She stood up and adjusted her skirt. “Okay! Well, Axel,” she said, patting her hair and fixing her lipstick, bending over to peer at the mirror, “that was officially the best stress relief ever. And if you do that for any other cast member, I will officially kill you.”
“That one is just for you. Everyone else will have to make do with a friendly motivational speech and maybe a slap on the back.” He put one hand on her arm. “Seriously. You okay now? You were pretty shaky before.”
She nodded. “I was sort of mentally fucked up, thinking about the critic guy and how much is riding on him. Now? It’s like I don’t care. I mean,” she added hastily, “I still care. But I care in a way that isn’t overly stressed out. Before, I was all distracted. Now, it’s a challenge, but a good one. I can do this.”
“I know you can.” His voice held pride. “Let’s get out there before people think you’re in here having second thoughts about tonight. I’ll see you after.”
“Okay.” She wasn’t even hearing his words anymore; a second ago she’d succumbed to passion in his arms, but now she was becoming Anna, the transformation happening fast this time, without her usual need to sit and percolate. And as Anna, she needed to get onto the stage.
* * *
It was a good performance. She could feel it as it unfolded perfectly, as if she were watching from one step ahead, nodding in satisfaction as each line came out just right, each motion as needed. Time was slow like molasses, so she had ample occasion to adjust her words even before they came out of her mouth. But then time was also immediate, because as soon as they started, she was done, and the crowd was on their feet, applause thundering, the lights hot and bright and brilliant, sparkling off their smiles and flashing into her eyes.
Everyone knew it was a success; the review wasn’t written, but it was like it was, that was how well they’d done, and the exuberance backstage was palpable in the air.
Nothing could dim her glow, not even the sight of Chelsea Cramer huddled over a small recorder with famously sleazy gossip reporter Londonn Ritz, or when Londonn rubbed his hands together, and Chelsea gave a smug little smile over to Cleo, a flash of a grin that looked more like a grimace.
But when Londonn loped up to Axel and started talking fast, and a scowl grew on Axel’s face—then she started to come down from her high.
She leaned forward, calling out, “Axel, I…” but was startled when someone brushed past her, leaving a trail of expensive perfume and a few bodyguards.
“Axel!” The woman came up, all heels and thighs in her short skirt and gave him both hands, somehow offering herself up and taking him, all at once. Her red lips on his, her hands on his body.
“Cleo?” Laska appeared beside her. “What’s going on?”
Cleo shook her head. “Who’s—is that Alyssia Hart?” Her voice rose in surprise and dismay.
“Yes, I think so.” Laska frowned. “What is she doing here?”
Cleo was mute. She felt sick to her stomach. Across the room, but not far enough away to miss the expressions or the sounds, Alyssia held Axel’s hand. “We’re going out to The Mid right now,” she said to Londonn and the people standing around. “It’s going to be so turnt! Totally my hot spot these days. They love me there so hard. I get my own honorary table. It’s totes amazing.”
“It’s totes vomitorious, is what it totes is,” corrected Laska in an undertone. “Cleo, what the?”
Cleo sucked in a breath. “He said he’d see me after,” she whispered, unable to look away.
Londonn cleared his throat. “So are you two back on again?” he asked, his voice skeptical, curious, and interested all at once. “I heard that you were having an affair with your lead actress, and that she only got the part because of favoritism.”
Axel scoffed. “Each actor in this play was chosen based on their skills alone. If you hear otherwise, I’d be sure to check for other motivation before you pass on any unsubstantiated rumors.”
“Well, it’s just that this came from a highly trusted source.” The reporter frowned, his eyes darting over to Chelsea.
“Close doesn’t mean accurate,” pointed out Axel, following his gaze. “I’d be careful not to embarrass yourself.”
“If it’s true, it can’t be good for your career,” said Londonn, a sly smile crossing his face. The smile wavered when Chelsea flounced by, cursing under her breath. She looked out of control and angry.
Axel shrugged. “I have a lot of names asking me to audition for the next play. My actors are fielding requests from other directors to audition. I’m not worried about the play or my cast—even ridiculous gossip only feeds the interest and sends more people through our doors. But if you’re interested in getting an early scoop on any future stuff from me, you probably shouldn’t piss me off by spreading unverified gossip.”
The reporter opened his mouth but didn’t speak. He closed it again, then asked, “So, you two,” and he gestured at Axel and Alyssia, “are going out?”
“You heard her,” answered Axel, somewhat testily. “If you’ll excuse us, please?” He put a hand onto the small of Alyssia’s back. “Ready, Lo?”
She giggled up into his face and took his hand. “One hundred percent.” She leaned up on tiptoe to kiss his lips and cameras flashed. “Let’s go, baby,” she said, tenderly touching his face. “We’re going to have such a freaking good time.” They walked out together, her entourage following like the wake of a boat.
Dumbfounded, Cleo was unable to focus, and jumped when Laska poked her.
“Cleo, you’re being asked for?” Laska said in a meaningful voice, gesturing.
“Oh! Sorry! I’m still on a high from the performance.” Cleo summoned her brightest smile for the reporters clustering around. “It was our best show yet, and I’m thrilled with how we all did.”
She answered questions about the role, the theme, how it felt to work with Axel, and how it felt to have a famous critic in the crowd. Relying on her acting ability more than ever, she forced herself to look eager, bright, and cheerful, and not like her heart was breaking into small shitty pieces inside her chest.
“So.” It was Londonn, tenacious and close. “Are you having a relationship with Axel Masters?” His eyes were sharp and beady, intelligent and suspicious.
Cleo shrugged. “We have a very good professional relationship. He’s great at encouraging me to do my best. As for the personal side of things? Looks to me like he’s getting back with his ex,” she said, keeping a quiver out of her voice. “Which is his private business. I’d rather talk about the play and the part. What would you like to ask me about the role?”
“Because I heard you were having an affair with him,” continued Londonn, as if she hadn’t spoken at all.
She smiled, fighting back the urge to punch him in the face, hard. Really hard, so blood squirted out. “If we were, do you think he’d be walking out of here with another woman?” She laughed at her own joke, and some other reporters laughed, too. “Be serious, though. We’ve all worked so hard and we’re dying to tell you about our practices and inspiration.”
She turned to the group of reporters and gave them all a genuine smile. And the rest of the night went by in a blur and ended in tears instead of celebration, because Axel didn’t text her to explain, or ask her to meet, or anything.
Chapter Seventeen
When Axel still didn’t call the next day, she felt so upset that she broke down and called Laska for support, and joined her in the hospital café where they met sometimes, when Laska was too slammed with work to meet at a real coffee shop.
“Dr. Simon to ER 1, stat, Dr. Simon, ER 1, stat,” called a tinny voice from the PA.
A group of interns in loose blue scrubs walked past, chattering and holding sturdy gray trays, the cross-hatch pattern scratched up into new designs by constant use. Some held salads, others had plastic-wrapped sandwiches, wilted lettuce compressed to the sides in smashed tutus of green.
Even through her unhappiness, Cleo smil
ed to see that one of young women had a trendy wrap around the waist of her scrubs and funky earrings that matched the beads in her black cornrows. She was the one leading the way, finding a table—the alpha of the pack. Maybe someday she’d be chief surgeon of this very hospital. Funny how time accentuated someone’s character; things that were quirks now could turn out to be fundamental assets or flaws down the line.
Take Axel. What she’d first considered minor, his frequent assertion that he wasn’t into a real relationship with her, was not something to smirk at. It was a deep part of his core beliefs. She’d mistakenly assumed that their closeness, their hot sex, the intimacy of the dominance and submission had meant something, when in fact it was just a fleeting moment, one of many in a chain of them. Beautiful, yes; meaningful in its own way, but certainly not critical in the sense that it was the foundation of a future together.
“He never called?” Laska stifled a yawn as she stirred her tea and glanced around the hospital café. “Sorry! It’s not you. I got called in after the performance last night for an appendectomy, because Marge is on leave. Even though I was supposed to get the night off. It took a while.”
“No. He never did.” Cleo wrapped both hands around her own paper cup, inhaling the aroma of Earl Grey and watching the teabag float, submerged, just below the surface of the liquid, the paper sack swelling. “Is this how dead bodies look when they float in a river?” she asked, grabbing the string, lifting the tea back, and letting it fall and sink to the bottom, where it lingered for a breath, then rose like a glop of lava lamp back to the air.
“Oh, absolutely. If you want to double check, go look at the water pit in the morgue,” replied Laska. “We toss them all in there now. Cost savings. What the hell, Cleo? Where did that come from?”
“But it’s stupid that the teabag won’t dunk itself. It’s missing a huge opportunity for flavor dissipation here. I’m just saying. They need to engineer this better.”
“Yeah, I’ll talk to Aramark tomorrow,” promised Laska. “So tell me. What’s going on?”
“Nothing, I guess.” Cleo wiped her eye. “I’m trying not to cry about it, because it’s dumb. But I’m sad anyway. You know?”
“Of course,” said Laska, her voice full of sympathy.
“I mean, it’s not like he promised me anything. And he said more than once that he’s not cut out for a serious relationship. But we were—good together. You know? It was really good.” Her voice trailed off wistfully before she continued. “The sex was off the charts hot, Laska.” She lowered her voice. “I mean, he’s—I can’t even. It was just so, so amazing. And I know he felt that way too.” Her voice got fierce with determination. “Because he said so. And I could just tell. You can tell when a guy is enjoying the hell out of something. Right?”
“Right. Of course you can.” Laska nodded. “Absolutely.”
“And he was funny to me, and sweet, and… it just felt—real.”
“I know.” Laska nodded. “I know.”
“And he’s—and it just became obvious to me last night. I’m an idiot. Okay? No, I am. I am. Let me finish. So we got into this… the kinky thing, okay? Like, dominance and submission. And it was new to me, but I liked it. And I trusted him. And it’s not like he did anything wrong. But I sort of thought that if you… do those kind of things? It’s intimate, Laska. It’s a real mind rush. I, for one? I could never do that with some random guy. It was too powerful and personal. And it kills me that he was treating it as just a way to pass time, or just another person to fuck, for fun. To me,” she patted her chest, eyes welling up, “it meant something. It really did.”
“I know. I’m so sorry. Oh, Cleo.” Laska reached over and patted Cleo’s hand. “I’m so sorry. He’s a dick.”
“And it’s just,” Cleo wiped her eye again, “that I don’t like being naïve. I just realized that the first time we got together, it happened, spontaneously, because of mutual attraction. But afterwards? It’s like every time we… did our thing, it was when I was stressed, and he wanted to help me focus. You know what? Maybe even the first time.”
She sniffed. “It was enjoyable, hell, for both of us, but I think he was sort of using it as a way to get me in line as an actor, to get into my role, or to destress so I could do better at the job. And I guess it worked out, because we kicked ass. But in another way it makes me really fucking angry at him. Because you know what? I’m a good actor! I can be motivated without kinky sex. I can do my job without being fucked into it.”
“Of course you can! You do. It’s obvious, Cleo. It doesn’t even need to be said.” Laska nodded vigorously.
“And him thinking, oh, poor little Cleo, she’s all worn out, let me just spank her ass until she cries and then finger-fuck her—” She broke off, noticing stares from a few nurses passing by their table; one guy poked his friend and said something in an undertone and they both guffawed, looking back at her for a second before walking on. She added in a lower voice, “…and finger-fuck her into bliss so the poor dear can focus again and be a great big actor like me. Fuck him. I don’t need that! I don’t!” Her voice rose again.
“Shh, shh,” said Laska, looking around. Then she patted Cleo’s hand again. “I don’t think it was just that, though. But I mean, is it bad to use sex as a way to relieve stress?”
“No, of course not. It’s great. But I’m starting to think that was his primary reason for doing it. Sure, he enjoyed it and all. Who wouldn’t? But I think he would have done it anyway just to help me relax. I don’t know!” She buried her face in her hands. She wasn’t crying, but it felt good to block out the lights and visual noise of the busy cafeteria.
“Well, you need to probably talk to him,” Laska suggested. “I mean, right?”
“Maybe I don’t,” retorted Cleo. “Because maybe he dissed me in public last night, and took off with his stupid ex to some stupid club, and didn’t bother to call me at all.”
Laska put her cup down. “I honestly got the impression that he was trying to throw that asshole reporter off the scent. Are you sure he wasn’t just, you know, playing a part?”
“The play is done. The playing is over, Laska. We got our brilliant reviews all along, and then that stupid critic last night came, and today there’s an even better review in the paper. He got what he wanted, which was a stellar crew on a controversial play. His name is bigger than ever. Everything went off just fine. Great publicity, now we’re done… and he’s done with me.”
“Oh, Cleo, he’s not done. I’m sure.”
“Well, there’s one more thing I didn’t tell you.” Cleo gave Laska a teary smile. “I said I loved him. Right before the last performance. I thought he didn’t hear me. But, you know what? I think he did hear me after all, and he freaked out. That’s why he blew me off. Sure, part of it was the reporter. But he could have called me later. Come to me. He never did.” She wiped her eye. “It’s over now.”
“You said you loved him?” Laska’s eyes widened. “Oh, Cleo.”
“What do you mean, ‘Oh, Cleo’?” She stabbed at her eye. “If I feel it, I can say it. Okay?” She crossed her arms, defiant.
“It’s just that you told me he’s not into relationships.” Laska’s voice fell. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. So that’s how I know he’s done. I got too involved, he only wanted it to be a short-term thing, I’m getting needy, and he’s out. Whatever.”
“It’s only been one day. Are you sure?” Laska looked at Cleo’s face. “Maybe…”
Cleo shook her head. “Yeah, I’m sure. I mean, my career is going to thrive after this play. I can get a role on Broadway, probably, a smaller one. Surely some good roles here in Chicago. Maybe soon I’ll even be able to quit my day job. But it’s a foot in the door. This is great for my career. But I… want him. Too.”
“It’s just one day,” Laska repeated, but her voice was sort of sad.
“One day can be as important as a decade,” announced Cleo. “You know that.”
Lask
a looked across the room. “Yeah,” she agreed. “It can.” Cleo figured she was thinking more of her husband.
“Well, enough about my sad pathetic life.” Cleo snorted. “Are you okay? You and Derek?”
Laska did a noncommittal head bob. “We’re talking. So that’s something.”
“About?”
“Stuff.” Laska rolled her eyes and smiled, mimicking the way Cleo had said ‘stuff’ in an earlier conversation about Axel.
“Oh, you’re hilarious. What stuff? Like, real stuff?”
“Yeah.” Laska nodded. “It’s not easy. It feels like peeling off a scab that’s too fresh and tight. Blood is seeping out. But at least we’re talking. I mean, he’s sleeping in the guest room right now, so it’s—it’s not exactly good.”
“Oh, shit.” Cleo widened her eyes.
“Well, just for last night. But it feels like forever. So I guess I know what you mean, when you say one night can feel like longer. It feels like a millennium. But I think he was embarrassed and mad at himself. He said he needs to do some thinking.” Her face fell. “I don’t know about what.”
“Did he say… anything else? I mean, did you come to any decisions?”
“No. But at least we’re not acting fake anymore. It’s the real us, no matter what comes out of it, so that’s at least progress in some respect. And I can’t—we’ll talk about this later, okay? It’s so much that I can’t get into it now, but I do want to fill you in. I have hope that we can fix it, but it will take time.”
“Sure. No, I get that. For sure.” Cleo nodded. “Thank you for always listening to me, even in the middle of the mess.”
“Anytime.” Laska’s smile was small but genuine. “I just have to get going in about five minutes, though, for prep. Gotta get my head in the game. You going to be okay?”
Cleo nodded. “It’s all good. I’m going to walk down by the lake today, enjoy the weather. Maybe see a museum. Something like that.”
His Firm Direction Page 21
