Chapter 16
It was Alana’s final day in New York City before her planned return tomorrow. Sarah was going out with a few members of the cast. Ginny had a date, so she was on her own. But she didn’t mind. Her thoughts were moving so quickly that she wanted to walk the streets and live in her head and make sense of this brand-new opportunity alongside her brand-new marriage—both things she loved so much that her heart grew too big for her ribcage. But toward the end of the night, Ginny texted:
“We’re going out tomorrow! I want to celebrate something!”
Alana laughed. She was already in bed at the hotel, waiting for sleep. “I was supposed to leave tomorrow!”
GINNY: You have to postpone. Seriously. I need my number one girl!
ALANA: What are we celebrating?
GINNY: I’ll tell you tomorrow. But you HAVE to stay. Just one more night. Please?
Alana sighed and called Jeremy. He picked up after two rings. “Good evening, my lady,” he said in a fake English accent.
Alana giggled and rolled over onto her stomach. She felt like a teenager when she spoke to him sometimes, as it ripped her right back into the early nineties. She wiggled her toes. “Whatcha up to?”
“I’m watching television, of course,” Jeremy said. “I just have one more night of watching whatever I want before my ball and chain comes back to hog the screen.”
“You better not be watching anything I want to watch,” Alana said.
“I would never.”
Alana smiled so big into the phone that her cheeks nearly cracked. Tell him about the audition. Tell him about the play. But instead, she heard herself say, “Listen, Ginny invited me out tomorrow night. She wants to celebrate something.”
“Ah! The television is mine for one more night.”
Alana giggled. “You don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind. As long as you promise to come back eventually,” Jeremy said. “I don’t want to have that wedding all by myself. Although I wouldn’t mind eating all that cake myself.”
“It’s tricky. When you get married, you legally have to share everything,” Alana teased.
“I know. It’s tough,” Jeremy joked.
Alana’s heart pounded. It would be so simple to explain everything to him, to translate just how much it meant to her to get back into acting, to echo the ache of her jealousy for Sarah and Ginny’s lives. But at the same time, all she could do was picture Jeremy on the sofa at home with a big bowl of popcorn on his lap. She could see herself curled up alongside him with her head on his shoulder. She could hear them bickering into infinity about what to watch now and what to watch later until one of them inevitably fell asleep early. She loved that life! She loved the life they’d built together! She felt squeezed.
“I love you and miss you,” Alana said instead.
“Right back at you. Give my daughter a big hug when you see her,” Jeremy said.
“I always do.”
“And you’re coming back Wednesday. Right?”
“Yes.” Alana didn’t mention that she was headed back to the city on Friday because she still couldn’t visualize. She couldn’t imagine ripping herself from her family obligations—from hot dogs and s’mores and her mother’s laughter and fireworks—to go hang out with Pete in some dark Manhattan bar. It’s for your career, she reminded herself. But it still just didn’t quite fit her. Like a sweater, she was trying to force on she’d outgrown long ago.
Right after she got off the phone with Jeremy, Pete texted her. It was almost as if he sensed her doubts.
PETE: Still can’t get over your audition.
PETE: You’re going places, kid.
Alana grimaced and then pushed herself to text back.
ALANA: I’m not a kid anymore. Ha.
PETE: That’s for the better. Don’t you think there’s too much young blood in the theater world? Don’t we want to see real people and real actors up on that stage?
Pete’s words slipped into her bloodstream like fine wine and emboldened her. She fell asleep half-dreaming about her future and woke up with a smile on her face. Ginny wrote to say how excited she was for tonight, and Sarah wrote to say she was coming out, too. A few others from the play were joining. Alana felt everything coming together. She felt as though she was a part of the squad.
Ginny booked them at a table at a nearly impossible-to-get-into bar, as usual. It was in Harlem, of all places—a swanky speakeasy with tables located behind a door that required a specific type of knock to open. Alana had seen things like this all over the world, including Paris, Bangkok, and Beijing, but it had been a while, and it filled her with wonder. When they sat, Ginny ordered them the most exclusive cocktail on the menu—made with elderflower and coconut cream—and placed her hands together as she said, “The minute we have our drinks, I’ll make my announcement.”
Sarah laughed and turned toward her three friends from the play. They were all slightly older than Sarah, and it was clear to Alana that they were showing her the “rules” of being in the theater world. Sarah cracked jokes with them and spoke in a way that surprised Alana. Just a month ago, Sarah had called Alana, sobbing and begging for her to come to Manhattan to save her. That had faded.
Alana wondered if this was what it felt like to watch a real child grow up. Parents always talked about the loss when they stopped needing to hold your hand to cross the street or stopped asking to sleep in your bed.
“Tell me about your lives,” Alana asked Sarah’s friends, which may have been a mistake. They were theater people, and they loved to talk about themselves.
The one sitting directly next to Sarah had bright red hair and an angry look to her. “I’m a born-and-bred New Yorker,” she said. “I went to Columbia to get a political justice degree. See how well that worked out.”
Sarah sputtered with laughter. “You minored in acting, right?”
“No. I minored in business to make my dad happy,” the redhead said with a snort. “I auditioned for a play a few years ago without telling anyone and ended up getting a larger part than I‘d auditioned for.”
“How did your dad react?” Alana asked.
“He freaked,” the redhead admitted. “I didn’t think he was going to come to the play, especially after I quit my job. But he ended up coming on the very last night. I didn’t know he was there till after when he approached with a bouquet. It was literally like something out of a movie. He told me he was proud of me. That he always knew I was going to become something.”
“Aww,” everyone at the table cooed in unison.
The redhead waved her hands. “Yeah, yeah. But it comes with wave after wave of heartache. Obviously, this business isn’t for people who can’t take it.” She locked eyes with Alana and added, “I know you know that better than most. Right? Sarah showed me your advertisements.”
Alana felt a pang in her gut. She had to bite her tongue to keep herself from saying, Well, your director is about to cast me in a play. I’m practically already in the play. I’m already in.
The cocktails arrived, and Ginny clapped her hands and said it was time to announce something major. “Everyone, take your cocktails and raise them up,” she instructed, and everyone did what she said. Music hummed in the background and buzzed through Alana’s limbs. Ginny looked gorgeous in the candlelight. She looked gorgeous all the time. What would it be like to have that life? What would it be like to still have it all?
“Pete has booked me for his next play!” Ginny cried.
“Oh my gosh!” This came from the redhead, who set down her cocktail and reached over to take Ginny’s hand. “You didn’t even have to audition, did you? He loves you so much.”
Ginny laughed and closed her eyes so tightly that her skin wrinkled. “I can’t believe I’m still getting roles this late in life. I genuinely feel so grateful.” She opened her eyes again to lock them with Alana and added, “And I just love so much that my old friend is here with me. We’ve taken dramatically different paths in life, but I still feel like we get each other. Don’t you, A?”
Alana’s throat was tight. Because she was still a good actress, she could act her way out of a paper bag; she maintained a smile. But her heart banged. “Congratulations, honey! What part did you get?” she asked. “Tell us more!”
Don’t say Martha. Don’t say Martha. Oh gosh. If Ginny was going to play Martha, Alana would probably throw up across the table.
“I’m playing Henrietta,” Ginny said. “She has a crazy backstory that plays out over the course of the play. It’s going to take a lot of character work, I think.”
“Are you going to go method actor on us?” Another of Sarah’s friends asked.
Ginny giggled. “Maybe! I don’t have a boyfriend or any kids or anything. I can act however I want to, and nobody will be the wiser. Maybe I’ll meet a whole different group of friends.”
That’s when Alana noticed Sarah’s smile. It was secretive and gorgeous, and the tops of her cheeks glowed red. After coaching Sarah in acting for two years, Alana had grown accustomed to seeing the “real” Sarah come to the surface. This was the real Sarah.
“What are you hiding?” Alana asked, teasing her. Now that Ginny wasn’t playing Martha, she could breathe easier.
“Um?” Sarah laughed as the others at the table urged her to say.
“I can see it written all over your face,” the redhead said. “Come on. You have something. A secret. And there are no secrets between friends! Not in theater. That’s where gossip sings.”
Alana smiled wider as Sarah made a big show of “allowing” herself to share. She took a deep breath and said, “Okay. Okay. Pete cast me in his play, too.”
Ginny shrieked and erupted from the table to wrap Sarah in a hug. The others cried out, although Alana hinted at flickers of jealousy passing over each of the actresses’ faces. The ones who hadn’t yet been chosen.
“I can’t believe neither of you had to audition,” the redhead said. Alana made a mental note to ask her name, but maybe it was too awkward now.
“Pete loves you guys,” Sarah assured them. “I’m sure he has you in mind for the other parts.”
“We’ll see,” the redhead said.
“Which part are you playing?” Ginny asked.
“I’m Martha,” Sarah said.
Alana had just taken a sip of cocktail. It immediately went down the wrong tube. She huffed and whacked her chest as she coughed. Everyone at the table and across the speakeasy turned to gawk at her. She sounded like a dying chicken.
“Are you okay?” Sarah popped up to fetch her some water from a nearby cooler. “Drink this.”
Alana’s smile was practically manic. “I’m fine! Really. I’m sorry. I’m just so happy for you both. It’s going to be another incredible play. And it’s always amazing to have your next project booked before the first one ends!” She remembered this well from her modeling days.
Alana sipped her water as the others continued to banter about Sarah and Ginny’s good luck. Alana’s heart felt heavy as stone. She felt as though she could sink off the chair and fall to the floor, and never get up again. But each time somebody at the table addressed her, she was able to perk up and answer their question. She was able to pretend to be thrilled.
And really, she told herself, she WAS thrilled. Sarah was her soon-to-be stepdaughter. She was only nineteen and already a sought-after actress in the off-Broadway circuit. Pete and directors like Pete were apt to fight over her in the future. Her career was flung out before her like a red carpet.
Alana excused herself to the bathroom and checked her phone in the stall. She was beginning to doubt that she’d auditioned at all, and she had to check to see if Pete had actually been texting her all day. In fact, he’d written her twelve times just that afternoon. Every single one referred to Alana’s future career—both in his play and in other plays. Every single one built a future that Pete didn’t actually believe in.
He’d wound her up. But why?
Alana felt sick. She felt old and used up and, above all, sad. She left the stall and sat in a luxurious chair in the bathroom to gaze at herself in the mirror. This woman was in her late forties. She thought for sure she was about to take on an off-Broadway role that had ultimately gone to a nineteen-year-old. Who was she kidding?
Alana felt the edges of her life crinkling up. She felt her world coming to an end. And she told herself it was okay; it was really okay. She had Jeremy. She had the love of her life. But this didn’t stop tears from draining from her eyes and rolling to her chin.
But more than anything, she knew that Pete had created this situation out of his own sick will. This meant he was capable of even darker situations, of destroying people’s will.
Beyond anything, Alana had to protect Sarah. She had to hang around Manhattan just a smidgen longer to warn him that she was on to him. And she had very little patience when it came to guys like him. She’d been married to one—and she refused to let anyone else play her like that again.
* * *
Alana kept up the ruse of her own happiness all night long. At some point, Ginny ordered them shots; at another, Sarah and the redhead (whose name was Bobbi) dragged them off to karaoke and dancing. Alana eventually felt herself fully ooze into the night. She wrapped her arms around Sarah on the dance floor and cried, “Your dad and I are so proud of you!” And Sarah wrinkled her nose and said, “That’s so cringy, Alana!” “It’s Mom,” Alana joked back as Sarah cackled. Obviously, she would never call Alana that. But their humor was in sync—which was more important.
The next morning, Alana woke up with a headache and a resolution about not having any more nights out in Manhattan like that. Not now. She was too old for it. She’d moved on. She now ached to throw herself back to Nantucket, wrap her arms around Jeremy and argue about what was on television. It was now her only potential future.
But she still knew she had to tell him about all of this. This fact sunk into her belly like too much bread.
Alana showered, did her makeup and checked the time. The play rehearsal was set for nine-thirty that morning with a lunch break at once. Alana planned to be there for all of it. After that, she would say goodbye to Sarah, leap into her car, and drive home. Her fingers burned to start the engine and speed home.
Alana slipped into rehearsal a few minutes before. Pete was in conversation with three actors in the production, saying things so arrogant that they burned Alana’s ears. She said a silent prayer that she wouldn’t be working with that man, then another that involved protecting Sarah. By the time all the players were on the stage, Alana’s blood pressure had spiked, and she couldn’t look away—not even when Sarah was backstage and awaiting her next appearance. Alana allowed herself to get lost in the magic of this production as they worked out all the kinks and found their way.
Pete called lunch ten minutes late, and the actors fled the stage to grab their sandwiches in back and crack jokes. Pete remained at his table as he always did, scratching his forehead as he read over notes he’d made during rehearsal. Alana approached, silent as a deer in the forest. When she reached the table, her heart was beating so quickly that she thought she might faint. But she had to do what she’d come to do.
“Hello, Peter.”
Pete flinched and turned toward her. He smiled arrogantly and handsomely. “There’s my girl.”
“Cut the crap,” Alana shot.
Pete raised his eyebrows and laughed. “Beg your pardon?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
Pete laughed again. “I hope you bring this energy to dinner on Friday. I love a woman who tells me how wrong I am.”
Alana felt flames come out of her ears. “I’m not coming to dinner with you on Friday.”
“Okay. What about Saturday?” His eyes sparkled with intrigue. He clearly loved a challenge.
“Listen. I don’t care what you do to me,” Alana shot. “You can make fun of me. You can belittle my career. Whatever.” She pointed backstage. “But I want you to know I’m watching you. If you ever do anything to hurt the career of that young woman back there, if you ever mess with her emotions or her pride or her sense of herself, I will come after you. I will do all I can to destroy you. Remember that I still know people in this industry.”
Pete’s eyes flickered with a mix of curiosity and rage. But after a pregnant pause, he bowed his head and said, “I hear you loud and clear, Alana Copperfield.”
Alana unclenched her fists. She hadn’t realized how hard she’d been squeezing. “Okay. Okay, thank you.” She let out a breath and took a step back. The further she got away from him, the better she felt.
“I really do think you’re talented,” Pete said. “Or, I did. Back when you had that special something.”
“Back when I was young, you mean.”
Pete’s laugh was sinister. “That’s showbiz, baby.” He then returned his gaze to his script and made a note as though Alana hadn’t been there at all.
But Pete couldn’t take away the fact that Alana had stood up to him. She’d said her piece and demanded something of him, and now she was free to take off for her car and drive the five hours back to Hyannis Port. She wasn’t needed back in Manhattan for weeks—not till opening night. And as she cranked the engine and opened the windows, her heart began to sing with relief.