Sitting up, Bryant towel dried his face, pensive and bugged. It was still there, that gnawing confusion about her and the need to know, to find out the truth. Why he felt so driven, he had no idea. But he cared about her, that was for sure, more than he’d felt before and in a different way than other girls. They all seemed the same—giggling, over-pleasing, and without their own thoughts. Something beyond his understanding was definitely there with Megan—almost compulsive between them—despite her outward rejection of him. It bugged him and attracted him at the same time, a challenge and an aggravation. And yet he had to be careful. Too strong too soon and that would be it.
Bryant blew out a breath of frustration. All he knew was that until he got the real Megan, he couldn’t leave it alone.
***
A few hours later, several of the cast stood on the side stage peeking through the velvet burgundy curtains at the evening audience. Nervous energy vibrated through the cast, many of them standing in twos and threes, chatting excitedly, touching up makeup, or adjusting their costumes. Mrs. Van De Morelle had been rumored to attend, but it hadn’t been confirmed.
“People, people, this is so unprofessional,” said Marvy, shooing them away, then turned and peeked through the slit in the side curtain.
Megan approached stage right, hesitating, trying to act natural. Automatically, she scanned for Bryant but was relieved not to find him. Since the Green Room Incident, she had vaguely seen him twice, both times acting as if she hadn’t. It was utterly juvenile, of course, but her insides jumped like fighting cats. She couldn’t focus on being mature. A dangerously close connection lay open between them, like cut live wires lying close to each other. It didn’t take much to make a spark and she would have to be so very careful. Several times random moments from their encounter had replayed in her mind. The rawness of it, the sharing of such personal things so freely and unrestrained. And the feelings. It unnerved her that they could connect so quickly so deeply, but she couldn’t stop to think about why. Right now she needed to get through the performance without a mistake. Clint had announced tonight they would do the salsa: apparently, he was feeling more confidence in Megan. More than she felt at any rate.
Jillian hurried to Megan, fixing a hair piece. “Can you believe we have a full house opening night? That never happens. Usually everyone is too enamored with sightseeing to bother with us.” She put in another bobby pin. “In a few days they’ll be full on both time slots, mostly snoring in the back, but, oh well. It’s an audience. You look great by the way.”
Megan touched her skirt self-consciously. The white and silver form-fitting dress had slits up the side to just above the knee—this was, after all, a family-friendly tour. But still, she felt partially dressed. Jillian had done Megan’s chestnut hair in an updo and dramatic makeup, and despite feeling part streetwalker, part supermodel, she had to admit Jillian had done an amazing job. The cast energy began to touch her, and Megan looked forward to being part of something big. At least it would help her move beyond what was, to start creating memories of a new life, and to push the old Megan far, far away.
Walking gingerly in her dance shoes so as not to make a sound, she carefully made her way to the first song position. En route, she saw Bryant enter from the opposite side heading in her direction. He was carrying a few costume head dresses alongside Brittany, who chattered on about something, and put them down on the stage where she pointed. After exchanging a few more words, he stood up and scanned the stage for something. Or someone?
His eyes rested on Megan and moved on, then immediately came back. Surprise, but a pleasant one, showed on his face, enough that Brittany stopped talking and looked in the same direction.
Megan continued walking to her spot near them. “Break a leg, guys,” she said, in a voice more confident than she felt. The outfit had made her bold. Even as she took her mark and heard Marvy tell everyone quietly to get into position, she could feel two pairs of eyes staring at her: Bryant’s and Brittany’s.
A loud drum roll and the first bars of the opening sequence played on the minus track as the heavy velvet curtain opened. Megan was shocked to see and hear 150 people clapping just for them—she had forgotten how this felt. The sharp beat started and they began. The first two numbers went almost flawlessly, and by the last three she had finally felt her rhythm and begun enjoying it. But in the back of her mind there remained a silent dread about the salsa number. Only two more to go.
Bryant and Brittany’s big number came next. Watching them in performance mode surprised her. Always there had been a practiced quality about what they did, even in the dress rehearsal, as if they’d been holding back. Now, with his hands on her hips, moving her from spot to spot, leaning into her, turning and swooping, Megan felt uncomfortable, though she knew it was silly. Only that she immediately thought of Bryant and her doing the salsa on stage, alone, with his hands on her hips.
When he started singing his solo directly to Brittany, his warm baritone voice clear and compelling, a pang of jealousy pierced sharp between her breast bone. Annoyed she could react to it at all, Megan reminded herself it was his job and focused on a piece of back scenery for the rest of their number.
Salsa beats brought her back to the present and everyone began taking their positions. Megan breathed deeply—if she could get through this, it would set the tone for the tour.
The music came on, the loud Latin beat pulsating in the room. Everyone began moving in synchronicity and Bryant caught Megan’s eye just before she passed him. For a millisecond she froze, but unbelievably he winked, his expression saying, “You can do this.” It wasn’t like nothing had happened earlier—it was like he was enlivened by it in some bizarre way. Megan pushed it out of her mind and attended to the moment. The dance, the number. This was vital.
Building up to the X-crossing, she almost held her breath but unwittingly thought back to how Bryant had led her—his directions, his clarity. Out of necessity, she pretended he was her partner as Garrett took her and together twisted and turned across the stage, gloriously making it through without a hitch.
Relief!
The rest of the song was a happy blur. Turning once again, she saw Bryant and without thinking, winked back at him. For a moment they shared a suspended look—an understood feeling of secret success—then moved to their positions.
A bird-like feeling swept through her, light and happy. The connection between Bryant and her was, for the moment, normal. She hadn’t blown the performance. The applause was consistent and genuine. Just the finale to go.
They all lined up in position. Megan saw Brittany turn and check her costume hem, glancing back at her as she did so.
The music began and they all moved into positions, singing and weaving in formation in two lines. Brittany and Bryant shared the center stage with two other performers, and moved in and out of circles as they sang a 1920’s Broadway belter.
Like a slow-motion nightmare, it happened.
In mid-turn Megan inexplicably tripped over a girl’s shoe, stumbling over the person beside her. They went down hard, colliding with Tag who spun and took Brittany and one other girl down with him. The remaining cast on stage stood paralyzed, not sure what to do. The minus track still played.
Bryant moved quickly and did an emphatic Charlie Chaplin gesture of shock and surprise. Overacting, he flung out an arm down to the pile. Megan caught on and jumped up, one hand taking his, the other expressively slapped over her mouth in an “Oh!” expression, her leg playfully kicked out behind her. The other members played along and swung back into places to the 1920’s music. A hesitant, then stronger applause followed. The audience believed it to be part of the act.
Now dancing, Bryant and Megan exchanged concerned looks. He spun her off to a side position and took up Brittany to finish the number on time. Breathing heavily, with a panic only cast and crew would recognize, everyone took their bows for an enthusiastic crowd.
Post-performance backstage, a dull roar of conversation
filled the Green Room. When Marvy and Clint entered with painful smiles—his toupee sliding from the sweat ring on his forehead—the group quieted down. Then Bryant followed in behind. The place erupted in applause: “Nice,” and “Sweet save, Bryant,” popped around the room. Megan retreated to the back corner, confused at what had happened but applauding too. He truly had saved the performance.
“C’mon, kudos to everyone”—he shook his head—“especially Megan. Where is she?” All eyes rubber-necked the room. Bryant walked straight to her and put an arm around her shoulders, his expression approving and kind. “This little lady knows how to improv. Give it up for Megan.”
Flushing what she knew to be a brilliant red, she nevertheless felt warmed by his praise, especially after their earlier encounter. Until she saw Brittany’s face. There was the sentinel smile but her eyes didn’t match it. As if a cold front passed through her lungs.
Brittany.
A flash of memory came to her—a peroxide blonde had turned into her on the dance floor. Megan could see it in her mind, like a slow movie reel—Brittany glancing back at Megan; then in formation, then in front of Megan, but she wasn’t supposed to be there. Megan’s mouth opened. It was Brittany’s shoe—she had moved into the wrong position, right in front of Megan. But why? Had it been an accident or to trip her up? Could she actually do something like that? No, that didn’t make sense. Brittany was a nice girl. And what threat was Megan to her? Megan could barely sing a note and hardly dance as well as the worst of them. It had to be an accident.
As soon as she thought it, Megan considered Bryant’s affectionate grip and matched it with Brittany’s steely gaze.
Trouble. She could feel it to her toes.
***
Megan frowned as she slipped into the tangerine colored mermaid style dress. Why did she care what she looked like? Already she had spent an unheard of thirty minutes on makeup and hair, never mind the time on choosing a dress and jewelry. Thankfully, Jillian had come to the rescue on all fronts.
Putting on the silver evening shoes, Megan felt ridiculous. It was just a Cast Meet & Greet. In the middle of the afternoon, no less. But, when duty called . . . She tried not to think about who would be there—the Knockout and the Nemesis. She still wasn’t sure the role Brittany had played in the performance fiasco a few nights before, or the scuttlebutt between her and Bryant. But something didn’t feel right, that much was sure. And before the week was out, she was going to find out what it was.
Jillian put on a white slip. “You go on ahead of me, I’m meeting Derek,” she said, then grinned. “You look fantastic, Megs. I’m guessing all this work isn’t just for the passengers.”
“Marvy said we needed to look our best—‘showy’ was her exact word.” Megan put lipstick and mints in the small evening purse, trying not to blush. “Besides, the passengers expect something special.”
“So does somebody else.” Jillian smiled mischievously.
How much did Jillian know? Megan considered telling her about the Green Room encounter but shook her head, cursing Jillian’s continual sixth sense about her and men. Of course she had noticed something, Jillian noticed everything. “Will you ixnay the matchmaking, all right? I’m honestly not interested.”
“Sure, uh huh.” Jillian wriggled into her dress, ignoring Megan’s tone. “In fact, aside from your tan, I’d say you were practically glowing. Any particular reason?”
“I don’t glow.” She gave Jillian a look and headed out the door. Walking through the hallways, Megan hoped the party would be uneventful. For her and Bryant it had been a few days of studied avoidance. And she wanted to keep it that way.
Entering the fluorescent-lit concierge room, Megan searched for familiar faces. Rumors flew that Mrs. Van De Morelle was to attend, but as usual, no one knew for sure. Megan’s eyes stopped near a beautifully arranged seating area set off by clusters of silk palm trees. Brittany stood in a stunning baby blue strapless dress set off against her tanned flawless skin and platinum blonde hair. She shimmered like a Barbie doll, so unreal it was mesmerizing, surrounded by three eager young men already.
Megan reflexively touched her hair and began wondering if she should have worn the lavender dress.
The room practically swam in food, surprising Megan with the effort made for the cast. Elegant plates and tea stands teemed with food—petite four sandwiches, chocolates shaped like elaborate seashells, and fruit cut into complex sculptures. Glass pitchers of brightly colored lemonades stood in rows, all with condensation running down the sides.
Most of the cast and crew had already arrived, standing in a roughly formed half-crescent between banquet tables. Many were already in conversation with early passengers—loud touristy types and hefty couples from the Midwest—all coming to say thank you, and, she guessed, for the midday delectable. The next buffet didn’t start for another hour.
Megan walked toward them feeling self-conscious in her form-fitting dress and wondered if others would think she’d dressed for a particular someone. But it was too late now.
“Is this new?” Bryant’s voice came over her shoulder, giving her unexpected and unwelcome goose bumps. She steeled herself and turned to him.
“It’s required dress.” Megan tried to be aloof but could feel her face warm with his appreciative look.
He stared at her. “You look amazing.”
“Who knew?”
“I always knew,” he said, but turned to look at someone calling him. “It’s about time you showed it.”
Though he moved away, she kept that comment, and took it out in turns all evening.
“I always knew,” he had said. Knew what? That she looked amazing—that’s what he had said. And that he had always known it, despite her dressing and acting completely to the contrary. This unwitting transparency bothered her. How many other things did he know about her that she tried to hide?
Chalise approached Megan, who stood at the outer rim of cast members, eyeing her gorgeous dress and updo hair. “You look especially phenomenal. Anything going on?”
Before Megan could respond, she was aware of Jillian by her side, slightly breathless from obviously hurrying to be on time. “She’s hoping to attract a certain person’s attention.”
“I am not,” said Megan.
Jillian rolled her eyes as Chalise asked, “Who?”
“Hottie Bryant Boy,” said Jillian, “the man with the golden six-pack abs and voice that could melt butter.”
Talia had entered the conversation, drawn to what the buzz was about. “Bryant? Man oh man, he is a catch. But I thought he and Brittany were on.”
“Not a chance,” said Chalise, glancing over at Bryant. “That’s all over with. At least I’m almost positive. He’s a catch all right—but nothing next to Garrett of course—and half the cast is after him, from what I understand. But he doesn’t give them much encouragement that way. Must have someone back home.”
Jillian ignored Megan’s insistent warning looks. “No encouragement except to our Megs, to whom he seems particularly attentive.”
Chalise and Talia looked with new interest at Megan, who shook her head vehemently and said, “You know that is absolute gossip, cruise talking—”
“—actually, I think you’re right.” Chalise turned to Jillian, staring thoughtfully. “He sure does seem friendly to her, now that I think about it.”
“He’s friendly with everyone,” said Megan automatically. “Besides, we’re not allowed to date cast members.”
Almost as one, the three of them laughed. Talia said, “Fifteen marriages and counting. And don’t think for a minute that isn’t part of Clint and Marvy’s hidden agenda.”
“Although none of that after-hours nonsense,” said Chalise seriously. “They don’t put up with that at all.”
Talia picked up the thread. “But you’re right, Megan, Bryant is a friendly guy, with pretty much everyone.”
“Not as friendly as Garrett, of course,” said Chalise, moving to the line whil
e Megan followed slowly behind. She tried maneuvering for a spot as far away from Bryant as possible but landed five people from him.
Throughout the afternoon, she tried not to notice Bryant’s professional but warm demeanor as adoring passengers swarmed him. She was impressed, despite not wanting to be. He had a kind manner, and was infinitely patient with the older ladies, like the one speaking loudly with him now, who seemed to eat him up like butter mints. Megan leaned slightly closer on the pretense of talking with others.
“I hate bingo,” the lady was saying, “and all this rich food. It’s not good for my figure.” She beamed at Bryant. “I used to dance, you know. I was a New Jersey Nets Senior Sensation and all that.”
“Is that right?” said Bryant.
“Hired me at seventy-two they did, when I could still do the splits. And I still can too, but just not every halftime.” She patted her gray, tightly curled hair. “It served its purpose—got me out of bed when Reggie died, to be sure. Now my daughter sends me on these cruises. It’s supposed to be an Under 75–Over 65 Swinging Singles cruise, did you know that?” Bryant shook his head. “Oh yes,” she leaned closer, “but I think some people are lying about their age. You can’t tell me some of these men are under 75.” Bryant laughed outright.
Brittany—who stood four or more people beyond him—turned in Bryant’s direction, catching Megan’s eyes in the same glance.
A gentleman interrupted Megan. “Are you the lovely little lady who dances in the follies show?” Megan automatically nodded and shook his hand. A spry gray-haired man, he wore a bright yellow bowtie and fitted Italian suit. He must have been close to eighty.
“I’m glad you enjoyed the show, thanks for coming,” said Megan. She experienced that watched feeling again and glanced in its direction. From down the way Bryant stared at her over the tops of heads as the woman dug in her purse for a moment.
Caribbean Crossroads Page 7
