Lethal Lover

9. Liam

I’ve been lying on this for a week now, biding my time. The critics at last week’s show gave Elena a scathing review, not even taking into account that she’s the understudy and didn’t have the same amount of time practicing for the part as the other girl. Now I sit behind one of them, waiting for the perfect time to make my move. The show is playing for a second week in a row, and I know firsthand how upset Elena is about having gotten those negative reviews. Not only do they affect her mood, and thus her performance in future shows, but they affect the public’s perception of her. Negative reviews can tank a career.

Her performance this evening is immaculate, better than last week even with her friend still being in a coma in the hospital. They have the woman on life support, and it’s played to my advantage in more ways than one. Elena wants me around all the time, to comfort her and help her feel safe and normal, but she is once again in the spotlight. If I have my way, she’ll never get a secondary part again. She’s the leading lady forever now.

The lights on stage dim as the curtain falls and the lights in the house rise slowly. Everyone begins to move about and chatter now. Chairs squeak, and people rise from their seats to get a concession or use the facilities. I follow Mr. Kershner, the man responsible for such an awful review of Elena’s performance last week, and he leads me to the toilets.

Slick and Adam follow in my footsteps wearing their normal security garb—black suits and dark glasses with ear buds to communicate. Wherever I go, people take notice, but not everyone knows who I am. I like to keep it that way. It’s easier to move around as “Liam Salva” than it is my real self. Dominic William Salvatore is too volatile and dangerous. People fear him too much. He needs no security.

“Stay here,” I tell Adam at the door of the restroom. Slick follows me in, and while I take the urinal directly next to my friend Mr. Kershner, Slick ensures the other visitors to the men’s room leave promptly. Then I’m alone with the man who needs to be taught a lesson in manners.

He glances at me and then looks back down at his dick as he pisses. I lean on the urinal, staring right at the side of his head. He’s either thick or brave, I can’t tell which. The fact that all the other men who were in here are now gone and I’m right next to him doesn’t seem to bother him.

“Can I help you?” he asks as he tucks himself back into his slacks and zips up. He has the actual nerve to walk away from me and stand at the sink washing his hands.

I follow him but stand at a distance, watching his reflection watch me.

“I think you can.” I scratch my chin and tilt my head. “It seems to me that you’re one of the critics who writes reviews for shows done in this theater. Am I right?”

The man scowls and purses his lips but he says, “Yes, that is correct.” He reaches for the soap and pumps the lever, filling his hand, and then returns his hands to the flow of water. “If this is about some negative review, you will have to get over it. My opinions are always honest and they are well paid for. I don’t lie to make you feel better about your loved one’s shitty performance.”

I could cut him right now—pull my knife out and slit his throat and gut him like a fucking pig so his blood coats the walls of this disgusting bathroom. But I smile and slide my hands into my pocket. He doesn’t know who I am. I tell myself to stay calm and not get riled up. If he knew who I was, he wouldn’t even look at me like that. Like I’m a nobody whom he’s dealt with before.

“Well, you see, Elena Cortez is a rising star. The rising star.” I say it twice for emphasis because he clearly doesn’t know her value. He’s probably a theater groupie who likes the rack on that other actress.

“Yes, and she is exactly what I said she is, mediocre at best.” The man turns the water off and shakes the excess moisture from his hands before walking to the paper towel dispenser and pulling the handle a few times. The brown paper shoots out the bottom, and he snatches it up hastily, still only annoyed by me, not trembling as he should be.

“I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that, and I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.” I nod at Slick, who steps outside the door with Adam, leaving me alone.

“Look, Mister, I’m not sure who you think you are, but that actress is green. Women like that come in from out of state all the time. She’s rigid and uptight, prudish. Her Midwest upbringing is soiled with purity culture that has affected her mannerisms and facial expressions. If she were playing ‘Polly’, she’d be perfect. But?—”

I lunge at him violently and without restraint, whipping my knife out and opening it before pressing it to his vocal chords and pressing lightly. He gasps and holds his hands up in surrender as I back him against the wall. “Say it again. I dare you.” My gruff tone and the way I’m barely audible seems to terrify him. “Say it!” I snap at full volume, pressing the knife into his skin.

“Sir…” He gasps, sounding like he’s choking. He’s not. I’m not even breaking the surface. I’m not going to kill him, just scare him to death. He will never leave a negative review of Elena again.

“I think you understand me now?” I ask, and his eyes are wide as he nods. He keeps his hands raised as I back away with my knife still pointed at him.

“I am not the only critic in the city. I don’t think you understand how this works. If those other critics come and watch her, they will?—”

“I’ll be here. You got it?” I lick my lips and glare at him, willing him to get the fucking point. I own Elena, and she will be New York’s star for as long as I say she is.

“What do you expect?” he asks, rubbing his throat. He loosens his tie and scowls at me. He probably realizes I’m here to threaten him, not kill him, but I always make good on my threats if they’re not heeded. Maybe he’s getting the point now.

“I expect a full retraction. Say the cast was affected by that bitch’s accident or something, that they underperformed out of grief. Say this week’s performance was a ten. I don’t fucking care how you word it. Make Elena the star or you die. Your family dies, and your friends die.” I fold the knife shut and slide it back into my pocket, and he scoffs.

“You’re insane. I can’t say that. I won’t say that.”

“I think you will. I think you will do exactly what I say, and you will thank me when it’s over.” I turn and walk to the bathroom door, resting my hand on it as he continues.

“I’m not afraid of you. I’ll call the police.” His voice gives away the fear he’s actually feeling. It quakes with tremors and cracks as he speaks.

“Give my regards to Sergeant Nichols, then. And Detective Kraus owes me a favor. If you call in, ask for him.” I look over my shoulder and look him dead in the eye. “Tell him Dominic Salvatore sent you.”

His Adam’s apple bobs, and he touches his neck again as I walk out. I find Slick and Adam waiting on me and a line of men who want to use the restroom.

“Take me back to my seat. I have a show to enjoy.” I straighten my tie and follow my guys back to the theater and take my seat to watch the rest of the show.

An hour later, Elena is packed up and I’m waiting by the car. She’s the first to leave the building this time, but she looks glum. It’s not the happy and hopeful expression I thought she’d have, but I don’t mind cheering her up again. It’s become easier now that she’s more open to things of the sexual nature.

“Feeling down again?” I ask, taking her bag out of her hands.

“Just wish Nina were here. The guys are thinking of going out. Trixie refuses to host an after party. My place is just too small. We just want to finish this show with a bang.” She shrugs a shoulder. “But I want to be with you, too, so let’s just go. We can do whatever you want.” Elena slides her arms around my waist and leans on me, resting her head on my chest. She smells like the fruity soap she uses to wash away her makeup. I like it. It makes me want to dip her in juice and lick her clean.

“Then tell the cast to come to my place. I’ll host a party for everyone.” I’m not fond of the idea that strangers will be in my home around my things, but it’s harmless. They will drink a little and sing a few show tunes, and besides, Elena hasn’t seen my place yet.

“Really?” she asks, looking up at me. “You’d do that for me?” Her eyes study me in earnest, and I smile.

“Of course. I’d do anything for you, baby.” I lean in closer to her ear and whisper, “Just promise me when they all leave, you will give me that sweet pussy.”

She snickers and pecks me on the cheek. “I think it’s salty, not sweet.” And then she’s gone, off to tell her work mates that she’s hosting a party.

I turn to Slick, whose arms are folded across the top of the car on the far side. He nods his head slowly and chuckles. “Pussy whipped. That’s what you are.”

“Fuck off, Slick,” I grumble, and he only laughs harder. Soon, I’m joining him in laughing, but my laughter is sardonic, the darkness in my soul seeping out.

That critic will either play my pawn and give me exactly what I want—Elena on a pedestal—or I’ll bludgeon him to death and make it look like a home invasion. I climb into the car with that thought and wait for Elena to join me. I’ll let Slick handle coordination of details for my home, and I’ll enjoy the few minutes I get alone with Elena before the cast populates my home.