by Tracey Ward
“You’re full of demands,” she jokes breathlessly. Her cheeks are glowing pink the way they do when she’s flustered. When she’s feeling so much it rises to her face, to her eyes, and she’s an open book for me to read. To touch. To kiss.
“I have a hard time knowing what I want, but when I figure it out, I’m relentless.”
“Relentless, huh?” she purrs, lifting up slowly on her toes. Her face closing in on mine. Her eyes falling closed. “I like the sound of that.”
I smile before I kiss her. It feels good; this mix of emotions. This joy and desire. Want and content. When the tip of her tongue touches mine, I crumble. I fall into her, lifting her up as I collapse inside. Wild images rush through my mind, some dirty, some sweet. Christmases and birthdays. Breakfast and dinner. Her body in my New York bedroom, naked as the sky. Stark white as a star. Her on stage singing my words, dancing my choreography. That’s the part that breaks me. The part that sends me into overdrive, desperate to be inside her. To be her breath. To be her heartbeat. Dying to be her everything.
She sighs into my mouth, her tongue slowly tracing my lower lip. “I love you, Jace. I am so deeply, drunkenly, madly in love with you.”
“Fuck, Greer,” I murmur against her lips. “I love you so goddamn much.”
“You’re such a poet,” she laughs lightly.
“I’ll save the poetry for the play. You get my honesty.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“I’m taking you back to my hotel. Right now.”
She nods. “Good. ‘Cause I’m about to get indecent here on this stage.”
“I’d pay to see that, Cinnamon Sugar.”
She giggles, dropping her head back to look up at me. “Not even close.”
“Give me a hint.”
“I’ll do you one better. When we get back to your hotel, I’ll give you a show.”
I pull back slightly, my eyes going wide with want. “For real?”
She nods seriously, her lips pouty and innocent. “Rocher Ferrero always keeps her word.”
“Dammit,” I whisper. “Your stripper name was a candy?”
“All the spices were taken.”
I reach down to snatch her bag off the ground at her feet. I hoist it over one shoulder, wrapping my arm around her waist to hoist her over the other.
She squeals in surprise as the crowd in the corner whistles and cheers.
“I’m gonna warn you right now, Rocher,” I tell her as I cart her off stage, waving to our audience. “I love candy. I can eat it all day and never get sick of it.”
“No, but you might get fat.”
I reach up to squeeze her ass, making her jump. “We’ll find a way to work it off.”
EPILOGUE
One Year Later
‘THE HAS-BEEN’ has arrived!
THEATER REVIEW
‘THE HAS-BEEN’
Music and Lyrics by Linda Kale and Jace Ryker
Book by Dylan Nugent
Through January 9
Mendalin Theater, 1662 Broadway, New York
BY ZACHARY TAURMAN
The Has-Been is a raunchy comedy fit for no ages. It’s a dirty joke throughout, one that I’m not sure I understand the punchline to.
So why am I still laughing to myself hours after seeing it?
Because the production is that good, that’s why.
Not to be taken at face value, The Has-Been is, at its core, the poignant story of an oblivious artist past his prime. He is literally and painfully the last to know. Family and friends prop up the lie, painting the world as a strange wonderland for him to live in, never allowing him a glimpse of his true reality. His agent lies about booking galleries to display his work, only to have them catch fire or flood at the last minute. His brother pays women to swoon over The Has-Been on the street. His own mother, an octogenarian with no functioning knowledge of emojis or text-speak, flirts with him over social media to hilarious and awkward ends.
Living the Lie. Greer Madsen is flawless in her portrayal of a young woman paid to pretend at loving The Has-Been (Cam Wallace).
Is it a show you should see with your family? That depends on your family. I leave it to your discretion, but I promise you this - you’ll feel sympathy, disgust, sorrow, and gut-busting laughter, all within a single act. It’s a rollercoaster ride you don’t want to miss. Even if you have to leave the kids at home.
Told with heart and humor from the well-known team of Kale and Nugent, this play brings an old face to a new place. Jace Ryker, former child star, former rock star, former sex idol on stage and screen, is taking a stab at being a playwright, and he hits directly at the heart on the first try. The music is a masterpiece of contemporary and traditional, mixing worlds seamlessly the way only a man born with it in his blood can do. The cast is exquisite, especially the vocal chops of newcomer Greer Madsen.
Each performance can be much the same, becoming mundane for actors. It can be a challenge to keep things fresh and exciting every night. Tonight was an exception to that rule. I was lucky enough to be present on a night when that gorgeous magic of theater and life collide, sparking an incendiary show of electricity and excitement.
At the end of the show, as the actors took their bows to a standing ovation, Jace Ryker himself took to the stage. He has meticulously shied away from the spotlight since retiring from the world of pop music, but he graced us with his presence tonight, a surprise in hand. As the crowd of seventeen hundred watched with bated breath, Jace took up camp in front of his longtime girlfriend, Greer Madsen.
And then he took a knee.
Her reaction was authentic surprise, her shocked gasp drown out in the larger gasp of delight and awe released by the audience as a whole. His words were quiet and lost to us, but their meaning was clear. As was the shine on the diamond ring he presented to her. Her nod of acceptance, her tears of joy, sent the theater into absolute ecstatic chaos. Whistles and cheers erupted from every seat. Every corner. And as he stood to kiss his bride-to-be with tears in his own eyes, clearly besotted, I believed in something beautiful. Something true. You might think it’s love, and in a way it is, but what I saw in that moment was more than a couple entering the next act in their story. It was theater. Alive and vibrant. Always a surprise. Always a delight to behold.
While I can’t promise this kind of excitement at every performance, I urge you to attend The Has-Been as soon as you can. It’s definitely worth your time and attention. I look forward to seeing what joy Jace Ryker and Greer Madsen-soon-to-be-Ryker bring to us in the future. It is clear, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they have found their niche in this world. And I’m doubly pleased to see that they have found it together.
The Has-Been is new to Broadway, premiering a month ago. Ticket sales can be found at www.theatergo.org or purchased at the window of the Mendalin Theater, 1662 Broadway, New York.
THE END
Thank you for reading Dissonance!
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They are invaluable to indie authors like me.
Keep reading for an excerpt from my NA Romantic Comedy, Lawless.
Lawson Daniel is good at a lot of things. He can show you the best places to surf, the perfect time of day to ride the tide. He knows the best bars, the best bands, he has the best weed, and if you’re looking to get laid, he’ll show you the best time.
No girl in her right mind should speak to him. She definitely shouldn’t have sex with him, and only a blind, self-loathing idiot would fall in love with him.
I’ve done all three.
All in the span of one sweltering, suffering summer that nearly cost me everything down to the blood in my body and the beat of my heart.
No one walked away from that season unscathed.
Not even Lawson Daniel.
Chapter One
My skin feels tight. It’s sticky from the dried salt water of the sea, burning from the heat of the afternoon sun that touches on every inch of bare
skin it can find. My swimsuit will smell like the ocean for days. I won’t wash it. I’ll take it with me to Boston and I’ll let it smell like California. I’ll let it remind me of today. Of my last day.
“They’re setting up a bonfire,” Katy comments.
I roll my head to the side, squinting one eye open to see the group of six guys gathering firewood down the beach. It’s the surfer crowd. The ones who get here at dawn and don’t leave until well after dark. They live here because they live for the ocean. For the waves and the crash and the ride. Their bodies are toned from the sport, browned by the sun, their hair bleached out with natural highlights that most of the girls out here would pay a fortune in the salon for. There’s a handful of them, all hot and smiling, but one stands out. One always stands out, no matter where he goes.
“Do you wanna stay?”
I close my eye and point my face up to the fading sun. “I don’t know,” I mumble to Katy.
“Do you still need to pack?”
“I’ve been packed for over a week.”
“That eager to leave, huh?” she chuckles, but she doesn’t think it’s funny.
Neither do I.
“Yeah, I guess.”
I’ve lived my entire life in Southern California. I was born and raised in the small coastal town of Isla Azul parked about an hour up the shoreline from Malibu. Katy and I have lived next door to each other since we were born. I’ve been going to college at Santa Barbara twenty minutes to the north, and when I graduated high school I went with Katy and three other girls to Mexico to celebrate. It was the farthest from home I’ve ever been.
That will change tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll get on a plane that will take me over halfway across the country to Boston, Massachusetts where I’ll study music at the New England Conservatory. It’s a huge deal. It made the front page of Isla Azul’s tiny little paper. My dad framed it and hung it on the wall so we could see it every day. So I could be reminded of where I was going.
Of the ticking clock running out on the life I’ve always known.
“We should stay then,” Katy tells me decidedly. She lays back down on her towel next me, fanning her long brown hair out above her head. “We’ll soak up the last of the sun. Send your butt to Boston looking tan and hot. Give those pasty white east coast girls something to be jealous of. Show ‘em what a real true California blond looks like.”
I smile, but I don’t respond. I close my eyes, listen to the sound of the waves, embrace the burn of the sun, and I reach out my hand until it brushes against hers. Until she lifts her pinky, wraps it around mine, and I lock them together tightly.
It’s another ten minutes before I can’t take the heat anymore. The sun is going down but the summer is just getting started, just heating up, and that warmth is embedded in my skin. It’s getting dark but there’s enough light for one last swim. One last kiss of the crisp ocean cool before I say goodbye to it for an entire year.
Katy stays on shore, opting to go mingle with the surfers and scope out who’s here. I know who she’s looking for. They do too, and even though she’s not going to find him or get any information about him, they welcome her with open arms. As I walk down to the water I see Baker hug her firmly, draping his arm over her shoulder while holding a beer loosely by the neck in his other hand. The other guys offer her a beer, nod in greeting, but I frown when I realize someone is missing. Just as much as Lawson Daniel’s presence stands out, his absence does as well.
It shouldn’t surprise me to find him out in the water. He’s nothing but a dot on the darkening horizon, bobbing on his board with his legs dangling in the water, but I know what he looks like. Every girl in a hundred mile radius knows what Lawson looks like.
Sex and sun.
Golden brown hair and sea green eyes.
Sly smiles and broken hearts.
I’ve known him as long as I’ve known Katy and I’m more proud of the fact that I’ve never tangled with him than the fact that I got into the NEC. I’m in the minority in both respects. Exceptional. Smart. Skilled.
Alone.
There’s no one else in the surf when I step inside the waves. The white foam curls up frothing and eager over my feet, and I sigh as my body instantly starts to cool from the touch. Everyone else has gone up to the shore to find beer and food and other bodies. Everyone but Lawson and me. As I wade into the water I watch him sit patiently, waiting for the next big wave. The last one of the night. But unlike me, I know he’ll do this again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. He and that board are as constant as the tide, as sure as the sun, and I envy him that. I wish more than anything I could have one more day. One last summer.
When I’m in far enough I dive down. I face a wave head on and I slip expertly beneath it, kicking hard to go farther and deeper. My skin aches with a burn I won’t see until the morning when I’m getting ready to get on the plane. My flight will leave LAX before dawn and I bite down hard on a sob that tries to escape my throat as I realize I’ve seen the last of the California sun for an entire year. I won’t come back at Christmas or Thanksgiving. My family can’t afford it. Once I’m in Boston I’ll be locked in. No room for doubts or reservations. No retreat.
I kick toward the surface, my lungs screaming for air, but once I give them what they want I go under again. Then again. It’s not until I come up that third time that I realize I’ve gone farther out than I planned.
A wave crashes into my face, sending me down again, but I don’t panic. I’ve been swimming this ocean since I was a toddler. I can handle it. I can take a wave to the face or a long swim back to shore. The key is to stay calm.
When I break the surface again I’m in the clear. The water is calm around me and I watch as the wave curls back toward the beach, lazily furling forward. I glance around, wondering if Lawson is still out here or if he took the wave. I’m surprised to find him paddling furiously toward me.
“Rachel!” he shouts, his voice barely audible over the distance between us. Over the rush of the wind and water. “Swim toward me!”
I frown. “What?!”
“Swim toward me! Now! Go!”
I shake my head, completely confused.
Lawson has spoken to me all of four times in my life. Once in elementary school to tell me I had a booger hanging out of my nose, once in middle school to say I looked good with boobs, once in high school to tell me he door dinged my car, and now out in the open ocean he’s screaming at me to swim to him. His handsome face is pinched with anxiety and exertion as his arms dig hard into the water, propelling his body laid flat on his surfboard.
“What are you talking—“
Something brushes my leg roughly. I spin around, looking at the water to see what it was, but it’s getting too dark. The glare of the setting sun is blinding me, making the surface like a mirror I can’t look beyond. My heart races in my chest but I will it to calm.
It’s probably one of his stupid friends, I tell myself. They’re probably playing a prank to scare you.
Another touch. This time it hurts, like sandpaper dragging across my sensitive skin.
“Rachel!” Katy cries faintly from the shore.
I look back to find her standing knee deep in the water. Baker is holding onto her, holding her back from coming any farther in, and the look of sheer panic on her face tells me instantly that this is no prank. This is real.
I’m in trouble.
I turn toward Lawson and start swimming as hard as I can. I dig deep, pull hard, but he’s so far. I wonder if I shouldn’t have gone for the shore instead. It’s too late now, though. All I can do is swim as fast as I can, hope he’s doing the same, and maybe I can make it up onto his board with him before—
I go under. Something takes hold of my leg and yanks me down. The horizon disappears from my view in one sharp snap that brings my world to cool darkness.
Just as quickly as it takes hold of me it lets me go. I scream under the water, bubbles bursting from my mouth up over my face
and into my hair as I struggle to get to the surface. I’m kicking hard and suddenly I ache in my right leg as my vision goes white around the edges.
My hands find air, leaving the water, but then I’m going under again. I’m going down and it’s colder and darker than before, and even though my blood is screaming through my veins and in my ears, it’s eerily silent.
Something takes hold of me under my arms. It pulls me in tight, pinning me to a mass behind me and I thrash and fight until I realize it’s an arm. My hands find the hard corded muscle of a forearm across my breasts and I hold onto it tightly, desperately, as it pulls me upward. We find the surface and I gasp for air, pulling in water and oxygen and hope in big, heaving gasps that make my lungs ache in my chest.
My vision comes back to me in strange shades. The light is too bright, the shadows too dark. Everything is washed out and somehow too vivid at the same time. The sky is blood red, the water pitch black. The white surfboard phosphorescent bone.
“Grab hold of it,” Lawson says breathlessly in my ear. “Can you lift yourself up?”
I reach for the board and I’m grateful when my body complies. I take hold of the opposite side and with the force of Lawson’s hand on my hip shoving me upward I’m able to pull myself up until I can roll my body onto the board.
“Grip the front tight. Hold on.”
I nod in agreement, my fingers hesitantly dipping back into the water just enough to wrap them around the gentle roll of the front of the board. Lawson’s head disappears from my peripheral. It sends a jolt of panic through my body and I’m just about to sit up to look for him under the water when the board lurches forward. He’s behind me, holding on to the tail end and kicking us back to shore.
