CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BEGINNING OF THE END
Three Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
The Grove
Erika walks into the room like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. There’s absolute silence. The tension is palpable.
After Saturday night’s showcase, agents, directors, and producers had the weekend to submit offers. Now, it’s the moment of truth when we find out who’s been offered what.
“First of all,” Erika says as she hugs a stack of envelopes, “let me just say how proud I am. The quality of your performances on Saturday was excellent, and I couldn’t have asked for any of you to be more committed in sharing yourselves with your audience. Having said that, for those of you who don’t have firm offers, don’t despair. It doesn’t mean you’re not talented, and it certainly doesn’t mean you’re not employable. It just means you weren’t right for the roles being filled.”
She walks around the room and gives out envelopes. Ethan gets two. So do I. A handful of others get double offers. Most get one. A select few don’t get any.
Aiyah sits with empty hands and bursts into tears. Erika hugs her and assures her the work will come.
I open my envelopes with shaking fingers.
The first one is from a repertory company in Los Angeles that wants me to become a permanent member. They perform contemporary pieces and work on a profit-share basis.
When I open the other envelope, I have to read it three times to fully understand what it says. It’s from a producer. He wants to do an off-Broadway production of Portrait. Fully professional. Five weeks of rehearsal, plus a tentative six-week season. He’s already secured the rights and wants Connor and me to be his stars.
I look over at Ethan. He’s frowning at one of his letters. I say his name, and he looks up.
“What is it?” I ask.
He holds up the two pieces of paper. “Well, in the first one, the Lowbridge Shakespeare company wants me to join their next European tour, doing Mercutio in Romeo and Juliet.”
“That’s fantastic!”
“Yeah.”
“Then why do you look shell-shocked?”
He shakes his head. “The other one is … it’s the New York Shakespeare Theater. They want me to do Hamlet.”
“Which role?”
He looks dazed. “The lead. I guess they liked my monologue.”
“Oh my God, Ethan, that’s incredible!”
“Yeah. I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it. You’re amazing, and your offers prove that. Why aren’t you happy?”
“I am, it’s just … I have no idea which one to choose. The European tour is a longer contract, but the other one … I mean, it’s Hamlet. For years, I’ve been saying I’d give my left ball to play that role.”
“Then do it. It’s one of the most coveted male roles out there. And you would absolutely hit it out of the park.”
He shrugs. “I hope I would. But, hey, what about you?”
“Well, I’ve been offered a spot in The Roundhouse in L.A.”
“Seriously? Those guys are impressive. Their productions are cutting edge. And the other one?”
“Well, the other one is off-Broadway.”
“Are you kidding? Jesus, Cassie, that’s great!”
“Yeah, I know…”
“I’m sensing a ‘but.’”
I take a breath. “It’s for Portrait.”
He blinks. “As in, Portrait with…”
“Connor. Yeah. They want both of us.”
He’s really trying to keep his expression happy. “For how long?”
“Eleven weeks to start. Then, if it does well … who knows? A few months. A year if we’re really lucky.”
He nods. “Wow. A year. That’s … wow. Amazing opportunity.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
A knot forms in my stomach. It feeds off the furrow in his brow and the dark energy that swirls around him.
He almost manages to shake it off when he takes my hand in both of his. “Seriously, Cassie, it’s unbelievable. I’m really happy for you.”
“Really?”
He smiles. “Really.”
He’s very convincing. Then again, he’s an excellent actor.
Present Day
New York City, New York
The Apartment of Cassandra Taylor
“I can’t look.”
“Me neither.”
“Where the hell is Cody when you need him?”
“I’m hoping he’s asleep. It’s six a.m.”
Ethan and I are sitting cross-legged in the middle of my living room with a stack of newspapers and printouts from various blogs sitting between us.
Reviews.
The verdict on our show.
“Okay, you read the Times,” I say. “I really can’t handle that.”
“Fine. Then you have to read the Post,” says Ethan. “That guy shook my hand for way too long last night. And he stroked it a little.”
“Fine.”
We both pick up a paper and flick to the arts section. I read the Post review. As I do, my face becomes hotter and hotter. When I reach the end, I glance over at Ethan. He’s frowning at the Times and shaking his head.
He puts the paper down and exhales. “Well … that was … unexpected.”
“He liked it?”
“No. He loved it. Loved everything about it, except for the script, but said all the other elements worked so well, it didn’t matter.”
“But he liked us?”
He nods. “Absolutely. And I quote: ‘The two lead actors have the kind of mesmerizing chemistry that will have audiences returning to this show over and over again. Most of the people I spoke to on opening night have already planned their return visit. It’s that kind of magic that will ensure this show has a long and prosperous future. A must-see night of theater.’”
“Wow.”
“Exactly.”
The rest of the reviews are all pretty similar. They all love the show, particularly the chemistry between Ethan and me. By the time we’re finished reading, I’m so embarrassed by all the praise, I feel like I need to splash cold water on my face.
I also feel strangely emotional.
“Hey.” Ethan touches my face. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just … happy, you know?”
“You look like you’re going to cry.”
“Shut up. Talking about it will make it happen.” I blink and will the tears to go away.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize! That’s worse than talking about it. Dammit.” I blink faster, but it’s too late. The tears fall in fat streams down my cheeks. Ethan cups my face and wipes them away. It only makes it worse.
He pulls me into his arms, and I cry. It’s been a long time since I cried happy tears. He presses his lips against my forehead and strokes my hair.
It feels so good … so absolutely and emphatically right, it makes me cry harder.
Three Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
The Grove
He hasn’t touched me for nearly a week. Well, he’s touched me, but not the right way. Not how I need him to.
He’s shutting down and pulling back, and it makes me sick to think I’m just as powerless to stop it now as I was last time.
Still, I have one thing to try. One desperate play in what I’m suspecting is an unwinnable game.
“I’m going to tell Erika I’m passing on Portrait.”
He looks up from his book and frowns at me. “What?”
“I’m passing. I’ll take L.A. instead.”
“Cassie—”
“I mean, it’s still an amazing gig. Plus, it’s not like Broadway’s going anywhere. I’ll get there some other way.”
He lowers his book and sighs. “Don’t be stupid. You can’t turn it down. Especially if you think you’re doing it for me.”
“I think I’m doing it for us. I know how crazy it must make you to think about me doing that show with Connor eight times a week.”
“So what? Making me part of this decision is ridiculous. It’s your career. You need to do it.”
“Not if it means losing you.”
He rubs his eyes. “If you don’t take it, you’ll lose me anyway, because I’ll never forgive myself for fucking up something so important. Please, Cassie. Take it.”
“But—”
“No, this is not up for discussion. You’ve been given an amazing opportunity, and I’m not going to let you sabotage it because of me. No fucking way. You tell Erika you’re taking it, or I will.”
He slams his book closed and shoves it in his bag.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“But what about our Arts in Society final?”
“I’ll study by myself.”
“Why are you so angry with me?”
He slings his bag over his shoulder and turns to me. “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with me. Angry that you think you need to sacrifice your career for me.”
“Ethan—”
“No, Cassie, this is fucking crazy. This isn’t love. It’s fear. You’re afraid of my reaction, and you’re letting it rule your judgment. What the hell am I doing to you?”
“You’re not doing anything! Sometimes to make things work, you have to make compromises.”
“This isn’t a compromise! This is you giving up your dream for me, and it pisses me off that you think you have to. That I’ve made you think that.”
“You haven’t, I just—”
“Please stop. I’ve tried really fucking hard to just breathe through this thing with Connor, but I can’t, and you know it. But this? It isn’t the solution.”
“Then what is? Is there one? Because you’re really starting to worry me here.”
His expression softens, but he doesn’t reassure me. I don’t know if he can at this point.
“I have to go.”
“Wait.”
He stops, one hand on the door. I go to him and make him look at me. He does it grudgingly.
“I love you.” I stand on my toes to kiss him. He inhales and wraps an arm around me, and even though he kisses me back, it doesn’t last long. When he pulls away, his hand is still on the doorknob.
“I love you, too,” he says as he cups my cheek. “That’s the problem.”
He pulls open the door and heads down to his car. I watch him until he’s out of sight.
Present Day
New York City, New York
Graumann Theater
When I arrive at the theater, I dump my bag in my dressing room and go to find Ethan. He’s been helping me with some meditation techniques, and even though I’m not very good at them, he’s a patient teacher.
Of course, Tristan lost his shit when he found out about it. Well, to be honest, he rarely loses his shit, but he did go quiet for a long time and stare at me in a hostile manner.
He’s been trying to get me to meditate since the night we met, and I’ve always dismissed it as a waste of time. Needless to say, Ethan and I aren’t the most popular people in his book right now.
I go to Ethan’s dressing room, but he’s not there. His voice is echoing somewhere in the theater, so I follow the sound.
When I get backstage, I see him talking on his phone and pacing.
“I don’t know about this. I mean, the show’s only been open a month. We’re barely getting on our feet. Yes, I know it’s a fantastic opportunity but…” He scrubs his face and sighs. “I am listening to you. I get that. And no, this has nothing to do with Cassie. I just … I don’t know if the time is right for this.”
On hearing my name, I slink back into the shadows.
He finishes the conversation by saying, “I’ll think about it,” and I quietly slip back into his dressing room as he hangs up.
When he appears a minute later, he seems surprised to see me.
“Oh, hey.”
“Hi. You okay?”
“Yeah. Good.” He puts his phone on the counter and sits on the floor. “Ready?”
“Sure.”
He hardly looks at me. We go through the routine of our meditation, but it’s obvious his mind is somewhere else.
My meditation is crap. My breathing is choppy, and all I can do is wonder what the hell that conversation was about and why he’s hiding it from me.
We finish our cycle and when I open my eyes, I get the impression he’s been staring at me the whole time.
“You want to snuggle?” he asks quietly.
I stand and shake my head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Everything alright?”
“Yep.” I can feel all the parts of me that have recently started opening up begin to wilt under the weight of whatever’s going on with him. I’ve been getting better at trusting this new him, but now … the doubt is back.
“Cassie…”
“I’m fine. I just have some stuff to do.”
He grabs my hand. “Wait. What’s going on?”
I shake my head. I’m incapable of confronting him, because I’m terrified of what he’ll say. “Nothing. I just don’t feel like snuggling tonight.”
I pull my hand free and walk out. I need to get away from him.
I can’t even comprehend what I’d do if things went wrong again.