I've Got This

by Louisa Masters

  He heaves a sigh. “Derek, you’re trying to appeal to logic, and that won’t work. I’m not an idiot. I know I have the ability to do this. But knowing doesn’t change the way I feel, and I’m terrified that feeling this way is going to fuck it all up.”

  What the hell do I say to that? “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

  His head jerks up, and he stares at me. I keep my hard-ass face intact. I want to hold him and tell him everything will be okay, but that’s not going to help.

  “Will you be there?” he whispers. I’m not sure what he wants to hear, so I go with the truth.

  “Yes,” I say firmly. “And if it looks like you’re fucking it all up, I swear on all that’s holy that I’ll find a way to stop the show. I’ll… hell, I don’t know. I’ll start a fire in the men’s room so the fire alarm will go off.”

  He laughs again, and that smile warms my insides. “You will not,” he scoffs.

  I hold his gaze. “I will if it matters to you this much.”

  We sit there staring at each other. I can see Trav working through his fears, see the thoughts processing behind his gaze. Finally, he nods.

  “Okay. I think I might vomit, though.”

  I’M NERVOUS as hell as I wait for the theater doors to open. In the end, I drove Trav to work, telling him I’d grab some dinner while I waited—but there’s no way I could eat. I know he has the ability to do this, but I’m terrified that he’s convinced himself he can’t, and that it’s going to be some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. If he bombs this tonight, he’s never going to get past this fear—and I’m worried it’s going to affect his self-esteem in other ways, maybe damage his career.

  So, food? Not tonight. Not until the curtain comes down on a great performance.

  I’m pacing by the doors when I hear my name. That’s not uncommon—incestuous community, remember? Plus, there’s only so much to do in Joyville, and the shows at the village are a big component. It’s a relief to see Dimi when I look up, along with a couple of the performers from JU who volunteer at the community theater with Trav—Sam and Parker, if I remember right.

  I force a smile. “Hey. You came.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Sam says enthusiastically. “Man, I’m so stoked! This is awesome for Trav.”

  Parker’s grinning from ear to ear. “Kind of puts paid to my fledgling plan to convince him to stay here, though. Once he’s had a taste of being a star, no way he’ll be happy with theme park performances.”

  Uh…. “You were going to convince Trav to stay?” Wow. Surprised? Me? I mean, don’t think I haven’t thought of it, because I have. I even talked to Pete about it, on the down low—I know he’s been thinking about retiring in a few years, and I figured Trav could perform until then and then move into a coordinator-slash-choreography role. He’s good at it, so…. But in the end Pete and I agreed that Trav probably needs more than that. After all, most of our performers are just starting out—they’re all so young, like Sam and Parker. They move on to jobs like Trav’s—if they’re lucky. This would be a huge step back for him. So even though I haven’t given up on him moving here just yet, I haven’t worked it all out.

  The other option, of course, is for me to follow him to New York. With my experience and track record, I could get a job pretty easily. I’d hate leaving JU, but I think I could do it for Trav. It’s a backup plan, though, because I’d really hate leaving JU, and I think Trav’s starting to love it here too.

  Parker shrugs. “Yeah, of course. He’s a great performer, really fantastic as a volunteer, and a lot of fun. He’s got you here, and I figured….” He shrugs again. “Why not give it a go, right?”

  “Right,” I say, making a mental note to tap Parker for ideas if I can’t come up with anything myself.

  “Is Trav excited?” Dimi asks. From the way he’s looking at me, I can tell he knows everything is not all sunshine and roses.

  “That’s one word for it.” Excited can mean worked up and on tenterhooks, right? It doesn’t strictly have to be happy. I think.

  The ushers start opening the doors into the theater, and my heartbeat picks up. “Where are you sitting?” I ask, mostly to prevent myself from rushing inside. The show isn’t due to start for another twenty minutes or more, so I’m not going to be any better off in there.

  Dimi pulls his ticket from his pocket and flashes it at me. Their seats are not far from mine. Is that a good thing or bad?

  I mentally smack myself. Am I seriously wondering if the location of their seats is important? I’m in an even worse state than I thought.

  “You guys want a drink?” I hear myself say. “On me. Come on, let’s hit the bar.” I usher them in that direction, and they come willingly enough—Sam and Parker seem pretty eager, actually, and hey, free drink, can’t blame them—but Dimi looks a bit surprised.

  The drink helps. These guys are pretty cool—I already knew Dimi is awesome, but we don’t really hang out outside of work, and I barely know the other two—and they’re a great distraction. It’s not long before the bell is chiming for us to take our seats.

  I settle in, breathing so deeply that there’s a very real danger I’ll hyperventilate. You’d think it was me who had to get up there and perform from the way I’m behaving. It’s just… I can’t stand the thought of Trav being hurt by this.

  As the music begins to play and the curtain goes up, I shut my eyes, then force them open. I’m going to be with him for every second of this. My nails bite into my palms as he and the guy playing his usual role—that Jim kid who fucked up this afternoon—wander out into the office set. I’m close enough to the stage to see their faces clearly. Jim looks hella nervous. Like, I think he might vomit any second. Trav looks fine, calm, relaxed, completely in the role… to someone who doesn’t know him. His tension isn’t overt, but I can see it, and as he opens his mouth to deliver the first line, I hold my breath.

  It goes fine.

  So does the rest of the opening dialogue. Not brilliantly—I wouldn’t say they set the stage alight—but fine. Jim’s voice shakes a little at first, but after a minute he settles. Trav seems to relax a bit too.

  Just as well, because if I remember right, in a second he’s going to need to sing and dance, and the first number is pretty full-on.

  Sure enough, the music starts softly. Trav and Jim are still bantering, but the music is ramping up slowly, building….

  Trav bursts into song, leaping across the stage. I’m not gonna lie, it’s a little shaky. Definitely not as smooth as he usually is, and I wonder if this is when it all ends. Is he going to lose confidence?

  No.

  In fact, I should be ashamed of myself for even thinking he might. It’s like the music imbues him with poise and assurance. By the end of the song, his usual stage charisma is back, and as the scene progresses, he owns the show. Oh, he’s not perfect—he hasn’t performed the role before, and there’re a few slips—once he opens his mouth to deliver a line that would usually be his—but nothing show-stopping, and it all gets smoother as time passes.

  Thank God.

  I settle into my seat and let myself enjoy the performance. Even Jim seems to be doing better. Although I don’t know him, I’m glad, because it would be really soul destroying to bomb out in two consecutive shows.

  When the curtain comes down for intermission, I’m grinning. My boyfriend is fucking amazing. I knew that, of course—I’ve seen him before. But with the spotlight focused mostly on him, he shines. Most important, he’s relaxed. That tension is gone.

  The lights come up, and I bound to my feet. I’m energized, excited—and I have a plan. We have to celebrate. Trav and I both went into this thinking it could be a disaster, imagining how we’d need to recover from the night, and neither of us considered what a triumph this is for him. His first performance in a lead role! A champagne supper—whether with friends or just the two of us will depend on what he wants—and flowers. It might seem stupid, but he’s going to get flowers tonig
ht if it kills me.

  I’m already scrolling through my contacts as I inch with the crowd toward the lobby. I’ve never actually sent flowers here before—I send them to my mom on her birthday and Mothers’ Day, but obviously that florist is in New York. JU has its own florist department and outlets in many of the resorts, but not one in the village. I try to work out which resort is closest and most likely to have something nice left and be able to deliver to Trav by the end of the show.

  “Derek.” A hand lands on my shoulder, and I glance back at Dimi. Sam and Parker are right behind him. All three are grinning.

  “He’s amazing!” Sam enthuses. “He started kind of slow, but he was probably nervous. Isn’t he amazing?”

  “He is,” I agree. “Dimi, help. I need flowers. Where—”

  “The Chateau,” he says immediately, reaching for his pocket. “Do you want me to—”

  “Nah, I’ve got it,” I assure him. “I just wasn’t sure where at this time of night. Thanks.” I hold up my phone. “I’m just gonna….” They all nod, and I hit the contact for the switchboard at the Chateau, which is one of my resorts, then lift the phone to my ear, plugging the other ear with a finger in an attempt to block out the noise of the crowd as we continue to inch toward the lobby.

  I’m smiling the whole time. Today has been epic.

  Chapter Twelve

  Trav

  THE CURTAIN comes down after the third encore, and we leave the stage. For the first time all night, I let my grin burst free. I was so scared…. But there was no reason to be. There have been times when I was uncertain of a performance, but this isn’t one of them. I killed it tonight, even with the tiny mistakes.

  I’m not being immodest either—that’s what everyone’s been saying all night. During intermission, Rick and John were almost giddy with joy. I refused to let my guard down, though, just in case.

  I change into street clothes and have started taking off the makeup when I hear the shouts, and my grin gets wider. I spin around and brace before Parker and Sam crash into me.

  “You’re fucking awesome!” Parker shouts, jumping up and down and pounding me on the back.

  “That was amazing!” Sam grips my arm and shakes it.

  “Back off, you morons,” Dimi says, somehow sneaking between them and grabbing me in a hug. “Great job,” he murmurs. “You were fantastic.”

  “Thanks, guys.” The grin is still on my face. I’m starting to think maybe it’ll be there forever. “Is, uh, have you seen Derek?” I kind of expected him to be here by now. I mean, these guys have become pretty good friends, and I’m glad they’re here, but….

  Sam snorts, and Parker laughs outright.

  “He got held up,” Dimi says. “He’ll be here any second.” He keeps a straight face, but his eyes are dancing.

  Hmm.

  I’m about to drill for more information when someone gasps. I look up…

  …and see a floral bouquet with legs.

  Seriously. There’s a massive arrangement of the most amazing flowers in shades of red, orange, and yellow walking toward me.

  “I guess he figured out how to get it through the door,” Dimi murmurs.

  Oh. My. God.

  Derek?

  “Derek?” I call. There’s a muffled curse, some shuffling of flowers, and then his head, his gorgeous blond head, pops out from between two lilies.

  “Hey,” he says.

  I laugh.

  BY THE time the curtain comes down on Thursday night, I’m feeling… thoughtful. The last thirty or so hours have been tumultuous, to say the least. I went from being absolutely terrified and lacking in self-esteem to elated that Derek loves me, to nervous and sick that I had to do the performances but secure in the knowledge that I wasn’t alone, to cautiously optimistic, to flat-out thrilled. Emotional roller coaster, right? I’ve been feeling really great today, confident, happy—after all, everything in my life has fallen into place. I gotta admit, I get a real high from being in the lead role. I’ve loved my career so far, but there’s something about being the focus of the scene, of the whole show, that feels incredible.

  So why thoughtful now, instead of still floating on cloud nine—or disappointed that my time in the spotlight is over? It’s got to do with my future career path. When Derek and I finally got home last night—really late, after a champagne celebration supper with half a dozen people from the show, Dimi, Parker, and Sam—I was still hyper. We wrestled the flowers into the house, I jumped him in the kitchen (because that’s a great way to work off energy, plus he bought out a florist for me, plus he’s hot, incredible, and loves me), and then we fell into bed. He drifted off pretty much right away—holding my hand, by the way—but I was still kind of energized. I started planning a call to my agent. He’s been lining up possible jobs for me for when I get back to New York in August, and I know without a doubt that he’ll be ecstatic if I tell him he doesn’t have to stick to supporting roles. He’s been trying to talk me into a starring part for years.

  Did you catch that “if”? Last night, when I was lying in the dark beside the love of my life, flying high on my success and plotting out the course of my career, it was a “when.”

  Then this morning I woke up when his alarm went off, stretched, and sneaked a cuddle and a kiss before he got out of bed. I watched his bare backside as he walked toward the en suite bathroom, and it struck me: this isn’t going to last. When I go back to New York, I won’t have the workday mornings. I won’t be able to slip in a coffee break with Derek, or lunch if his schedule allows it. There won’t be any more lazy Sunday mornings. Even if we decide to do long-distance, those things will be few and far between, and they won’t be everyday things. We won’t be part of each other’s routine. I’ll miss that.

  Worse, though—last night, when I was dreaming of what my career will become, of my name in lights and some really amazing parts, always in my mind was the image of Derek there with me. Sitting in the audience on opening night, cheering me on. Bringing me flowers. Taking me out to celebrate a brilliant performance. I’d imagined the opening night of the first show in which I had the headline role, and Derek was there.

  While I listened to Derek get in the shower, the first threads of thoughtfulness slipped into my mind. Derek and I need to have a conversation about our relationship.

  The next few threads appeared just before lunchtime, when Mark called. He’d spoken to Rick and was calling to congratulate me.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to get past whatever it was that was holding you back,” he’d enthused. “When you get back to New York, you’re gonna take them all by storm! Rick was raving about how great you were. Ha ha, good thing your contract is up in July, or I’d worry about my job!” He was joking, of course, but it reminded me of how very cut-throat my colleagues can be when it comes to the top parts. Sure, there’s a lot of competition for supporting roles as well, but that level of ruthlessness isn’t there. I’ve managed to make friends with a lot of star performers who are generally perceived as standoffish, because they know I’m not—wasn’t—interested in the top job. They felt more relaxed around me. Is that going to change now?

  Still more threads in the early afternoon, when I got a call from Laurie Henderson, the entertainment journalist who did a feature on me for a popular Broadway publication last year.

  “I just ran into Mark Aston,” he told me. “He says you’re filling in for him in Day Dot. Is it true? You’ve taken a lead role?”

  “Just last night and tonight,” I protested. “Mark will be back tomorrow.” I found myself wishing I hadn’t answered the phone. I didn’t usually have to deal with the press—most of the publicity around shows centers on the stars, with supporting actors only occasionally being called on for interview if the part is particularly interesting. I’d only agreed to do the feature last year when Laurie approached me because my agent thought it was a good idea, and Rick had added weight to that, since Day Dot had been about to open.

  “Does this me
an we can expect to see you in some starring roles when you come back to New York?” Laurie pressed, and that was when it struck me. If I start going for the big parts on Broadway, I’m going to have to deal with publicity a lot more. I’m going to have to do interviews. Journalists are going to want to talk to me.

  I fobbed Laurie off and spent the rest of the afternoon mulling it all over. In the end, I decided to do the show tonight and see how I felt after—and then take my time thinking about it. After all, I’m still contracted with Day Dot until the end of July. Nothing can happen until then. I don’t have to decide anything right away. In fact, I don’t have to decide anything until and unless I get offered a lead role.

  Now the show is over, and I’m feeling thoughtful. It was an amazing night. I’m lucky in that it’s been years since I’ve had to perform in a show I didn’t like—these days, I can be choosy about which parts I go out for because work is steady. So tonight I got to perform the lead role in a show I really like, and it was great.

  I change and clean off my makeup, and Derek comes backstage to meet me. He was in the audience again tonight, even though I told him he didn’t have to come. We had a really late night last night and he was up at his usual time for work this morning, so I thought he should stay home and take it easy, but he insisted. Still, it gives me a legitimate reason to put off my castmates who want to go out and celebrate again, because I don’t think they would have accepted “I’m pondering my career path” as an excuse.

  Derek and I chitchat on the way home, but I’m distracted, and I know he can tell. For all I’ve been telling myself that I don’t need to make any decisions yet, I can’t stop thinking about it.

  I wander into the living room and turn on the TV. I’m pretty sure there isn’t anything on that I want to watch, but the noise makes for a good distraction—and I can always pretend to actually be watching it as a cover for thinking. Clever plan, huh? Too bad it didn’t work.