Chapter Three
Several hours and tried-on outfits later, I found myself in the most incredible open-backed black and nude vintage Givenchy lace dress. As I examined myself from every angle, I couldn’t find one thing I didn’t like about it until I caught a glimpse of the price tag.
“Gigi, I’m dying out here,” Jamie said from outside the changing room door.
I came out of the dressing room and did a twirl. “What do you think?”
He set his glass of champagne down. “I think it’s perfect. Tasteful yet sexy. Just the right amount of skin.”
I held up the tag. “It’s eleven hundred pounds.”
“Considering all the things this dress has to accomplish, it’s a bargain. Pay for it, and let’s go. We don’t have much time to get ready.”
I sat down next to Jamie. “What am I doing? Perry won’t want to see me. We haven’t talked in months. Not since I sent back the ring.”
“You should’ve kept the ring. I know a jeweler in Sheepshead Bay who could’ve turned it into a killer pair of earrings.”
I threw back the rest of my champagne. “No, no, that ring was in exchange for a promise that never came to be.”
Jamie squeezed my shoulder.
“So, this dress?” I said, trying to change the subject. “What do you really think?”
Jamie moved away to take in the full look. “I don’t think we could have designed anything better. You look ravishing.”
I took a step toward him and placed my hand on his forearm. “Thank you, friend.”
As soon as we got back to the hotel I made a beeline to one of the blowout bars around the corner and begged them to slot me in. An hour later I had the most perfect beachy waves as the cab dropped us off in front of Her Majesty’s Theatre and the large marquee for Elizabeth. We fought through the huge crowd hoping to win the nightly ticket lottery and got in line to go inside.
Jamie pulled out his phone. “Let’s take a selfie.”
“Seriously?”
“I promised Thom we’d document tonight. He’s beyond jealous that we’re seeing Elizabeth.”
After six years of their on-again, off-again relationship, Jamie and Thom finally got married last summer. It was a beautiful and intimate wedding right on the beach in Montauk. I’d never seen Jamie happier than he’d been this last year, and he’d recently confided that he and Thom were looking into surrogates to try having a baby.
“Hey, have you seen any of these?” Jamie asked, pointing to the posters of scenes from the show that lined the walls outside the theater. “I hate to say it, but Perry Gillman sure looks good in a pair of breeches.”
I turned to examine the picture more closely. He looked better than good—he looked right off the cover of a Harlequin. Perry’d cast himself in the role of Robert Dudley, Queen Elizabeth’s rumored lover and closest confidant. He’d played the part during all the workshops and the investors had loved his portrayal so much, they encouraged him to take it on when the show hit the West End. In its short run, he’d already established himself as a bona fide star.
We made our way inside the theater, and an usher directed us to our box. I peeked over the railing. There wasn’t one empty seat in the house. Prince Alexander, Victoria, and Victoria’s arguably even more beautiful and fashionable sister, Annabelle Ellicott, were seated several boxes over from us, with security posted on both sides. I settled into my chair and flipped through the program. The first few pages told the story of Elizabeth’s inception, starting with Perry’s writer’s block through his major breakthrough and the completion of the show’s original concept album.
I closed my eyes and was transported back to our small apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. The Gordy award sitting on our fake mantle, Perry at his keyboard holding his tape recorder, asking me to step away from my drafting table to listen to a new song or lyric for the show. I couldn’t have predicted what a phenomenon Elizabeth was going to become, but as the show continued to develop, we both knew he was doing something completely brilliant. I remembered how we’d acted out every part—Elizabeth I, Mary, Queen of Scots, William Cecil, The Archbishop of Canterbury, Robert Dudley. Admittedly, I wasn’t up on my British history, but it didn’t matter. His interpretations and music were so captivating, he not only made the past come to life but made it relevant to our own times.
I flipped through a few more pages to the cast bios and acknowledgments. Perry’s was peppered with academic qualifications, composition awards and recognitions, regional and local theater credits, and in bold, the one acting triumph I’d never expected to see: Fiddler, Fiddler on the Roof, Milbank, PA. I sucked in a quick breath and sank down into my seat. The lights of the theater dimmed, and I looked up from the program. Jamie grabbed my hand, squeezed it, and gave me a reassuring smile. As the familiar first notes of the opening number floated up from the pit and the white spotlight hit Perry, dressed in period costume, his wavy hair pulled off his beautiful face, my heart burst in two.
The first act went by in a flash, ending with Elizabeth I’s coronation and the imprisonment of Mary Queen of Scotts. Perry’s complex lyrics and modern melodies had the audience on its feet half a dozen times. His performance as the lovelorn Robert Dudley was so layered and heart-wrenching, I was sure at least half the women in the theater were in love with him by the time the curtain fell indicating the end of Act I.
When the house lights came up for intermission, I barely noticed. Jamie called my name at least four times before I heard him.
“Gigi, do you want anything to drink or not?”
“I’m good,” I muttered.
“I’ll be right back then.”
I reached into my bag to pull out my compact mirror and felt a tap on the back.
“I’m really fine, Jamie, just get whatever you want,” I said without turning around.
“It’s Gemma Landry,” she answered.
I stood up to greet her. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were Jamie. He just walked out to get something to drink.”
“Are you enjoying the show?” she asked.
“Very much. Please thank Victoria and Prince Alexander again for the tickets.”
“You’ll be able to do that yourself. They sent me to invite you to join them backstage after the show.”
“Oh, um…that’s very kind of them. I’ll see what Jamie wants to do. We have an early day tomorrow. We’re doing the Downton Abbey tour of Highclere Castle.”
“Victoria really wants to introduce you to her sister, Annabelle, and also Perry Gillman.”
I blinked hard. “Victoria knows Perry Gillman?”
Gemma placed her finger over her lips. “Annabelle’s been seeing him for a few months, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Annabelle Ellicott is dating Perry Gillman?” I asked, my voice going up to an octave I didn’t know I was capable of reaching.
“I know. Isn’t it amazing they’ve managed to keep it from the press?”
I sank down into my seat. “Truly, I had no idea.”
“I don’t know which sister is luckier in love—both of them snagged princes.” She laughed at her own joke. “Anyway, when the show’s over, just come to the backstage door. Your names are on the list.”
The house lights flickered and a voice came over the intercom, letting the audience know it was almost the end of intermission.
Gemma looked up at the ceiling. “I should get back to my seat.”
I waved her out, and a minute or so later Jamie came back to our box holding two champagnes.
He passed a champagne flute over to me. “I thought you might change your mind.”
I downed the champagne before he even took his seat.
“Did I miss something?” He looked around our box.
“Gemma Landry came by to invite us backstage after the show,” I said.
“I see,” he said as he passed me his own full glass.
I clutched the stem my hands visibly shaking. “It gets worse. Perry’s been dating Annabelle Ellicott. Gemma isn’t sure how the press hasn’t gotten wind of it, but they’ve been an item for a while now.”
Jamie’s mouth fell open. “He’s dating Annabelle Ellicott?”
I nodded as my eyes welled with tears.
“Bottoms up,” he said.
I threw back the second glass and set it down on the ground. “I can’t go backstage. I can’t see him.”
He leaned toward me and put his hand on my knee. “Of course, you can’t. I’ll go. I’ll make your excuses. It’ll be fine.”
“I really do feel sick. I think I have to go back to the hotel.”
Jamie jumped up and grabbed my coat from the back of my seat. “I’ll go back with you?”
“No, no, finish the show,” I said, motioning for him to sit back down. “Make our excuses. I’ll meet you in the lobby at eight for the tour tomorrow.”
Jamie shook his head. “Annabelle Ellicott? She really doesn’t seem like his type at all.”
“Of course, she does. Sophisticated, beautiful, cultured, and well-mannered. I’m the one who wasn’t his type.” I slipped my coat on. “The show’s wonderful. Make sure you let Perry know.”
“You sure you don’t want to see how it ends?”
“No. I know how it ends,” I said, softly.