“What?” Catie yells, leaping from the chair to grab me by the shoulders. “Lyn, are you insane? How would her knowing I’m a basket case help any of this?”
I sigh. How the fuck did I let this happen to her? How could I have left her to deal with this alone? “You’re not a basket case, firefly,” I say, laying my hands on her forearms. “You went through something traumatic and never got a chance to deal with it.”
“Yes, I did. I go to therapy twice a week, and my injuries are healed.”
“But have you ever taken the time to think about what the experience did to you? Have you ever been forced to face the thing that caused it in the first place, before today?”
I have my answer when she drops her gaze. Leaning forward, I wait until her eyes meet mine before kissing her. “I know you’re scared,” I whisper after we pull apart and she relaxes into me. “But this is the best thing. Hellsworth is required by law to provide reasonable accommodations to anyone with a known mental health condition. We can ask for a leave period. The standby can fill in and you can talk to your therapist about the best way to handle this so you don’t have to quit. I’ll even go with you, if you want.”
She raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You, you would do that?”
I smile and kiss her again. “Of course. You deserve this role. I’m not letting you give it up without a fight.”
She wraps me in a quick, strong hug. “I’m so glad you’re back. I don’t think I could do this alone.”
“You won’t have to,” I manage around the lump in my throat. “Now.” She releases me and I lead her toward the door. “Let’s go find Hellsworth.”
“Where have you been?” Maddy barrels toward us with Logan in tow before we set foot in the lobby. They’re both glaring at me, and my eyes flick to Catie as she hikes up the skirt of the dress to walk more easily. Logan frowns when he takes note of it.
“We heard about what happened,” he says, watching her. “Are you okay?”
She clears her throat. “I’m, um.” She squeezes my hand. Breaths puff from my chest, quick and shallow as we lock eyes. Her eyes shimmer in the changing light of the setting sun refracting through the windows. They go from radiant sapphire to the crystal aqua hues of the ocean, to the swirling, unsure gray-blue of a coming storm. When they’ve made two rotations of color, it dawns on me what she’s asking. Maddy and Logan watch with a few feet between us.
“Well?”
I see the wheels in Catie’s mind scrambling as she searches for the right words. She’s begging for me not to reveal her secret.
For a moment, I contemplate thrusting everything out in the open. Maybe it will help her to embrace her fear. But a tiny part of me balks at the idea; she’d want to keep her dignity intact for the coming conversation. I shake head and exhale when Catie’s posture deflates as I mumble, “We had to step out. It was an urgent personal matter.”
“Personal matter?” Maddy retorts.
“Hellsworth’s been going manic looking for you two,” Logan spits. “Calling. Texting. Threatening the rest of us if we couldn’t get you back here.” There’s a sizable trail of shoe tracks on the steamed carpet as he paces.
“Logan, hold on, calm down,” Maddy implores.
Catie and I exchange pensive glances as we take out our phones and look down. Ten missed calls. Each. I turned the ringer off after Hartford.
Shit. “Look guys, I’m sorry I disappeared, but . . .” Thank you, God. I can speak again.
“It wasn’t Addie’s fault. It was me. I’m kind of dealing with a lot and, I guess I freaked up there. I needed time to myself. Addie was only trying to help.”
Logan scoffs. I bare my teeth. “Watch it.”
Maddy’s features soften when she steps forward and squeezes my shoulder.
“Look, I know it’s none of our business, but Hellswo—”
“What do you mean, you haven’t found them yet?” her voice booms. All four of us spin around. Poor Frank cowers under her frame as she storms out of the auditorium.
“Fuck,” I hiss.
“I don’t know, ma’am. I haven’t, I mean, I called.”
“This is so unprofessional, Mr. Johnson!” she thunders. “How can I expect you to manage an entire production if you can’t track down two insolent runaways?”
“I-I’m sorry, Ms. Helmsworth.” He staggers under the weight of multiple binders. “But I—”
“You’re sorry? You’ll be sorry if you don’t find them by the end of the day.”
“Here we are, Ms. Helmsworth,” I interrupt even as Catie’s nails dig into the flesh of my forearm. I know she doesn’t want to, but we have to get this over with. “Consider the search over.”
Frank scrambles away as the director’s features clear before hardening into a steely mask. “Miss Davidson,” she growls, stepping up so we are nose-to-nose as steam threatens to pour from her ears, “was I not clear in my terms of your employment when we met at the distillery?”
My face forms a blank mask and I flatly reply, “You were.”
“Then on what grounds do you think you would be welcomed back here after what you did?”
My eyes dart backward, and Catie takes a deep breath before stepping forward.
“I—”
“That. Was not. A question.”
I clamp my mouth shut and Hellsworth pinches her nose between her forefinger and thumb before speaking again. “I trust your incompetent intellect still has enough brain cells to know what I expect you to do next?”
I give a single, curt nod and open my mouth, but Catie steps between us before I can respond.
“Ms. Helmsworth, it wasn’t her fault. Neither of our disappearances were. We were in the dressing room.”
“What happened in the bubble would be best discussed in private,” I finish.
Catie gives me a wide-eyed, terrified look. I know this isn’t how she wanted this to go, but I have to do something, or we’re both fired.
“I promise there’s a good explanation for all of this, Ms. Hell-msworth.”
Maddy muffles a snicker at my near slip up.
“If you would let us explain.”
Hellsworth purses her lips and arches a brow, but nods. “Very well. Since neither of you left the building, you didn’t violate our agreement.”
Phew!
“But! Both of you better have a good reason for running, or your heads are on the chopping block.”
Catie and I both nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
Hellsworth clucks her tongue, then turns and beckons us to follow. “Come along. You’ve wasted enough of the day.”
I let Catie explain. But it takes everything I have to clamp my lips shut, clench my fingers around the armrest of the office chair across from Hellsworth’s desk, and stay put instead of vaulting over it at the stony look contorting the director’s features. It grows harder the longer Catie talks. When she stumbles over the way it felt to wake up in a hospital bed, tethered there by countless amounts of slings, wires, and beeping machines she had no names for, I rest my hand atop hers, wishing I could have been there to help her.
“So, you see,” she concludes, “I have quite the history with heights and I guess getting in that bubble was harder than I thought it would be.”
Hellsworth stares at us. Then her hands fold on top of the desk, and her magenta-painted lips part. “It seems you have been through quite the ordeal since you last graced the stage, Miss Klarken.”
The thundering of my heart resonates in my ears as Catie nods. Her fingers squeeze mine and I return the gesture, never taking my eyes off Hellsworth.
“But if you knew you could not perform the duties required for such a job, why did you accept the role when it was offered?”
“All due respect, Ms. Helmsworth,” I cut in. My jaw is tight. I barely restrain myself from spitting in her face. “But you didn’t give her much choice.”
She turns her glare on me, and Catie takes in a sharp breath. “Excuse me, Miss Davidson, but did I
ask for your opinion?”
“No,” I say, and thank God, it comes out calm, cool, and collected. “But you’re going to get it.” She’s not going to mess with Catie any longer. Not while I’m around.
Where the hell is this coming from? I have no idea, but I’m going with it. I sit up straighter. “What else was she supposed to do, when you thrust the role on her in front of the entire company? That’s not an easy thing to refuse.”
“It’s also something most people would have considered an honor,” she volleys back.
I gnash my teeth and fist the hand not clenched in Catie’s in my lap. Catie rests a hand on my forearm.
“And I was honored, Ms. Helmsworth,” she interrupts. “Highly so. Honest. After I recovered from the initial shock, of course. I didn’t refuse because I thought, or, well, hoped, I could do the job in spite of my condition. I have a young daughter at home and . . .to be honest, ma’am, I needed the work.”
Her speech comes out with much more composure than I’d expected. In spite of the way her hand shakes under mine, she breaks their gazes once and stutters twice. But Hellsworth seems unmoved, continuing to watch in eerie silence. Finally, she rests against the back of the chair.
“You said you needed the work, did you not, Miss Klarken?”
“Hmm?” she asks.
My eyebrows shoot upward and Catie and I share a confused glance.
“Shall I take that to mean you intend to quit the production?”
“What?” Catie sputters. “No, no, not at all. I wanted to ask, well . . .” Her eyes cut to her lap—she’s still in Glinda’s dress—and she twists a strand of hair around two fingers.
“Yes?” Hellsworth drones, nails drumming against the wooden desktop. “Spit it out, Miss Klarken.”
“Um, I, uh, I want,”
I take the hint. “What she means, Ms. Helmsworth, is while she has no intention of quitting, she would like to ask for a period of medical leave, to attempt to find new ways to manage her condition.”
Catie grips my arm. “Addie, I can’t.”
Hellsworth rests her chin in her hands, looking at Catie. “Miss Klarken, is this true?”
Catie nods, and I hold my breath.
“Very well,” she replies.
Wait, what? Did Gina Hellsworth say yes to an actor taking off work? My hand moves to my jaw to keep it from dropping. Then, I blurt out, “And I would like to request one as well.”
Catie gasps and Hellsworth glares as the words sink into the walls. Oh my God, what am I doing?
“On what grounds do you think—” The snarl in her voice gives me pause, but I square my shoulders and push on.
“Catie needs emotional support from someone who knows her. Given that the fate of this show rests on her shoulders as the lead, and mine as the assistant director, I believe I am the best person to help her. I know this show inside and out. I can keep her motivated through her treatment so she is prepared for the run-throughs when she returns.”
Catie yelps and I let a string of curses loose in my head. I know I’ve promised the impossible, but Catie already did this without me once. I’ll be damned if it happens twice.
Hellsworth holds our gazes until the room shrinks and the air turns to New York City smog on trash day. I think I sunk the final nails into our coffins. Then she speaks. “Given the circumstances, I will allow it.”
Oxygen rushes to my head. The room spins and my diaphragm relaxes. My hand is crushed in Catie’s exuberant grip, but I don’t mind. This is happening. Neither of us is fired, and Catie can get the help she needs.
“However,” Hellsworth’s harsh warning slices through my stream of consciousness. Fuck. I should have known better than assuming the other shoe wouldn’t drop. “Only under the following conditions.” Catie and I brace ourselves as she ticks each one off on her painted, claw-like nails. “One: Miss Klarken, I must see documentation from your doctors and your therapist confirming your situation.”
“Of course,” Catie says, fighting a smile. “Not a problem.”
“Two: Miss Klarken, you shall be allowed three weeks of reprieve. Miss Davidson, you shall be allowed one. If and only if, you can convince Mr. Johnson to take on your duties in addition to his own.”
Shit. I knew it. My stomach roils, but I bite back the sarcasm dancing on my tongue and nod. We’re so close. I’m not letting Frank, of all people, stand in my way. “Understood.”
“Good. Three: I expect the both of you to keep up with choreography, set, blocking, costume, script and any other relevant changes made throughout your absence via your castmates. If you have not exchanged phone numbers, do so upon leaving my sight.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Catie says. “Anything else?”
Hellsworth rests her chin on her palm, and something flickers in her ruthless gaze as it settles on Catie. If I didn’t know any better, I would swear Hellsworth looks sympathetic.
The burning tickle of bile crawls up my throat. Oh God. What could that mean?
“Yes, in fact,” Hellsworth says. “Miss Klarken, by the end of these three weeks, you should be able to make it through the required bars of “No One Mourns the Wicked” within the confines of the bubble. If you are not, I will be forced to insist Gabby replace you permanently, and you will be given Miss. Edenson’s old place in the chorus.”
Catie’s hand turns to ice. She nods andstands, dropping our link on the way. “I, I understand,” she says, shaking Hellsworth’s hand. “Thank you for the chance, Ms. Helmsworth. I won’t let you down.”
“I hope you’re right, Miss Klarken,” she intones. I shiver at the ominous note to her words as I stand. “I really, truly do.”
It’s not until much later, as I lay in bed tracing the pattern of the ceiling with my eyes, I take a full breath. The trek is behind us. Now all we have to do is scale the mountain. My phone buzzes on my nightstand. I check it. My group chat with Logan and Maddy is blowing up. The cast is abuzz with rumors about what happened. I roll my eyes and exit out of my messages, but before I can put the screen to sleep and then snatch some myself, one tiny icon catches my attention. When I open it, the only thing I missed is a voicemail.
A burst of adrenaline zings through my veins. Hartford. This time, I don’t talk myself out of it. hitting play before holding it up to my ear.
“Hi, this is Yvonne Sanders, the assistant director at Hartford theater. I’m calling for Adaline Davidson. Kelsey wanted me to let you know we received your audition video, and while it was professional, auditions for Mary Poppins have concluded.”
My excitement vanishes. This is why I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Who was I kidding? I was never gonna get it, so why the hell did I even bother trying?
Because I wanted this time to be different.
“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” I snarl into the empty bedroom. But really, what more could I have expected from a coward?
I almost jam my finger over the end button, but Yvonne’s voice stops me.
“If, however, you are still interested in working with us, set an appointment to audition for the next season at your earliest convenience by calling this number. All auditions must be done in person. No tapes. Again, our number is 617-453-CAST. Auditions start on January 10th and spots fill up as early as the third week of December. Equity Actors get priority, so the earlier you call, the better chance you’ll have. I look forward to hearing from you.”
I let the message taper off, dial tone hanging in the air. Huh. Maybe Catie was right. Maybe things can change.
For both of us.
In spite of the craziness of with keeping up with everything while on leave, Addie insisted on taking me out to “celebrate.”
“What for?” I’d asked as we walked out of the theater Thursday afternoon once Helmsworth had granted the three-week leave. “I didn’t do anything. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have had the guts to face her, let alone ask for time off.”
Addie had smiled and wrapped an arm around my waist. “But you did.
You faced your biggest fear in there today.”
I’d snorted. “Yeah, and landed flat on my butt.”
“So what? You still tried. When it didn’t work, you got back up and found the courage to go after what you needed.”
I’d blushed and looked away, fiddling with an imaginary piece of lint on my sweater. Yes, I’d finally changed out of the bubble dress. Sam about had a heart attack when she found out what I’d done in it. “Only because you were there to help.”
Addie had given me a quick peck on the temple before waving away the compliment. “Still,” she’d said. “That’s more than enough reason to celebrate.”
“Do we have to go all the way up there?” My gaze rakes up the towering structure of the Boston Hub the following Tuesday night.
“Yep,” Addie says, leading me through the double doors of the fifty-two-floor restaurant. The cool autumn breeze whooshes my hair back as they spring open, and I take a large gulp of the chill, squeezing Addie’s hand. “Don’t worry,” she whispers as we step into the elevator. “You’ll be fine.”
I force a smile. “Well, my therapist did tell me to try something unconventional. And dinner at the top of one of the fanciest places in town?” I laugh, though it comes out more like a cough. “I’d say this counts.”
“Exactly.” Addie spins me to face her and brushes her lips against mine. My nervous system goes slack and I moan. We stay like that for the rest of the ride.
By the time our hostess escorts us to our table after a twenty-minute wait, my shoulders are no longer attached to my ears thanks to coiled-up tension, and though my pulse speeds up a bit when I realize our table is right beside a floor-to-ceiling window, I barely flinch as we take our seats and the waiter passes out menus.
“Catie, look at this,” Addie says, glancing out over the Boston skyline.
My stomach recoils at the thought, but I take a long sip of water from my iced-filled glass and make myself look anyway. Back Bay stretches out before us, a wide expanse of calm, clear blue water, with a few small boats speckled along its surface. Beyond lies the entire city, from the swankiest hotels downtown to the peaceful suburbs near the outskirts. Up here, I’m reminded of who I was before those ribbons changed my life. Strong. Powerful. Watching life bustle on the streets below while Addie and I are suspended above the clouds, I know I’m ready to face the world and anything it wants to throw at me. “Wow.”
Duet Rubato Page 18
