I giggle and muffle the sound with my palm. “Whatever you say.”
“It’s the truth!”
“All right, all right!” I grin and she offers a shy smile. “So, what happened?” My eyes widen. “Were you there? When we stopped at the Toluene Theater?”
Addie nods, eyes glistening. “Closing night. I ditched the last showcase. I wanted to see you again before I lost my nerve.”
A burst of desire flares in my chest. I gape at Addie. She ducks her head in absence of answering, but a sheepish grin draws the corners of her lips upward as she hides her hands behind her back.
I stand from the bench and step closer. “Why didn’t you come see me?” She tenses as I place a hand on her shoulder. I flinch, but don’t pull away. When she lifts her head, her eyes are wet and shimmering.
“You…” she sniffs and sighs. “You seemed so happy up there.” She spits the statement like it’s poison on her tongue, and my heart crawls into my throat at the note of despair coating her words. “You’d created this new world for yourself. You were flourishing.” She chokes back a dry sob and I fight against the one lodging in my chest. “I guess I didn’t want to ruin your life any more than I already had.”
“The only way you could ruin my life, Adaline Davidson”— I cup her face in my palms and force our gazes not to break—“is by not being in it.”
Caution thrown to the wind, I slant my lips over hers and, pressing closer, smooth my manicure over her nape, rubbing gently. Relief crashes over me as she sinks into the kiss, lips softening beneath mine. I can’t help the flutter of pleasure overcoming my senses. All these years later and we still fit together.
A low moan escapes her and I grin. My arms snake around her waist, wanting, needing, to feel more. An involuntary shiver courses through me as she slides her tongue over my bottom lip until I open to let it in.
“Catie,” she pants a few minutes later. “We can’t.”
To hell we can’t. I entwine my arms about her neck and entangle my fingers in her thick locks. She whines again, the sound sending an electrifying jolt through my nerve endings. But before we go any further, thunderous footsteps ricochet through the hall. Gasping for breath, we spring apart. Both of our foreheads are beaded with sweat and I can’t keep a giddy grin from splitting my face at the eagerness in her eyes. They blaze with a passion, her skin flushed, but it glistens with warmth and a calm, serene glow.
“We’ll finish this later,” I whisper. She nods, entwining our fingers as the door flies open.
“Want me to try?” Mouth, meet foot. I clamp my lips shut and shove my shaking hands in my pockets.
Catie glares at me as her knuckles go white from her grip on the legs of the tripod, which have been unrelenting to release for the last hour and a half.
“No. I got it.”
“You sure?” I prod, my feet inching a few steps closer before I dig them into the carpet. Ugh. Why does my body always have a mind of its own around her?
“Positive,” she says, grunting as she pulls at the leg again with no success.
Ever since rehearsal two days ago, Catie’s pestered me about attending another audition. It got so bad she called me at three fucking a.m. begging me for pitches. It scared me shitless, but I caved and forwarded her the email from Hartford.
Five hours later she was banging on my apartment door with a venti latte and more camera equipment than I’d seen since leaving New York. None of which she knew how to work. When I asked her what the hell all of it was for, she claimed if I couldn’t go to the audition, she’d bring it to me. Her plan was to shoot a tape and send it in place of an in-person try out. The problem? It was after eleven in the morning and she still hadn’t gotten the camera set up.
It might have had something to do with the “missing” screw that happened to fall in my pocket when she unpacked.
Hellsworth would roast me if she knew I was considering doing anything besides acting as her lackey 24/7. Never mind that Mary Poppins has been my dream role since I was seven. Or that I haven’t sung in front of anyone (knowingly, anyway) in ten years. What if I choke? What if my range has tanked after not using it for so long? What if I croak like a damned frog on the “Practically Perfect” high note?
I clench my jaw and fist my hands in my pockets. Hell no. There’s no way I’m letting the first time Catie hears me sing in ten years be a complete and total shit show. Sure, we can reshoot the tape, but you get one chance at a first impression. Or, well, second impression.
“If I could just.” Catie gives the leftmost leg one last tug, and with a powerful grunt it comes loose.
A giddy smile blooms on her lips. My heart cancans in my chest. But a millisecond after she stands it up, the tripod teeters onto its back leg before all three of them zing closed. I don’t have time to register the shock crossing her face before it topples to the side. Catie’s expression droops into an exaggerated clown pout and I can no longer hold in the laughter shaking my shoulders.
Her face morphs into a death glare before I can bark out much more than a short Elphaba-esque cackle.
“All right Miss Smarty-Pants,” she snaps, planting her hands on her hips and stomping over to where I’m struggling to breathe on the living room loveseat. “You try it.”
“You know,” I sputter through gasps of air. “We could use my phone.” Wait, what am I saying?
Snap out of it, Addie. Take the damn out! But my body has other ideas. Maybe it’s because I can’t stand the idea of disappointing her.
Slipping my cell from my pocket, I wave it between her eyes. They cross. I swallow another bark of laughter before she swats it away.
“We most certainly cannot. Professionalism does not go with a crappy handheld camera.”
My shoulders sag. Good. If the recording is too crappy to send in, no one will witness my epic failure. Outwardly, I roll my eyes, following her as she stalks back to the center of the room and scoops the tripod into her arms.
“Come on, you and I have both seen tapes with much worse quality than an iPhone.” Oh my God. Stop. Talking!
Catie scowls. “Yeah, but—”
“No buts.” I snatch the tripod and tossing it to the side. I slip my phone from my pocket, flip the camera to RECORD, and hand it off. “There. Now hit the button and let’s get this thing over with.” Shit. I guess we’re doing this.
We circle each other as I take my place against the opposite wall.
I close my eyes and exhale, then nod to Catie. She beams at me. Sweat breaks out on my brow as the little red-light blinks on. My tongue licks my dry lips as Catie counts down silently before cuing me in.
Three. Two. One. But instead of prepped and ready, I stare into the camera lens, heart pounding in my ears as if it’s a black hole. My breathing grows shallow and my palms clammy. Fuck. Why now, of all times, do I have to discover the wonderfulness of stage fright? This has never happened to me before. What could make now any different?
Gee, I wonder. What about Catie, or the glass vortex of doom highlighting my flaws, or that I’m taping for my dream role, or maybe it’s Catie!
“Oh shut up.”
“What?” Catie asks, hitting another button.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I said that out loud, didn’t I? Groaning, I press my palm against my forehead and shut my eyes. Deep breaths. I can do this.
“Lyn? You okay?”
Opening my eyes, I paste on a smile. “Sorry, yeah. I’m fine. Can we, um.” I make a rewind motion. “Go again?”
Catie cocks her head. The blood freezes in my veins. She’s going to call my bluff. But instead, after a much too long moment of staring at me like I’m going to self-destruct, she nods and holds up the phone. “Okay. Addie’s audition, Mary Poppins, take two.” She hits record and cues me in.
I guess the good news is I remember my name this time. Say it right and everything. We go through the usual stuff: age, height, agency, role I’m trying out for, and song choice. But after Catie feeds me the first lin
e leading into mine—Total blackout.
“Fuck!” I seethe, throwing the papers to the ground after five more takes of the same damn thing. I run my hand through my hair and try to quell my uneven breathing. I can do this show in my sleep. Or, I could. All of a sudden, I feel like I’m back at MACMA, running away from the showcases because I can’t do them without her.
Except, apparently, I can’t perform with her either.
What is wrong with me?
I’m a chickenshit, like I’ve always been. I pace. I might be a coward but I don’t want to be, shouldn’t that count for something?
“Addie?” Catie’s eyes follow me, and the walls begin closing in. “Addie? What are you doing?”
Is it hot in here? Why do I feel like I’m trapped in a birdcage? I need to get out of here. I need a break. I need—
“Adaline!”
I blink. My hand is wrapped around the doorknob and my coat is draped over my other arm. I guess I’m going for a walk. Before I twist the handle, Catie’s feet shuffle across the carpet. She lays a hand on my shoulder, making me jump.
“Lyn, what’s going on?”
I don’t meet her gaze. “Nothing. I need a minute.” I back against the door and search for the knob with my free hand.
Her scowl is so drenched in disappointment I wonder if she’s confused me with her daughter.
“I’m not four. You don’t get to look at me like that.”
“I do when you’re acting like a toddler,” she retorts.
I blow my bangs away from my forehead and roll my eyes. “Am not. I’m tired.”
Catie’s scowl grows as she crosses her arms and gives me a long look.
“Addie.” She lets my cell drop to the carpet with a small thump, then steps close enough to take my hands in hers.
My shoulders tense and my gaze darts once around the apartment before landing back on her. She doesn’t blink, but the tiny squeeze of her fingers around mine makes my chin tremble. Dammit, why does she always have to be right?
“Come on, Lyn.” She leads me over to the couch and I plop into the cushions, shaking from the buzz of adrenaline rolling over me. She places a hand on my knee and I catch my lower lip between my teeth. “What’s this about?”
The sigh comes out in a shuddering breath, and I run my palms over the starchy fabric of my ironed slacks. “I don’t think I can do this, Cate. I haven’t sung outside of my shower in forever. What if I suck?”
Catie’s cheeks puff out as if she’s swallowed something sour. Her eyes sparkle.
I glower. “Fine. Go ahead, laugh. At least you’re entertained by my misery.”
She giggles, but her expression sobers when she realizes I’m not fucking around. She leans forward and takes my hands in hers, drawing them into her lap and swiveling to face me. “Addie, it is impossible for you to suck at this. You know the score like the back of your hand and you’ve been able to hit the high notes since you were thirteen.”
“Back then I practiced every day. Before. . .”
“Before what?”
“Before I dropped out, okay? Are you happy now?”
Her eyes widen and she sits back on the couch. It’s silent for a moment, but soon enough, her brows crease together and she gives me a weird look. “You said you left.”
I hum. “Which is still true. I left and didn’t graduate, but it wasn’t voluntary. When I got back to school the board followed through on their threat to kick me out.” My gaze drops. I shrug. “I didn’t think they’d do it. The professors were always telling me how good I was and how great of a future I had ahead of me and. . .”
“Oh, Lyn.” She scoots closer. “Did they ever tell you why?”
Scoffing, I turn away as tears sting my eyes. “It was my own fault. After I saw you. . .” I turn up my palms. “I had lost so much already. You, the showcases, a chance to be repped by a good agency. I had nothing else going for me at the time and my only option was to throw myself into my career with everything I had.” I shake my head. “But I guess it was too late.” The room is plunged into silence. Oh great. Yet another thing I messed up.
“Addie,” Catie whispers.
I’m not sure what makes me do it. Perhaps the hoarseness in her words or the sincerity in her voice. Or the way she’s inched close enough to me I can lean my head on her shoulder, but I look at her. Her bright blue eyes swim with unshed tears and a watery, wane smile blooms on her lips as she pulls me into a tight hug. At first, I suck in my breath but then, sink into the embrace, relishing in the feeling of her arms around my waist, mixed with the sweet scent of her honeysuckle shampoo.
“It’s never too late.”
Holding her a little tighter, I resist the urge to bury my face in her hair, mumbling against her shirt, “How do you know?”
Catie pulls back and grins. “Because it took me that long to find you again. If I can do that, anything is possible.” Cupping my face in her palms, she pulls me in for a deep, sound kiss, lighting my entire nervous system on fire while banishing the storm cloud of doubt I’ve had hanging over myself since the day I walked away.
“Now,” she says, cheeks flushed, smile more radiant than ever as she climbs off the couch and retrieves my phone after we come up for air. “Let’s get you that lead.”
“Catherine,” I whine as we turn yet another corner and the salty scent of the sea mixed with the poignant sting of sardines assaults my nostrils. “Can you please tell me where we’re going already? Not everything has to be a surprise.”
Catie giggles and skips ahead of me. The docks are to the left over the next hill, and I cringe when Catie turns at the right intersection. She glances over her shoulder, offering a saucy wink. “You’ll see!”
Uh-oh.
We finished filming the tape yesterday. I took Catie out for dinner as a thank you, but she insisted on setting up yet another surprise in celebration of mailing it off. It’s so early the sun hasn’t risen yet and she made me skip breakfast. My stomach has been growling for blocks.
As we approach the harbor, I sure hope Catie didn’t forget about my slight seasickness. Scratch that. I’ve never been able to stay in a kayak without feeling green. If we’re going where I think we’re going, this will not end well.
We meander to a stop at the end of the pier, and sure enough, a small cruise boat awaits. Fantastic. First boxing, and now this? Maybe Catie doesn’t know me as well as she thinks she does.
“Ta-da!” She throws up her arms with a flourish. “I booked us seats on the Boston Harbor Sail before rehearsal.” Her giddy smile is blinding. I morph my features into what I hope is a look of elation.
“Great!” I chirp as my stomach rolls with the soft waves lapping at the sides of the boat. Catie twines her arm with mine as the crew lowers the boarding ramp. A stream of passengers whisks us onboard. The deck is littered with tables and a long buffet teeming with all sorts of breakfast items. From basic eggs and sausage to homemade cinnamon buns still steaming in their warmer. The captain crackles over the PA system, welcoming us onboard as people line up, each holding large china plates as they surge toward the tables.
“Oh, Addie, look, they have pancakes. And they’re heart-shaped!” Catie pulls me along. The deck sways beneath me and I rest my palm on my stomach. Suddenly I’m not so hungry.
“Great,” I mutter, swallowing against the urge to upchuck over the side as the horn goes off to signal our departure.
Catie takes little notice of my discomfort as she yanks me toward the banquet. I glance at the docks as we’re shoved forward in line. Catie piles her plate high, but I take a warm bread roll, a box of the individually packed Frosted Flakes, and a glass of orange juice. The cannoli, usually a delicacy I find impossible to pass up, has me feeling like King Triton decided to wage war on my digestive system.
By some miracle, I hold it together as we scout out an empty table, but my forehead is beaded in sweat and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe without feeling bile surge up my throat.
I had thought it would be easier since the cruise boat was small. I’ve heard of it before, but for me, it’s the other way around. The last time I’d been on a boat was before my dad passed away. He took me fishing and even then, I hadn’t quite been able to handle it. I don’t have a rat’s chance in hell of making it through this trip unscathed.
When we sit down, Catie frowns at my nearly empty plate.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Before I answer, she scowls. “Wait a minute, you snuck into your ‘secret’ candy stash again, didn’t you?”
I flush and she stomps her foot beneath the table.
“I knew I should’ve confiscated those Snickers! I told you there would be food here. Don’t you trust me to feed you?”
Taking small, slow sips of my orange juice, I pray my stomach will settle long enough for me to sputter an explanation. As it is, I’m feeling more like Elphaba by the minute. Green as a fucking artichoke.
“No,” I assure her, tearing off a tiny piece of my roll. “It’s not that.”
Her brows furrow as she folds her hands in her lap. “Then what is it? You barely got any food. Not even a cannoli. You love those.”
I nod. “I do.” The boat jerks, taking my stomach with it. I cover my mouth and vault to my feet. Oh, God. Not now.
“Addie?”
I dash for the railing, but miss it by a few inches, expelling what little I swallowed all over the freshly mopped deck. I double over and clutch my midriff, swaying with the vessel as dizziness washes over me. I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to stay upright as I (hopefully) step over the vomit to lean against the starboard railing. Something cold, wet, and slimy is soaking through my open-toed shoe.
Dear God, kill me now.
“Addie!” A chair scrapes across the floor, and someone, I assume it’s Catie, scrambles over, handing me a wad of paper towels and running a hand along my back. “Oh my gosh, I’m such an idiot! Are you all right?”
Duet Rubato Page 12
