by Serena Grey
Chapter Ten
Aidan
“We’ll take five, then take it from the top.”
There’s a few exaggerated groans from the actors on the stage. “Last one today,” I say with a smile. “I promise.” I glance at my notes then turn to Liz, who’s still standing in the middle of the stage. “Liz…”
There’s a barely perceptible flinch when I say her name, but I notice. I notice everything about her. Especially after that kiss. She occupied my thoughts before the kiss, but now, after…I am helplessly obsessed with her.
I describe what I need for the scene, trying not to be too distracted while I talk. Everything about her is distracting…her eyes, the small pulse beating gently between her collarbones, the faint flush creeping up her cheeks.
My mind floods with the memory of her lips touching mine, the sounds she made, the sweet curves of her body, and arousal sears through me.
“…and when he says he wants to kiss you again—”
She frowns. “What?”
“What?” I look around and see the puzzled faces, then realize what I said.
“I mean…ah…when he says the line about wanting to see you again…” I clear my throat. “Pause a beat…include an action to convey your feelings, not just an immediate response.”
She nods.
I reel off the rest of my notes to the other actors and watch as they get ready to do the scene again. My eyes keep going back to Liz, and it takes all my willpower to drag them away.
Why the fuck did I kiss her?
“Everything all right?” Cruz asks.
“Yes.” I give him a tight smile, then my eyes go back to the stage, where Liz is saying something to Arthur. The older actor looks enchanted with her. They both laugh, and I desperately want to be the one she’s laughing with.
As I watch, she pushes a stray hair back over her ear, lifts a water bottle to her lips and drinks.
God, she is beautiful.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“What?” Cruz asks.
“Nothing. Jesus!”
He gives me a quizzical look. “Maybe you need a break.”
Maybe I do. A break. Or something to get my mind off Liz. Another woman, maybe. I grimace. Somehow, the thought of being with someone else is almost distasteful.
Liz has bewitched me with her dislike and her resentment.
It would serve me right to fall for someone who can’t stand the sight of me. All the goddesses on Olympus would celebrate that one for all the ignored calls, blocked numbers, and unanswered messages their adherents have suffered here on earth.
I watch the rest of the rehearsal in silence, and when it’s over, I’m glad to leave.
I spend the rest of the day in meetings with the production team and the set designers.
“We’re planning to install a few additional tracks on the stage floor,” Carter Hyong tells us. He’s the chief set designer. “So we can rotate the sets for the final scenes…” He touches his laptop screen and the image on the screen shows what he plans. “Like so.”
“How much does this go over budget?” Dennis McKay asks.
I try to hide my smile. Money and schedules, the producer’s main worry. It’s a valid worry too. Creatives would go over budget every single time without firm refusals from the business side.
“What about the scenes that don’t take place within these sets?” I ask.
“Yes, that.” Carter nods. “We’re still using the tracks that lead backstage, so we can move the rotating sets to the back and use a backdrop closer to the front of the stage.”
Cruz frowns. “Did you test all the seats? What about people at the sides? Won’t they see past the backdrop?”
“No.” Carter shakes his head. “We projected all the angles, and the budget already covers most of this,” he tells McKay.
After about half an hour of more questions and explanations, the meeting ends.
On the stage, a group of technicians are testing the lights. I hear McKay take a deep breath. “It never gets old, does it? Watching a production come to life.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I agree, wondering what he would do or say if he got the slightest inkling that I kissed his daughter.
“Funny,” he continues, oblivious to my thoughts. “I wasn’t one of those kids obsessed with theatre, you know. One day, on a family vacation, my parents decided to see a play. It was unforgettable. It changed my life. I’ve lived and breathed Broadway since.” He smiles at me. “Are we ready for tech?”
I nod. “The cast is ready.”
“I don’t want to be that parent…” He gives me a self-conscious grin that contrasts with his deep, booming voice, “but I am hearing good things about Liz.”
“Well, yeah.” I’m trying hard not to look as uncomfortable or guilty as I feel. “She’s a natural. You should come watch her.”
He laughs heartily. “She’s banned me from doing so. Kids. One minute it’s daddy look at me…and the next, they’re twenty years old and starring in a play.”
“Nineteen,” I reply absently.
He nods. “Till tomorrow.”
As he walks away, my thoughts go back to Liz. Why didn’t I know about her birthday? I go to check the notice board, and sure enough it’s there. I’m wondering why nobody asked me to sign her card, when Natalia finds me and thrusts the huge card in my face before handing me a pen.
“I’ve been waiting forever for you to finish your meeting. You’re the only one who hasn’t signed.”
“I’m sure Liz would prefer the card without the taint of my signature,” I say wryly, taking the pen from her outstretched hand.
“Oh, the director and the lead hate each other. How original.” She rolls her eyes, making me chuckle as I scrawl my name at the bottom of the page full of messages and signatures and add the simplest message that comes to mind. Cheers.
A few minutes later, on my way to my office, I see Liz locking her dressing room door, the huge card under her arm.
I want to kiss her again.
I want to do more than kiss her.
“I’m just glad we have the day off and I don’t have to see his face for one whole day,” she says to the phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder. “Bliss.”
She turns and sees me, and her eyes widen. My lips lift in a small self-mocking smile, and I give her a mocking salute. She scowls, then walks past me without a word.
On my free days, I usually take the train or a town car to Windbreakers and spend the day with Wilson Hayes and Aunt Betsy, or hang around in my office and have long talks about old shows with Jimmy, the doorman who has worked at the theater since he was a kid, and knows everything that has ever happened on Broadway.
I still have no idea what I’m doing at Dennis McKay’s home.
An older woman lets me in. Inside, the sounds of music contrasts with the silence outside.
Is Liz having a party?
Why the fuck am I here?
What happened to staying the hell away from her?
I walk into the living room, half listening as Fergie spells out the letters of the word glamorous in a soft, breathy voice.
There are a few people around Liz’s age drinking from bedazzled paper cups. In an area of the room clear of furniture, a quartet of girls have formed a line and are dancing to the song.
One of them is Liz.
I stay near the door, watching the choreography, my eyes glued to Liz as she swings her hair, shakes her hips, in perfect step with the other three girls. Soon enough there’s a chant of Liz! Liz! Liz! going around the room. I almost join in. She’s good, a born performer.
The song ends, and the girls collapse into laughter. From where I stand, I can see the slight sheen of perspiration of Liz’s skin. She’s laughing, and even though I’m still unsure what I’m doing here, I’m glad I came, because I love seeing her like this.
She’s mid laugh when she sees me. Her merriment disappears at once, and she straightens.
�
�Aidan!” It’s a girl I recognize from Dennis McKay’s party the other night. Liz’s friend. “I’m Fiona.” She grins at me. “Liz didn’t say you were coming.”
“She didn’t know.”
Her grin widens. “Figures.” She turns to where Liz is still glaring at me and her grin widens even more. “Looks like she’s ecstatic to see you.”
I chuckle. “I know, right?”
Fiona walks away, laughing, and I head over to Liz.
“Happy Birthday.”
Her eyes flash as she studies me. Emerald-green and edged with a lovely shade of hazel. There’s a whole universe of emotion in their depths, and I want nothing more than to decipher those emotions.
“I don’t remember inviting you,” she says, lips pursed.
“You didn’t.”
She’s waiting for me to continue. “I didn’t know there was a party,” I explain over the music. Now it’s hip hop, and T.I. is promising some lucky girl whatever she likes.
“It’s mostly my friends from my drama program.” She shrugs. “It’s a goodbye party really, since I’ve dropped out.”
I nod. “Can we go somewhere quiet?”
She crosses her arms. “Why? You want to talk about the play?”
“No.”
She pauses a beat, then heads out of the living room, leaving me to follow her down a wide hallway and into a study with deep mahogany shelves lined with books and trophies.
She turns around to face me. “So…what is it you want to talk about?”
“I…” Why do I feel awkward? “Nothing, really…I just…I got you something.”
She looks suspicious but accepts the small package. “What is it?”
“Why don’t you open it?”
She fumbles with the wrapping, then goes silent as she pulls out a pair of sage cashmere socks. Someone has taken a lot of time to spell out the words Drama Queen on both cuffs with tiny rhinestones.
She chuckles.
“It’s a joke,” I explain.
“Yeah, I get it.” Her eyes meet mine. “I’m keeping them.”
“That’s my intention.” I smile. “Not so bad seeing my face, is it?”
She sighs. “I didn’t mean for you to hear that…and really, if it had been anything else, anything tastelessly expensive, I’d have given it back and asked you to leave.” She crosses her arms again. “I still want you to leave.”
“Because I kissed you?”
“No.” Color stains her cheeks. “Because you’re a dick.”
She’s right. I am a dick. “I shouldn’t have said you belonged on Disney junior. I assumed the fact that you got the part was apology enough, but it wasn’t. You deserved the part, and an apology from me.”
“I…” She searches for words, her eyes softening. “Is this an olive branch?”
“Yes. Kind of.”
She breathes. “I accept it, and…I understand why you felt the way you did. I’ve tried to put myself in your shoes and I know how it must have looked. You’d never heard of me. I’d never done any work and as far as you knew, I was only being pushed on you because of who my father is.”
I shrug. “I didn’t have to sound like such a dick about it though.”
She grins. It’s the first time she has genuinely smiled at me and it blows me away. “No, you didn’t,” she agrees.
We stand facing each other for a long moment. I want to kiss her again, against my better judgement, against my every intention and instinct. Her face is turned up toward mine and I know she expects it too.
I stare at her lips, soft, inviting, beautiful as hell, and my dick hardens. I pull in a deep breath. “I should go.”
Her throat works and her skin flushes again, deeper this time. There’s a quick flash of disappointment in her eyes that makes me want to damn common sense and take her in my arms.
“I’m sure you can find your way out,” she says, her voice low, then, without saying goodbye, she leaves the room and heads back to her party.
Oh, Liz.
Chapter Eleven
Liz
“Like…what do you actually want from him?” Fiona sounds curious from the other end of the phone line. “He apologized, now what? You want to be friends? Lovers? Professional colleagues and nothing more?”
“I don’t know.” I sigh. “I just know I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“I think you should seduce him,” she offers. “For both our peace of mind.”
I stare at my phone for a few baffled seconds before putting it back to my ear. “First, how? Second…fucking how? I can’t just seduce him. It’s not like I have a lot of experience in that field.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Exactly.”
“You still have weeks of rehearsals though. A lot could happen in that time.”
A lot, like… what? What do I want?
I want Aidan. On my birthday, in my dad’s study, I’d wanted him to kiss me again. I can’t stop thinking about him, and I can’t bear the thought that after the play opens, he’ll walk away, out of my reach.
Even with my limited experience, I know he’s attracted to me. But obviously, he doesn’t want to be.
Frustrated, I mumble goodbye to Fiona and enter the theater through the stage door. Then, after a few minutes in my dressing room, I go down to the stage.
At first, I hear only singing and laughter. On getting closer, I see most of the cast watching Aidan and Kate. They’re singing and dancing an old classic from one of Broadway’s longest running shows ever.
Aidan is good, very good. He dances like a pro and his singing voice is a deep velvet baritone. If he chooses, he could be on the stage. Audiences would love him.
Like I love him.
Love doesn’t work like that, Liz.
Love isn’t supposed to be an uncontrollable emotion that takes over your senses and fills your thoughts with a certainty that you belong with this one person. It’s supposed to be a slow-building emotion, born from familiarity and respect.
Or is it?
What I know is that I want him. I want him to belong to me. I want to share his smiles, his thoughts, everything. I want to ask him why he chooses not to be on the stage, if he believes in love, what his hopes are, his dreams. It makes no sense, but I wanted that even before I met him.
The song ends to loud applause and more laughter. Aidan is laughing too, teasing his fellow performer as he waves off the shouts for an encore.
“We’ve got to get to work,” he says genially, just as he turns around and our eyes meet.
My belly twists. The laugh has frozen on his face, but he’s still beautiful. A memory of his lips on mine bursts into my mind in vivid color and I’m flooded with a desire that almost paralyzes me.
He approaches me, smiling. “Hi Liz.”
“Hi.” My voice is soft. “I didn’t know you could dance.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he murmurs.
Our eyes are locked, and it takes a while for me to notice that everybody else has fallen into silence. They are all staring at me and Aidan.
Kyle breaks the silence by clearing his throat. “Liz. You must be in a good mood this morning.”
Far from it. “Maybe I am.” I’m still looking at Aidan, and as I drink him in, nothing escapes my notice. The way his thick, dark hair waves around his collar, the one lock that falls over his forehead, the way his lips seem to beg me to kiss them, the sexy smolder in his eyes. I notice the way his shirt stretches over his chest, his slim hips and thighs, his long legs.
I want him so much.
I’m familiar with curiosity, wanting to know what the fuss about sex is all about, but this…lust…it’s more than I ever imagined I’d feel.
It’s a long day of rehearsals and after, I join the other cast members in the dorm. Josie and the others have decorated the room with pink bean bags, and it has become the center for all gossip.
I half-listen to all the stories about who is dating whom, and wha
t shows are closing soon. It’s futile to try to stop obsessing about Aidan, and soon, I give up, retreating to my dressing room, too exhausted to contemplate the walk home or join the others for dinner.
I’m just going to nap for a few minutes I tell myself, but I wake up two hours later to knocking on my door.
“Liz,” I hear Aidan’s voice from the corridor and jump up from the couch, giving my face a quick once over in the mirror before opening the door.
He’s right outside, one shoulder leaning on the door frame. His eyes linger on my body in a way that makes my skin heat and my heart race. I want to touch my skin to his. I want to weave my fingers through his hair. To fill my nose with his scent.
“You didn’t join the others for dinner.” His voice snaps me out of my dirty thoughts.
“Yeah…I was exhausted.”
“Understandable,” he says. “You’re in almost every scene.”
“Perks of being the star.”
He laughs. “I got takeout.” He shows me the brown paper bag. “Wanna share?”
My stomach chooses that moment to let out a loud rumble. I groan in embarrassment.
He laughs softly and follows me into the room. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
After settling in front of the dressing mirror, and turning the chair to face the sofa where I’m sitting, He hands me a pack of spicy Thai food, which I open and inhale, almost passing out from bliss.
“You like?” One side of his lips crooks upwards as he watches me, and I melt a little.
“I love,” I reply, not sure I’m only talking about the food.
We eat in silence. After a while, he turns to look in my mirror and makes a pouty face like he’s posing for a picture.
“Why don’t you act?” I ask him, laughing.
He shrugs. “I’m not a performer. Being on stage does nothing for me. I prefer to direct.”
“Being on stage does nothing for you?”
He nods, and I stare at him in disbelief. “What about the fact that you’re good at it. What about fame? Recognition?”
“I’m good at a lot of things,” he says dismissively. “I’m not planning to make careers out of all of them.”
