“That…thing…” Drew began, his words trembling in their wake “…did not come from McKenzie’s…”
“Oh, hell no!” Adam said. “Came from Tuxedo Terminal out in Queens. Forty bucks for the whole set.”
“You go…” Drew sputtered as he waved his finger in the air. “You go…get rid of it. Now.”
“Um, not before Broadway Daily gets the shot they requested of the Brothers McKenzie—together!” Jeffrey stepped in. “Promised them.”
“And you are next on my shit list, motherfucker…”
“Why, I’m just hitting you back for Thanksgiving. Told them that vest was hand-selected by you, Mack…”
It was time for the shoe inspection, too, but Drew was almost terrified to look down.
“Well, it’s a Christmas miracle!” Drew sighed at the sight of Adam’s black leather lace-ups. No way could Drew deal with that vest and Birkenstocks.
“Yeah, big brother, and my feet hurt,” Adam whined. “Not used to these damn things. But Dad made me wear them.”
Tapping her forehead against Jillian’s arm, Maxine groaned. “Fuckballs. This is getting frightening.”
“Hey, Jill, why don’t you walk them over? I need to go pull that New York Mag reporter over here for a chat with the Drewmeister. But we don’t want to lose that photo op.”
“Should I just quit my job right here—right now?” Jillian muttered to Maxine. “You know, anyone would hire me. I’ve been recruited, and I’ve turned down opportunities.”
“Don’t leave me alone at D&D to deal with them all,” Maxine giggled and covered her mouth.
“Come on, you beasts. Let’s get this over with.”
“What was that?” Adam said, cupping his ear. “Did someone say something?”
With all of her might, Jillian gave Adam a shove. “Move it, Hulk.”
“Oh, Miss Jillian…that felt nice…”
For the first time in hours, Maxine found herself standing alone, and she took that brief moment to attempt to process everything. She almost wished she had a journal in which she could simply jot everything down because she didn’t want to forget one single detail, from Drew’s performance to his tender kisses—even Adam’s silly outfit. This certainly wouldn’t be her last opening night with Drew, but it was indeed a monumental one.
“Well, if it isn’t the most beautiful lady in the room,” a vaguely familiar voice murmured from behind. “How did I get so lucky to run into her?”
When she turned around, however, Maxine recognized that smarmy grin immediately. Good old Randy Mansfield from The New York Times stood before her, his gray eyes narrowing on the low neckline of her gown as she braced herself against the table behind her. That night, he was dressed for the occasion in a simple navy suit and slick powder blue tie. His presence left her feeling slightly gritty, just as he had the day he interviewed Lexi. While she wanted to make a run for it, she knew she had to stick around. This guy might just be doing short features now, but he could be running the entire theater department at the Times one day. Maxine was in no positon to piss him of.
“Mr. Mansfield,” Maxine said, unsure whether she should extend a hand for a curt shake. “How are you?”
“So that’s the boyfriend you referenced on our last visit?” he said, then nodded across the room in Drew’s direction. “Maybe you can talk him into sitting down with me then…”
A nervous laugh left her lips, while she minded Drew from afar with hopes they’d finish soon. They only needed one damn picture.
“I could have sworn you already knew. Aren’t you the one who made the correction to the caption—with Penelope Merryweather?” she asked rhetorically. “As for the interview, that’s ultimately up to Drew.”
“So you think he’s serious with you?” Randy asked.
“Really, Mr. Mansfield, I’m not at liberty to dis—”
Grabbing her hand, he encircled her petite wrist with the loop of his fingers, and Maxine was certain he could feel her pulse beating in fear. “You can call me Randy, as I told you before,” he continued. “And you should probably keep your eyes open with that one. He has a reputation that will still be in tact long after you’re gone from his life.”
Dropping her hand just as quickly as he caught it, Randy looked over his shoulder to make sure that Drew wasn’t watching. “In six months when he’s tired of you, come talk to me. Maybe we can work on a story about the great Drew McKenzie then…”
However, nothing could quite quash Drew’s sixth sense when it came to all matters of Maxine, and within seconds, he was at her side once again. “You alright, little one?” he looked at Maxine, then to Randy. “I’m sorry…and you are…?”
“Randy Mansfield…The New York Times.” His own offering of a shake met Drew’s icy, still stance. He refused to budge for this guy—no matter what paper he wrote for. “Congratulations on the show, Mack.”
A bit rattled that Randy used his nickname, Drew fought to maintain his cool. “Thank you. We’re looking forward to a lengthy run…” He hoped he hadn’t just jinxed himself with his own words, but Drew couldn’t let this guy put a single dent in his armor.
“Randy Mansfield,” Jillian said, as she inserted herself into the conversation. Already aware that he’d hit on Maxine previously, she wasn’t about to let him gain the upper hand—especially not on that night. “How goes it?”
“Good, Jillian,” he said. “Very good…”
“Well, I don’t mean to cut this short for everyone, but Drew did have an interview scheduled, so I’ve gotta hustle him away,” Jillian explained quickly. “See you around, Randy…”
Once she’d scooted them both out of Randy’s earshot, Jillian said, “I’ll get you both a drink, and Drew, calm down. You actually do have to chat with New York.”
“That,” Drew began, “is why Jillian is the best publicist in the world. Now, little one, did that slimy motherfucker hurt you?”
“He just held my wrist and—”
“Where’s Adam?” Drew paced in his spot. “We’re gonna take his ass outside and—”
Touching her hand to his chest, Maxine begged him, “Drew, do not cause a scene…”
“Maxine, no one lays one single finger on you,” he warned. “So help me, if—”
“Drink!” Jillian shoved a flute of champagne in his hand, then turned him to face the opposite side of the room where Jeffrey was schmoozing with the press. Technically, that’s where Randy should have been—not working the room to stalk the leading man’s leading lady. There was something odd about him, and Jillian knew she’d have to shelter Maxine from contact with him. Jillian didn’t see him sticking around anyway. He was just another cub reporter, making his rounds through the New York media. Eventually, he’d just start a blog and be done with them all. That was how the business seemed to operate lately.
“Now, let’s go play with some real reporters, shall we?”
Although he kept Maxine at his side for the duration of their wait for the reviews, Drew had zero time to even chat with his own parents. Jillian and Jeffrey kept him busy, swinging him from one journalist to the next.
He’d never had an opening quite like this. Usually, he parked himself down at the bar with a few guys from the stage crew and drowned their collective sorrows in a few bottles of top-shelf Irish whiskey. That night, though, everyone wanted hear what he had to say and not just about the show. They were also quite curious about that auburn-haired young woman with the bright green eyes whom he was dating.
The clock ticked closer to midnight, and with each circular swipe of the second hand. Although Jillian had already found quite a few of the reviews online, Drew ignored the screen of her iPad and waited for the pomp and circumstance to begin.
Reading the reviews at the stroke of the new day was a tradition initiated by Vincent Sardi, Jr., who bought the restaurant from his father and went on to create one of Broadway’s oldest institutions. Sardi, restauranteur and theatrical icon in his own right, had been dubbe
d “The Mayor of the Theater District” for his commitment to the community and all of its players. In fact, the first Tony ceremony had been hosted right beneath that very roof.
It was always such a huge event when the daily papers were brought in on silver platters for everyone to peruse and celebrate the reviews—or to downright mourn. As the waiters carried around stacks of The Daily News and The New York Post, Drew naturally gravitated toward the paper of the utmost importance, The New York Times, which still held enough weight to make or break a show.
Peering over his shoulder, which she clutched with her hand, Maxine raced her eyes over the first few paragraphs. Damn critics always had to describe the show in minute detail before they got around to their assessments of the actual performances at the bitter end.
“Oh, shit...here I am...” Drew muttered.
“The true star of the show is Drew McKenzie, who brought forth all of Gillis’ despair in a performance that rivals the late William Holden, the creator of the role in the original film. His soaring tenor carried gloriously throughout the often challenging score, and his emotion never faltered…”
“Drew—you’re a hit!” Maxine just grabbed his face and kissed him on the lips. Every photographer in the joint caught their bliss, and Drew had to force himself not to cry with relief.
“My baby boy!” Maggie hugged him next while Adam and Declan patted him on the back and slugged him in the arm.
“Remember when I told you that maybe business school was a slightly better choice than Julliard? But that we still supported your decision?” Declan whispered to him. “I stand corrected. I’m glad you trusted your gut. Congratulations, son. We are so proud of you.”
The other reviews were equally as generous with their praise. No show ever received a perfect ten. From the audience response and the pre-show buzz online, however, Maxine would have bet her last dollar that Drew would need to find a spot on the old mantle for his Tony Award. What mattered most, though, was that the producers were euphoric, showering Drew with congratulatory kisses and hearty handshakes. They, after all, were writing his paychecks.
While Drew seemed almost energized by the good news, Maxine could also sense that he didn't want to spend the rest of the early morning hours celebrating with his colleagues. As he and Maxine hurried around, bidding their good-nights to his parents and acquaintances, Jillian sighed and headed over to the bar just to sit down for a few minutes. It was long, but magnificent night.
“Just wanna say thank you,” Adam said from behind and placed a rose he’d plucked from one of the floral displays on the counter in front of her. “You’ve always been a great supporter of my brother’s career, and now, we should all celebrate for him.”
“Thanks, Adam,” she said, turning toward him with a tired but genuine smile. His eyes, she swore, hadn’t stopped twinkling since he set foot in that townhouse wearing that stupid vest. Oh, well, the press had some fun with it, she reasoned. And Drew didn’t kill him. In fact, Drew was far more concerned with the maiming of Randy Mansfield. “He deserves all of this. Drew’s a good guy.”
“So am I, Jillian,” Adam said, nearly ready to drop from his own frustration. “You just won’t give me a chance.”
“Okay…I’m just gonna ask,” she said at last. “What’s with me? There are a million other women in this city—many of which you’ve already sampled—but why me?”
“Because you’re not like those million other women out there,” he insisted. “You don’t give a shit how much cash I have in my pocket. You’d rather spend your own money. You’re smart. You have a great career of your own already. And you’re tough. I like that in a lady.”
“Adam, I don’t have support from my parents,” she said. “If I don’t work hard, my bills won’t get paid. And I have a lot going on right now with the office and with—”
“So does Penelope—and she finds time for Drew,” he said. “You’re just afraid to get involved. With anyone. It might clutter up your ordered little world. So you bark back at me like I’m an untrained puppy…”
“Adam,” she propped her hand on her hip, “everyone talks to you like that…”
“Okay, that’s true. But let’s say we start from the beginning here,” he suggested. “I’ll try to behave a little more grown-up like, and you try to have a little more fun. Starting on that dance floor upstairs with me?”
Turning away, she reached for her wine glass and downed every last sip of shimmering Chardonnay. “One dance, Adam…”
“Maybe two…and then maybe you’ll agree to dinner with me.”
“Wings and beer aren’t my thing.”
“A real restaurant—with bread plates and stuff.”
Damn that Adam McKenzie. He was making her giggle.
“And real shoes?” she challenged him.
“I could abandon the Birks for one evening for a lady as charming as yourself,” he said.
Reluctantly, she jumped off her barstool and offered him her hand. “We’ll talk about dinner later…let’s go dance.”
Maxine and Drew just laughed as Adam turned around behind Jillian’s back and mouthed the words, “She’s gonna dance with me!” and gave them the thumbs-up. They both returned the gesture in kind before wrapping their arms around each other for one more kiss.
“So proud of you, Kind Sir. And so thrilled that you picked me to fall in love with.”
“This would not be happening without you, little one,” he assured her. “You’ve made me such a stronger, better man. I don’t think I can function at this point without you…”
“Me either, Mack,” she kissed him on the cheek once more. “So let’s get each other home and do unthinkable things to each other in that big old bed of yours…”
“It has been eighteen hours,” he said, “and you know how cranky Kind Sir gets when he can’t have his precious Penelope…”
“Let’s go find Lou.”
It was frigid when they stepped into the December morning air. Drew was quick to take off his tuxedo jacket to cover Maxine's shoulders, even though he’d made sure that she had a warm cashmere shawl to wear that night. In the car, she cuddled close to him, enjoying these quiet moments that had become so few and far between. She embraced the silence between them, which was never heavy or awkward. Just the notion of being near him sated her.
Lazily, they strolled hand-in-hand through the lobby and made their slow way upstairs to the penthouse. As they stepped through the foyer, Drew pulled her close just to look at her one last time in that dress.
“You’re perfect, little one,” he said.
“Meet ya in the bedroom after I brush my teeth?”
“I shall be waiting…”
“I bet you will, Broadway Star…”
While she methodically maneuvered through her bedtime routine, Maxine made a promise to herself to recycle that gown again for another occasion. Perhaps she’d even dare to wear it at the Tony Awards as a token of good luck. Delicately, she undressed and hung the yards of fine fabric on the back of the bathroom door for now, then slipped on toward the bedroom wearing nothing but her La Perla black lace panties, ready for anything he had in mind.
“I undressed without permission, Sir,” she whispered. “I think that’s grounds for punishment.”
When he didn’t answer her, she called out his name. “Aren’t you even the slightest bit miffed, Mack?” Onward, she slunk toward him, swinging those hips into overdrive. “Drew? James Andrew McKenzie?”
As sound as a baby, Drew snored against the pillow with a silly grin on his face. Carefully, so as not to disturb him, she removed his bow tie, tossed it to the floor with his abandoned jacket and shoes and then unbuttoned his shirt.
As Maxine spooned around him, holding him close, she knew it would be a full twenty-four hours until they indulged in each other again.
For the first time since they’d met, sex didn’t matter. Into her own slumber, Maxine glided to indulge in the sweetest dream, feeling like the luckiest girl i
n the world because she would wake up beside Drew.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Eyes closed...do I need to blindfold you?”
Drew laughed as Maxine took his hand and guided him down the long hallway on that Sunday evening just before Christmas. He’d just finished up his week with the matinee, and had exactly one day off before throwing himself back into character for the holiday week performances.
“Keep walking. I won't let you run into the wall,” Maxine assured him. “Do we need another lesson in trust, Mack?”
“Little one, you'd make an awful Dominatrix,” he teased.
“Well, lucky for you, that's the not the role I play,” she said, and shoved the key into the deadbolt.
Nestled in a quiet corner of the twenty-fifth floor of his very own building, Drew found a deal on a small apartment that he’d purchased—in cash—and set upon to have Maxine transform into their private dungeon.
Per Drew's specific instructions, there were exactly three locks on the door. The last thing he needed—especially now that he was actually getting some recognition from total strangers when he walked down the street—was for someone to break in and uncover their filthy little secret. Those assholes at the Post would have a feeding frenzy if they found out what he and Maxine, the new darlings of New York Society, did behind closed doors.
Sunset Boulevard was off to a phenomenal start, breaking records that the producers hadn’t anticipated. In fact, all performances were completely sold out for the holidays, earning Drew his rightful recognition at long last. He was proud of his accomplishments but ever mindful that the season still had months to go before nominations were announced. Every single night, he knew he had to be better than the last. Drew poured every ounce of his energy into maintaining the momentum of the show for both himself and his for his fellow cast members.
However, that left them little time to play, and on that evening, he planned to make it up to Maxine.
WRAPPED: The Manhattan Bound Series, Book Two Page 50
