Chapter Nine
The eve of the Tony Awards
Mina stood stage left waiting for her cue. Pressure. That’s what she felt watching the other dancers take flight across the stage. Acerbic, precise and athletic, they were an acute reminder of how much she’d been coddled. Three weeks of one-on-one rehearsal to learn technique, and these veritable gladiators executed it like they could do it in their sleep.
Closing her eyes, she waited for his voice: the dreamy, soothing tenor that always reminded her to never tell a lie. Her heart grew heavy at an alarming rate, like the Hulk inside her chest, trying to pound its way from its cage. She doubled over, trying to catch her breath.
Oh mon Dieu.
His voice wasn’t coming. She hadn’t heard it all week. Not once. She had been so caught up in the dance, learning her lines and lyrics, the excitement and nerves…and Zack. It was hard to breathe. She couldn’t hear. Her heart was so loud. Her eyes stung, and her skin was clammy.
She’d erased him.
Étienne was gone.
“Mina?” someone called to her from far away. “Mina!”
Mina jumped at someone’s hands on her shoulders. Not so far away, then. She recognized that face. An expressive face with thick black lashes and a cupid’s bow to die for. The face had a name…What was her name?… Kyoko! The gymnastic dancer with springs for legs and a switchblade for a mouth. Mina liked her.
“Quick!” Kyoko yelled to someone backstage. “Help me get her to the dressing room. I think she’s having a panic attack.”
Kyoko and someone else—someone strong from the easy way she was half walked, half dragged—assisted her to the dressing room and into a chair. The room was like a cluttered walk-in closet, covered in costumes and boxes of costumes, shoes and hats and wigs. The vanity was a mess of makeup and cream, false lashes and hair products, and the lights were blinding. She shut her eyes, vaguely aware that her other savior had left the room.
“That’s it, honey. Breathe,” Kyoko said in her raspy tone. “You look like you could use a drink.”
Mina managed a weak smile, finally getting her breathing under control. “If it’s stronger than wine, I’m not allowed. Mrs. Perez says no hard liquor or caffeine.”
“Good, cuz I got water, and water.” Grinning, Kyoko handed Mina a bottled water. When she seemed satisfied Mina was drinking enough, she leaned her hip against the vanity. “Perez used to get on me, too. Said I needed to be less Betty Boop, more Pearl Bailey—no room in the theater for pipsqueaks.”
Mina’s laugh tore from her like a cough, scratching the back of her throat. “Betty Boop? You?” She couldn’t imagine Kyoko with a high-pitched voice. She was so…sultry.
“Yup, I sounded like one of the Chipmunks before Perez put some bass in my voice. We’re dancers first. Not even singers come with perfect pitch.”
“I—merci.” Mina’s smile was tight, but genuine. “But I can’t help feeling embarrassed. It’s different for me. I was imported for this role. People expect…perfection.”
Kyoko lifted a feathered headdress from the vanity, crowning herself with it. “My first solo role, I puked all over the place—one of the other dancers slipped in it, had to dance in that smelly costume for two hours. She won’t talk to me to this day, the bitch.”
“Why didn’t she change?”
“Budget only covered one costume. They wiped her down and changed her tights, but it was a bust: They needed a hose. Anyway, you learned the routine in four hours. I’ve never seen a prima bank those moves so fast. You got nothing to worry about.”
“I have so much to worry about—lines, lyrics, steps. I’m afraid I’ll forget something. Or move wrong.”
“You might,” Kyoko said flatly. “But you’re an actor. You fake it like a porn star and the audience won’t know any better.”
A male dancer popped his head in. “There she is. They’re looking for her. She missed her cue.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious. She’ll be out in a minute.”
“No need to be rude.” Coming all the way into the room, he looked Mina up and down. “They called five so Coen can yell some more.”
Mina winced. “This is my fault. I should get out there.”
“In a minute,” Kyoko said. “Make sure you’re okay.”
“How are you, Kyoko?” He still ogled Mina.
“Still gay, Sebastian.”
“Bonjour.” He reached for Mina’s hand. “Sebastian, since Kyoko insists on being rude.”
Kyoko scoffed. “She speaks English, numbnuts.”
“So, Mina…” He ignored Kyoko. “Are you finding your way around okay? If you want, I can show you—”
“Lemme save you a headache, honey,” Kyoko cut in. “Are you single?”
“Yes,” Mina said.
“Are you looking?”
“For what?”
“For a nice, soft penis to warm your cu-”
A voice cleared in the doorway, sounding commanding even without forming actual words. “I’ll take it from here.” Zack waited for Kyoko and Sebastian to clear the room.
Kyoko squeezed Mina’s shoulder on her way out, and Mina gave her what she hoped was a more convincing smile in return.
“You okay?” Zack closed the door behind him. “Word travels fast in here.”
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t believe you.” Moving to stand in front of her, he took her hands and pulled her up. “C’mere.”
She hesitated. In an effort to try and be more professional, they hadn’t touched each other in days, apart from choreographed holds and lifts, and hugs still felt so…personal. Intimate.
“It’s not like that, petite.” He seemed to read her mind. “I just want to see where your head is.”
Closing her eyes, she let him wrap her in his arms. In seconds, the warmth and familiarity of his body, the security of his strong arms, helped to calm her ruffled nerves. The tension left her muscles, and she let him support her, allowing her arms to circle his waist for just a minute as they listened to the bustle outside the door.
“I usually work well under pressure,” she murmured into his chest. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“This is different. We’ve all been there, transitioning from dance to musical theater. We’re happy to work with you, you know that.”
“I do know that.” Straightening, she pulled his arms from around her with some reluctance. “That’s the problem. I feel like I’m being…indulged. I—they won’t respect me if I don’t prove myself, if you—if you go easy on me.”
“When have I done that?”
“Enfin, I messed up my line—twice—and you were nice to me. You yell at everyone else—”
“I do not yell.”
“You yell.”
He rubbed his temples. “It’s down to the wire. We’re all feeling a little pressure. You’ve had less time to memorize the script, and I don’t want you to feel singled out.”
“I know…but as the lead, I should be. I need to—”
“Earn their respect.”
“Oui.”
“And you’re sure you’re okay?” He nudged her chin up with his finger, seeking the truth in her eyes.
She nodded.
“Then you got it, petite.” Pulling her to him again, he kissed her forehead, then moved to open the door.
“Wait!”
He cocked that left brow at her. It was so sexy, it wiped the English language from her memory.
“Dis-moi…” she started to say, then his sexy left brow met his less-sexy right, and she tried again. “Tell me to never be dishonest.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Please.” She imagined how she must look to him: sad, desperate - maybe a little insane. But thankfully, he took mercy instead of questioning her further.
“Never be dishonest. Now get your ass back out there.”
*
They ran through the number again, and this time Zack watched Mina use her jitters to power her performance. When the accompanist cued her for the song, she poured herself into it, metamorphosing into Camille, the Lady in Red. The opening number for the Tonys was seven minutes long, and she was only on for two minutes in the first half, playing the innocent country girl who escaped an abusive father with nothing but the ratty clothes on her back, to start a new life in the city.
The other dancers and the chorus line were Parisians young and old, the stage the bustling streets of Paris. Armed with nothing but beauty and determination, Camille’s sweet, lusty voice filled the theater. Her fellow courtesans flourished behind her, beckoning noble souls to come, for a price, to taste and see what they had to offer.
“From your diaphragm, Mina,” called Mrs. Perez. “Really belt it out.”
“Use the stage, Mina,” yelled Zack. “You’re not doing hard choreo during the chorus, so interact with the audience more, really move around.”
They started again.
“You’re late, Mina,” said Will, the assistant choreographer, from the aisle. “Try and keep up.”
Zack zeroed in on her feet.
“Mina—” Will started again, narrowing his eyes. “Bloody hell…what are you-? That’s incredible. What are you doing, darling?”
He turned to Zack. “What is that?”
“Flirting.” Zack’s gaze flickered to Mina, who looked decidedly pleased with herself, then back to his notes.
“Flirting?” Will scratched his prominent brow.
“With the time,” Zack said, as if Mina’s quirk was standard practice. He signaled to Harper at the piano. “Let’s see that again.”
Neal, Zack’s stand-in, played the dashing but fatefully unwealthy Armand Duval, who fell in love with Camille at first sight. The young man’s eyes gleamed with obvious appreciation and approval.
Method actor, that one.
“She’s an elegant little thing, isn’t she?” said Faye. She sat beside him, front row. Her role was administrative, but her importance was tantamount to the entire production not falling on its ass. “There’s something so…vivid about her.”
“Well, she’s a courtesan, not a hooker from Murray Hill.”
“Not that we’re knocking hookers from Murray Hill.”
“Little more heat, ladies and gents,” Zack barked. “This is more genteel than Murray Hill…” He looked sidelong at Faye. “…but it’s still the nineteenth century red light district. Sell sex. Keep it classy. I can appreciate it’s a little contradictory, but I trust your artistry.”
The dancers snickered. The unity was there. They were already acting like a tight-knit family after a three-day whirlwind of read-throughs, blocking, and grueling rehearsals. Made sense, bonding after a traumatic experience.
Zack grinned. “On eight…”
They started again.
“Nice diversion there, Jason Bourne.” Faye leaned in. “But all that yelling doesn’t hide the Tex Avery wolf in your eyes every time you look at her.”
“What are you rambling about?” He didn’t care that he sounded rude. He’d worked with Faye for three and a half years. They’d long discarded their filters.
“Nothing.” She kept her face forward. “I try to stay out of other people’s business—”
“A fantastic character trait.”
“Just reign in the wolf. The media hounds will sniff him out and we don’t need that kind of publicity.”
“Noted.” He looked at her then, giving her an appreciative smile. “They’ve got nothing on your nose. You’re a shark.”
“Damn right.” She still watched the stage, but the fine lines near her gray eyes and around her mouth indicated her smile. “Wouldn’t have made it far in this business without it.”
“I’m grateful.” He squeezed her arm. “What’s next?”
“Final costume fittings in two hours. Pre-party starts at eight—your tux is in your office. All set for dress rehearsal at Radio City tomorrow. We’re up first, before the cast of the umpteenth Grease remake.”
“They’d be a tough act to follow.” Zack turned to yell at his stand-in. “That’s good, Neal. I’ve seen enough. Take five, everyone.”
Faye lifted a brow at him. “Suiting up?”
“Time to reprise my role.” He stood up. “I promise not to howl and beat my head with a mallet.”
“Atta boy.”
*
The pre-party at the Ritz later that night was in full swing by the time Mina arrived. There was a small stage set up outside, where Tony-nominated cast members performed snippets of songs from their favorite Broadway hits. There was a bit of fanfare upon her arrival, a firework show of flashing lights and press yelling at her from every direction. The photographers loved her, scrambling to capture her svelte body in her mini cocktail dress the color of merlot, and her face (which made no effort to hide her delight at sharing the red carpet with The Muppets…Miss Piggy was giving her a serious run for her money).
She answered their questions about her transition to Broadway, and how she was adjusting to American culture, though they seemed far more enthused about the veteran American headliners with whom she also shared the red carpet. That was fine with her. She held her own, wooing them with her accent and self-deprecating humor before exiting to the ballroom inside.
The theme was Old Hollywood, with a live band and incredible vintage lighting. Stars she recognized from stage and set formed dozens of high-profile clusters, filling the air with exuberant conversation. Waiters weaved through the crowd with trays of glasses exploding with champagne bubbles, and elegant amuse bouche. The scents permeating her nostrils were rich, and she thought about swiping a few more of the decadent treats from the next tray that passed when a flash of gold caught her eye.
“Hey, honey,” Kyoko said breathlessly, sidling up beside her at the bar.
“Kyoko, you look gorgeous!”
“Thanks.” She beamed a little at Mina’s praise, then gestured toward the hors d’oeuvres table none-too-subtly with her glass. “I think she’s warming up to me.”
Riha, the costume designer for the show, sparkled in her salwar kameez…and she was piling a tower of mini quiches onto her plate.
Mina leaned closer to Kyoko’s ear. “Can you be sure it’s not the wine?”
“Don’t know.” Kyoko drained her glass. “Only one way to find out though.” She kissed Mina’s cheek. “You look yummy, babe, too yummy to stand here all alone. Go mingle.”
And she was off on her quest, leaving Mina contentedly alone, merci beaucoup. Her eyes scanned the room at the exact moment Zack walked in, and she nearly choked on her champagne. He wore an impeccable black suit, with just a hint of a white dress shirt showing beneath his buttoned jacket and tie. The tailoring showed off his height, the width of his shoulders, the lean line of his hips and thighs. He wasn’t alone for a second, constantly stopped for animated conversation with colleagues and adoring fans.
He must have felt her staring, because his eyes drifted to hers and held, and heat rose on her skin. They weren’t touching, and yet, they were. The room and everyone else in it disappeared, and there was only them, eating each other alive with their eyes. Hands trembling, she handed off her glass to a blur of a passing waiter. She felt a stifling need to escape his hungry lion’s gaze and the cacophony of laughter and inebriated chatter.
Drifting for a few minutes, she followed the maze of the first floor away from the ballroom, until she reached the end of a long wing of hotel rooms where it was reasonably quiet. Then she was being spun around and pressed up against the wall.
“Zack!”
He cut her off, crushing her mouth with his.
Maybe it was his own obvious need that drew hers out…parting her lips, making her head tilt left, then right, her body shivering in satisfaction when she finally achieved the perfect angle. She whimpered, he moaned, his hands racing over her until she was writhing and murmuring mindlessly, trapped between him and the wall.
Scrambling into him, she dragged her nails down, then up his back, sending shock waves down his spine, making him rock into her. His heart thudded faster with each movement and sigh, pounding a hectic rhythm in his brain. He breathed her name against her lips, into her mouth, the sweet, soft skin of her neck.
“Zack…”
It was so sweet and intoxicating—his name on her lips, her warm and welcoming, her hot and ravenous. He drank it all down until he was lightheaded, until his lungs burned for air.
“You’re so gorgeous, petite,” he panted, still holding her beautiful, flushed face in his hands. Her chest heaved, pleasure shuddering over her expression. “God, if you knew…if you knew how hard it is for me…not to think about the way you feel when we dance together…not to touch you when you look like this.”
She sighed, and he kissed her again, struggling to regain some control, but her body began to move, elegant as a minuet, erotic as her character’s title. Melting into him, she fisted his suit jacket in her hands, driving him mad with a thigh between his legs.
Someone’s key card opened a door, its mechanical sound registering in the air like a fog horn, and Mina yelped, hiding her face in Zack’s neck.
“It’s okay.” He sent a quick glance down the hall. Whoever it was had stepped quickly into the hotel room, probably to avoid an uncomfortable encounter. “It’s okay, petite. They’re gone.”
“Bon Dieu,” she moaned, moving away slowly, trying to smooth her clothes. “I—it could have been worse, Zack. It could have been someone important—someone we know.”
“Christ, I know that.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I know. I’m sorry.”
She was skittish, like a deer in headlights. “I can’t—I don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want the first impressions of me dictated by les tabloïds.”
“I know,” he said gruffly, silently cursing his blood-filled extremities. Any other time, he would have laughed at the thought that arousal made men stupid, but it didn’t feel funny now. Not at all. “I have nothing to say for myself, petite. I lost control. But given our…positions…the way we were standing, I’m sure we weren’t recognized.”
She looked at him warily, still visibly shaken, her fingers at her lips. Truthfully, neither of them were A-list celebrities, and paparazzi weren’t hiding behind trash cans for a money shot. Still, it was careless to get caught up with so many cameras around.
To lose control.
“I’ll cool my heels, for both our sakes, okay?” He resisted the urge to touch her again, haul her to him for a reassuring hug. “I promise, petite.”
Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly. “Okay.”
“You go ahead back to the party. I’ll follow in a few minutes.”
She nodded and started to walk away but paused just after she passed him. “Merci…for what you—what you said.” The vulnerability in her smile seized his heart mid-thump. “I feel the same way, when I dance with you.”
A distinct feeling of déjà vu overwhelmed him as he watched her retreating form. Just like the night he met her outside the Palais Garnier, he was left alone, staring after her for minutes after she’d disappeared.
*
Hours before the Tony Awards, stars from Broadway’s biggest shows gathered at Radio City Music Hall for a final dress rehearsal in front of a live audience. The two hosts were beloved veterans in the industry, finding a way to parody most of the nominated musicals, softening the blow of sound and technical glitches (of which Zack’s number had its fair share). By one in the afternoon, rehearsal finally closed out with the synchronized dance moves of the Grease cast in their flashy red jackets. Performers filtered out, abuzz with performance day excitement.
*
The Tony Awards
It was ShowTime.
Mina had performed her two-minute song and dance with the other courtesans in the first half of the opening act, and her body still hummed with adrenaline. She’d flown from the stage to her dressing room, where a blur of hands skillfully peeled her from her courtesan gown. Riha had cleverly infused the costumes with Eastern influences, lending a richness to the fabrics and prints that conveyed a life of excess without the restrictions of ribbing and petticoats. The same hands carefully removed Mina’s artfully coiffed courtesan wig, let down her hair, and fluffed it out. Then, they slipped her into her short, minimalist red dress, and shoved her back out for her bedroom pas de deux with Zack.
Performers were all around them, bustling backstage and in the dressing rooms, and waiting in the wings, feeding on the nervous energy, until it was their turn to take to the stage. Lifting her hand to her chest, Mina felt for her heartbeat in the dipping neckline of her costume.
“You were amazing out there, nice and strong,” Zack said in her ear. “We don’t sing for this part, so whatever it is inside you, give it to me with your whole body. I want all of it, petite.”
The thirty-second warning came. Shivering, she looked out at the rest of the Lady in Red cast, an explosion of bodies and voices finishing up their part of the opening act on stage. She started to turn inward, absorbing herself, becoming Camille.
Fifteen seconds.
There was a rush of movement, the cast clearing the stage in a small stampede. Then, a flurry rose in her chest as Harper’s gorgeous composition poured into the enormous space.
“Tell me.” She sounded far away to her own ears, like she was hovering over herself, watching from outside her body. “Tell me again.”
“Are you gonna tell me what this is?” Zack’s breath tickled her ear, gently disturbing her straightened tresses.
She looked at him then, at his freshly trimmed hair and clean-shaven jawline, lingering on his expressive green eyes, and the smooth, hairless breadth of his naked chest. “I-I can’t. Not yet.”
Five seconds.
“Petite-”
“S’il te plaît…”
Three seconds.
“Never be dishonest.”
Dancing on stage with Zack was a miracle.
It was a slow, provocative number, with intimate holds and daring, dizzying arcs. They were all fluid feet and legs and spines, wheeling torsos and tangled limbs. His pantomime felt real, as convincing as a sonnet, tricking her heart into believing him desperately in love with her, fueling her own performance. They fought and cried and made love on that stage. In a room full of voyeurs, an entire lifetime played out in a single dance.
And Mina had never felt so free.
For Zack, everything after the performance happened in accelerated motion. He’d swept Mina up and kissed her cheeks, then they were engulfed in cheers and embraces by the rest of the cast. Next, they were whisked apart backstage by stylists and makeup artists eager to get them into their evening clothes.
He didn’t need to look for Mina when the biggest night of the season came to an end, because he was flanked by two of the loudest women in New York City. One of them had a train a mile long, and an obnoxious voice that called out to Mina in the elaborate foyer of the music hall.
Drinking her in as she descended the curving stairs, the pulse in his neck pounded against his restricting shirt collar. There was a flash of silver at her feet, and her shimmering emerald gown split to reveal the endless, exquisite perfection of her legs. Her satiny brown skin was on full display in the deep, plunging V at her neckline. Her eyes danced, and her mouth smiled as she made her way over. She turned to Vera and he nearly choked to see an identical V at her back.
“Vera,” Mina greeted with cheek kisses. “Lovely to see you again.”
“Oh, you look splendid, dear! On stage and off!” Vera raved. “Everyone’s talking about it. You keep that energy up through the season, you’ll be a shoo-in for next year’s awards.”
Mina flushed, and her beauty made his gut ache, a bittersweet blend of desire and ecstasy and pain. “Mina.” There wasn’t much he could do about the thickness in his tone. “My mother, Carmen.”
Carmen turned to him briefly. “Muy hermosa,” she said with wonder. “Blushing, too. Tan humilde.”
Mina’s skin deepened further. “Merci. It’s an honor to meet you.”
Carmen gasped, letting go his arm to take both of Mina’s hands in hers. “You speak Spanish?”
“Sí.” She looked meaningfully at Zack, a teasing smile at her lips. “Espero que él dijo sólo cosas buenas acerca de mí.”
Carmen laughed, then seemed to remember she was in mixed company. “Forgive my rudeness, Vera.” She looked back at Mina with warmth. “Yes, of course, he’s said wonderful things about you, only good things. I’m just happy I got to meet you before you left to dance the night away. I’m too old for that now, so, lo siento, but this is hola and adios.”
“I have to run too.” Vera was already moving toward the exit. “I see a lifelong friend of mine and I must flag her down. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
They watched her go in a burst of noise and rumpled fabric.
“Ridiculous, exhausting woman,” Carmen muttered, shaking her head.
“Mamá,” Zack warned.
Carmen sucked her teeth. Mina made a strange noise, like she was trying to stifle a laugh, drawing his attention to her face. He noticed the faint circles under her eyes for the first time, the subtle slouch in her typically immaculate posture. She was exhausted.
“I’m just escorting my mother to her car,” he said. “Wait here. I’ll take you home.”
“Merci.” She exchanged cheek kisses with Carmen. “I hope to see you again soon.”
“I hope so too, linda. Goodnight, Mina.”
When Zack returned, he offered Mina his arm. “It goes without saying, you look amazing, petite.”
“So do you,” she said shyly, taking his arm. “I appreciate the gesture, but I’m not sure—”
“It’s not uncommon for cast members to leave together. But since you’re worried, we’ll try something else.”
“Won’t I be keeping you from the after parties?”
“I think the adrenaline is starting to wear off, so I’m heading someplace a little less—Broadway.”
“I didn’t know there was such a place. I—Could I come along? I don’t want to go anywhere too crowded, but I don’t want to be alone.”
Her eyes sparkled as much as her dress, and he couldn’t resist hamming it up. “Oh, there is such a place.” He flagged down a town car. “A magical place that doesn’t turn into a drunken vaudeville hour after midnight.”
“Sounds fantastical.”
“You have no idea.” He saw her safely into the back of the car, then instructed the driver. “Fifty West Forty-Fourth, between Fifth and Sixth. Park until I get there.”
“Zack?”
“I’ll see you in ten.” He shut her door.