by Taras Ford
Sydney stared at him, confused.
He pulled her behind the stage curtains. “You’re giving it up to King Ding-a-ling, aren’t you?” he whispered.
“What?”
“Honey, if I know anything, it’s when someone is getting the stick! And Ms. Sharon Stone wannabe is showing jealousy every way you slice it!”
“I don’t—”
“Listen, Ms. Thang, let me tell you something. You can sing your heart out and wiggle that sweet little brown ass of yours all you want, but if his girlfriend hates you, you’re going to come up short.” Sydney shook her head in frustration. “Juanita, I don't want this to get out. Just let it go, ok? My relationship with Nolen has nothing to do with the play.”
She hurried off to change, but she could hear Juanita cursing her out in Spanish as she disappeared around the next corner. Finding the practice room empty, she entered and let go of a deep breath. Of course her relationship with Nolen would come out, but first she wanted her feet planted solidly on the ground before others began to think she slid in on her back.
"Bravo!" Someone entered and clapped behind her.
Sydney looked up into the mirror.
Ben Mendoza stepped inside, clapping and smiling. She couldn't move or speak. She just watched him approach. Ben wasn’t a tall man. She guessed him to be average in height—five feet ten or so. He had dark hair that greyed at the temples and was too full across the brow, she wondered if the top of his hair could be a toupee. He wore an ascot and jacket every time she’d seen him. With hard, cold black beady eyes, and a long Grecian nose, he possessed hard skeleton like features with a strong jawline and squared chin.
“I thought that was you, and when Emily told me who had gotten the prima part, well, I was surprised.”
“What do you want?”
“To congratulate you, of course.”
He stopped behind her, but he was too close for her liking. She felt cold all the way to her bones. Then he placed a hand on her arm, and she jumped as if his touch seared her skin. “Don't touch me!”
“Maybe I should tell Xenia about our history?” he asked.
“That you tried to rape me?”
“That you tried to screw your way into the Academy,” he snapped.
“That's a lie! You attacked me.”
Ben’s eyes lowered to her hips and slowly climbed from her breasts to her face. “That's not how I remembered it. You followed me around for an audition, even showed up at my school after classes and threw yourself at me.”
“If you touch me again, I will—”
“What? What will you do to keep me silent? Rumor has it that Nolen Adams is now getting the favors you denied me.”
“Can I help you?” Madame Gustav suddenly entered the room.
Ben looked over to Gustav, but Sydney never took her eyes from him. If he touched her she was going to give him what she’d given him when he’d thrown her on the sofa in his office and ripped at her clothes—a knee to his groin.
“I asked you a question!” Gustav said.
“Evening, Madame.” Ben nodded. “Your star here and I were catching up.”
“Leave. Now!”
Ben’s eyes returned to Sydney. He smiled. “I'll be seeing you soon.” He turned and walked out, and Sydney closed her eyes. First she had the shame and stigma of what Ben Mendoza had implied to Gustav to deal with, and soon the accusations of what her affair with Nolen meant would begin. She felt her dream slipping from her fingers.
"Are you ok?" Madame Gustav asked.
She nodded.
Gustav stared at her. Sydney pulled up her jeans, gathered her things, and hurried for the door. But the choreographer reached out and grabbed her arm. “Zenter Stage, if you need to talk to me, do zo.”
“I'm fine, Madame. Thank you.”
She nodded, then let her go. Sydney hurried out of the studio.
The keys were at the bottom of her bag, and Sydney was too damn upset to find them. Her hands shook the entire ride home on the subway. There was no one to talk to. Not about this, or her shame. Ben Medoza was right about her naiveté. She hounded him for a personal audition, even flirted a little on the advice of Portia.
But things progressed out of her control, and when she made it clear she wouldn’t suck him off, he attacked her.
Now she slept with Nolen Adams and Sydney struggled to remember all the reasons why their situation remained different.
She caught the train and walked the blocks to her place lost in those thoughts, struggling to contain her anxiety and fear. When she entered their building she nearly collided with Ricky. The last thing she needed.
Sydney smiled warmly, masking her discomfort. “Hey.”
“How are you?” he asked, looking away.
“You headed to the club?” she asked.
Ricky slipped his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. His well-groomed dreads were free from his cap and fell about his shoulders and down his back. “Syl’s doing the books. I’m going over there to make sure everything is square.”
She nodded “About the other night—”
“No need to explain. You told me it was over,” Ricky said.
“I feel like I should.”
“No. I’ve got to go.” He started to walk past her.
Sydney stepped into his path. “Please listen to me. I didn’t ask him to come to the club, and I didn’t want to hurt you. Portia told me that you were upset, Ricky, and I’m really sorry about that.” To her astonishment, his gray eyes filled with tears. They stood in silence for a few seconds. As he stepped forward, reaching out to touch her, the elevator dinged, and Portia stepped off.
Ricky froze.
“Hey, girl,” Sydney said.
“Hey, Sydney. Ricky,” Portia said, looking him in the eyes. “What’s going on, you two?”
“Nothing,” he mumbled. “I was leaving.” He stepped around Sydney.
“Ricky, wait,” Sydney said, but Ricky kept going, avoiding Portia as he pressed the button. The elevator doors opened immediately.
Once he stepped inside and the doors closed behind him, Sydney felt a stab of guilt. “I hurt him, Portia.” Portia looked at her smugly. “I told you that the other night, and you slapped me.”
“Don’t start.”
Sydney headed for the apartment she unlocked and opened door. Portia followed her inside. “Where’s Trish?”
“With that photographer boyfriend.”
“Is she ok?”
Portia shrugged. “She said so, even though, like you, she stayed out all night without calling me.” Sydney sighed, heading for her room. She dropped her bag, then removed her jacket when Portia came in.
“I called your boyfriend’s answering service looking for you,” Portia said. “I didn’t even know how to reach you.”
“Was something wrong?”
“Of course something was wrong! Yesterday Trish ran out of here with no explanation. You left without a second glance, and no one told me anything. What kind of family are we if you two treat me like my feelings don’t matter.”
“Portia, just stop. Tell me what happened, because I swear each day I recognize you less and less. All we do is fight, and I’m sick of it. It all started when you got attacked by that photographer.” Portia’s stunned, blank stare was her only response.
Sydney turned to walk away when Portia finally spoke. “It all started when you decided that getting in that show was more important than Trish and me. Sleeping with that man so soon and knowing he owns that show is just not like you. I recognize you less and less.”
“Don’t go there.” Sydney winced. Mendoza and the wounds he left were too fresh. She cringed.
“I’m being honest. That rich bastard has changed you.”
“I said stop it dammit!! First, his name is Nolen. Second, I can do what I please. And, last, you’ve never held a moral compass to guide your choices in sex partners, so don’t bring one in here now to hold up to mine!”
�
�And hurting Ricky is your choice too?” Portia tossed out at her, folding her arms defiantly.
“Leave my room,” Sydney said, sitting down on her bed. She closed her eyes and willed herself to stop shaking. Portia must have noticed, because she stopped flapping her gums about Nolen.
“Syd? What is it?”
“Get out!” Sydney said clenching her hand to a fist.
“I’m sorry Syd, what’s wrong?”
Sydney dropped her head shaking it. “You have no idea how hard I try. Sometimes I think I should have stayed in Carolina.” She looked up at Portia. “If you were a friend, a real friend, you wouldn’t constantly find ways to make me question myself.”
“I’m sorry.” Portia put her hand to her breast. “Syd, I’m a bitch. I’m sorry. I love you, I have since we were six. I’ve always loved you. I get jealous, and I do and say stupid shit all the time. I can’t stop myself. But I love you and Trish. I swear it.”
Portia dropped to her knees. “You’re right. I lost it after that bastard attacked me. I’ve been so angry at myself but I punished you guys for it. I got issues. Syd look at me.” Sydney forced herself to look into Portia’s eyes.
Her friend smiled sadly. “I love you, I do. I’m going away and it might be the break we need.”
“Going away?”
“Yes. I got a gig in L.A. They’re flying me out tomorrow.”
“I’m happy for you.”
Portia blinked away tears. “I wanted to share my news with you, but we’re so distant.” Sydney rose and so did Portia. She gave her friend a loving hug. “I haven’t been here for you. I’m really happy for you, Portia.”
Portia kissed her cheek. “I love you, Syd. I’m sorry too. I don’t know why we’ve fought, but I want it to stop.”
Sydney smiled. “If only Trish were here. She’d love to see us make up.”
“The girl’s in love. Who is he?”
“Nolen’s best friend.”
“Wow. How did they meet?”
“The other day when we went to brunch, he came over and Nolen introduced him to us.”
“The other day?”
“The day you went to your agent’s to pick out pictures for your interview with the Ford Agency.”
“When I was here waiting for you?” Portia pulled away from Sydney and stepped back.
“It was just brunch,” Sydney protested. “He takes pictures, but I don’t know what kind. They have this whole artist vibe thing going.”
Portia smiled weakly and shrugged. “I think it’s great she’s found somebody to connect with.” Sydney nodded. “If only I could smooth things over with Ricky,” she said, starting to undress so she could shower before Nolen’s driver came for her.
“Why do you care? I thought you said you didn’t feel anything for him.”
“I never said that. I said I was in love with Nolen. I still love and care for Ricky. I don’t want him to think I’ve abandoned us. His friendship means a lot to me, just like yours.”
“It’s not your concern anymore, Sydney. Ricky will be fine and move on. He may even find love again.” Sydney watched her go. She didn’t understand why Portia was so dismissive of Ricky’s feelings since she claimed to be trying to protect them, but she didn’t want another argument. Instead of going after Portia, she headed to the bathroom. She needed to clear her head of the events of the day.
Todd opened the door to see Trish grinning at him, wearing her backpack and carrying her art supplies.
She stood on tiptoe to kiss his lips. “Hi.”
“Hi! Let me give you a hand with your stuff.” This time he’d sent a driver so she wouldn’t have a hard time getting her paints and things back to his place.
“I take it you haven’t seen your roommates?” he asked.
Trish took off her backpack and said, “I saw Portia, but she was on her way out.” Todd slipped his hands into his flimsy pants pockets. “Did you tell her about us?” Trish looked over her shoulder smiling. “I sure did!”
“She had a lot of questions?”
“That girl’s head is in the clouds,” Trish said, chuckling. “She was excited about some phone call and barely heard me.”
Todd felt a wave of relief. Obviously Trish still didn’t know the truth, and apparently Portia didn’t know who Trish was seeing. At least now he could confess to Trish in his own way, and the hell with Portia. Trish looked at her canvas appraisingly, preparing to resume her work.
He pulled her from it and kissed her again, then released her and smiled down into her face. “Maybe Nolen and Sydney, I mean Sydney, and you, and I can go to my place in Nantucket next weekend,” he said casually.
“I’d like that.”
“You should call Sydney at Nolen’s place and pitch the idea.”
“Ok,” she said, hugging him.
“Are you going to paint?” he asked.
“Yep. I haven’t painted all day, and I’m itching to get some of this happiness onto canvas. Can you get dressed? I need you on the sofa pronto.”
He smiled. “I have some work to finish in the studio. Can it wait? Maybe later we’ll make dinner.”
“Fried chicken?” she asked quickly.
“What’s with you and all the greasy foods? I have some tofu we can fix.” Trish frowned. “Tofu? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Let’s compromise and order some Thai,” Todd suggested.
Trish nodded. “That’s a good compromise. I guess I can do some sketching.”
“Is Nolen at home?” Sydney asked Charles.
“He has a late meeting,” Charles answered. “I’m leaving now to pick him up.” He gave her a little bow and left. Walking straight to Nolen’s lavish bedroom, she pulled off her gloves, thinking about what she’d cook for dinner, and dropped her bag on top of the elegant bed. The incident with Ben Mendoza still had her shaken.
She wanted to share it with Portia, but they just didn't connect anymore. Sighing, she sat on the bed. Maybe she should talk to Nolen. Tell him her fears, her shame. After all, she was slowly admitting to herself her feelings for the man. He even revealed some of his past to her. It might help.
Rising, she headed for the bathroom. The door to the side room was ajar. She couldn't help but be drawn inside. She flipped up the light and looked around at the files and papers. Something told her to leave, not to look. But she felt compelled. She picked up a paper and saw nothing on it remarkable. It was dated thirteen years ago. She picked up another. After checking three, she noticed something unique about the papers.
Each featured a rich woman who had fallen prey to a conman. First there was an heiress, who was said to have lost up to ten million in one scam. Sydney checked the next paper and the next. She was right. An elusive bachelor moved from state to state stealing young and old women's hearts as well as their fortunes.
She stepped back from the papers. She knew there were probably more details in the file folders. But she didn't want to know. Sydney walked out of the room and turned off the lights.
Chapter 13
Behind the Looking Glass
Welcomed by the homey aroma of baked chicken, and yams, Nolen walked deeper through his home, shedding his trench coat and removing his gloves. Today had been really rough, and his visit with Todd had extinguished any hope of salvaging it. Nolen entered the kitchen, he found his special lady pulling a tray of chicken out of the oven.
She hummed sweetly at the stove. After a moment she sensed his presence, turned her head, and smiled.
“Hey, what took you so long? You called and said you’d be home two hours ago,” she asked, dropping the oven mitt on the counter and throwing her arms around him.
Nolen kissed her first on the lips then second on the neck. He tried to lift her shirt, but she giggled, stepping back and pushing his hands away.
“I’m sorry. The meeting ran over.” He stifled a smile. “I sound like a dutiful husband, look at you pretending to be my domesticated wife.”
She wiped her lip-g
loss from his lips. “I like the game of pretend.”
“Me too,” he said, squeezing her rump, he felt the heat from the oven to the back of his hand and stepped backward to pull her away from the stove. Sydney swayed in his arms staring up at him with round soft brown eyes under long dark lashes. She blinked and he swore his heart skittered pass a beat. There was something refreshingly honest about her.
Sydney rose on her toes, and planted another soft but firm kiss to his lips. She pushed at his arms and broke from his embrace to return to the counter. She began brushing barbecue sauce over the chicken. “Your kitchen has more food than a grocery store. This is my specialty. You’ll love it.” Nolen inhaled and sighed with pleasure. He hadn’t eaten barbecued chicken in years. “That smells wonderful.”
“It will be. Now go and get into something more accessible.” She winked. “I’ll be ready for you soon.”
“I could get used to this, you know!”
One Week Later -
The eighty-inch wall screen and leather sofa shaped like a horseshoe made her feel like she was in a private screening room. Unfortunately the channel was set to a boring basketball game. Sydney didn’t mind. She loved cooking and relaxing with him. No matter how fast things progressed with Nolen she felt normal. A week spent of getting to know him, enjoy him, had confirmed so much. She was in love.
Sydney relaxed with her feet in his lap, sipping her wine. She kept stealing glances at him. His profile could be as intense as his face. In fact she should find him quite intimidating. Nolen massaged her feet oblivious to her scrutiny. She set the wine glass in the coaster on the armrest, and reached for his hand. His gaze soon shifted from the screen to her. Sydney wanted to say something profound, strike a conversation he would appreciate. He’s an investment banker, real-estate mogul, Broadway show financier, and she was just Sydney Allen from Beaufort. The incident with Ben Mendoza had left her raw, questioning every decision she’s made lately. Namely sleeping with a man who could make her a star. She tried to put it out of her mind. But she caught the sideways glances of Madame Gustav, and nasty smirks from Emily. Today in particular Bet had been a little cold to her. She needed to talk about it.
“So tell me about your day,” he said breaking the silence between them.
