“Neglecting your duties?” She surveys the room. My cheeks burn at the mess we’ve made. “Yes, I see.”
Josie and Roni fumble for some kind of suitable excuse.
“It’s my fault, Ms. Helmsworth. Sam was fitting my dress and I wanted to see how it moved. I guess we got a bit carried away.”
She christens me with a Medusa-worthy stare. “We are less than a month from opening night, Miss Klarken. Fun is no longer in your vocabulary. Is that clear?”
I hang my head.
“Am I clear?”
I step back, nodding. “Yes, Ms. Helmsworth.” The designers’ voices chorus along.
“Good.” Her knitted shawl sweeps behind her as she turns around, beckoning. “Miss Klarken, Miss Davidson, follow me. Maintenance says they’ve fixed that infernal bubble. Let us see if they were truthful this time.”
This time? Sweat breaks out under my arms and my heart kicks into three-four time. What happened the first time? Oh God.
“All we have to do is clip you in” Frank steps around the back of the mechanism. I crane my neck as he attaches the heavy-duty silver hook to the notch on the back of my bodice’s seam. “Then we pull this down.” He grabs the bungee-cord-like catch attached to the harness beneath the fabric of my dress. “And that’s it.”
“Really?” My mouth goes dry and even under the glare of the scorching stage lights, a cold sweat breaks out across my forehead.
He comes to stand in front of me, grinning. “Pretty simple, huh?”
I nod. Yeah, too simple. What happens if it breaks?
Our bubble’s framing is a thick welded ring surrounded by six more circles, every other solid silver while the others are outlines. Behind me is a seven-petaled flower with the center hole open so the techs can reach the harness. At least that will keep me from falling, but what would happen if it malfunctioned again?
“Mm, mm-hmm.” I fight the impulse to shrink under Helmsworth’s side-eye when my voice quivers. She and Addie watch from downstage. Addie’s eyes find mine, and I force my features into a calm mask.
You can do this, she mouths.
“All right then.” Frank claps. “Let’s test this thing out, shall we?” He moves into the wings.
My knuckles blanche. It takes everything I have not to clutch the sides for dear life. I take in a slow, shallow breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Transport yourself, Catie. Find your happy place.
It’s a relaxation technique my therapist recommended when I had started recovering from my accident. I picture Lyssa and I, running around barefoot in the swell of the ocean as the waves lap at the sand.
“Ready?” Frank’s voice. My shoulders and neck tense, but I force them down.
You can do this, Catie. You have to.
I center myself on the beach and a sense of peace washes over me. Maybe this won’t be so bad.
“Whoa!” The bubble jerks. I fight back the bile rising in my throat.
“You all right?” Frank asks.
I nod, but don’t open my eyes. Please don’t let me die here.
“Up we go then.”
Another lurch. The grind of the gears rattles my bones. My fantasy shatters, replaced by the echo of the deafening crack of my spine in tandem with my shin and wrist as I plummeted toward the stage that night. My stomach constricts. I gulp against the convulsions of my throat. My thoughts grow fuzzy, one wailing like a police siren above the rest.
“Stop!” I scream. My eyes fly open. Whipping around, my numb fingers fumble for the clasp on my dress. Addie’s gaze jerks up from the phone hidden in the palm of her hand. She and Helmsworth race forward.
“Ms. Klarken,” the director barks. I make out her words over the river roaring in my ears. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Catherine, stop!” Addie thrusts her hands out as if to catch me.
“Ahh!” I teeter as Frank lowers the bubble, the clasp barely secured.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he shouts, racing onto the stage. “Were you trying to get yourself killed?”
I slap my hands over my ears, trying to block out the flashes of history repeating itself. “J-just get me out of here,” I whimper. “Please.” The last word is a choked sob.
“Okay, okay. Hold on.”
The moment Frank unhooks me, I’m off the stage and racing out of the auditorium doors.
Reaching the dressing room with seconds to spare before my legs give out, I drop to the floor. My face is sticky with snot and tears, but the flashes still haunt me. I make it to the trash can before retching again, but nothing comes up. I curl myself beneath some clothing racks, Sam’s newly sewn skirts billowing across the floor as I tuck my head into my knees.
This is it. My career as a dancer is in shreds. If I can’t even survive suspension in a metal bubble for a few seconds, there’s no way I’ll get back to acrobatics. I know the truth now. No matter what Brayden, or Megan, or even Lyssa says, I am what I’ll always be. A coward. And unlike Addie, who has managed to craft a new life in spite of her mistakes, I have no way to live mine down. Why did I expect it to turn out any different? I run my wrist over my cheeks; they get wetter.
Guess I better get used to feeling miserable. After all, I’ll be blacklisted for sure. Not even the smoothest dealmaker can explain away that incident.
“Catie?”
I sniff and turn toward the door at her voice.
Catie marches up the stairs on shaking legs, her breaths so shallow they sound like they’re coming through a straw. Her eyes are wide and unblinking, and when she steps inside the bubble, her face has drained of all its color.
“And that’s it,” Frank says as he steps back from hooking the harness sewn into her dress onto the bubble mechanism.
“Really?” Catie mutters. My heart goes out to her as the words tremble.
Frank grins and rounds the side of the bubble. “Pretty simple, huh?”
Catie hums and I frown at the sheen of sweat covering her forehead. Hellsworth fixes her with a steely glare, daring her to fail. I grind my teeth and clench my fist, but manage to restrain myself from tackling her. We don’t need anyone in the hospital for the duration of this production. Instead, I make sure Catie’s eyes find mine and mouth, You can do this. Even though I’m mad, I don’t want her to fail. She closes her eyes and lets out a few deep breaths.
“All right then.” Frank clears his throat and claps his hands together. “Let’s test this thing out, shall we?” He moves into the wings. “Ready?”
Catie nods and I cross my fingers behind my back.
“She’s got this,” I whisper. She has to.
The first time the bubble moves, she screams, but the machine is as steady as ever. I hold my breath as she steadies herself and Frank continues to help it rise into the air. She reaches the middle of the backdrop and so far, seems to be doing pretty good. The pocket of my jeans vibrates as Frank goes for the final push.
Fuck. I try to ignore it, the buzzing echoes through the seats. It could be mistaken for an aircraft carrier.
Hellsworth gives me a pointed glare and I slide my fingers between the fabric, eyes never leaving Catie’s. I hit the silence button with and Hellsworth nods before turning back to stage. I move my arm to the front of my body, cell cupped in my hand. Everyone knows who I work for, so if they’re calling now, it must be important. Tapping the home button, I look down as the screen lights up. As the caller ID flashes across the top in bold, white letters, my heart jumps and my eyes bulge.
Holy shit! Then I slap a palm over my mouth and glance around. Did I say that out loud? No one’s shooting me stink eyes, so probably not. Given what the caller ID says, though, I can’t be sure.
UNKNOWN CALLER
MAYBE: HATFORD THEATER
No way.
My thumb hovers over the “ACCEPT” button. They could leave a voicemail, but by the time I listen to it, the opportunity could be gone forever. Milliseconds before my finger can press
down on the screen, a bloodcurdling, skin-crawling, scream pierces the tranquil auditorium.
“Stop!”
My eyes fly up. Catie, still suspended above the stage, fumbles with the clasp keeping her strapped to the bubble. What the hell is she doing?
Hellsworth surges toward the steps, berating her all the way to center stage, me at her heels.
Catie ignores us and teeters. I gasp and thrust out my arms in an effort to catch her should she fall.
“Catherine, stop!”
She stumbles again and I brace for the impact.
Oh God, please don’t let her have another accident. Her career can’t end. Not again. Not like this.
A relieved breath whooshes from my lungs as the gears finally come to a stop and the bubble lands on stage, Catie still in one piece, though wearing the demeanor of a terrified, caged animal.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Frank shouts, racing onto the stage. “Were you trying to get yourself killed?”
Her hands plaster her ears to the sides of her head and her eyes squeeze shut. Her posture shrinks, and she begs him to finish unclipping the harness. He does so with a pained expression and clumsy fingers, throwing Hellsworth a befuddled look above Catie’s head. The moment she’s free, I rush to reach her, but once again, she’s over the lip and down the aisle before I blink.
It takes ten minutes, but I find her huddled beneath a costume rack in the ensemble dressing room, Glinda’s skirts billowing around her as she buries her face in her knees.
“Catie?” Damn it! My voice is raw and raspy. Now is not the time to be vulnerable. She needs someone strong. She needs me to hold it together. But when her head jerks up and her cheeks are red and blotchy, eyes so puffy I’m surprised she can even see, and thick mascara scars running the length of her face to her chin, I can’t help it. A lump lodges in my throat and I wipe the back of my hands across my damp skin.
Catie rips her eyes from mine. “What are you doing here?” she snaps. “I thought we weren’t speaking.”
I gulp back a rueful chuckle. That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? What am I doing here? And why, of everyone in this overcrowded theater, am I always the one to find her like this?
Because I care about her. I always have. Even if I’m too stubborn to admit it.
My lips curl into a sneer, but no matter what, I can’t deny the way my heart went out to her as she climbed into the bubble. She looked so small and vulnerable. The fear in her eyes as she stepped inside.
Another snivel yanks me back to reality and I look down. Catie’s glaring at me from her spot drowning in the pool of billowy fabric.
“What are you looking at?” she barks, using a layer of the skirts to dry her eyes. “Show’s over, go back to your precious job.”
No matter how many false starts and comforting words dance on the edge of my tongue, I’m not sure what to say. Really, there’s not a lot I can say. We both know what happened back there, and if the look on Hellsworth’s face as Catie fled is anything to go by, the aftermath isn’t going to be pretty. When I come up with something, it’s a jumble of idiocy as I lean against the doorframe.
“Sam’s gonna kill you when she sees that.” I motion to the crystals coming loose from their hot glue around the bottom of the skirt.
Shit. I need to up security in the common-sense department.
Laughing a hollow, throaty laugh, she shakes her head, blond curls swishing across her shoulders. “You couldn’t wait to tear me down, could you?”
I flinch. This is not going the way I meant it to. I hold my hand up, palm out. “Catie, no, I—”
“You followed me all the way down here to insult me.” She huffs, crossing her arms and giving me a long, hard look even as her bright eyes dull and fill again. “That always was your fallback, wasn’t it? People say one thing to crack that iron armor of yours, they take the time to get even an inch past those damn walls and”—the snap of her fingers echoes through the empty room—“you shove them away.” Her arm wipes at her cheeks. “I may not be fearless, Adaline Nadine, but at least I try. At least I don’t bolt the doors and change the locks on every person who wants to help me.”
Fuck me and my big, stupid, prideful mouth. “Catie, I didn’t—”
“Forget it!” She curls her knees to her chest.
Way to go. Yet another thing to add to my massive list of fuckups.
Except, this time, I’m not going to give up. A long sigh whistles out from between my lips and my arms drop to my sides. Taking slow, deliberate steps, I cross the threshold into the room and halt at the edge of the puddle of material. “Even when I’m mad, I never want you to be miserable.”
“Go away,” she chokes out. The defeat in her voice nearly saps my last bit of strength for her, but I shake off the pang. She did so well at the stables, and even when we went rock climbing. How could one setback shred her confidence like this? It never used to be so easy to tear her down.
Or it was. But I never noticed. Bile burns the back of my throat. All the times I had to nudge her into pursuing something I knew she wanted, but wasn’t quite brave enough to grab on her own flash through my mind.
Like me, with my return to the stage.
Huh. I had always thought Catie was the fearless one. Trying again and again, never failing to brush herself off when something knocked her down, and not caring what she had to do to get it. Until this moment, I never realized how much we’d been around to see each other crash. And pick the other up afterward. Maybe we aren’t so different after all.
“You know I won’t.” She sighs as I settle cross-legged on the cold floor, but doesn’t object. “Are you okay?” The question slides past my lips and I kick myself. She panicked in front of the entire fucking company! But before I can take it back, she barks a wet laugh.
“Why wouldn’t I be? Everything I’ve worked for my entire life got flushed down the toilet, and it’s all my fault. I’m great.”
Her sarcasm makes my mouth go dry, but my resolve hardens. I swallow and pull her hand into my lap, brushing the curtain of hair that has fallen over her face behind her ear.
“Hey,” I say, putting two fingers under her chin and raising her eyes to mine. “It’s gonna be okay. You didn’t make it all the way up this time. So what? You got in. Three weeks ago, you wouldn’t even go near it. That has to count for something, right?”
Great pep talk. Real inspiring. But even though I know how half-assed it sounds, I hope she realizes how far she’s come.
She traces the beaded flower pattern on the dress with her fingers. “And flipping my shit in front of the entire company? What does that count for, huh?” The resentment in her tone takes me aback.
“Catherine, that wasn’t—”
“Wasn’t it?” she spits. “I bolted, Addie, twice! Helmsworth probably thinks I’m crazy.” She vaults to her feet and paces the length of the dressing room.
“And even if she doesn’t, my head is still on the chopping block. A girl having flashbacks in the middle of the run would tank ticket sales.”
“Wait, what?” I stand and cut her off by the vanities. “Cate, is that what happened? You had a flashback?”
Her skin blanches. Her eyes widen. She stumbles back until she hits a table, knuckles white as she grabs its edge. I don’t speak. After for-fucking-ever, her head bobs yes and her throat convulses as she swallows. Her feet still and she twists her fingers together.
“Yes,” she whispers, gaze on the mirror to her left. “I thought, I thought I was back in those silks.”
My heart constricts as the response fades and her eyes squeeze shut again. Her frame trembles and I take her in my arms, running a hand along her back as she buries her face in the crook of my neck.
“Shh,” I murmur, hating that there’s nothing more I can do to pull her away from the ghosts of her past. “You’re safe, firefly. I’ve got you. You’re not going anywhere.”
Time slows, and though Catie doesn’t cry, it takes a whil
e for her breathing to even out. When she pulls away, it’s to sink into a nearby dressing chair, body limp. Her cheeks color as she looks up at me through tired, bleary eyes, offering a shaky smile before dipping her head.
“Thanks,” she whispers. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this.” She turns away and a single tear slides down her cheek.
“Hey,” I say, kneeling in front of her and resting a hand on her knee. “You have nothing to be sorry for, understand? I’m always going to be here for you, no matter what.”
She turns, haunted eyes searching mine, as if to detect any sign I might be lying. It breaks my heart she has to do so, especially with me.
Although, given our history, can I blame her?
I hope the shudder that ripples through my subconscious isn’t outwardly visible. Dammit, why did I have to be a selfish shithead? No matter how many times I’ve asked myself, I can’t find anything close to a suitable answer.
I push the thoughts aside. There’s no way to change the past. All I can do is my best from here on out. And so, even when it starts growing awkward, I let her be the first one to break eye contact.
“Even when I’m a washed-up wannabe?” she asks.
“Not gonna happen,” I reply. “You’re too good for it.”
Catie scoffs. “I used to be.”
I shake my head. “No. You are.”
“How can you say that, Addie?” she shrieks, throwing up her hands. “You saw what happened.” She flops against the chair. “We both know I’ve been on thin ice for a while. This time, it cracked.”
“That’s not true,” I insist, caressing her face. “Cate, how long have you been having these flashbacks?”
She shrugs and her gaze darts around the room. “I don’t know. Since the accident, I guess? My therapist says I might have PTSD, or at least symptoms.”
Ding! “And there’s your defense. You can’t be fired for a mental health condition. Not if it’s not impeding your ability to work.”
“I’m pretty sure this counts.”
“But she doesn’t know yet, right?” I’m grasping at straws, but I don’t know what else to do. Catie can’t lose this. Not after how hard she’s worked. She hums and nods, and I smile. “So, let’s go tell her.”
Duet Rubato Page 17
