“Oh?” I reply. “Yeah. I got kinda sick and checked out early.”
“Ew. Germs.” He takes a step back and fans the air around him. “So where’s your ‘best friend’? She sick, too?” He laughs.
“Oh.” I smile nervously. “You saw the Breakfast Show?”
“Mmm-hmm. And I suffered through her this morning on Good Morning America.” He places a hand on his hip. “How did you and bestie meet? I bet it’s a sweet story.”
Oh, God. How did we meet?
Damon laughs again. “Never mind, girl. Tell me later. Clearly y’all need time to get your story straight.”
My stomach starts to settle. Damon’s not buying the “best friend” lie. Maybe the rest of the cast isn’t either.
He checks the time on his watch. “Looks like your BFF is late. Again. But what else is new.”
Damon moves off and immerses himself in the crowd of actors and dancers. I move to the back of the room, set my backpack at my feet, and slide onto one of the folding chairs.
The great Alan Kaplan steps front and center. He holds up a hand to silence everyone in the room. Though he’s dressed simply, almost an identical outfit from when he delivered the tragic understudy news, his faded light blue jeans and pale blue button-down dress shirt can’t mask the air of importance that sort of hovers around him. He’s like a rare and exotic species people pay big money to catch a quick glimpse of on safari—Broadway director extraordinaire.
“You guys.” There’s a twinkle in his green eyes. It takes only a few seconds for the space to quiet down. “We are four weeks from preview.”
Everyone bursts into wild applause as the door is pushed open and Zeppelin steps into the room clutching his motorcycle helmet in one hand, leather backpack slung over his shoulder, silky strands of dark hair pretty much everywhere.
Focus, Jerzie! Remember. You’re sensible now. I force my gaze away to avoid the thirst stare. It’s not a good look. Especially considering there are about a dozen girls (and boys, too) all looking at him the same way as he makes his way across the room. What it must feel like to make heads turn and hearts race.
“...which is ironic, right?” Alan laughs.
Everyone else laughs, too, and I wanna kick myself cuz I missed the joke.
There is a woman standing beside Alan now. Dark brown hair, black blazer, boot-cut jeans, Oxford shoes. It’s Mae Bloomberg, the musical director. Worth noting, she’s one of a very few female directors on Broadway. I watched a documentary featuring her, which highlighted how the male-dominated industry hasn’t exactly been kind to women. She wasn’t there during my final callback, and though she never spoke to me during any of my other auditions—she mostly sat there taking notes and whispering back and forth to Alan—I was enraptured by her presence.
I glance around the room. Zeppelin’s now sitting on the floor beside Lorin. She whispers something in his ear. He whispers something back. Her cheeks turn as red as her hair and she bites down hard on her lip, and I get the feeling she’d rather be biting Zeppelin’s. She’s in a full-on swoon. Damn. I wonder what they got into the other night.
“...it’s those intricacies that will make us stand out,” Mae is saying.
“Exactly.” Alan claps his hands.
I notice one of the production assistants tap Zeppelin on the shoulder and bend down to talk to him. Zeppelin nods, grabs his things, and follows behind him, exiting the rehearsal room.
Focus, Jerzie. Focus. I do just that, turning my attention ahead as the cast readies to, once again, run the opening number.
* * *
In the beginning of Roman and Jewel, the two star-crossed lovers are facing a tribunal of judges in purgatory. The opening number is called “This Palace of Dim Night.” In the scene, it’s Romeo and Juliet (different actors than Zeppelin and Cinny). In song and verse, the two beg to be forgiven for their mortal sin, and the four ghostly judges in purgatory taunt them with their fate. At the end of the song, the judges settle on a compromise. Rather than be cast into hell, the lovers are sentenced to infinite lives on Earth, until they’re able to meet up again to right their wrongs. It’s ominous, the whole song written in a minor key. It’s like Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” meets Jekyll and Hyde’s “Confrontation.” I have to sit on my hands to keep myself from clapping like a little kid after they finish the run-through.
As Alan gets into a discussion with the cast, giving notes and going over particulars of the scene, I see Nigel standing near the door, waving to get my attention.
I grab my bag and step quietly toward him.
“Is it time for my last day of school?” I whisper.
“Not quite. You’re going to 7B,” Nigel whispers back. “Cinny has returned.”
I follow him out of the room. When he shoves open a set of heavy double doors on the opposite end of the hallway and we step into a new rehearsal space, I’m completely caught off guard. There’s a mattress set dead center in the room. Cinny and Zeppelin are sitting on it. Or rather, Zeppelin is straddling Cinny. Like. On top of her. Jesus.
“You cool, Jerzie?” Nigel asks, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You looked like you were about to faint.”
“Faint? No, no. I’m good.” I manage a much-needed gasp of air. “Little dehydrated I think.”
“Have a seat. I’ll grab you a cold water.”
Nigel heads off and I move to the back of the room and take a seat on one of the folding chairs, desperately trying not to focus on the bed or the two lovers splayed across it. Cinny’s hair is pulled up into a bun. Even with the less dramatic style, she’s as striking as ever, wearing her celebrity like a second skin.
“The move should be quicker,” Elias explains. “This is PG-13, my lovelies. Don’t get too comfortable, Zeppelin.”
Both he and Cinny laugh.
Zeppelin’s wearing a pair of sweatpants pulled up to the knees and a blue T-shirt. Same color as his eyes. The muscles in his arms are accentuated as he straddles Cinny’s waist, one arm on each side of her, so she’s essentially trapped by him. With her being so scantily clad—spandex shorts and sports bra—I feel like I’m peeking in on something way over PG-13.
“So, my love,” Elias says to Cinny, “Zeppelin moves to leave. On the count of four, wrap arms and legs around him. Pull him back slowly.”
“I’m getting déjà vu,” Cinny sings as she reaches seductively for Zeppelin.
“Yes! Like that.” Elias claps. “You guys feel good? Want to try it once or watch me and Nikolai again?”
Nikolai is Elias’s choreography partner. But they’re not only partners in work. I read online they got married last year.
“We’re happy to show you again.” Nikolai calls out from across the room where he stands beside the pianist.
Though Nikolai also has a thick French accent, the similarities between the two seem to end there. Elias is dressed in an asymmetrical dance skirt with LaDuca dance heels and a tank, his dyed white hair slicked back with so much gel that it looks frozen in place. Nikolai wears baggy workout pants, sneakers, and a long-sleeve T-shirt, and his natural brown hair is cut short and simple.
“Let’s try the whole thing.” Zeppelin swings his leg around Cinny and jumps off the mattress. I breathe a sweet sigh of relief. Him off that mattress. Yes. Thank you. His eyes meet mine. Not sure why, but for a few seconds we simply stare at one another. I break the connection, forcing my gaze down to the pages of my script. Whoa. Who knew eye contact could cause such intense exhilaration?
“Great. From the top.” Nikolai claps.
Cinny and Zeppelin begin on the bed, lying together, wrapped in one another’s arms. The pianist begins banging out the opening chords. “Déjà vu” is soft and sweet and a ton of it is verse. If the other day’s performance showed the worst of Cinny, today’s shows the best. She sparkles like the star she is as the two talk excitedly back and f
orth in rhythm with the music.
When Zeppelin makes moves to leave, Cinny brings him back onto the bed. A very seductive push-and-pull takes place between the two while they sing. She leans in to him and their lips connect.
Oh, God. I want to look away, but I can’t. I literally have to watch this. Like, it’s my job.
Now Cinny sort of crawls up to him in rhythm with her own rhymes. He flips her around so that she’s on her back. This is where I initially came into the room. With Zeppelin in between Cinny’s legs. Aaaaand. Holy shit. They’re kissing. Again.
I pull at my hair, twisting the curls around my finger. Why should this bother me? I’m sensible. I just met Zeppelin. So I can’t actually feel heartbroken right now. And betrayed. And sick to my stomach.
After what seems like quite a few eternities, the pianist plays the final chord, and I thank the Broadway gods the song has ended.
Zeppelin turns to Elias. “How was that?”
“Much better,” Elias starts. “But when we run it again, this time...”
Again?! Dear God no. I get breaks. I need one. I glance around the room for the stage manager but don’t see him. Elias is giving detailed notes, so I take this moment to step quietly from the room, careful to let the door shut softly when I leave. I’m desperate for the serenity of the stairwell.
When I reach it, I go in and slip off one of my Vans, using it to keep the door cracked open, then pop a squat and lower my head into my hands. It’s not till I feel moisture on my palms that I realize I’m crying. I wipe away the tears and sit this way for a while, crying into my own hands. I know I probably should head back to rehearsal. But it’s not like anyone will notice I’m gone right away. It was almost time to call my break anyway. Besides, I’ve already memorized the stupid choreography with all its stupid kissing.
I wipe my eyes again, slide a pack of gum from my back pocket, and stuff the last piece into my mouth. I lean back on my hands just as the stairwell door is slowly pushed open. Someone steps behind me. I turn...and exhale. Zeppelin has appeared. And here we both are. Back in a stairwell together. Déjà vu for real.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Me?” I point at my chest and yelp. Too hard. Ouch! Why do I keep doing this to myself?
“Yes. You. The person stabbing herself with her finger.” He sets the door gently against my shoe, which keeps it slightly propped open.
I’m staring down at my hands. Twisting my fingers like I’m trying to twist them right off. Hoping Zeppelin can’t tell I’ve been reduced to blubbering over a boy in a dark stairwell.
He sits right beside me. So close that our knees are almost touching. So close that I can smell him. Of course he smells nice. Like if Warm and Sexy was a brand and had a cologne—Zeppelin’s wearing it.
“Are you okay, Jerzie?”
“I’m good. Never better.”
“Then how come you can’t look at me?”
Damnit. I look up. With his big blue eyes dead set on me, I’m instantly aware of anything and everything that could be wrong with me. How do I smell? Is my hair a mess? Anything on my face? Heart beating so loud he can hear it? I quickly look away.
“You smell like strawberries.” He speaks softly, as if reading my mind.
“I do?”
“I think it’s the gum you’re chewing.”
“Oh.” Right. Duh.
“Stage manager called break.” He hands me a cold bottle of water. “And Nigel was looking for you to give you this. I told him I could find you.”
“You found me.” I take the bottle of water into my hands. “Thanks.”
“Can’t believe you’re a Slytherin. I’d a pegged you for a Hufflepuff for sure.”
“What?” I turn to him again, and our eyes lock. “How do you know that?”
He points to my feet, and I cover my mouth in embarrassment. Since I took off my shoe, you can see I’m wearing green Slytherin socks. “Omigosh.” I laugh.
He laughs, too. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Let me guess. You’re a—”
“Gryffindor.”
“Daring. Chivalrous. Brave. Is that you?”
“Yes to all three. But remember, I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
“Lover, huh?” I raise an eyebrow. “That sounds more Zeppelin less Gryffindor for sure.”
The temperature in the cool stairwell is rising significantly.
“So why are your eyes so red, Jerzie? Looks like you’ve been crying.”
“No, no.” I wipe at them again. “It’s allergies. That’s all.”
“Pollen count in this stairwell is pretty high?”
“Zeppelin,” I stand and move to the door to slip into my shoe, which makes it slam shut. Crap. Now we’re very much alone. Which feels strangely healing to my broken heart. I like being alone with Zeppelin. “I swear I haven’t been crying.”
He stands, too. “I hope not.”
I could be imagining it, but it feels like he’s taken another step closer to me. So I step back. Again. Only it’s as far as I can go. My back is now pressed against the door.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“You came to my show.”
“Oh? Yeah. No bigs.” The air between us has gone from warm to blazing.
“Why didn’t you stay? I wanted to see you. I wanted to talk to you.”
Talk to me? Why?
“Well, you have my number. You could’ve texted me.”
“No, Jerzie. You have my number. You never sent me a text so I could have yours, too.”
Oh.
“Tell it to me now. I’ll memorize it.”
I give him my number, wondering if this is the end of our newest random encounter, because I am starting to feel a bit faint. I think I need fresh oxygen.
“What did you think? Of my band?”
“I only heard one song before I...had to go. ‘Killing Me Softly.’” Which killed me softly.
“Did I do all right?” he asks genuinely, his big blue eyes clouded with worry.
“You sounded...” like an angel? Nah. Too dramatic. “Like Jeff Buckley.”
His worried expression shifts to cheery. “You know Jeff Buckley? I love Jeff Buckley.”
“I bet I love him more.” I exhale. The awkward buffoon who takes over my body whenever he is near is being replaced by the cool, calm, and collected real version of me. Yay. “His cover of ‘Hallelujah.’ One of my all-time favorite songs.”
“See, I’m a sucker for the originals, I guess. Leonard Cohen’s version makes me cry.”
“Hey,” I tease. “I thought grown men weren’t supposed to cry.”
“Well, see, that’s the thing, Jerzie. I’m not a grown man. I’m a man-boy. Like Mowgli. We cry all the time.” He laughs. “Tell me a song that makes you cry.”
A song that makes me cry? Geez, there’re so many.
The door is suddenly pushed open against my back, causing me to stumble forward, right into Zeppelin. He steadies me with his strong arms, making the butterflies deep in my belly swarm again.
“Break’s over.”
I spin around to see Cinny standing at the door. Her gaze darts from Zeppelin to me and back to Zeppelin before she speaks again. “Like I said. Break’s over. Mae and everybody else is lookin’ for you, Zepp.”
Zeppelin nods. “Cool. Guess we can talk later then, Jerzie. Cuz I wanna know that song. So I can make sure nobody ever plays it.” He leans forward and whispers, “Because I never wanna see you cry.”
My breath catches in my throat and I stand there dumbfounded, watching him step around Cinny and disappear into the hallway. I shiver, already missing the warmth he seems to bring with him.
“Uh. Hi. Cinny.” I’m careful not to make eye contact with her, twisting the bottle of water from Nigel via Zeppe
lin around and around in my hands.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?” I ask, still staring at the scuffed concrete floor.
“Not look at me.”
I look up. Her face is scrubbed free of makeup. Her skin is practically perfect. Like she traded in regular skin for superstar skin. “I only have people sign that stupid NDA cuz I don’t wanna be overwhelmed. You know? People can be too much. Askin’ me a million questions. Tellin’ me all their ‘amazing’ song and movie ideas. Like I’m the one who’s gonna help them make it big? You strike me as somebody who understands boundaries.”
Whoa. Cinny the superstar is like, talking to me?
She pulls the door open wider. “You comin’ in? Or you wanna stay in the dark stairwell?”
I step into the hallway.
“Did you see me on the Breakfast Show?”
“Oh.” God. Do I admit I watched it? Would that make me seem pathetic? “I heard about it.”
“You’re cool with the BFF thing, right?” She yanks the tie out of her hair and it falls in pretty waves on her shoulders.
“Oh, yeah. I’m cool with it.”
“Good. Cuz I mean, performers gotta lie all the time. It’s like, the media can exploit a lie. And that’s cool. But when they exploit the truth? That shit hurts.” She sighs. “So I try to feed them as many lies as I can. It’s better that way.”
Who knew celebrities lied to protect their truth? “I get that.” But did you have to lie about me?
We stand quietly in the hallway. Awkwardly.
“I’m sorry about the video,” I say.
“It’s cool. All worked out for the best. Now the show is trending.”
More awkward quiet.
“Hey.” She finally speaks again. “Maybe we can have lunch sometime soon. You down?”
“To have lunch with you? Am I down? Holy shit. Yes!”
She laughs. “You’re funny, Jerzie.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just...” I take a deep breath. “I was being such a poser when I first met you. Honestly, I’m a total superfan. And of course you’re among the other one-name greats. Like. Duh. Who the hell am I kidding?”
Roman and Jewel Page 11
