I hold the door open and wait, though I know they won’t leave. None of them want to. Still, they need to know how serious this is to me. They also need to know they’re not in charge. Some of them shift in their chairs, glance at each other, peek at the door. I shut the door hard, the snap of it echoing in the rehearsal studio. This place is pristinely quiet now, punctuated only by their breathing.
“So you’re all here,” I say as I return to the front of the room, the soles of my shoes sounding on the freshly polished hardwood floors. I stop and face them again. “You are here because you are the best. But that’s not enough anymore. Being the best got you here. I’m going to get you the rest of the way and, on opening night in eight weeks, I want the audience to feel every ounce of your pain, every molecule of your passion. Is that clear?”
Alexis raises her hand. Odd, because I wasn’t expecting a verbal response. Nor did I want one. “Davis?”
So, fine. There’s one actor who calls me by my first name. I let her get away with it because there are only so many battles I want to fight with Alexis. I save my energy for the bigger ones.
“Yes, Alexis?”
“I think I speak for all of us when I say this is going to be the greatest show Broadway has ever seen.” Then she rises from her seat, turns to her cast mates, encourages them to stand and begins a round of cheers and clapping. Some stand, some stay seated. Some cheer, some don’t. I glance briefly at Jill. Her hands are resting in her lap. She’s looking down at her feet now, but then she lifts her face and her beautiful blue eyes meet mine for the briefest of seconds. Maybe even a millisecond, but it’s as if the room goes silent and she’s the only one I see. I want to stalk over to her, kneel at her feet, cup her face in my hands. Feel her melt into me again. Kiss her neck, taste her skin, trace the hollow of her throat with my tongue. Hear her gasp again.
I remind myself that I don’t date actresses. I don’t develop feelings for them anymore. Except, there’s something about her—her humor, her toughness, her vulnerability, her beauty—that has already latched onto the fortress around my heart, threatening to undo me.
Against all my better judgement.
I wave off the clapping. “Enough.”Alexis is about to open her mouth, but I hold up a hand. “Let’s get to work.”
And so, our first rehearsal begins.
* * *
As soon as I see the pinstriped suit I groan. Don is waiting outside the rehearsal studio the next morning. The billowing trench coat makes him look even more like a two-bit mobster, and the bluetooth headset that dangles from his ear completes the douchebag look. He glares impatiently at his watch, but I’m not late for a meeting with him because I don’t have a meeting with him. In fact, I’m early and the cast isn’t due for another hour but the stage manager, Shannon, and I are scheduled to review the songs and scenes we’ll be rehearsing today.
I brace myself for whatever unpleasantries he’s come to spew as I walk to the revolving door. He holds up a hand.
“Davis,” he says in a voice that grates on me.
“Don.” I stop walking. A cold wind whips past us and Don shivers, pulling his coat closer.
“We need to talk.”
“Ah, my four least favorite words. What is it, Don? Make it fast, since Shannon and I have several songs to run through in the next hour.”
He clucks his tongue. “It’s come to my attention that you might be being a little harsh with your cast.”
I laugh instantly. Oh, this is brilliant. This is better than I could have imagined as the raison d’etre for him showing his face this fine morning. “Oh really? We have a tattletale in our midst already?”
“No,” Don lies. “But I’d like you to be a little nicer. Maybe tone it down a bit,” he says and demonstrates by pressing his palm downward.
“I should let the actors be in charge? Perhaps they can set the call sheet too? Maybe even handle the blocking, the staging, and also direct themselves?”
“Of course not. But I hope you understand that actors can be sensitive artists. And when they think you’re kind of mean –“
I cut him off. “Kind of mean? Is that the sixth-grade level we’re playing at? Let me guess. Alexis has your ear and said I was a dick when I told them to leave if they couldn’t give it their all?”
Don affixes his best poker face. “I’m not naming names,” he says, but it doesn’t take a genius to know Alexis is the narc. I knew that woman would be trouble from day one.
“What is it you want me to do differently?”
“Be nicer, okay?”
“Honestly? You came here to tell me to play nice?”
“Yes,” he mumbles.
“And, if I’m not the complete doormat you want me to be are you going to pull that whole—wait—how did it work? Oh, right. That routine where you threaten to pay my exit clause?”
“Davis,” he says, and deliberately tries to soften his voice. “I never did that.”
I step closer to him, pointing my index finger in his lying face. “You did threaten to can me. And you won the first time. But if you keep coming around here, telling me how to run the show, then I’ll walk. Got it?”
He gulps, and says nothing.
“Am I clear? If this keeps up and you show your face every time Alexis cries wolf, I will leave and then you can go find a new director. Because I won’t have this kind of questioning.”
He swallows again. His eyes look like those of a dog admonished. Then he nods.
“Good,” I say, then return to my best gentlemanly voice. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a show to run.”
I push hard on the revolving door, head into the lobby and press the elevator button. I don’t look back. I force myself to keep my eyes fixed on the elevator doors.
When it arrives I step inside and let out the breath I’ve been holding. I run a hand through my hair. I try to shove off all the nerves I’m feeling right now, because I hate it when I have to act.
I had no choice. I needed to get him off my back, so I bluffed. I played pretend. Because the truth is, I’d never walk. I’d never leave this show. He’ll have to throw me out kicking and screaming. I am madly in love with Crash the Moon. I love this show so much it hurts, and I swear it has nothing to do with the stunningly gorgeous and talented understudy who will walk into the rehearsal studio in sixty minutes.
Alone last night, I tasted her lips again. Claimed her mouth with mine. Laced my fingers through hers and pressed her up against the wall, so she couldn’t move, and she didn’t want to, because of the things I made her feel, and say, and scream.