moment.
“Look, baby, you’re gonna do great.” Liam stands behind me, his presence a comforting weight as he rubs my tense shoulders. I catch his reflection in the mirror in front of me, his features etched with a seriousness and intensity that mirrors the stormy weather outside. Despite his efforts, I still feel on edge, unable to relax after the exhausting day I”ve had.
“It’s not just the show.” I release a heavy, exhausted sigh and gently brush my hair out of my face. The hair and makeup team has already tended to me, but the tears that fell after they left may have caused some smudges and imperfections. I”ll likely need to touch up my appearance before stepping onto the stage. My heart races with anticipation and nerves as I prepare for the curtain to rise, the weight of the upcoming performance settling on my shoulders like a heavy cloak.
“What is it, then?” He pulls up a chair and sits next to me. His cologne is intoxicating, but it’s not really enough to help me settle. A part of me just wants to escape with him and run away.
I asked Liam to come backstage before the show when he told me he bought tickets. I need him here to help me stay calm. Nina’s a good friend of mine now, one of the only few people I feel close to. And Warren isn’t any help at all. He just keeps saying “the show must go on” with a dramatic flare and thinks that’s going to encourage me. He and Nina aren’t close at all, anyway, but he could have some compassion. We all got the same announcement. She’s in critical condition at Bellevue, and they’re not taking visitors right now.
“Babe?” Liam says softly, and I meet his gaze. I don’t feel like we’re at the point of using pet names, but I think it’s sweet that he’s being romantic like that.
I don’t know how much to tell him, because I don’t know how much is normal. Warren says getting loads of fan mail and even hate mail is typical for someone who’s on stage, but the letters I got today make me feel scared. Someone doesn’t like me at all. Part of me thinks it’s Trixie just being a bitch, but I can’t see why she’d feel so intimidated that she’d threaten me.
“It’s, uh…” I stammer, averting my eyes. I feel ashamed that I’m frightened by mail. I wonder if the greats like Ethel Merman and Julie Andrews got hate mail.
“I’m really sorry for what happened to your friend.” He brings my hands to his lips and kisses them. He does that a lot. I don’t mind it, but it’s not comforting to me right now. “Things like that happen all the time in the city.”
My lip quivers. I feel it shaking. I feel stupid that it’s shaking but I don’t feel like this is normal. “This is the second very strange and somewhat scary thing that has happened since I got here.” I bite the inside of my lip to stop the tremor and sigh through my nose.
“Second?” he asks, screwing his face up in confusion. Liam is charming and charismatic, but I feel like he’s either purposefully forgetting the director’s attack or he’s callous and ignorant of things. I can’t believe he’s that callous.
“Yes, Nina and the director…” Thankfully, Mr. Monroe has only a mild concussion. Whoever attacked him was only an amateur, someone needing cash fast or something. They didn’t wear a mask, which made it easy for the police to track them down. The man is going to spend ninety days in jail. I think it’s ridiculous. That’s not enough time for what he did. Mr. Monroe could’ve died.
“Look, baby, those were just random things that happen in the city. Things like that happen all the time in New York. You can’t let those deter you from being a star.” Liam pushes the hair out of my eyes and tucks it behind my ear, then wipes at what I can only assume is a mascara line from crying. “I’m gonna go take my seat. I’ll come back at intermission. You’re going to do great. Break a leg.”
I nod as he stands, but I don’t respond. That expression has always annoyed me. Now, more than ever, I feel like breaking a leg is the least of my worries. If I’m supposed to feel encouraged by that, then he’s a failure at lifting my spirits.
Liam leaves my dressing room, and seconds later, the stagehands come to call me for the opening scene. I lean into the mirror and powder my face and reapply my mascara. My makeup isn’t as messed up as I thought it would be, so there isn’t much touchup. And while I don’t feel entirely equipped to take the stage in Nina’s place—I’ve never actually gone on stage as an understudy—the show really must go on. If I don’t go out there and take her part, my days on Broadway are done, and I need this job.
The house lights go down and the curtain rises, and I take the stage feeling nauseous and intimidated. No one expects the understudy, but here I am. I hear the soft murmurs as I speak the first lines. No one knows what’s even happened to Nina yet. I’m sure they will make an announcement, either at intermission or at curtain calls. I do my best, singing my heart out and trying to remember all the blocking. Understudies don’t usually get to rehearse the full scenes.
My coordination with the rest of the cast is clunky and awkward, but I do what I can. When I forget a few of my lines, they have to be fed to me. I hope none of the audience members realize my mistake. I know there’s a critic in the audience again tonight, and I’m not supposed to be in this role. After the negative review a few weeks ago, I feel nervous that I may receive another one. But everyone claps at intermission, and I flee, heading back to my dressing room to hide and shake off the nerves.
Liam arrives moments later with a beaming smile and the highest praise. “You are fantastic, Elena. Truly. You make this play come alive. I can’t believe they didn’t cast you as the lead.”
I sit at my vanity and stare into the mirror. I’m pale and shaking and I don’t like his praise. I don’t want this role. I want Nina to be okay, to be here. We haven’t known each other long, but I know her well enough to know this is scary as fuck for her. No one even knows what’s wrong with her—whether she’s going to make it.
“Is everything okay?” Liam asks, and I meet his gaze in our reflection.
“Your friend Slick…” I pause, and he nods. “If he were hit by a car and in the hospital, would you be worried about him?”
He rolls his lips together, and I watch his eyes droop, blinking slowly then looking back up at me. “Of course I would. And I understand what you’re going through. I only want to help you focus on the positives right now.” His hands rest on my shoulders and he massages them. “If Nina were here, you would still be just as amazing in the other role. And she would tell you the same thing as me. Focus on the show, and we can fall apart when it’s over.”
His words hit home, though I’m not happy about it. He’s right. I’m not perfect in this role like he thinks, but I’m not supposed to be. I’m supposed to be here to support Nina, and that’s what I can do right now to help her. I don’t want raving reviews. I want the show to go on so when she comes back, we can all say we had her back.
“Thank you,” I tell him, touching his hand, and he kisses the top of my head.
An hour and a half later, I’m packing my bag and washing my face off. The show is over and there is still no word from the hospital. Warren appears at my door the same time Liam does, and Liam enters first, earning a deep scowl from my acting buddy.
“Hey, Lena,” he says, using a nickname I haven’t approved. “We’re all gonna go to the hospital and see if Nina’s okay. You want to come?” Warren hovers in the doorway. To me, he seems intimidated by or jealous of Liam, and he should be, maybe a little of both. Liam has class and style and heart. Warren only seems interested in positioning himself for power or opportunity, and he will get neither from me.
I look at Liam, who is instantly by my side, stroking my lower back. I want to go, but I know they will never let any of us in. And it’s late. Even if we got to go in, Nina should be resting, not having visitors. I start to answer, but Liam beats me to the punch.
“Ms. Cortez will pass on that for now. But please let us know as soon as you have any news on Ms. Byler.”
Warren’s eyes darken, becoming almost black with hatred. It makes me feel a bit uncomfortable how overly protective he is. I find myself leaning into Liam’s side where he can put an arm around me, and that comforts me. I don’t like this possessive streak, and when I return to the theater tomorrow for pre-show preparations, I need to say something to Warren about it.
“What are you? Her agent?” Creases form on his forehead and between his eyes. I feel like I’m under a microscope.
“I’m her boyfriend, thank you.” Liam’s hand pulls me more snugly against his side, and this is the sort of possessiveness I find enjoyable. In fact, I don’t mind one bit. I rest my hand on his chest and smile at Warren, who backs out of the room without another word. Something tells me he gets the point.
At the same time, Liam and I haven’t officially named what’s going on between us, so to hear him put a label on it makes me both happy and conflicted. I’m not certain I’m ready for that label, but a word to define us doesn’t change what’s happening between us.
“Should I drive you home? You still seem shaken.” He presses his lips to my forehead, and I sigh.
He has his own driver, his own security detail, and while I don’t know exactly what he does for a living, I know I feel safe with him. “I’d like that.” I turn my face up to look him in the eye, and as I do, his lips brush over mine.
He’s magnetic, intoxicating me in a heady swirl of desire and comfort. As far as first kisses go, it’s not a knockout. The closed-lip peck isn’t anything to write home about, but the way he lingers, moaning softly as his hand smooths along my back, is. It’s like he’s savoring me, enjoying just my presence and not greedy for more than I’m willing to give. I love that. He’s going at my pace.
“Then let’s go. And perhaps you will invite me up for a drink.”
“Perhaps I will…” I kiss him again, lightly, and turn to grab my things. Tonight might be the night I give myself to someone, if for no other reason than I need the comfort and companionship of a human with me while I mourn the tragedies that have befallen people I’m close to.