Chapter 24
twenty-four
. . .
Jordana
Something was troubling Gavin.
This morning, he’d brought me coffee in bed. He insisted on running a hot bath for me, which felt heavenly after last night’s punishments. He joked that he wouldn’t put away his photography equipment, the reflectors camped around the bedroom like tents, because he’d gotten so used to having it out.
But there was a furrow between his brows.
“You don’t have to sugarcoat anything,” I promised. “If something’s wrong, you can tell me.”
“Just a mood.” He ruffled my hair. “It happens.”
But I wondered. By his own admission, Gavin had been in a dark place this year. He’d called himself washed-up. I couldn’t stand for him to put himself down when he was so incredible.
He mentioned off-handedly that he’d be at every show this weekend, throwing away the sentiment like it didn’t matter. But it mattered to me. There wasn’t a word from my parents about Streetcar. Only more emails about legal internships from my father, and forlorn texts about money from my mother.
Now, it was opening night. Five minutes before curtain. The cast and crew stood in a circle backstage in the dark, our eyes closed, holding hands. Eden squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back.
“Take the nervous energy inside you and turn it into power energy,” Rachel instructed. “Gather it into a glowing ball of light. Feel it grow. It’s getting bigger and bigger, filling you up.”
Some of the cast and crew secretly poked fun at Rachel’s visualization exercises, but I loved them. My shoulders relaxed as she continued.
“It’s warm and it’s glowing and it’s good. It grows until you can’t keep it inside you. Send that light out through your right hand, and take it in through your left hand. Keep sharing the light. It’s so big, it’s filling all of us.”
Corey had left me alone since last night. When we’d crossed paths backstage, he’d looked away.
“Now gather that light inside yourself, condensing it until it’s a tiny glowing ball of energy. Keep it there for tonight,” Rachel said. “I’m handing this show over to you. Everything from now until closing night belongs to all of you. Open your eyes.”
Our hands dropped, but my body still tingled with energy. Eden and I turned to each other and hugged, hard.
I knew I’d have to talk to her soon. She deserved the truth.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Ready.”
Walking to the wings, I adjusted my hat and white lace suit.
I grasped the handle to Blanche’s once-grand trunk.
I was still sore, deliciously so, from Gavin’s rough use of my body.
I pulled from that soreness to become Blanche, anxious and overexcited from travel, ready for a desperate last stand of her dignity at her sister’s home.
An announcement was made from the stage, followed by applause. The theater went dark. Hope and Maggie, who played another neighbor, took their places with a creak of the floorboards.
When the lights came up, I walked onstage, wheeling my baggage behind me.