Chapter 27 #2
I watched her go before making my way through the room, but I only made it literal steps when I was all but tackled by Ashlee.
“Oh my god.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you.”
“Sorry,” I said, and she burst into laughter.
“Why are you apologizing?” she asked, her eyes wide. “It was a good secret. I’m impressed.”
“I never thought I’d get to talk about it,” I said, glancing across the room at Rebecca, who was nodding politely while Patrick Russell Miles talked. “It was nice getting to say some of it to you, even if it wasn’t everything.”
“It actually helped,” Ashlee said, “a lot. Hearing from you and from Kathleen, I don’t know. I probably would have tolerated that indie film boy for a lot longer.”
“So it’s officially over?”
“Officially completely over that very good-looking loser, yes,” she said, and we laughed. “I deserve someone who can at least text during business hours. And send flowers occasionally. And make me want to describe them to third parties as nice, which should be a pathetically low bar to clear but …”
I hugged her again, tightly. “Sorry if I’m being … a lot. I’m just so happy you’re figuring things out way before I ever did.”
“No, do not apologize.” She stepped back from me. “The only thing I’m vaguely uncomfortable about is the knowledge that our director’s good in bed.”
Kathleen walked up to us, her eyebrows raised. “What a great time to introduce you both to my daughter.”
I squealed when I realized Leigh was right behind Kathleen, wearing a floral dress with boots and a leather jacket. With her pastel pink hair, it was an adorably pretty and tough combo. “I’m so excited to meet you in real life and not just FaceTime.”
“You too,” Leigh said. “Is it weird if I hug you?”
“Not weird at all,” I said, laughing as she threw her arms around me. “I’m so happy you’re here. Your mom’s amazing in the show, right?”
“Yeah, she’s fine,” she said, which made the rest of us shriek with laughter.
“So here’s the thing about really competent people,” Kathleen said. “They tend to know what they’re doing in the sack. So I wasn’t surprised to hear it.”
“Mom,” Leigh said in a horrified tone.
“Darlin’, it’s a good tip that’ll serve you well,” Kathleen said, though Leigh’s face was still set to disgust. “One day you’ll thank me.”
Henry joined our circle and shot me a glare.
“What?” I asked in my most innocent voice, though I laughed immediately.
“You know how scared I am of her,” he said in a serious tone. “What did you two say about me? When you were alone?”
Another laugh burst out of me. “You didn’t really come up. When we were alone.”
He sighed, as Kathleen and Ashlee cracked up. “Somehow that’s even worse.”
The rumors were right that another Vindicator was there; Raúl found me a few minutes later and presented me with a square box.
“It’s from all of us,” he said, hugging me. “God, that was a performance. Congratulations.”
“Thank you so much.” I unwrapped the box and gasped. A gold-tone watch sparkled, bright with orange and pink highlights. “Wait, is it happening?”
He laughed, moving in to fasten it around my wrist. “It’s happening. Tess Gardner, you are officially one of the Timex Bros.”
“Oh my god, I can’t believe I wanted an Oscar when I should have been wishing for this the whole time,” I said, throwing my arms around him. “I’m sorry if it’s weird I talked about it to THR.”
“No,” he said. “Well, yeah, next time talk to us. But if we made you feel like you couldn’t—that’s not on you. Or THR. So where’s the girlfriend?”
“You heard?” I asked.
“Yeah, Tess, you flew outside half-dressed and yanked a woman off of the red carpet,” he said. “Everyone heard.”
Michael made his way over, and I gestured to him. “Michael, this is Raúl. Raúl, this is Michael. He hates the Vindicators.”
“Tess,” Michael said with a heavy sigh while Raúl and I laughed, and luckily Raúl got pulled away before things could actually become awkward.
“A lot of breaking news coming from you lately,” Michael said, elbowing me. “I thought we were friends.”
“To be honest, it’s weird you thought that,” I said, and he laughed.
“You look for the review?” he asked.
“It’s not midnight,” I said, and he gave me a look.
“What is this, Tavern on the Green in 1988, everyone desperately waiting for newspapers to literally roll off the presses?”
“That’s … very specific,” I said. “Can I tell you something? I kind of forgot about reviews tonight.”
“I’m proud,” he said. “LA Times’ is up, though. You can do things for the love of the work and still check your reviews, you know.”
Rebecca walked up to us, holding out her phone and beaming. “Gardner! It’s a rave for you.”
“For you too,” Michael said to her, as their words hit me. “Well-deserved.”
“And you,” Rebecca said to him, slipping her arm around my waist.
“Eh,” he said. “LA critics are a lot kinder than New York. In a season or two we’ll find out, I guess.”
“Oh,” I said, trying my hand at Rebecca’s smooth tone, “do you think they’ll ask you to stay on, Michael?”
Rebecca cracked up and Michael pretended he was doing the same.
I took Rebecca’s phone from her as Michael got pulled away by someone else.
It was startling to hold an object that had once been filled with so much fearful mystery.
Now it was just a phone. (A phone buzzing continuously with messages, but a phone nonetheless.)
Rebecca Frisch, who received a Tony nomination for last season’s Broadway revival of Arcadia, stages the play with a nuanced sharpness that eschews sentimentality and too-pat emotional arcs.
Frisch was a last-minute replacement once Geoffrey Gordan resigned from the play due to a series of sexual misconduct accusations, but her work here, as in her previous productions, has an easy confidence to it, from the claustrophobic staging within Theo Patel’s wittily cramped apartment set design, to the balance of the sly humor against the darker themes of abuse and trauma in Hoff’s script, making it difficult to imagine Hometown in another’s hands.
Gardner, best known for her role as Princess Platinum in Pantheon’s Vindicators series, may surprise audiences with her thoughtful and fearless performance.
She’s adept at filling Casey with the strength, frustration, immaturity, and vulnerability the role demands.
Onstage for nearly the entire two acts, Gardner’s capable command of the script and story provide a solid center to the show, which could veer melodramatic or too glib in the wrong hands.
I’d had it all planned out, Geoffrey Gordan and the play and my brilliant performance that would make everyone say “Princess who?” Back then I would have hated this review, rolled my eyes at best known for and felt attacked by the amount of surprise in the critic’s tone.
But who cared? These days I was thrilled to surprise people.
“Why are you laughing?” Rebecca asked me.
I held up her phone. “Your group chat is going off.”
“Oh, fuck,” she said, snatching her phone from me, but definitely not soon enough to keep me from seeing REBECCA ARE YOU FUCKING PRINCESS PLATINUM. “I apologize for anything you may have seen, and I promise they’ll all be on their best behavior when you meet them.”
“In New York?” I asked.
“Well, yeah, you’ll have to come visit me,” she said. “And they’re very demanding, as you may have already noticed.”
I grinned. “I can’t wait to put my foot in a cake.”
“Not that I’m in any hurry,” she said, smiling. “I like it out here. At some point I’ll need to take some meetings, but I thought I might hang out in LA awhile longer.”
“Like on your ex-wife’s futon?” I asked, as Rebecca grabbed two glasses of champagne off a passing server’s tray.
“I was hoping with you, though I know you’ll need to check with Rosie first.” She clinked her glass against mine. “To Gertie and Leroy.”
“To terrible futons.”
“To you.”
I leaned in to kiss her. “To us.”
We bailed early on the party, and I drove out of downtown with Rebecca’s head on my shoulder and her hand on my thigh.
“There’s something else I should have told you,” she said as I drove. “I feel like I haven’t made it clear that I think your car is very sexy.”
“Even the green?” I asked, and she laughed.
“Especially the green! I love how you couldn’t fully give in and be whoever the industry wanted you to be. I love that you went out and got yourself the fastest, greenest car they made.”
I knew that it was silly that something about my car could get me choked up, but I’d never actually expected to be loved for exactly who I was. Green goblin car and all.
I parked my very conspicuous car behind Johnny’s, and we walked in through the front door.
We probably would have gotten stares no matter who we were, because I was in a ruffly black cocktail dress and Rebecca was in that fuchsia suit.
Still. We really got stares. Max’s girlfriend spotted us (again, who didn’t) and sent over a couple of drinks, and when we finished them, a couple more drinks arrived, courtesy of Rosie’s groomer, who was apparently there with her girlfriend as well.
Once we’d finished the second round, I pulled Rebecca out to the patio before any more cocktails could arrive.
“I didn’t want to wait any longer to dance with you,” I told her. Since it was late, it was crowded, bodies moving to the DJ’s beat, and it was easy to get swept up in it, my arms wrapped around Rebecca, her hands on my hips keeping me right up against her as we moved.
We only made it through a few songs before I whispered suggestions of what else we could do that night, and soon we were at my home, in my bed, like we were the only two people in the entire universe.
Afterward we realized that neither of us had eaten all night, and Rebecca dashed around my kitchen wearing one of my T-shirts as I sat at the counter and answered questions about where things were in the fridge and cabinets.
“Wait,” I said, realizing what was happening. “Are you making me the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had?”
She beamed at me over her shoulder. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
I gave in to curiosity and scrolled my phone while she cooked.
As I’d expected, there were zero photos of me in black organza posed gracefully next to Rebecca.
Instead I was a mess, my hair untamed and my feet bare.
The robe was deeply unflattering and also not exactly opaque under lights and flashbulbs.
But I didn’t care, because I’d never seen myself look happier, an almost-naked disaster, looking up at the woman I loved.
(My new publicist had already emailed a polite request for a meeting in the morning.)
“Voilà,” Rebecca said, depositing a plate in front of me and taking the seat beside me. “Don’t spare my feelings. I want your honest feedback.”
We each picked up a sandwich half, pulled it apart and watched the warm cheese stretch in between. I took a bite and almost let out a little moan. It was gooey inside, crisp on the outside, a little decadent without full-on greasiness.
“See?” she said, biting into hers.
“We’re official now,” I said. “So you have to tell me all your secrets. Like why this sandwich is so good.”
Rebecca burst into laughter. “All my secrets? I knew I should have looked more closely at that contract.”
We finished our grilled cheese and cleaned up before heading to my bedroom.
Rosie was at daycare but I already planned to pick her up first thing so we could take her to the park before we were due back at the theatre.
In bed, Rebecca curled up behind me and hugged me tight.
Last time she’d held me this way, she had felt like the only solid thing in my life—solid but fleeting.
Now, she was more solid than ever, but so was my life.
For the first time, it overflowed with more than I ever thought I’d been allowed to wish for.
“It’s a cold pan,” Rebecca whispered sleepily.
I glanced back at her. “What’s a cold pan?”
“That’s the secret,” she murmured. “You have to start with a cold pan.”
“Rebecca. That’s the most boring secret I’ve ever heard,” I said, and we both burst into the kind of laughter that ended up with us both in tears.
For a split second I felt that old panic of holding on to this while I still had it, but reality washed over me.
I didn’t have to hold on to every moment to remember later.
Rebecca and I were going to have so many more.