If Ever

by Angie Stanton

  He stretches his arm out on the back of the sofa behind me. "You seem comfortable with the cameras."

  "At first I never thought I'd get used to them, but after a while, you really do forget they exist."

  Tom doesn't speak, so I continue. "When Dominic asked me why your song held such significance, I didn't think twice, I told him. The thing is, I never talk about my past. Ever. So I was surprised when it all poured out."

  He considers me and then says, "Maybe it's been building up for a long time."

  "Maybe." I stare at my hands wondering how to change the subject.

  "That's a lot for someone so young to handle."

  I shrug it off. "It's the only thing I know."

  "Still, it must have been tough."

  It was hell, but I survived. Dominic appears in our little alcove. "Hey guys, I'm heading out. Anyone need a ride? Chelsea, remember you don't have your car."

  Tom glances at me then back to Dominic. "No, we're good, still coming down from the performance high. I'll drop her home."

  I smile. Tom stands and shakes Dominic's hand. "Thanks again for inviting me. I had a blast getting a peek behind the scenes."

  "Our pleasure."

  "If you're ever in New York, give me a call."

  "Eventually we'll get voted off and be there for the morning show. We'll see you then." Dominic smiles at me. He knows I'm crushing on Tom, and he better not breathe a word. "Don't stay out too late, we've got rehearsal."

  "Always the slave driver," I say.

  After Dominic leaves, we sit back down. I'm not positive, but it feels like Tom maneuvered a little closer. His leg brushes mine and I don't move away. His thigh is strong and solid. Between that, his delicious scent, and entrancing blue eyes, I've hit the jackpot. I never in a million years imagined I'd get to perform with Thomas Evan Oliver let alone spend an evening with him. "When do you fly back to New York?"

  "Tomorrow morning. I have to get back for the seven-thirty show."

  I mask my disappointment. "That's a fast trip."

  "My producer wanted me on the red-eye tonight, but I kind of strong armed him into giving me until tomorrow. I hate red-eye flights. I can never sleep, so I end up sitting awake in the dark all night next to some gassey businessman with bad breath."

  We talk about his new show, how he got started as a kid, and I laugh through his stories of the many mishaps he's experienced on stage. The waitress appears with refills of our drinks.

  It's getting late, but I don't care. Tonight is like cotton candy, and I plan to enjoy every last taste of it before getting thrown back into the grind. Unless, of course, I'm sent home. While a couple weeks ago I would have welcomed the thought, I'm finally getting the hang of the show and after such great scores, hope to stay in it for at least one more week.

  Tom asks how I got on the show. I tell him about Anna's engagement and my break up. "We were goofing around and auditioned. I never in a million years thought it would lead to anything."

  He asks about the break up and I reveal how I caught my boyfriend cheating on me and how humiliating it was once I realized almost everyone knew about it.

  We talk about tonight's show, how nervous I was, and how amazingly perfect everything went. It's as if we were both inspired by the other's energy. "I need you here to perform with me every week."

  "That would be lovely. Each week you could dance to a number from a different Broadway musical."

  "Dancing to show tunes." I absentmindedly reach down and rub my ankle.

  "Does your ankle still hurt?"

  "How'd you know?"

  "I saw your fall on last week's show."

  Rolling my eyes, I say, "Of course, I forget that nothing's private on this show.

  "Put your ankle on my knee."

  I shoot him a questioning look, but do as he says.

  Tom pushes up the bottom of my jeans and slips off my shoe, frowning at my bandaged foot. He gently cups my ankle between his hands. His light touch is like a caress and fans the flame that's been flickering in my heart all evening.

  "What are you doing?" I ask quietly.

  "Just a little energy work."

  "Okay," I say. "Sure you don't have some weird thing for women's feet?"

  Tom laughs. "Aren't you a fan of the healing arts?"

  "I don't know. I've never experienced them before."

  "Well, unless you pull your ankle away and slap me for being fresh, you're soon to find out."

  I hold back a giggle.

  "So what's your day like tomorrow?" he asks, as if it's perfectly normal for him to hold my ankle in his hands.

  I struggle to concentrate with his hands on my bare skin. "It's a light day, sort of. There's hair and makeup, lunch, then dress rehearsal. The pros do most of the dances on results days. Oh, one team does the encore performance."

  "Maybe it'll be you and Dominic."

  "No. It's based on popular vote and even though we had a great night, I'm the least popular person on the show." Tom listens attentively, still holding my ankle.

  "Then it's show time, and I get to stand under the microscope as we're slowly fed the results like a poisonous IV drip."

  "Oh, no!" He lifts his hands from my leg.

  "What?"

  "I didn't vote for you." He lays his hands back down, this time his thumb makes slow circle on my tender skin.

  "You were going to vote?" A zing of happiness shoots through me.

  "Of course. What will I do with my Monday nights if you're not on the show?"

  "The probability of us getting through is always low."

  "You guys got perfect tens. No one else has done that yet this season." He gently squeezes my ankle and releases me. "How's it feel?"

  I flex and rotate my foot then slip back into my shoe. "Good. Better."

  "Glad to hear it." He checks his phone. "Oh, buggar."

  "What?"

  "It's almost 3 a.m."

  "No way!" I reach for my bag. "I never stay out this late."

  Tom stands and drops money on the table. "What time is your call?"

  "Not till ten, thank God. What time is your flight?"

  "I leave for the airport at seven thirty."

  I cringe. "That's a bummer."

  Tom leads us out of our private alcove. The bar is quiet with only a few people lingering. No one from the show remains. "I am so sorry," he says.

  "It's not your fault. I should have kept better track of time." Except that I was having the best time ever.

  Outside the air is cool. "I'll get us an Uber." When he's finished, he says, "It’ll be ten minutes."

  It gives me a few more minutes with him before having to say goodbye. By the time ten minutes pass, I'm chilled to the bone even though my shoulder is pressed close to Tom's. My short-sleeve top is no protection against the October breeze. I shiver and he pulls me in front of him, wrapping his arms around me, his body tucked against mine.

  I sigh at the instant warmth. "Thank you." I wrap my arms around his to offer some reciprocal warmth and grin. This night keeps getting better.

  He leans his head close. "I'm always looking for an excuse to put my arms around a beautiful girl."

  I laugh at his line, but it's been so long since a nice guy has given me compliments.

  "I should have insisted we come outside earlier," he says.

  "I bet you use these lines a lot in New York."

  "Absolutely, I hang out in front my building waiting to warm any random women waiting for the bus."

  "I should have known you're a player." But inside, I hope he's not. I'd like to part ways believing he's one of the good ones.

  "Oh yeah, you should see me with the little old ladies. My apartment is next to a senior center. I'm quite popular with the grey-haired set."

  A black car pulls up to the curb and rolls down the window. "Tom Oliver?"

  "That's us." He releases me, and cool air moves in. He opens the car door, and I slide in. The driver heads to my apartment. There's so mu
ch I want to say, so much I want to wish for, but our time together is nearly over. Tom is quiet, but his thigh rests against my leg. Does he feel the connection too, or is he just a space hog?

  "Here we are," the driver says outside my temporary home.

  "I'm going to walk her to the door. I'll be right back." Tom steps out of the car and takes my hand.

  We take our time to the door, putting off the moment we have to part. The cool night air makes me long for his arms again. I face him with my key in hand and take in the sight of this tall, handsome man before me. "I guess this is goodbye."

  "If only tonight could have lasted for days." He smiles, and in that moment, I believe he speaks the truth.

  "Have a safe flight tomorrow, and thank you again for everything. I'll never forget today."

  He moves to leave then turns back. "Chelsea, I want you to know something. Your performance tonight was one of those special moments that doesn't happen very often. You can rehearse some songs or scenes a hundred times and never strike the magical chord you hit tonight. I don't know if it was the chemistry of everyone on stage, or just an organic moment, but it was special and something I'll always remember being a part of."

  I look into his eyes, overwhelmed. "I don't know what to say."

  He gives my hands a warm squeeze. "I'll be watching the show tomorrow, and if by some impossibility you're sent home, I'm going to write the producers a firmly worded letter."

  "You do that." I laugh and before I realize what's happening, he kisses the corner of my mouth, as if he didn't want to get too personal, but still wanted that final connection.

  "Good night, Chelsea," Tom says and disappears down the sidewalk.

  9

  "Chelsea, you in here?" Dominic's voice wakes me from a deep slumber.

  "Yeah, I was just catching some quick shut eye." I sit up and shake myself awake trying to figure out how long I've been out. After I sat through hair and makeup, I was exhausted from my late night with Tom and needed a nap.

  Dominic appears in the doorway. "I've got good news and bad news."

  "Okay." I can't imagine what his news could be. I rub the sleep from my eyes, careful not to smudge my eye makeup.

  "We were voted in for the encore dance!"

  "No way!"

  He grins. "We've got a slot in the schedule to run through a few things before dress rehearsal. You need to get to wardrobe."

  "Oh my God this is so exciting. Wait. What about Tom? He flew back to New York."

  “That’s the bad news. We'll have the studio band in his place. One more reason to hurry up so we can run through it."

  I'm bummed that Tom is missing our encore and wish I'd asked for his number so I could share the good news. By now he should be at 30,000 feet jetting across the country. I rush to wardrobe and slip into my filmy white dress that floats like clouds when I dance.

  My head is buzzing with every detail from last night—Tom's laughter, dancing in his arms, and sipping drinks into the early hours.

  "You looked like you were having a good time last night," Cassie says, appearing out of nowhere.

  "It was fun to get great scores."

  She takes a swig from her water bottle. "I mean the after party. I had a thing for him once too." Cassie tilts her head and gives a sly smile.

  And now I have another reason to dislike this woman. Why did she have to try to spoil my memories? Inside the sound stage, energy buzzes as the crew prepares for the show, changing lighting booms and bringing in new set pieces. I find Dominic talking with the new piano player. The guy has his back to me. He's wearing a loose T-shirt, faded jeans and old chucks. My mind is playing tricks on me, I'm sure of it, but I can't hold down the hope bubbling inside.

  Dominic looks up. "Hey, Chelsea."

  The piano player turns and Tom gives me a quirky smile.

  "Oh my God, you're here!" We all grin at each other.

  "Looks like we've got the band back together," Dominic jokes.

  "My flight was delayed and the call came through as I was about to board," Tom says.

  Dominic excuses himself to talk to Larry. I join Tom at the piano. "I didn't think I'd see you again."

  His mesmerizing eyes capture mine. "I guess it was meant to be."

  My breath catches and before I get a chance to respond, Dominic returns. "Here. We have enough time to run through the lifts and then once through the whole thing."

  Tom takes his spot behind the piano and tickles the keys in a quick warm up. "Do you want an intro?" he asks.

  "A two measure lead in would be great," Dominic responds.

  We step to our places and I realize I haven't warmed up. Dominic was rehearsing pro numbers earlier, so probably didn't think of it either.

  Dominic nods to Tom and he plays the lead in to our first lift. I force myself to focus on the task at hand instead of enjoying the fact that I get more time with Tom. I turn to Dominic and we mark the steps. I'm off a half beat, but still manage to pull it off.

  "Let's run that again," he says to Tom then turns to me. "You seem distracted. Get your head in the game here."

  "I'm sorry. All this is happening so fast."

  Dominic grins. "Or is it the guy behind the piano?"

  "Shut up!" I swat him in the arm, fighting not to smile.

  "All right, here we go. 5-6-7-8," Dominic calls and Tom plays again.

  Now remembering exactly where we were in the dance, I mark the steps and am ready for the lift, leaping as high as I can and extending my arms so Dominic can get me up over his head. He holds the pose for two beats, turns me in the air before half lowering, half tossing me. I stick the landing, even though my feet sting from the impact.

  "Good. Now the lift to the piano and then the leap," he says.

  I glance at Tom who plays the next lead in, singing softly to mark the spot.

  We begin the sequence. Dominic swings me onto the piano in one elegant swoop, then stands back while I mark the solo. When it comes time for the leap, I take two steps, ready to launch myself as high and far as possible, but on the second step, my foot slips on something wet.

  I'm going down.

  Momentum works against me and there's nothing in front of me but air. I'm far short of Dominic being able to catch me. I reach out with my arms to break my fall on the steps to the main dance floor.

  In my peripheral vision, Dominic flies forward but is too late. Instead of catching me, his out-reached hand nails me in the cheek like a heavyweight boxer and I see stars. His head slams into my shoulder as I hit the steps and slide to the floor with a grunt.

  Pain radiates from every impact point on my shins, thighs, hips, and forearms, leaving me unable to do more than lie in a fetal position.

  As I squeeze my eyes shut to fight off the piercing pain in my cheek and shoulder, voices sound near me, but I can't take the energy to respond. Then I hear Tom in my ear.

  "Chelsea, are you okay?" I force my eyes open. There's alarm on his face.

  "Never better," I manage to groan, but my cheek feels like it split open from the impact, so I press my palm against it to dull the pain. My shins burn from landing on the sharp corner of the steps.

  "Don't move. Stay still." He rests his hand gently on my hip.

  "Medical! Where the hell is medical?" Larry hollers.

  Dominic's face pops into view. "Oh God, Chelsea, I'm so sorry. I tried to break your fall."

  "That's okay. You finally got back at me for kicking you in the jewels."

  "What happened?" he asks.

  "My foot slipped on something wet."

  Tom checks the piano. "It looks like condensation from a water bottle." He returns to my side.

  "You've got to be kidding me," Dominic says, exasperated.

  "Dominic, are you okay?" I notice he's hunched over.

  "I'll be fine, just a good smack on the head from hitting your shoulder."

  A medic appears at Dominic's side. "I'm fine," he says. "Check Chelsea."

  Tom edges out
of the way, but I feel him gently rubbing my calf. Whether it's more of his energy stuff or him trying to reassure me, I don't care. It's nice to have him here.

  "Chelsea, my name is George and I’d like to check you over. Can you roll onto your back?" the medic says.

  I wince as I roll over.

  "Remove your hand, I'd like to take a look at your cheek."

  Reluctantly, I lift my hand away from my cheek and grimace.

  "No broken skin, just a bruise developing. Did you hear a crack when it happened?"

  "You mean when Dominic head butted me? No snap, crackle, or pop. More of a wham!"

  "Hey, it was my fist and I was trying to protect you," Dominic says.

  I tilt my head back to see him. "Could you maybe be less protective in the future?"

  Tom chuckles from down near my feet. "I guess pain makes her cranky."

  I kick out at him, but miss.

  "Calm down, Tiger," he says holding my foot.

  "What else hurts?" George asks.

  "My shoulder, but I'm fine. I'm just not used to getting hit like that."

  He gently presses on my shoulder and lifts my arm different directions. "Tell me if any of this hurts."

  Meanwhile, Tom is wiggling my toes. The medic releases my arm. "Nope. All good."

  And then I giggle.

  George looks at me in surprise.

  "What's so funny?" Dominic asks.

  "Tom is playing this little piggy with my toes."

  The medic smiles, but sends Tom a cease and desist. Another medic appears to check out Dominic.

  "Chelsea, I'd like you to focus on the end of my nose. I'm going to flash a light in your eyes for a couple of seconds."

  I stare at his nose and want so badly to make nose trimmer jokes.

  "Very good. Do you think you can sit up?"

  The pain isn't quite as severe now. I gingerly lean forward, and Tom is instantly at my side.

  "Excellent, now can you stand, or should we bring a gurney?" George asks.

  "I'm fine, really." Tom offers a steady hand, which I accept and rise to my feet, shaking out my legs to get my blood flowing again.

  "All right, let's get you back to the physical therapy room for a closer look. We need to clear the stage for dress rehearsal."

  It's then I notice half the cast and crew looking on. I mumble, "Great. I wonder how many of them saw my body slam into the steps."