Chapter 27 Defending My Honor
DEFENDING MY HONOR
LEAH
We triumphed on opening night. After several weeks of rehearsals and two weeks of previews, we emerged, taking up our new-old selves. A decade later, I could still put on a show. Proud, I was keen to hit the town. I met Papa and Dad backstage.
As promised, Mac was there. Papa invited him. Dutiful as he was, he came. It warmed my heart to have everyone together just like they had a million years ago when we closed Victoria’s original run. It was even better to look over and see Lourdes at curtain call.
“I didn’t bomb,” I said.
“You were brilliant,” Papa agreed.
“Great,” Dad said. “Couldn’t be prouder. I say that every time and I mean it.”
I teared.
“It was as good as I remember—probably more,” Mac said.
“I’m a lot better at it than I used to be. A veteran.”
“It doesn’t get old?” Mac asked.
“Nah. It’s great. A total high.”
There was a knock. Clive was posted up.
“You coming out with us, love?” Clive asked.
I shrugged, uninterested in speaking to him off the clock. “Uh, yeah, sure, Clive. With my friend Mac.”
Mac gave a slight wave.
“You met him a million years ago,” I used Mac as a human shield. “Old friend.”
Clive looked annoyed. “Sure, sure. Come round when you can. We’re meeting in Jenn’s dressing room.”
“Love?” Papa asked.
“You’re nosey,” I said. “Nothing is going on. Mind your business, Papa.”
“Uh-huh. I’ve heard that before.”
“Well, it’s fine,” I said. “Nothing is going on. I’ve been burned enough to know.”
I knew better than to entertain even a conversation with Clive. The real risk of a burn came from Lou potentially breaking my heart if I told her how I felt.
“Mind yourself,” Papa said.
Dad gave another hug and a kiss. “Get home safe. Don’t go too wild, sweetie.”
“I won’t,” I promised.
The dads left while Mac stayed.
“I can step out if you need,” he said.
“Nah, we’re good. Just flip around and I will pull a dress on.”
I did the gymnastics of a quick change into a going-out dress. At this point, everyone but Mac had seen me naked. That was the irony. Everyone saw everything backstage in this show. There were too many quick changes, and everyone was desensitized.
“We’re good,” I sat before the vanity. “Just gotta take one set of makeup off and put more on.”
“Stage makeup. Ah,” Mac sat on the couch. “Yeah, I get it. I mean, I don’t… but I get what you’re saying.”
“Dreadful stuff.” I slathered cold cream all over.
“That accent again,” he said. “You’re killing me, Leah.”
“Well, I try.”
Mac chuckled. “I have missed this. It’s been ages. Thanks for forcing me to come out of my shell.”
“Anytime.” I wiped off my cold cream and put on light makeup.
“Leah, darling, are you coming?” Lourdes knocked.
“In a sec,” I lay on my cream in a panic.
Lourdes poked her head in, ignoring propriety. I didn’t mind, but it caught Mac off-guard.
“Oh… you have a… guest?” Lourdes said.
Is she jealous?
“Just Mac,” I said. “I told him to come out with us. I’m trying to get him laid.”
She relaxed or at least played it off casually, a smile returning to her beautiful features. Lourdes was mathematical perfection when it came to symmetry. Even without a face full of makeup, she was gorgeous. In all these years, I never swooned the way I did over Lourdes.
“Apologies for being a stowaway,” Mac said.
“No, it’s fine,” I insisted.
“We can help you… maybe…” Lourdes said. “Well, maybe Leah, as I would guess you and Leah are more likely to share a type than you and me are.”
Mac furrowed his brow.
“I don’t really have a type,” Lourdes said. “But I do tend to date people who are a bit more androgynous. Leah dates only famewhores who are hot. She’s either with sexy beefcakes with no brain or impossibly fit women. There is nothing in between.”
I rolled my eyes. “Not always.”
“Uh-huh!” She leaned on the doorjamb and crossed her arms.
Mac looked between us.
“That’s not true. But, I would say I’m a little more binary than you. Fine, I’m regressive,” I rolled my eyes. “If the right person—man, woman, neither, or both—came around, I wouldn’t write them off. But… I think yes, Mac, you and I probably share a more consistent type.”
I hated when she did this. She always implied I was just not open-minded enough.
She insisted I had a rigid type and that was the problem.
The holier-than-thou pansexual came out.
I fought the urge to fight, reminding myself it wasn’t worth it.
I dropped the rope, and pulled on a dress.
I’d dance the night away, drink, and try to forget that every time she did this, it felt like a dagger to the heart.