“Londyn.” He squints.
“Mm hm…” I nod.
“Seriously, I owe you one heck of a thank you.” He places his hand on my back, and I flinch. “Probably more than one.”
“No worries.” My voice comes out squeaky. He is still looking at me. I don’t like the way he is looking at me.
“You do know what I’m talking about.” He eyes me, looks over his shoulder, and stares back at me seriously. We keep eye contact as I sip on my hot drink. (Ah, what’s the worst-case scenario? He actually did poison the drink and I drop dead to the ground?) “Kent.” His eyes get larger. “You went to bat big time. After I finally scheduled that board meeting, they agreed to give me free rein over casting. Daniela hasn’t uttered one word of disappointment. Everyone sure has a lot of respect for that guy.”
Well, he did build this company from the ground up in a short period of time and change the impact of the art form in general.
Cory still watches me in an eerie way. He knows something. He knows I know, and maybe he even knows about the USB financial files.
“No worries. You’re the one who created a masterpiece. I just spread the word.” I wave my free hand in the air.
“You’ve always been good at that.” Cory smiles, but his eyes are trained ahead as he runs his hands through his honey-blond hair. Daniela walks over, and he nearly jumps in his skin.
“I need to talk to you.” She glares at him while eyeing me, and walks away. Weird.
I walk backstage to make sure all of the costumes are good to go, then walk through the curtains, onto the stage, and into the audience to take a seat next to the lighting box, where the artistic staff sits during dress rehearsal.
I pull out a notebook and pen from my bag and cross my legs.
“Ten minute call,” the lighting director says into a microphone.
The stage is empty. Hollow. Black. There’s the charred smell of lights flashing as the technicians do the last of their checks. The music pummels through the sound system, then is abruptly turned off. A techie dressed all in black jogs down the aisle with a ladder propped under her arm. The music comes as a jolt through the speakers again, and then it stops.
I spot the door with the small red exit sign over top, and then the one at the top of the other aisle stairs.
No Patrick.
Patrick has never missed one dress rehearsal for a Driven production. I rub my hands over my face. Concentrate, Londyn. The stage vibrates. My vision is blurry. I’d like to call him and tell him I’m sorry again, that he is worth it to me, that I can take the risk after all, but I know it’s too late. I’d leave Driven if I had to—it looks like it is detonating anyway—and join him on all his future tours. I don’t even need my own label, or a job. I could be a full-time lifer groupie and wake up to him every day. I was wrong. It was not taking the risk that made me weak all along, and not the other way around. I made a big mistake. Love is worth it. It is worth the prospect of ending up like Mom. Except I wouldn’t end up like that, because I’m not Mom. I am me. Maybe that’s what being tough is all about: standing up for what and who you love, not being cold and off-limits. Even Lake has it figured out. There’s something about showtime that always brings these revelations. It’s just too bad the show didn’t happen earlier, or that I clued in before shit went down. Now, it’s too late.
My hands clasp together in my lap. The lights dim to black. The room is dead silent. That’s until Todd Gillespie, the lighting designer, clears his throat, and Sergeant Katherine slips in the backdoor on the tips of her toes. She scurries to the closest seat in the dark. Someone next to Todd whispers into a mic.
“Places.”
My eyes adjust to the darkness. There’s only the tiny amber lights lining the inside of the aisle, the lit-up lighting booth in the very back, and the red exit signs that become visible, until the bright stage lights beckon. Todd moves in concentration, a Sony headset stuck to his head. This is it. My exhausted and pickled nerves jump as my fingers grip together and I remind myself to breathe.
The silence is pregnant, other than the distant shuffle of feet and a breath in the wings that could be my imagination. Will this be worth the work, the sacrifices, the tears? I shut my eyes, waiting for the music to begin. Of course it will. My skin dimples in anticipation.
“Lake?” a voice bellows from the darkness.
The room stops. My heart freaking stops.
Shit! I jump up and out of my seat. I forgot to tell Cory about Lake!
20
“Where the hell are you, Lake?” Cory hollers again.
The stage lights lift as Cory stomps onto the stage in his boots and long coat. Ten dancers in my costumes slip out of position with worried looks on their faces. I scurry down the aisle and up the steps to the stage.
“Londyn?” Cory barks, but the lights are blinding me, making it hard to place myself. The veins in my eyeballs flash purple and green all around me. My skin is instantly hot, and the darkness is so disorienting—there are patches of darkness you could literally fall into and never be found.
Panting, I press my hand to my forehead and look up to the booth, which I could see perfectly from the audience but now can’t see at all, and motion with my hand slicing across my neck.
“Cut.”
Todd finally lowers the top brights so just the shin lights are shining from the ground in the wings. Everyone turns a shade darker, and their shadows become projected off the scrim.
“Lake went back to California.” I swallow.
“What? You’re kidding,” Cory half-laughs. “Is this some kind of joke?” The angry lines in his face disperse, even though he’s smiling. “Lake, you little prick, where are you hiding? Get your ass on this stage!” Cory shouts, and the dancers all stare at him, probably because they are doing the math in their heads and realizing that Lake wasn’t in class earlier—though Lake has a tendency to think himself above class, because, well, he’s Lake.
“Let’s talk.” I nod Cory off the stage, and he follows me into the wings, pant legs swishing and his hands thrust on his hips.
“What the hell kind of prank is this?” His face looks even more shadowy in the lowered lights of backstage, and his lips have dropped. “He’s here, right?” Cory turns away from me abruptly and starts ripping through the halls and bathroom stalls, behind the racks of costumes, under counters and in closets, as though he’s in a game of hide-and-seek.
“He’s gone.” I can’t believe it myself as I say it. “Something about falling in love with an apprentice from City Ballet who… Her mom might be in the hospital—terminal—and he can’t do the show. He flew home to be with her. He told me this morning.” My shoulders slump in frustration. It’s just hitting me how royally Lake’s screwed us all, and I completely let him off the hook.
“This is fucking unbelievable. In my whole life—in the history of this entire industry— has this ever happened?”
Not that I am aware of.
Cory starts pacing furiously.
I suck in a tight inhale. “There is one easy solution.” The only solution, as far as I see.
“There’s no solution,” Cory hisses.
“You know the solo better than he does. Just do it yourself.” I cross my arms over my chest.
Cory’s eyes widen and his nostrils flare. My comment has stunned him into silence.
“I think Lake’s costume should fit you. I might have to make a few adjustments, and stay up all night on that account, but it’s not like I haven’t done it many times before.”
Cory rubs his hands over his face quickly, breathing heavily. He paces from one end of the change room to the next, his arms gesturing, as though he is having a conversation with himself in his head.
“I can’t perform Lake’s solo,” he finally says and then he twitches, as if someone just placed an invisible hand on his shoulder.
“Why?” My brow knits, because I am asking about so much more than Lake’s solo.
He looks at me.
He looks torn. We both know. The dark cloud is everywhere.
He plops his butt down on a seat in front of a mirror framed with small round light bulbs, looking at his own reflection. The word merde is written in the middle of the mirror in pink lipstick next to a heart. Merde is French for shit and a well-used good luck term given to dancers. I think of Natalie, who Cory fired—she started the pink lipstick mirror messages. I shake my head. Merde, how fitting the word is. It does seem that the more shit is stirred up, the better the show, so this show should be more brilliant than ever.
“Why did you do it, Cory?”
I look at his reflection in the mirror.
The conversation I overheard, Kent’s hunch, and the heartbroken look on Cory’s face when he said he couldn’t perform Lake’s solo all gave it away. We both know the reason Cory can’t perform Lake’s solo. It is because he is planning to take off tomorrow, with someone who is not Daniela, into the sunset with millions of dollars recently injected into the company budget for next season, or maybe his embezzling scheme is more sophisticated than that. I do not know. All I know is that this company’s budget has been skyrocketing ever since Kent’s success and fundraising efforts. But why would Cory give up his career, his identity—this city—for a few bucks? Even if he didn’t get caught, why would he give up his artistic career?
“You want to know why I did it?” His eyes are dark.
“Yes, I do.” I swallow.
“Because no one believes in me.”
His shoulders slump. You can feel it. You can smell it. His breath and my breath, the walls all around us, inside and out, are crashing down as our eyelids drop to the ground and the floor shatters beneath us.
“Right?” His voice chokes as he looks up at me for an answer. But I can’t deny it. He’s right. No one believed he had what it takes to pull it off, including me. How stupid could he be?
“You aren’t going to get away with this.” I close my eyes to open them. “And I don’t care what kind of fancy accounting work you have going on here, or who the hell you are planning to run off with. Over my dead body will you not be the one performing tomorrow night. You are going to put on that costume, and I am going to stay up all night fixing it, and we are giving this city the best dance show of her life. One that she will never forget, even if it’s the last one this company ever does. I did not give up my dream to have my own label, and these dancers did not sweat their guts out, for you to mess it all up.”
Patrick’s single ‘One Night’ comes to my mind. Maybe this is our one last night as a company.
“What about the rest of the shows? I can’t stay for them,” Cory says. “You aren’t going to report me to the FBI, are you? Because if you do, I know you stole those documents, and you are going to go down with me, even if it’s just your reputation that will be forever tarnished.”
“Who told you about the documents?” I tilt my head.
“Renee. She even took a photo of you through the window.” He looks to the side.
“You’re having an affair with the receptionist? Are you really that much of a cliché? Is that why you decided to screw us all?”
“No.” His jaw ticks as he looks straight into the mirror. “I already told you why I did it. I did it because no one believes in me. To this day, no one thinks I have what it takes to be the next Kent Morgan—and I saw an opportunity. There was an opportunity…” Frick, I hate that word. “A loophole in the financials of this company that Richard pointed out to me, a way to be set up for the rest of my life and be with the one person I really love. That’s what you said, Londyn. You told me to make sure love won, and that’s what I did.”
“Shit, Cory, do you take everything I say literally?” I tilt my head. “So you used Daniela to get to where you wanted.” We all thought his goal was to be Artistic Director, but maybe he just wanted to be rich. “Daniela was never the problem, was she?”
“No one uses the Harringtons,” Cory scoffs.
“You did.” I roll my eyes, gathering that Richard is on the take too.
I reach for Lake’s costume and hand it to Cory to try on. He slides his arms out of his black coat, unzips his black pants, and steps into the costume meant for Lake. It will only require a few adjustments. He turns around so I can zip up the back, and we catch each other’s eyes reflected in the mirror.
“Don’t forget we are forever tied, Londyn.”
I think I know what he means, but he doesn’t know that my reputation is a lot less important to me now than it was. And I am no longer the type of person who will do anything to advance their career. Once the costume is zipped up, he turns around, rolling his neck and stretching out his quads.
“If I go down, you go down.” He looks back one more time as he walks out of the change room into the black pit of backstage and heads for the wings. I follow him, my eyes zoned in on the back of his costume and all of the places I may need to adjust. He practices a few jumps backstage to warm up. If only Cory knew how amazing he really is. If only someone had told him. My heart pounds with regret and anticipation as he winds up his arms, bending his ankles, knees, and hips, and takes off into a magnificent leap.
Pop, crack, crack, pop. The ligaments cross over his joints.
If only he knew he is one of the true greats.
If only someone had seen it before it was too late.
If only the past could be erased.
“We’re good to go.” He nods at one of the backstage crew all dressed in black, and the message is relayed into a microphone. Cory tucks himself into the second wing.
He rolls his shoulders one last time before pointing his focus on the small piece of glow tape that marks the spot that originally belonged to Lake, edging to the stage.
“Oh, and Londyn.” Cory’s voice is lowered, so only I can hear it as he looks backstage. “It was never Renee.” His gaze points to mine as the distance spreads between us. “It was always Simone.”
“What about Daniela?”
“Look, I didn’t say it was perfect. Life is complicated, Londyn. Though Daniela and I did break up when I took away her solo.”
“News to me.”
Cory shrugs. The lights go down. He takes his place on the stage and his focus shifts to one of concentration, leaving me chilled. The role he takes on is sifting through him, transforming him, as he slowly disappears. The lights fade into nothing, and the last bits of his flesh pulse as flashbacks before he totally fades away. I watch him from the wings.
“Londyn. I was told I would find you here.”
It’s Mom. Holy crap.
She presses her hand to her chest, out of breath. Her blonde-gray hair is in a French roll, and she’s wearing a Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress.
“Honey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Her eyes melt over me with concern, shadowed by the dim lights.
“You’re in Manhattan.” I cannot believe it. I reach for her, my fingers trembling. We take a few steps deeper into the backstage where the lights are slightly brighter.
She wraps her thin arms around me. “Yes, darling, you were right. I needed to get out of my rut. Plus, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. You’re so talented, and I am so proud of you. Is Patrick here? I’d love to say hello to him.”
I let out a heavy sigh. I have to tell her she was right about him. He’s not here after all. And I still can’t believe that she is—in the flesh before my eyes, in the city she pledged she would never return to.
“Sorry I’m late.” Patrick shows up backstage, looking stellar in a fitted vest and pants.
I look up. My heart skips. Patrick wraps his arm around me and holds out his hand to Mom.
“What a lovely surprise, Ms. Verona. I’m glad you could make it.”
Mom takes his hand with a tilt of her head. Patrick pulls her in for a hug, and she laughs. I blink at the scene.
Mom looks smitten for a second until the look on her face changes to one that is more astute. “It’s been a while, young man. We’ll have
to catch up after the show. I’ve been hoping you two would come visit me in Florida.” Mom looks distant before her eyes enliven. “But I will leave you two to your show business.” She pats him on the back and gives me a gentle hug before she disappears from the backstage.
Stunned. I watch her before slowly turning back to Patrick. I’m speechless. Almost.
“I didn’t think you were coming.” I look up at him, feeling a little smitten too. I can’t believe he is here. God, I love him. “Thank you for being here.” I’m thanking him for more, for being cool with Mom, for being by my side no matter what happens and no matter what I said, for being the only person I can count on, for sharing my vision on the crazy roller coaster that is Driven Dance Theater. Even when, like a fool, I pushed him away.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Babe, I stayed up all night thinking about everything.”
“Me too.” I sigh.
“We both know your relationship with your father makes it hard for you to trust successful men, and I failed you more than once, which I’m so sorry for. But what the hell is wrong with me? There’s only one thing I can come up with.” He looks up and inhales. “Well, there’s a few things, but there’s only one thing that could ever make me walk when it comes to you.” He sucks in a breath. His eyes are glossy.
“I love you, Patrick. I love you more than anyone, and I always will. And I do want to try to be everything you want, even though I said I didn’t, because I was afraid you were going to walk, to leave me behind again.” It has to be said. “Did I tell you? I am so crazy happy to see you.” I let out the biggest sigh of relief. He wraps his arm around me as we look to the stage and then back at each other. “I’m so sorry about yesterday.”
“Don’t you want to know what’s wrong with me?” Patrick frowns. The look on his face kills me. It melts me to the core. How can anyone be so endearing?
CLOSING NIGHT: Driven Dance Theater Romance Series, Book 2 (Standalone) Page 23
