Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
It’s said that uttering the word “Macbeth” aloud in the theater curses the production.
Supposedly, the actor playing Lady Macbeth tragically died on opening night in 1606 and Shakespeare himself had to step in. Then, legend has it, that in 1849, dueling Macbeth productions in New York caused the great Astor Place Riot, leaving at least 25 dead and hundreds injured.
I’m beginning to wonder who the fuck uttered that word in our production… because this shit is, without a doubt, cursed.
Or maybe it’s just me that’s cursed.
Whatever curse has befallen me… I would sure appreciate it if we could lift it sometime soon.
Because I’m beginning to think this show is never going to see the light of day.
We’re supposed to open in three days. Our mulligan opening night after it was canceled with my father’s passing. And yet, we keep getting dealt the worst hands. I wouldn’t be surprised if the producers pull the plug entirely with this latest scandal of Holden and his ‘secret lovechild.’
Except that ‘the producers’ are Holden’s dad and everyone wrapped around his thick, stubby pinky finger.
I get to the theater forty minutes before everyone else. There’s nowhere else for me to go, anyway. I don’t want to crash whatever date thing was happening at the cafe between Jill and Nolan.
Instead, I take a long, lingering walk through the theater, my brand new LaDuca character shoes giving a muffled tip-tap, tip-tap with each step I take.
It might be my last time to ever step foot on a Broadway stage. Getting cast in one show is never a guarantee you’ll get into another. I’ve seen many actors get their ‘big breaks’ only to fall into obscurity and give up on their dreams after one bad review.
For me? I may never even get to have the review—good or bad.
Standing in the dark wings of stage right, I run my hand over the edge of the microphone monitors and stare at the abandoned set in the middle of the stage. Skyler’s studio apartment looks tragically sad without any of the lights or props set around it.
Like an abandoned home.
I step onto the stage and inhale the dull musk of the theater, breathing in the energy. If tonight’s run through is our last, I’m going to make it’s my absolute best yet.
I walk slowly, bathing in the energy of the stage. The floor microphones pick up each footstep, broadcasting it to the rest of the theater.
“Nice shoes.” McCay’s voice startles me and I jump, whirling around to face her.
“Thanks,” I say, only half-meaning it.
McCay’s head tilts as she studies me. “What’s wrong?”
I literally don’t know how to answer this question. She certainly knows about Megan. She was here the night Missy brought her to the theater to blackmail Holden. She was here and did nothing to stop the blackmail. If anything, maybe she was in on it…
Wait.
Was McCay in on it?
Would that be so crazy? I’ve seen her sabotage her own show in the past. But never at a professional level as big as Broadway. And not when her husband is producing and it’s starring her stepson.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Have you been online lately?”
She nods simply, just once. “I have.”
“So you saw…?”
“Of course I saw,” she states. Then with a snort, adds, “I arranged the story.”
Stunned and motionless, my mind races with disbelief and confusion. I can’t move. My new LaDuca shoes suddenly feel like they're made of lead, anchoring me to the floor. Lifting my heel off the floor is like gravity has suddenly doubled. “You… you arranged it? How could you do that to Holden? Me, sure. I know you’ve never liked me, but Holden was your prized student.”
Her eyebrows furrow, and her lips slightly part as she speaks. "I thought you'd be relieved," she says softly, her tone laced with confusion. Her eyes search my face for a reaction, but I remain stone-faced, not giving her the satisfaction.
“Relieved? Relieved ?! Why would this ever relieve me?”
“Because I fed that picture to your landlord in exchange for the rent you owed her!” McCay snaps.
“You… you knew about that?”
“Of course. USEA contacted me the same time they did you. There wasn’t a lot I could do to help, but if we didn’t find a way to pay that back, you would have been out of the show. So I fed Ms. Greene that picture and she sold it to pay off your debt.”
Yet again, it’s my fault. Indirectly, sure. But my ineptitude was causing pain in the people I love the most. “We could have found another way that didn’t involve putting an innocent little boy and a single mother in the spotlight when they didn’t want to be! I mean, for God’s sake, Laurie, we don’t even know Holden is his father! For all we know it’s Erik’s!”
The words escape my lips like a bullet, piercing the air with an unrelenting force.
Laurie's complexion drains of all color, her cheeks hollowing as she looks at me with a mix of horror and disbelief. "What… what did you just say?" Her voice trembles with anger, her hands shaking as she struggles to process the shocking words I uttered.
It didn’t occur to me that she didn’t know. “I-I figured Erik would have told you or mentioned it or… or something.”
“Mentioned what exactly?”
“That the boy might be mine,” the deep baritone of a man’s voice echoes from the stage right wings. As Erik approaches Laurie on stage, Holden follows closely behind him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to Holden. “I didn’t know she didn’t know?—”
“It’s okay, Rose,” he says with a small, but encouraging smile.
“You’re definitely not to blame here, Kate,” Erik says, then looks directly at Laurie. “I had an affair with Megan years ago when Holden was still dating her. But I paid her well to disappear. I was just meeting with my lawyers upstairs to nail her for breaking the NDA clause when I heard you talking through the microphone monitors. Turns out, if she was lured here under a false pretense thinking I or someone in my family had invited her, it nullifies that NDA. Thanks to you, this mess has gotten much messier.”
Laurie's eyes narrow into blazing embers of fury as she glares at him with pure hatred.
“You knock up your son’s girlfriend and somehow I’m the problem here?” Her words drip with venom and disbelief as she struggles to contain her fury.
“It was years ago. Before you and I were ever a thing.” Erik’s voice is the exact opposite of Laurie’s; calm and in control. Like a police officer talking a person off the ledge of a high-rise.
“You still should have told me, Erik.”
“And you shouldn’t have leaked a picture to the goddamn press, Laurie. Perhaps we’re even?”
Holden snorts and crosses to me. “As far as I’m concerned, you two are a match made in fucking hell.” He gathers me into a hug, whispering against my hair, “It’s going to be okay.”
“Has Megan called you back?”
His lips purse together and he gives me a little shake of his head. “Not yet.”
“Then it’s not okay yet.”
“Maybe not… but opening night is still on.”
“It is?”
“Of course,” he says, pulling back to look at me. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
I can’t tell if he’s being naive or obtuse. “Scandals sink shows all the time.”
“Nah. Scandals simply sell more tickets,” he says with a wink. “Besides, our escape, you and me, has always been the theater.” He drops his forehead tenderly to mine.
“Our escape and our torture.”
He gives a playfully lazy shrug. “We’re actors. Of course we’re masochists. Gluttons for punishment. Why else do we hover around the newsstands to read the reviews as soon as they hit the stands?”
Laurie and Erik have shifted more to the wings to talk in private, nose to nose, not exactly yelling, but their fight seemed awfully intense, even though we couldn’t hear them anymore. “What about them?” I ask. “Are they going to be okay?”
A dark veil falls over Holden's face, his features twisting into a menacing scowl. "I couldn't care less," he growls with disdain.
When he turns back to me, the malice vanishes quickly.
A wisp of Holden's cologne fills the air, a mixture of musk and spice, intoxicating and alluring. His fingertips graze my skin as he tips my chin up to his lips, sending tingles down my spine. His eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that takes my breath away. And when his lips meet mine, it's like a fire ignites between us, our mouths melding together in a fierce and forceful kiss that’s as passionate as it is possessive.
Holden's kiss is like a shot of adrenaline, leaving a rush of pleasure and wanting on my tongue. It's a mix of sweet and spicy, and I can't get enough. As the kiss ends, I feel dizzy and steady myself by grasping the soft cotton of his shirt.
“I was beginning to think we were cursed,” I whisper. “You and me.”
“What would make you think that?”
I shrug. “Every time I turn around, it feels like there’s another roadblock for this show. It’s almost like someone mentioned that Scottish play here in the theater.”
A playful gleam glistens in Holden’s whiskey eyes. “You don’t still believe that silly superstition, do you? Mac–”
“Holden, don’t you dare!”
I reach up to try to cover Holden’s mouth, but he dodges me quickly, a grin spreading along his face. “ —beth.”
I audibly gasp, my throat going dry. “Why did you do that?”
Holden leans down so we’re eye to eye, then kisses me softly on the nose. “Because I’m going to prove to you that Macbeth is just a word. Come hell or high water, you and I are starring in this original musical this Thursday. And we’re going to fucking rock it.”