Chapter 21
I arrive back home to find Nick sitting on my parents’ front steps. A small crowd has gathered across the street, watching him, and he is skillfully looking both crestfallen and gamely photogenic. He is holding a bouquet of flowers and has two cups of coffee. He holds one out to me as I approach.
“Peace offering?” He tries a charming smile. I scowl back.
“What do you want?” I grab the coffee, though. I take a sip. Black. I want to throw it at him, but people are watching.
“I want to apologize,” he says. I say nothing. “Can I come in?”
“Nope.” I gesture to the front porch chairs. “You can sit,” I say. I stare at the group across the street until they get the message and casually disperse. Nick gives a big neighborly wave, then turns back to me. Always the showman.
“I hate myself for what happened. I don’t know what to say.” He holds up his hands. “I . . .”
“No. Stop. You don’t get to talk.”
He steps back, dropping his head.
“You followed me into the woods, you saw I was incapacitated, and you completely took advantage. There is a version of this that could go very, very badly for you. You know that, right?”
“You know how I feel about you. I would never want to hurt you. I . . .” He puts his head in his hands.
“I feel like I could try to explain all day, and there would be nothing else really to say other than I was not myself . . . I was under an influence I didn’t plan on.
Those brownies . . . I had one also. So trippy.
I was also doing shots with the crew, trying to get in with the guys.
You know.” I know. Nick Nolan’s fatal flaw is that he can’t stand people not loving him.
“I know how it looked, Mira. I would have punched any guy who touched you.” He looks up at me, his macho face on.
“Yeah, you did that too. What the fuck, Nick? Will was coming to help me! To . . . protect me from you!”
He sighs. “I’m sorry. Okay? I was fucked up. I fucked up. What else am I supposed to say?”
I have a feeling that was his big finish. It’s not an unfamiliar sensation.
I say nothing.
“So, what do you think?” He sits back. Yup. He thinks he’s nailed it.
“Yeah, really good job, Nick,” I say. “You did it. You apologized to a person.”
He laughs. “See? What am I supposed to do without you?”
“That is absolutely none of my business,” I say.
“When are you going to stop punishing me?”
I look at him in disbelief. “Dude, I never started. I’m not punishing you.”
“You are, you’re breaking me!”
“No.” I lean forward and point very close to his face. “I broke up with you. End of story.”
“Maybe I’ll just leave the play,” he says.
“Do what you’ve gotta do,” I say. I’m half hoping he will leave, play be damned. But I know him. He won’t. His face proves it: I’ve called his bluff.
“It would just be pretty bad press if I did,” he says, a slight sulk in his voice. “A lot of people would be disappointed.” He straightens up. “I’m staying.”
“Fine,” I say. “Whatever.”
“No one can say that I walk out on my commitments,” he says. “I’m not leaving. I’m going to be great. It will be the best show ever, and then it will never be as good again because I won’t be here,” he says, as if now he’s really got me, as if I’ll stop him.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you at rehearsal, then.” I smile at him. He storms down the porch steps in a big huff. “Hey, Nick.” He turns around hopefully. “I take my coffee with oat milk and cinnamon.”
“What? No! That’s not true!” He sounds like a toddler. “You take it like I do!”
“No,” I say. “You just never bothered to get it right.”
“Jesus, woman. Why am I even trying?”
When he’s gone, I lay my head back against the chair.
I am very tired. I seem to have an excess of men in my life at the moment, all waiting in the wings.
Nick with his empty threats and ego. Theo, whose friendship is my saving grace these days.
And Will, who is so guarded, but who will run into the woods after me and beat up any man who messes with me.
Will, who remembered how I take my coffee after one conversation, when Nick didn’t after five months. Will, whose kiss still burns in me.
At rehearsal, Glory throws her arms around me. “Oh, my dear girl, I’m so sorry, I’m such an ass. I’ve been worried sick!”
“We hear you’ve had quite the night,” says Peg.
“We do make pretty sturdy stuff.” Ron puffs his chest. “The secret is . . .”
“Bourbon, yes, we know, Ron,” says Barb.
“So, did anything happen after we left the party?” asks Glory.
“Glory, I don’t remember the party,” I say. “It is a complete blackout in my memory.”
“We heard some things,” says Peg. I stare at her.
“You know, I’m actually not interested in what you heard,” I say. “I know the brownies were a mistake.”
“It’s well-known lore that you shouldn’t take food or drink from fairies,” says Ron, and we all turn to look at him.
“You aren’t fairies, Ron! You’re amateur actors!” I snap, and they all look at me. They look . . . hurt. Disappointed. Glory gasps. Peg stares at me, eyes blazing. She storms off. Glory, panicked, follows her. Ron leaves and goes to sit in his usual chair. Barb stays.
“We are all a little on edge at the moment,” she says. “Glory and Peg, they feel things very deeply.”
“No shit,” I say. “Listen, I didn’t mean to be rude, but . . .”
“No, we put you in a sticky situation. Then we drugged you. Albeit, accidentally, but you’re right.”
“Yeah, well, thanks for saying that.”
She looks at me straight on. “It’s all going to work out,” she says.
“What do you mean? Which thing?”
“All of it,” she says simply. “The play. The heart.” She arches an eyebrow.
“What do you know about my heart?”
She casts her gaze casually around the room, landing on Theo, laughing in the corner with Max, then Nick, who is, alarmingly, in an intense conversation with my father, then lingering on Will, who is lifting a riser with another stagehand. Then back at me. It seems Barb knows plenty about my heart.
“I’m telling you,” she says, “all will be well.” She pats my arm.
I’m not sure what she knows, or what exactly she is saying.
I look back at Will and find him looking at me.
He holds my gaze, gives his twitch of a smile.
I start to walk toward him. I’m not sure why, I am simply pulled, I would just like to be next to him, but my mission is diverted by my father and, it would seem, my ex.
“Miranda, come here, please.” They look serious.
“Hey,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Miranda, I’ve been having a chat with Nick here.”
“Oh? Should I be worried?” A joke, but a geyser of truth underneath it.
I am suddenly afraid my dad knows everything, that my secret of Nick is out, that the events of the other night are now public domain.
I catch Nick’s eye as I approach, and he smiles slightly and shakes his head: No, you don’t need to worry. What, then?
“I was looking over our first scene in the woods,” Nick says.
For once he sounds borderline professional.
“And I feel . . . I just wonder if the vibe is a little . . . predatory.” He is talking about when he pushes me down and hovers over me.
“But I shall do thee mischief in the woods.” He is talking about the version we played the other night at the party, in the forest. Doing that scene with Will felt thrilling, but Nick is right: It’s different now, with him.
“So, I was just discussing it with your dad, the possibility of exploring some other . . . uh, staging.”
“On the one hand, as I told Nick, it’s quite uncommon for a director to change blocking at this stage.
” This isn’t totally true: My dad is throwing his weight around, and I get it.
The scene itself looks good. There is tension, it is working.
Why would we change it? “And I suppose I assume that if you were uncomfortable with it, you could have come to me directly?” He looks at me hard.
I look at Nick, who shrugs apologetically.
“This isn’t my idea,” I say to my dad. “It seems like Nick is suddenly a feminist and is just expressing concern about my comfort.” Because he feels guilty about doing me mischief in the woods. Nick looks at the floor.
My father looks between us. “Is there something I don’t know here?
” He looks especially hard at me, and while I wish that I had a paternal relationship where I could say, This man is my ex-lover, has a past history of treating me like shit, he got me fired as revenge for dumping him, and took advantage of my drug-addled state, I say nothing.
“It’s my fault.” Nick’s head is down. “I’d prefer not to go into details, and I am telling you this in the strictest confidence.
” My father nods. “But . . .” He pauses here, glances at me.
“I have behaved badly in the past toward Miranda, and I don’t feel that it’s fair for her to have to reenact it. ”
My father sits back, clearly shocked. “Is this true?” he asks me.
I shrug. I nod. I look at Nick, who is looking at his hands. I am floored.
My dad is quiet for a long time, thinking.
“Would it be appropriate,” he asks finally, “if I entrust the two of you to come up with something that you both feel comfortable with? And we will review it together?” Nick and I look at each other and nod slowly.
“Very well,” he says. “Nick, leave.” Nick steals another glance at me.
Suddenly I don’t know him at all. I get up to leave. “Miranda, stay.”
I sit. My father leans toward me.
“Are these events that he mentioned related to his presence here?”
“Yes.”
He looks closely at me. “Has his being here caused you harm?” I hesitate.
“Not too much.” I smile a little.
“Ah,” he says. There is a long pause while he thinks. “Does he need to leave?” He looks at me intently. For the second time in five minutes, I’m floored. “You’re an actor in my company. But you’re also my daughter.” This is as close to a declaration of love as I’ve ever had from my father.
I think about it. Nick leaving would end a lot of my problems. At this point in the production, it would also create a lot for many other people. And his actions, just now, have confused me completely.
“No,” I say. “I appreciate that.” I love you too? “Re-blocking the scene would be fine,” I say.
“And we will drop the kiss at the end,” he says.
“No need for that.” I nod, grateful. “It has just occurred to me,” he says, “that perhaps we don’t, in fact, know each other all that well.
” I say nothing. “You’ve behaved like a true professional,” my dad says.
Then, because we both know that’s not enough: “You’re a lovely Helena.
” He takes my hand and kisses it briefly.
“I knew you would be.” He stands up abruptly, his display of affection clearly too much for him. “Back to work,” he says gruffly.
I remain where I am, a little stunned.
Theo passes by me and leans down. “What was all that?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say. Then: “Everything.”