Chapter 11
For a moment, Anne debated missing Cricket’s opening night.
Her rationale was solid: She had promised to attend the play, but she hadn’t explicitly said which night.
Anne reasoned that she could attend any show that week and still fulfill her obligation.
And really, how could she even consider a night out when she still had to finish up all that paperwork for Theo, and start to go through everything needed for Sophie’s shop?
So, that Sunday evening, Anne put on her nicest outfit—a black cap-sleeve shift dress her mother had bought her at Bergdorf Goodman a few years before and a pair of heels she had barely broken in—grabbed her coat, and headed for the subway.
She wasn’t in a rush, and when the train was held at Fourteenth Street for an extended period of time, she was almost relieved.
Yes, she was going to be late, but at least now she could sneak into the theater unseen, quietly support her friend. Maybe she could even leave early.
When she finally arrived at the off-off-Broadway playhouse where Cricket had instructed her to go, the houselights were down and the half-naked usher dressed in silver fairy wings gave her a disappointed look as he took her ticket and guided her down the dim row of seats toward the stage in the center.
Anne did not expect the space to be this intimate.
There were only twenty or so seats set close to the performance space; it almost felt like the guests were part of the show.
She had a sudden panic that this might have interactive elements.
There was one vacancy available in the back of the three rows where she could blend into the shadows, and the usher motioned for her to take it.
Her eyes tried to adjust to the darkness as she stumbled forward, almost falling into the small seat.
There was an actor onstage giving a monologue while she tried to shrug off her coat and scarf.
“Sorry,” she whispered when her leg accidentally bumped into the man next to her.
“You’re good,” he murmured back. The deep timbre was familiar, and she froze.
Oh God. She knew that voice.
Suddenly the lights went up onstage and she looked over to where Freddie Wentworth was seated beside her.
You should say something, she thought. But her mouth stayed shut and her gaze darted away, toward the stage. No amount of avoidance could change how closely they were packed together, though. If she moved even an inch, her shin would be pressed up against Freddie’s knee.
A loud gong suddenly clanged, and the stage was flooded with half-naked fairies battling a robot across an apocalyptic landscape.
“If I be waspish, best beware my fucking sting!” one yelled in a thick Long Island accent, then bared her breasts.
Anne winced. This was going to be awful.
As the lead fairy continued to pontificate, and more scantily clad actors covered in metallic paint took posed positions onstage, Anne’s expectations dipped even lower.
While the play was called Get Shrewed—a gritty reimagining of Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew, ending in bloodshed and fornication—she couldn’t quite figure out why so many characters from A Midsummer Night’s Dream had been incorporated.
Then Freddie shifted so his leg brushed hers, and she suddenly couldn’t focus on anything except where his hand now rested on his knee, dangerously close to her thigh.
As the play wore on and the intimate theater crowded with more and more fairies, all dressed in cybernetic wings, the air she shared with Freddie felt so charged she thought she might suffocate.
She shut her eyes to calm her beating heart, but they were pried open by another booming clang of the gong as Cricket entered the stage with a crowd of other fairies and what appeared to be a robot nun.
Her metallic bodysuit had pieces strategically cut out so there was more bare skin showing than crushed lamé, while the fairy wings flapped wildly behind her.
More chaos ensued, but Anne tried to keep her focus on her roommate.
Despite the fact that her silver leotard was two sizes too small, and her glittery fairy wings were already falling apart by the end of the scene, Cricket did surprisingly well, and she was the one cast member who didn’t off their top or reveal some kind of appendage—papier-maché or otherwise. Everyone else, though…
“Fucking kiss me, Kate,” Petruchio implored, and then promptly unzipped his pants.
Definitely papier-maché, Anne thought, and she could have sworn she heard Freddie stifle a laugh.
The play dragged on, and when they mercifully neared the final act—fairies strewn across the stage in a show of bloodshed that smelled suspiciously like ketchup—Anne tried to pinpoint one redeeming element that she could mention to Cricket later.
Then Freddie shifted again. It was slight, just a resettling into the small seat, but suddenly her shoulder was pressed into his arm.
She could hear the soft cadence of his breath, smell the scent of his aftershave…
Oh. She remembered that smell. His clothes might have changed, his hair, too, but that distinct mix of sandalwood and citrus, that hint of cinnamon as well, hadn’t changed.
She stole a brief glance down to where his hand was still splayed on his knee. She remembered that hand, too, the way his long fingers intertwined with hers in countless movies, endless walks. The way he held her…
Suddenly the entire theater went black. A moment later the stage lights came on again and there was a smattering of applause as the cast trotted back to the center of the stage, doing their bows before exiting as the houselights came up.
The audience stood in silence, looking at one another like they needed to confirm a shared hallucination. Meanwhile Anne avoided looking at Freddie at all, desperate to grab her coat and leave. That’s when James and Ellis appeared from further down the row.
“Well, that was interesting,” Ellis murmured.
“Question,” James said, holding up his hand. “Was the donkey character supposed to be a robot or a fairy?”
“There was a donkey?” Anne and Freddie asked in unison.
Oh God. She could already feel her cheeks flush.
“Ha!” James pointed at the two of them with glee. “Jinx!”
Freddie shook his head and smiled. It looked so much like that smile Anne remembered from college that she had to look away.
Thankfully, Cricket picked that moment to appear back onstage.
“Cast party at the Black Door Pub across the street! Everyone’s invited!” she announced to the dwindling crowd.
Damn it. All Anne wanted to do was go home where she had her pajamas and Netflix login waiting. Instead, she followed everyone else toward the exit to the street.
The Black Door Pub was already crowded when they arrived, full of cast members who had chosen to wear their costumes out to celebrate.
After finally getting a soda water from the beleaguered bartender, Anne settled into a spot at the end of the bar with Ellis and James.
She lost track of Freddie as soon as they came in, and finally released the breath she felt like she had been holding for hours.
Everyone was laughing and chatting, as if nipples and synthetic phalluses were commonplace.
“There she is!” James suddenly yelled.
Anne turned just as Cricket rounded the corner of the bar. She was still in her costume, and her fairy wings hit almost every person sitting at the bar as she made her way toward them. Freddie appeared a moment later holding two drinks, a beer and something blue garnished with an olive.
Cricket smiled when she arrived at their end of the bar, giving each of them a hug before sitting on the vacant stool next to Anne, angling herself to where Freddie stopped nearby.
A breathy thank you fell from her lips as she relieved him of her cocktail, then she addressed the small group of five.
“Thank you so so so much for coming,” she said. She touched her hand to her heart before adding, “Seriously. It means the world. Even if I did flub a line.”
“I didn’t even notice,” Anne assured her. Technically, it wasn’t a lie—she hadn’t noticed. She had barely followed the plot.
“At least your character didn’t require nudity,” James said, sipping his martini through a small cocktail straw. “I saw more breasts tonight than I have in my entire life.”
“Oh, I usually do,” Cricket said offhandedly. “But after I told the director that my brother was going to be in the audience tonight, they gave me a special exemption.”
Ellis frowned.
Cricket turned to Freddie and offered him a beaming smile. “Do you think anyone noticed I messed up?”
“Not a chance. You were great,” Freddie replied reassuringly.
The words hit Anne like a ton of bricks. She knew that tone, how it could make you feel seen and cared for. Like you were someone special. She used to be the recipient.
Suddenly, a glass of wine didn’t sound like such a bad idea.
“I was just so caught up in the moment,” Cricket said, letting her gaze shift as she stared off into the distance. “It’s really important for me to embody the essence of my character, you know?”
“The essence of a cybernetic fairy living in a postapocalyptic Detroit?” Ellis quipped.
“Don’t mind him. That performance was art,” James said, giving a wave to his husband before bringing his attention to Freddie. “Speaking of beautiful things. I want to talk to our new neighbor.”
Oh God. Anne turned to the bar, hoping to catch the bartender’s eye and grab that wine.
“Yes!” Cricket said, clapping her hands and leaning a bit further toward Freddie. “We’re making it all about me and I want to know about you.”
Freddie let a small grin tug at his lips. “Okay. What do you want to know?”