Chapter 9
Hunter
‘He didn’t deserve you,’ says Zosia, inspecting her jet-black ensemble in the dressing room mirror. ‘If he didn’t say yes, that’s a him problem.’
‘I love you, Zosia. But it’s kind of a me problem.’
‘Whatever,’ says Thiago, draped over the arm of a battered sofa in a glittery shawl. ‘You put yourself out there. That takes guts.’
I’m straddling a chair in the middle of the dressing room, picking at some noodles that I have no interest in eating.
Zosia and Thiago have been my crew since we met at an open call for Starlight Express in a parking lot in Essex.
I didn’t have anything in common with a Polish cabaret singer or a Brazilian dancer other than us all being desperate for work and bad at roller-skating.
None of us got the job that day, but we found each other.
Since my conversation with Max, I’ve been longing to see these guys, and yet nothing they are saying is hitting.
In the mirror, I see Thiago share a glance with Zosia. They’re aware they’re not getting through to me.
‘Who even is this man?’ Zosia demands.
‘He’s no one,’ sniffs Thiago. ‘As if a random diplomat deserves to marry our Hunter.’
‘Guys,’ I say. ‘I appreciate it, but forget about him.’
‘Preach,’ says Thiago. ‘We can easily find someone else to marry you in the next two weeks.’
They really do mean well. But now that they’re here, I’m realizing I don’t want them to put a positive spin on everything. This situation sucks. All I can do is accept what’s happened and channel it into my performance.
‘It’s too late for that,’ I say to Thiago. ‘Let’s just try and enjoy tonight.’
Both of them have made an effort to be here for me, even though Thiago has a huge audition tomorrow for a breakdance version of Pride and Prejudice, and Zosia was supposed to be hosting a costumed sing-along screening of Cats on the other side of town.
They’re both so talented, but none of us have had that breakthrough moment, and I’m pretty sure that whether or not they’d admit it, Zosia and Thiago are wondering how long they are going to survive in London.
Zosia crosses the room and sits next to me. ‘You’re going to kill it on Broadway.’
The word hits me in the chest. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.
‘I mean, if that’s where you choose to go next,’ says Zosia. ‘I have friends there, and people still talk about your performance as Rizzo. Don’t let your ex keep you away.’
I’m well aware that my situation is nothing compared to the hardships some people I know are going through.
It’s not that I wouldn’t be fine if I had to go back to America.
I could survive there. But if I want to achieve my dreams, it’s really only here or Broadway, and over there, Rafferty is determined to run my name into the ground.
Not only that, but he’s put the flop of Grease behind him and convinced his dad to fund a metatextual reimagining of Thoroughly Modern Millie starring Millie Bobby Brown.
I can’t escape him in New York. London is mine. At least, it was supposed to be.
A voice crackles over the intercom: ‘Five minutes until curtain-up.’
Thiago and Zosia leap up and bundle me into a group hug, then head out to find their seats.
I hate to say it, but I’m glad they’re gone.
I should never have asked them backstage.
When I said I wanted to try and enjoy this evening, I meant I want to lose myself in my performance.
The place I’m planning to go in my mind is not most people’s idea of enjoyable.
There was no question of my farewell performance being anything other than Sondheim.
There’s a reason that production of Into the Woods hit me so hard as a child.
Sitting next to me as I listened to the Baker’s Wife pour her heart out was my mom, a woman who was constitutionally incapable of expressing how she felt.
I don’t remember the details, but we were probably seeing a show that weekend because my dad was on another of his mysterious work trips that everyone except my mom could see through, even me at that age.
Sitting there that day, I felt like that one song helped me understand my parents better – not only my mom, but my dad, who must have had a reason for going off and looking elsewhere for the things he didn’t get from his marriage.
But it was my mom who my heart broke for that day.
I remember wishing that she could quit lying to herself and express the things that her heart really sang for.
Unsurprisingly, in the car home afterwards, she told me she found the musical weird and silly.
Looking back, it probably hit her in the same way it did me, but I guess when you’re stuck in a failing marriage, you process it differently.
For me, however, that was the day I became committed to telling the truth through performance.
It might not have secured me a London stage career, but I can at least go out with a bang.
As part of my final warm-up routine, I like to visualise my performance from start to finish.
It helps me get over my nerves. But as I run through my lines, a funny thing happens.
I don’t picture Zosia and Thiago in the audience, cheering me on. I see Max.
I imagine him in the front row, a playbill resting in his lap.
He’s not one of those people who sit there looking too cool for school.
His eyes are bright and he’s unabashedly enjoying my performance.
His hand drifts towards his pocket as if he wants to get his phone and take a photo, but then he decides against it, perhaps worried about distracting me.
His gaze fixates on me, pure and adoring.
Whoa, where did that come from? Max isn’t going to be here tonight.
He’s got his event. I’m never going to see him again.
Last night ended so weirdly. Before we had a chance to really talk about my crazy proposal, his boss approached us.
Apparently everyone was worried that Montgomery’s freak-out would get leaked to the press and certain newspapers would have a field day with it.
I agreed to keep it quiet, but I really didn’t care by that point.
I could tell Max felt bad about my situation, but there was still no way he was going to say yes to marrying me.
So why do I feel ten times worse than I did before I met him?
Why can’t I get him off my mind? It can’t be anything to do with him, because I just met the guy, and from what I did get to know of him, he’s hardly on my wavelength.
I know what it is. It feels crazy to say it, but it’s the same feeling I get every time I stop playing a role I’ve really enjoyed.
I had fun stepping into the shoes of Edwin, the trainee orthodontist. I liked being Max’s fake boyfriend.
We made sense together. And yes, it was only a role, but when you really inhabit a role, it feels real.
For those few moments, it was real, at least on some level.
And now, just like that, it’s all over. Max has probably already moved on.