Chapter 14
Alana woke up in her Manhattan hotel on the morning of July 2nd with the worst kind of headache. It rattled through her and pressed her into the mattress. Tears sprung to her eyes. When she regained a bit of strength, she crept up and poured herself a massive glass of water as her heart pounded. What was this? What had she done to deserve this? And then she remembered. Today was her audition with Pete, and she still hadn’t told Jeremy. Maybe this was her subconscious mind forcing her to pay for keeping the truth to herself. That isn’t how you start a marriage.
She hadn’t told anyone about the audition except for her mother. As she filled her mouth with chilly water, her mother texted to say:
“Break a leg.”
Alana’s heart swelled. She knew that her mother respected going after your dreams above all things. In some ways, Alana recognized that she was auditioning to prove something to her mother. But she never would have admitted that. Not to anyone.
Alana went for a brief run through Central Park, showered in the walk-in shower, put lotion all over her body, then dressed in a pair of black jeans and a black V-neck t-shirt. It made her look slightly sultry and slightly younger than she was—both benefits in the audition room, which is something she’d learned more than half her life ago. At ten-thirty, she struck out for the Broadway stage, where they were holding auditions. Sarah had mentioned that Pete’s assistant director was holding her play rehearsal today because “Pete is already thinking about his next project. He’s obsessed!” Ginny’s eyes flashed then, too, and Alana wondered if Pete had already spoken to Sarah and Ginny about his next project. Maybe they were both “shoo-ins” for autumn. It wasn’t hard to envision herself in their midst by then—an actor in her own right on an off-Broadway stage.
Alana reached the waiting room for the audition and immediately shriveled up with surprise. She’d presumed that everyone auditioning would be around her age—forties, at least, but she found that most of them were in their twenties or early thirties (with good anti-aging tactics). Most of them knew each other and laughed and talked about parties they’d recently attended. It reminded Alana of her long-ago days of modeling and her brief foray into acting. She’d known everyone back then, too. But not now. She was a nobody now. She sat in the corner and went over her lines again, realizing that it was far easier to remember the lines from Sarah’s play than this one. She supposed that was because it had been so nourishing to rehearse a play with someone else. She’d done all of this on her own. And she’d mostly kept it a secret—which felt so isolating.
“Who are you auditioning for?” A woman beside her asked. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties and wore a dark brown bob and a pair of big glasses that looked like they were from the seventies.
“Martha,” Alana said. “And you?”
“Same. Martha.” The girl smiled wider as though she were relieved. She was going up against this much older woman. It was clear to her that Alana wasn’t “real” competition.
Alana’s cheeks burned. But she didn’t want to let this younger woman get in her head. “Have you worked with Pete before?”
“No. But a friend has,” the young woman offered. “I’ve met him a few times. He’s a dream.”
“Totally,” Alana said before burrowing herself back in her script. All she wanted in the world was to be transported out of this room and back into the home she shared with Jeremy in Nantucket. She wanted Jeremy to pop his head in and ask, Should I make popcorn for the movie? She wanted to be able to breathe again.
But a few minutes later, Pete’s assistant called her in for the audition. Alana walked like a woman about to jump off the plank of a pirate ship. She entered the dark theater and found herself stage-centered, with lights burning down upon her. She could just barely make out Pete and a few others in the audience. She forbade herself from saying hello and being chummy with Pete. In reality, she hardly knew him at all, and she didn’t want to seem silly. She took acting seriously.
“This is Alana Copperfield reading for Martha,” the assistant called.
This was Alana’s cue. She cleared her throat and began a monologue that Martha’s character says halfway through the play—immediately before a miscarriage rattles her future and ultimately causes her husband to leave her.
“This baby is our everything,” Alana said, gazing out across the black seats, imagining that they were filled with hundreds of people in a future audience. “It’s what we’ve always wanted. The other morning, Zach woke me up, placed his head on my belly, and listened. I knew he could hear her talking to him. I knew that our baby was telling him secrets that she didn’t even share with me. And I knew we would be the kind of family who refused to acknowledge our past. We’re future people. We’re headed for a new dawn.”
The monologue went on a little bit longer. After that, Pete acted as Alana’s husband in the play, and Alana answered him perfectly. Her embarrassment, fear and shame at trying to do this at such an “old” age fell away, and she was completely and totally the character. By the end of the scene, she was fully crying. She was that immersed.
In the end, Pete, his assistant, and the three other people who sat with Pete observing the audition stood up and clapped long and hard. Alana blushed and touched her cheek. The lights went up, and for a moment, she was genuinely surprised that nobody else was in the audience.
“That was incredible, Alana,” Pete said. He walked to the stage and pressed both of his palms on it as he gazed up at her. Alana felt like some kind of goddess. “Really. You should have seen some of the garbage that walked on this stage today.”
Alana laughed nervously. She couldn’t get rid of her smile. Over and over again, she thought, this is it. I’ve done it. My acting career is off to the races again. And then, But how will I tell Jeremy?
“Thank you, Pete,” Alana offered. “And thank you for pushing me to audition. This was really fun.”
“Fun is exactly what it should be,” Pete said. “But you didn’t look like it was fun. You looked totally immersed in the character. Truly amazing.”
Alana smiled wider, and Pete heaved himself up onto the stage and sauntered toward her. Alana again was reminded of Asher, of the sort of arrogant artist-type who wanted to “own” you.” She took a hesitant step back and hoped he didn’t notice that she was frightened of her. That would only make his pursuing her more enjoyable for him. And she did not want to be pursued!
“I genuinely can’t imagine anyone better for this part,” Pete went on. “I should send everyone else away.”
“Don’t do that,” Alana said. “The next Nicole Kidman is probably out there.”
“Really? Oh dear. Send her away first,” Pete joked.
Alana raised both eyebrows and laughed nervously. Did Pete think Nicole Kidman was a bad actress? Was he insane?
“We should talk later this week,” Pete offered.
“Sure! Yes. Of course,” Alana sputtered. “We really should.”
“I just have so many ideas about this production and about your character in particular,” Pete went on. “Maybe we can talk over dinner about it on Friday?”
Alana’s thoughts pounded. Friday was July 5th, which was one day after the Fourth of July, which probably meant she would be spending endless days with the Copperfield family, eating hot dogs and swimming in the sea. But Pete’s eyes were gleaming with such certainty. How could she turn down this opportunity?
“I’m sure I can work it out,” Alana offered.
“You’d better,” Pete said. He gently punched her upper arm. “Get ready for your real life to begin, huh?”
After that, he turned and swung back off the stage. “I’ll text you the details,” he called behind his shoulder. His assistant led Alana off the stage and called the next woman for her audition. Alana slunk back into the overwhelmingly bright July afternoon and pressed her hand across her heart. What was that? She thought. What on earth did I just get myself involved with?
But she didn’t have long to spiral. She planned to meet her mother for lunch at two p.m. on the Upper West Side. Alana walked through Central Park on her way to the restaurant, pausing several times to draw her cheeks up and into the sun. In a few months, I’ll be able to do this all the time, she thought. Maybe Jeremy could take a leave of absence from work and come to the city with me. Maybe everything can work in my favor. Maybe Jeremy would even fall in love with New York and suggest living there part-time for Sarah and Alana’s careers.
But already she heard Jeremy’s voice saying, What would I do in New York? My job is here in Nantucket. Why would you ever assume I wanted to go to New York City and do nothing but be your husband?
It wasn’t clear if he actually would say that, but she could feel it bubbling beneath the surface.
Greta was already seated at their table when Alana arrived. She was hunched with her elbows up, looking far less ladylike than Alana had seen her maybe ever. Her eyes were to the ground and rimmed red. Had she been crying? Alana hesitated and fixed her face. She didn’t want to launch into news of her audition too soon, not if her mother was going through something.
But the minute Alana reached the table, Greta pulled her head up and asked, “How did it go?”
Alana’s smile was instantaneous. “I think it went really well.” She dropped into the chair across from her mother. “I don’t want to jinx anything. But he wants to meet to discuss the character later this week. I don’t remember that ever happening when I was in my twenties. I think it must be proof that I’m a better actress than I was twenty years ago, you know? I’ve been teaching these girls for a couple of years. Maybe my teaching rubbed off on me.” Alana laughed.
Greta’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. She squeezed Alana’s hand over the table. “I’m so happy for you, honey. Really. You deserve this.”
“Like I said, it isn’t for sure yet.”
“But you went after it anyway,” Greta offered.
A waiter arrived to take their order. Greta ordered a white wine while Alana ordered a rose. They were seated outside beneath an umbrella that blocked the generous sunrays on this side of the street. Just down the street, you can see the green froth of hundreds of Central Park trees.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Alana offered because silence was heavy on the table.
“Yes.”
Alana pressed her lips together. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
The waiter returned with their wines, and Greta thanked him too many times as though she wanted to stall. Finally, she raised her glass and said, “I don’t know what to make of any of it. I feel like I don’t live on a planet I understand.”
“Welcome to the club.”
Greta laughed and pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead.
“Come on. What did he say?” Alana pressed it.
“He didn’t even know she wrote fiction,” Greta rasped, still staring at the table between them. “He said the most creative he ever saw her was writing advertisement copy or fingerpainting with their kids. It’s like she wanted to turn her back completely on her old life. Like she no longer cared about music or books or art. Everything that the two of us shared during that year together.”
Alana’s heart panged with sorrow. “That’s so strange.”
“But it gets weirder. Apparently, Celeste didn’t tell her husband that she had met me in Nantucket. He didn’t even know about me at all.”
“It sounds like she really wanted to see you. But she didn’t want to reveal these parts of herself to him,” Alana went on. “I guess I can understand that. Sort of.”
Alana thought again about how she still hadn’t told Jeremy about her audition, and her stomach twisted.
Greta banged her fist on the table. “Then why didn’t she say anything to me? Why didn’t she tell me what was really on her mind? Why did she talk to me about the weather when her life was on the brink of ending?” Greta’s face squeezed into a red ball, and she burst into tears.
Alana was on her feet. She’d never seen her mother so emotional before, and it sent her own emotions into a downward spiral. She threw her arms around Greta from the side and said anything she could to calm her down. “She loved you so much, Mom. Sometimes, we don’t know how to share our love with each other. But it’s clear she needed to see you before she died. You were like a mother to her for so long. You were like a mother when she really needed a mother.”
But this only seemed to stress Greta out more. She pressed a linen napkin over her face and shuddered and sobbed. Eventually, Alana alerted the waiter that she would pay for the wine and take her mother out. The waiter seemed relieved. Greta was scaring the other diners, all of whom were looking at her and gossiping into one another’s ears. Their whispers were like lizards in the grass.
Alana hailed a taxi and took Greta back to the hotel they’d both booked for the night. In the back of the car, Greta pressed her hand over her mouth and hiccupped a few times, but she didn’t keep crying. The driver kept trying to talk to Alana about how beautiful the weather was and where she was from, but Alana answered so curtly that he eventually got the hint.
Alana led Greta to her hotel room and poured her a big glass of water with ice. Greta sat at the edge of Alana’s bed and muttered, “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I lost control like that.”
“We all lose control sometimes,” Alana said. “It’s part of being alive.”
Alana sat quietly with her mother for over a half-hour before Greta perked up a bit. By then, Sarah texted that she was getting out of rehearsal early; would they like to go out to eat? Alana texted that they wanted to stay in, but she would buy everyone room service if Sarah wanted to come by. Sarah leaped at the chance. “Room service is the best!” she texted.
Greta splayed across Alana’s bed and stretched her arms out on either side. “I want a cheeseburger and extra fries,” she said.
“That sounds delicious,” Alana said after a brief pause. It was rare her mother went for such American greasy fare. “I’ll have the same.”
Not long after that, Sarah arrived, and Alana called for room service. Sarah was peppy after all day of rehearsing, and she engaged Greta in easy small talk about all things off-Broadway until Greta’s smiles became easy rather than forced.
“You have to teach me this dance,” Greta urged Sarah, and Sarah popped up and taught Greta all the moves to the dance Sarah’s character performed in Act II. Greta followed along and laughed until she urged Alana to pop up and try it, too.
“I feel like I have three feet and eight arms,” Alana said as she messed up the dance for the fifth time. “Mom, how have you already gotten this down?”
“She’s a natural,” Sarah said.
“You’re just a good teacher,” Greta assured her. She winked at Alana knowingly.
It felt as though Alana and Greta had just shared the most intimate afternoon of their lives. Greta was the only person in the world (besides Pete and his employees) who knew Alana had auditioned for a play today, and Alana was the only person in the world who understood a smidgeon of the devastation Greta was going through in the wake of losing Celeste—a woman she couldn’t possibly comprehend. As Alana, Greta, and Sarah tore through their burgers that evening and watched reality television, Alana felt as though she floated a few inches off the bed. This was her family. This was her life. And she was doing what she could to make herself and those around her as happy as she could. It occurred to her that Celeste had lived the same way, that pursuing art just hadn’t offered the same rewards any longer. And in a world where so little ever made sense, maybe that was okay.