Chapter 21
twenty-one
. . .
Jordana
That night, after the final dress rehearsal, I paced the aisle in the theater. Rachel stood by the stage, discussing a tech issue with Brian and Gretchen. Everyone else had left. I was waiting for her opinion on my writing samples.
I buttoned and unbuttoned my coat. Finally, I took it off and dropped it on a chair with my purse.
Right now, everything depended on Rachel. If she thought my work was trash… I shuddered. I’d worked so hard on these samples. How would I find the motivation to keep going if she considered them unworthy?
It was the first time anyone had laid eyes on my work. The privacy of writing was so different from acting.
Rachel sent them off, then beckoned me over.
She bounced on her toes, lively as ever, but as I approached, she took off her orange-framed glasses to rub her eyes.
“Thanks for waiting, Jorie,” she said briskly, putting her glasses back on. “I read your samples, and I’m impressed.”
“Really?” I gasped.
“Your ideas are exciting, the pacing is tight, and the execution is compelling. I can tell you’ve been working on your craft for a while.”
“Thank you,” I said fervently.
“I just have to ask. Why now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why choose now to put your writing out there? I’m curious.”
“Oh. Well…” I waved my hands vaguely. “There’s a lot going on, some changes in my life that make me want to take creative risks, I guess. Follow my muse. And it felt like…if not now, when?”
Rachel studied me, her dark eyes piercing through her glasses. “I’m glad you seized the day, even if it is at the last minute. Next time, please plan ahead.”
“I’m sorry. I really didn’t know about this opportunity until a couple of days ago. For whatever reason, the emails didn’t get to me.”
“But you’ve gotten our other emails about summer internships? They’re coming thick and fast. We sent out a big one last week.”
My brow furrowed. “No, I haven’t gotten any messages about summer opportunities.”
I felt vaguely uneasy. Was there an issue with my email filters that I needed to look into? I’d have to ask Eden to forward them to me.
“Check your email regularly, then. They’re in there. I’d hate to see you miss out on something you’re qualified for. You should try for as much as you can.”
“Thank you.” Pushing the uneasiness away, I gave Rachel a hug. “How do you do it all? Messaging like lightning at three in the morning, juggling a million responsibilities…”
Rachel laughed. “It’s a sad and lonely existence. I’m joking,” she added quickly. “Stay focused, and your work won’t let you down. Between you and me, I think you’re using only a fraction of your abilities. How will you surprise us next?”
My face flushed from the praise. Smiling, I turned to get my coat and purse from the seat where I’d left them.
“Jorie? You’ve got green paint on your shoulder.”
“I do?” I twisted to look at Gavin’s borrowed shirt. Sure enough, green paint splotched the left shoulder, cracked and dried.
“That’s not fresh,” Rachel said slowly. “Must’ve been there awhile.”
I shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll wash off.”
“Gavin has a shirt like that.”
“Gavin?
“Yes, Gavin,” Rachel prompted. “Our lighting designer. He mentioned that the two of you are…friends.”
“Mmm.” Say as little as possible, Jorie. Don’t confirm, don’t deny.
“And if I remember correctly, he got green paint on his shirt when we were working on a production together. About ten years ago?”
I blinked. How did Rachel remember these details? How?
She snapped her fingers. “Merrily We Roll Along, that was it. Last college play before I graduated. He brushed past a set piece that was drying. You’d think it would wash out, though.”
Her gaze skewered me, making me want to squirm like a guilty child.
I squared my shoulders. “Shit happens, I guess.”
A tiny smile tugged at Rachel’s mouth — she was strict, but profanity didn’t bother her. She stared across the theater.
“It was a long time ago. But Gavin hangs onto things forever.”
“Does he.” I tried to sound bored. In truth, I was dying to learn about Gavin from someone who’d known him for so long.
“Everything. Clothes, books, mementos…that lowbrow photography obsession that’s caused so many problems.” Rachel seemed to be talking to herself, as if she’d forgotten my presence. “Borderline porn. Grow up already. My God.”
I wanted to defend Gavin, but I didn’t dare speak.
So many problems? Gavin had married a woman who wasn’t right for him. Rachel was the one who’d pushed them together. Now she was blaming his broken marriage on his photography?
My anger must have shown on my face, because Rachel turned a shade paler, and her eyes snapped. In that moment, I wasn’t her student. I was a woman who was a thorn in her side.
“Did he—” She broke off, glaring at me. Pressing her hands together, she steepled them against her chin.
“Jorie, I’ve known Gavin since he was eighteen.
He looked sweet and quiet until he opened his mouth.
He was the only person who ever argued with me.
He still is.” She stared up at the catwalk.
“He gets attached. And since you’re his…
friend, you should know that when Gavin does fall for a woman, he falls very hard and very fast. He’s a hopeless romantic who goes blind to reality. That’s not a good thing.”
“I don’t think you should be telling me this.”
Her eyes met mine. “A true friend lets someone know when they’re making a mistake.”
Who was the friend here? Rachel, or me?
I clapped my hands together, trying to shake off the weirdness. “Okay! Well, thank you so much for your help with the recommendation. I should get going now. Opening night’s tomorrow! I’ve got work to do.”
Work, as in the final shoot at Gavin’s. Punishment.
“All right.” Rachel rubbed her temples. “Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I pulled my cheetah coat over Gavin’s shirt and picked up my purse. Heading a few steps up the aisle, I turned back.
“Rachel? What’s your favorite line in Streetcar?”
Rachel smiled wryly. “It changes all the time. But right now? It’s when Blanche tells Stella, ‘Pull yourself together and face the facts.’ Stella doesn’t, of course.
And neither does Blanche. They’re both mistresses of self-delusion, especially when it comes to men.
But they’d be a lot better off if they faced reality. ”
“I see. Well, my favorite line is when Blanche tells Mitch, ‘I don’t want realism! I want magic!’”
“Life is not magic, Jorie.”
“Isn’t that what we do here?” I gestured to the stage.
“Here. Not out there.”
Campus was quiet. Moonlight reflected in puddles from last night’s rainfall.
A true friend lets someone know when they’re making a mistake.
Clearly, Rachel thought Gavin and I were committing a mistake.
But even worse, her words brought Eden and Corey to mind.
No matter what Eden said, Corey’s behavior over the past few days seemed designed to win her back.
Eden was level-headed, but it worried me.
And, with my nights dedicated to Gavin, I was seeing less of her.
I called her, but got her voicemail.
Needing comfort, I pulled out my notebook and jotted down ideas for the fourth episode of Typecast. As I passed a large oak tree, raised voices carried through the air.
Corey and Max stood by a bench on the other side. Max gestured agitatedly, while Corey’s arms were folded, his face tight with annoyance. I slipped behind the tree to avoid being seen.
“The show’s had some problems,” Max said. “But it’s going to be great. Just keep it together.”
“Me?”
“I live with you, man. I see things. You’ve been off-kilter all week. You can’t sit still. You left the milk out of the fridge overnight. You forgot your laundry in the washer — I found it down there the next day. Are you even eating?”
“Everything will be fine,” Corey growled, “as soon as the resident diva gets her shit together.”
“You mean Jorie?” Max held up his hands. “She hasn’t done anything.”
“She’s changing everything at the last minute. Her Blanche is different every day. She’s fucking with us all.”
“Look, between you and me, I think she’s getting better. Her performance is more subtle. She’s bringing more range.”
Corey jabbed a finger at Max’s chest. “You’re screwing her, aren’t you? I saw you in the studio yesterday.”
“Hey, nothing’s happening. We were just practicing. Calm down.”
“She’s a loon. She’s crazy. She’s going to ruin this show.”
“Relax, okay? You’re the one I’m worried about.”
“I’m fine!” Corey roared. “I am fucking fine!”
Max shook his head and left.
My pulse beat fast. Motionless behind the tree, I waited for Corey to walk away so I could head to Gavin’s apartment.
But he was in no rush. He tipped his head back, gazing at the wispy clouds sweeping the dark sky. He scrubbed his hair with his hands and wiped them on his wool coat. He took deep breaths, reminding me uncomfortably of myself when I tried to calm down.
As I calculated my chances of slipping away, he spoke.
“I know you’re there, Jorie.”
Every hair on the back of my neck stood up. We were in public, but no one else was around.
“Just come out,” he said. “You can’t hide from me.”
This was ridiculous. Steeling myself, I stepped out from behind the tree.
“I’m not sleeping with Max.”
Corey shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don’t care if you are. I care that you’re trying to ruin my life.”
“What?” I gasped.
“You’ve been messing with me for too long now. What the fuck is up with your Blanche? Your read keeps changing. If you play her this breakable, the audience will sympathize with her and hate Stanley.”
“They’re supposed to!” I protested. “That’s what Tennessee Williams wants. Blanche is him. That’s the whole point.”
“You know that for sure? You got a direct line to the afterlife? You’ve been having conversations with his ghost?”
“I’ve read interviews,” I snapped. “I’m reading a biography.”
Corey’s eyes narrowed. “You’re upstaging me. You think everything’s about you, but this show? It’s not.”