Page 52 of Forbidden Romeo
I lean against the corner of the nearest building, the cool brick pressing into the back of my neck. “I hate to say it, but I don’t think she did this, Jill. She didn’t have anything to gain by betraying me?—”
“This is Missy Fucking Howl we’re talking about here, Kate! She doesn’t need a reason to be a bitch… she just is.”
I shake my head. “Maybe. But I don’t think so.”
My fingers tap restlessly against the phone in my hand, a nervous habit of mine. The smooth touch of the device grounds me in the present.
We’re silent for a moment on the phone, when I hear a male voice murmuring quietly in the background.
“Nolan asked what about Addison?”
Even though I know Jill can’t see me, I shake my head again. After our conversation the other night, I can’t imagine she would double back and betray me again like that. She seemed genuine. “If the article took me down and out of the running for the show, then maybe? This is just my gut talking, but I don’t think it was her, either.”
I glance up as the streetlamps turn on, casting an eerie orange glow on the buildings around us. That combined with the lowering sun makes shadow dance on the pavement beneath me and the scent of garbage and decay tinges the air, like an ominous foreshadowing of our show.
“Then who was it?” Jill asks.
The words hung in the air like a dense fog, swirling around us and obscuring the truth. But I was determined to find a way through, to decipher the secrets hidden within the betrayals and lies.
“I’m not sure. But I’m going to find out.”
CHAPTER 21
It’s said that uttering the word “Macbeth” aloud in the theater curses the production.
Supposedly, the actor playing Lady Macbeth tragically died on opening night in 1606 and Shakespeare himself had to step in. Then, legend has it, that in 1849, dueling Macbeth productions in New York caused the great Astor Place Riot, leaving at least 25 dead and hundreds injured.
I’m beginning to wonder who the fuck uttered that word in our production… because this shit is, without a doubt, cursed.
Or maybe it’s just me that’s cursed.
Whatever curse has befallen me… I would sure appreciate it if we could lift it sometime soon.
Because I’m beginning to think this show is never going to see the light of day.
We’re supposed to open in three days. Our mulligan opening night after it was canceled with my father’s passing. And yet, we keep getting dealt the worst hands. I wouldn’t be surprised if the producers pull the plug entirely with this latest scandal of Holden and his ‘secret lovechild.’
Except that ‘the producers’ are Holden’s dad and everyone wrapped around his thick, stubby pinky finger.
I get to the theater forty minutes before everyone else. There’s nowhere else for me to go, anyway. I don’t want to crash whatever date thing was happening at the cafe between Jill and Nolan.
Instead, I take a long, lingering walk through the theater, my brand new LaDuca character shoes giving a muffled tip-tap, tip-tap with each step I take.
It might be my last time to ever step foot on a Broadway stage. Getting cast in one show is never a guarantee you’ll get into another. I’ve seen many actors get their ‘big breaks’ only to fall into obscurity and give up on their dreams after one bad review.
For me? I may never even get to have the review—good or bad.
Standing in the dark wings of stage right, I run my hand over the edge of the microphone monitors and stare at the abandoned set in the middle of the stage. Skyler’s studio apartment looks tragically sad without any of the lights or props set around it.
Like an abandoned home.
I step onto the stage and inhale the dull musk of the theater, breathing in the energy. If tonight’s run through is our last, I’m going to make it’s my absolute best yet.
I walk slowly, bathing in the energy of the stage. The floor microphones pick up each footstep, broadcasting it to the rest of the theater.
“Nice shoes.” McCay’s voice startles me and I jump, whirling around to face her.
“Thanks,” I say, only half-meaning it.