17. Liam
I’m learning all the new faces around the theater now, mostly because with my father’s money, I’ve secured the business as our own. His name is on the deed—with permission—but I will manage it. And of course, it will be done through an LLC with my name hidden in some fine print so I can truly manage through an alias and no one will know I’m pulling these strings. Though, Dad may come and introduce himself later on if he feels it’s necessary.
Tonight, the auditorium is bustling. A crowd larger than any I’ve seen before has amassed here under the news of the former owner’s passing and a new owner taking over. The atmosphere is charged with excitement and curiosity, and I make my way through the sea of people, nodding and smiling at those who may recognize me. I can feel their eyes on me, wondering who this new owner is and what changes I will bring to their beloved theater. Some may be apprehensive, but most seem eager for something new and fresh. I know I am. Flemming was an anchor holding this place back, and I plan to make it thrive, even if I have to do so by deceptive, behind-the-scenes means.
The lights glow warmly overhead in the lobby, and I step through the double doors, breathing in the familiar scents of popcorn and stale cigarettes. The floors creak beneath my feet as I make my way toward my favorite seat, directly behind where the critics always sit. The murmur of voices fills the air like a symphony, mixing with the rustle of programs and clinking of glasses. The red velvet curtains part to reveal the stage adorned with elaborate sets from their current production, and everyone begins to take their seat as the emcee steps through the part in the curtains to share the somber announcement of the former owner’s memorial service.
I, too, sit, but I pull a small manilla envelope from my inner jacket pocket as I do. Inside is two thousand dollars cash—such a small fee for compromising morals, but who am I to judge this new critic? Kershner refuses to return, as does his partner. This new guy is cheap and easily swayed, and I hope he sticks around. I tap his shoulder, and he glances back at me as I slide him the envelope as discreetly as possible.
“Our girl is going to do fantastic tonight.” My comment doesn’t fall on deaf ears. This man knows a bribe when he hears it, and in case he isn’t as smart as I believe he is, I inserted a letter into the envelope with the money.
“Transfers of ownership often rattle the cast. I’m interested to see how well they perform under pressure. It’ll be an interesting show, no doubt.” His nonchalant answer tells me this isn’t his first rodeo. I wonder who else has paid this man as a bribe for a review in their favor.
I sit back in my seat and listen to the rest of the emcee’s announcement about the shift in ownership and what it means for future shows. The director will go eventually, but for now, he knows how to run things, so I’m content to let him pick the shows as long as Elena is the lead in them all. One slip-up and he’s gone. And if I hear he’s treating her poorly, there’ll be hell to pay too.
When the lights begin to grow dim, I know the curtain will rise. Soft music begins to play, and the running lights along the aisles illuminate. The chatter continues, though, as it would at a movie theater until the first notes of the opening scene. I make my way backstage where I typically visit with Elena as she prepares for her first scene. In this play, she doesn’t take the stage until the third scene, so I have about fifteen minutes to visit with her.
The cast is busy flitting around backstage, rushing to get things in place and finalize their costuming. I weave past them and knock on Elena’s door, and someone opens, but it’s not her. It’s the same dark-haired, brooding man who clearly detests me. He always has a glare on his face, much like the one he gives me now.
“May I come in?” I ask, though I don’t wait for his answer. I push the door open and walk past him. This time, Slick and Adam aren’t even here. They are in the car waiting for the show to be over, but they have a few errands to run in the meantime.
He grunts in annoyance but stays in the doorway as I look at Elena. Her expression reveals anxiety, but she has no reason to be nervous. She’s going to smash this one out of the park. She nods at the other man—I think they call him War—and he walks away, and I’m left here with my stunning soon-to-be superstar of a wife and she doesn’t even know it yet. The things I have planned for her…
I put my hands on her hips and pull her in, swaying our bodies as I lean in and kiss her. She is stiff and hesitant, resisting my advance in an unusual display of reluctance.
“Everything okay?” I ask, but she pulls away.
“Nerves…” She walks to her full-length mirror and fidgets with her costume, then smooths imaginary flyaway hairs. “Big night tonight. They are expecting us to fail.” Her hands flit nervously to her face, then her collar of her dress, then the waistband. She’s avoiding a topic she doesn’t want to discuss, and I don’t know what it is. Something is bothering her.
“You’re going to do a fantastic job, babe.” I walk over to her and reclaim my hold on her hips, this time from behind. I lean forward and nuzzle her hair away from her neck with my chin, then bite down lightly on the only exposed skin that doesn’t have makeup caked on it. I growl against the tender place below her ear and feel her shiver. “Maybe later, I can help you relax. You’re really tense.”
“Yeah, maybe,” she says, again walking away from me. I follow her with my eyes until I’m forced to turn and watch her. She sits at her vanity. She’s clearly upset and avoiding me. Maybe this secret she’s keeping from me really is just nerves over the show, or maybe she is frightened by something. I have brushed off her worries about the bad happenings around here being somehow connected, mostly because I know they are and she has zero proof.
Instead of following her only to be rebuffed again, I lean on the wall and cross my arms over my chest. “I know something is bothering you. I can see it on your face, in your body language, and the way you’re dismissing me like I’m not the only person in the world who can light your body on fire with merely my words.” I smirk at her, and she takes a deep breath and sighs.
“It’s just the show, okay?” She stands abruptly and huffs, then smooths her hands down the front of her skirt. “I’ll be back,” she spits out in an uncharacteristic display of irritation before she stomps out the door, leaving it standing wide open.
Elena doesn’t act like this with me. I’m not sure what is going on, but something has her panties twisted. I look around the dressing room and wonder if there is any clue here as to what it might be. She’s OCD about organization—all of her costumes are lined up in order of when she needs to wear them, all her makeup organized by type and color. There are balloons and flowers and a giant stack of fan mail with a disproportionate amount of pink envelopes stacked to one side. It draws my attention immediately.
Who sends their fan mail in the same type of envelope every time? Maybe it’s a class of students who came to watch a performance and the teacher gave them all the same style and color of envelope, or maybe something more sinister is going on.
I glance at the door, where I hear chatter happening, and walk right over to the stack of mail. Each one has no return address but is postmarked to come to the theater under her name. I fold the first one open and pull the card out. It’s harmless—a fan who insists Elena is the best actress to ever perform on Broadway. The next one is much the same, but the third way seems strangely over-friendly. The person who wrote this speaks possessively, as if they own her.
At this point, I’m making a mess of her mail and getting into something I know she doesn’t want me to know about. I read them all, one by one, more threatening and menacing than the last, and I realize why she’s shaken. She has a stalker. This person’s praise is facetious, not at all genuine. They aren’t enamored of her talent. They think she’s a joke and they want her gone.
I set the letter down just as the man returns. I hear his heavy footsteps in the doorway and turn to look at him. His dark eyes are full of hatred for me, and he makes no effort to hide it.
“You shouldn’t be in here, and you shouldn’t be going through her mail.” His chest puffs out as if he has some ownership over her with which he can marginalize me and control her.
“What’s it any of your business? Shouldn’t you be on the stage?” I glance down at the stack of mail, now disorganized, with white cards stacked to one side and pink envelopes to another. The other stack of mail has fallen, lying scattered on the floor. I didn’t even notice it happen.
“She knows who you are, Salvatore. I told her. You need to back off. Scary shit is happening because you came around here.” He steps into the room and moves closer to me, but I’m not intimidated by him. He’ll be the first to go as soon as the papers are finalized and I’m officially allowed to make decisions.
“What do you mean, she knows who I am?”
“I mean what I said. I told her you’re lying to her. You’re Dominic Salvatore. Your father is the Italian Don. You aren’t fooling her. She’s terrified of you.”
My blood boils instantly, but I restrain myself. Everything I’ve tried to do could come unraveled if I make a wrong move here. Elena is mine, and no one will come in and weasel her away from me, not even with the truth. I’ve put too much into this to lose her now.
“Warren, is it?” I ask, and he says nothing, but he does take a few more steps, closing in on me. As he does, I gauge his size versus my own. I can easily take him out with my knife, but I won’t shed blood in her dressing room. “Let me explain something to you. Where I come from, people don’t cross me. They don’t threaten me. They don’t take what’s mine, and most of all, they don’t get in my way.” I calmly fold my hands in front of myself and wait for his response. This is what my father would do. It’s how he would handle this man, and if the man refused to respond properly, appropriate steps would be taken later on.
I get the feeling, however, that Warren has no interest in yielding to me. His shoulders square and his hands curl into fists. I don’t think she sent him. If she did, there will be hell to pay in other ways, but I honestly don’t believe that. Elena would come to me directly and ask me herself.
“Get out of this dressing room before I call the police. You don’t belong here.” He glares at me, and I scoff.
“I could tell you the same thing. This is the dressing room of the woman I love. You are intruding on a private matter.” I am ready to defend myself if need be, and by all appearances, I need to. Warren isn’t backing down.
“Fuck you.” He has balls, I’ll give him that. He knows who I am and he curses me out without fear. I could use a man like that if he was loyal, but this one is trouble.
“I’m going to ask you again to?—”
His fist flies, interrupting me and connecting to my jaw bone in a hard right cross. I see stars as I stumble backward, and then he’s on top of me, pounding away. I resist the urge to pull my knife, opting instead to lunge back at him, pushing him against the far wall before pummeling him with my blazing fists. His body jolts and doubles over with my hard blasts, but before I can land one to the face, Elena rushes in, cheeks red, eyes wide in shock.
“Fuck! No! Stop it!” She pushes on my shoulder as I take one last swing into his stomach, and she stands between us. “Liam, stop. You’ll hurt him.” Her chest heaves, eyes filled with anger and emotion.
I back away and rub my sore fists. He’s big, but he’s weak. He is literally no match for me. I’m a trained fighter. He may be in good shape, but he’s a stage fairy, no good in an actual fight. The best he’ll ever do is have good footwork, which failed him this time because I am too angry to give him any space.
“Are you okay?” she asks, but she’s facing Warren, helping him straighten. He holds his sides and grunts, a most-dramatic expression on his face, which is laughable. Definitely an actor.
“God, my ribs… I don’t think I can sing…”
She ushers him out of the room, and I wait for her to return. When she does, she’s livid. She paces and can’t even look at me, so I grab her wrist and force her to turn around and face me. She looks scared of me. This is new.
“Baby, he attacked me. I was defending myself.” I try to hold her gaze, but she looks away. I’m forced to grab her chin and make her look at me. “What did you want me to do? Let him beat me?”
Her nostrils flare as she jerks her chin out of my hand and glares at me through slitted eyes. “I don’t know, Liam, or Dominic, or whatever the hell your name is.” Tears well up in her eyes, but she blinks them back. “You could have killed him. You’re so much stronger than him. Did you see what you did?” Her wrist turns in my grasp as she struggles to squirm away.
“You believe that shit he said about me?” I feel anger rising.
“Elena, two minutes to curtain!” a voice calls, and she backs away from me.
“You need to leave.” Elena rubs her wrists and shakes her head. “I want you to leave now.”
“You can’t possibly believe that asshole…” Warren is going to pay for this. When I get my fucking hands on him, he’s dead.
“Please, Liam. I need space. I need to think… I have a show to do.” Her hands are busy again, flying to her hair, then her neck, then the spot on her wrist that is tinged pink from my grasp.
I take a deep breath and pause. I will not hurt her. She will do as I say because she believes it is the best and most right thing. And I will not give up until she thoroughly believes I am the best thing for her. I won’t let that asshole or her director, or a stage hand, or anyone else, get in the way.
“Alright, fine. I’ll leave. But I’ll be here after the show. You can come with me, or you can choose to go home alone. I’m not leaving you, Elena. We will work this out. Warren is wrong.”
Without waiting for a response, I button my suit coat which was torn open in the struggle and walk straight into the hallway. As I pass Warren, who is sitting on a prop in the wings, he glares at me and mouths the words, “I win…” And something tells me he’s hiding something too.
Except, two can play at this game. And I never lose.