Zara expects Leopold’s office to feel like Leopold does — intense and claustrophobic — but it’s a blank room in the administrative portion of the building, one floor up from the studios. Zara takes a quick inventory. A long metal desk, a few skeletal chairs, an assortment of show posters. Macbeth, West Side Story, Arsenic and Old Lace.
The stage manager sent an e-mail telling Zara that she was called for a private meeting with the director — which sounded strange until Zara remembered that she agreed to it. She can’t remember why. Probably because Leopold was touching her knee and saying yes to whatever he asked for was the quickest way to make him stop.
She gets up and paces, reaching for the keys around her neck. She hasn’t taken them off since Eli gave them to her. Not to sleep. Not even to shower. She had stood bare-skinned this morning, warming up slowly. Thoughts of Roscoe and Enna dissolved into the steam, replaced by much more welcome thoughts of Eli. She had touched the keys, playing her fingers back and forth between the circles, tugging at the teeth. Then one of her hands followed the path of the water — down, down.
Zara can’t think about that now.
Not in Leopold’s office.
Even though Leopold is missing. Maybe he’s caught in a vision. Not for the first time, Zara wonders what he sees. Has he changed his mind about her? Will her Echo ever be good enough? Back when he was just a voice in her ear, she asked about the visions. Now she knows better. Zara Evans doesn’t get to ask Leopold Henneman questions.
That’s not how it works.
She checks the little square of glass in the door. No one’s coming down the hall from either direction. She takes the seat behind Leopold’s desk — where he sits when he’s alone, thinking about the play. There’s a buzz in Zara’s skin. A blankness in her brain.
Zara knows this is a major trespass. But Leopold is always the one telling her to push the boundaries. To be less polite. To follow her instincts. She wants to prove that she’s safe here. She pulls the loose metal handle of a desk drawer. The whole tray slides out eagerly.
There is a gun inside.
Zara moves back quickly. She doesn’t take her eyes off the gun. It looks heavy, the metal as dark as the moment before sleep.
Zara slows down her breathing and pulls the rest of the handles until the desk bristles with open drawers. Most hold paperwork, office supplies. The deep filing drawer at the bottom is filled with knives.
Zara picks one up. It’s strangely light. She puts a finger to the blade, expecting pain, and feels only plastic. Zara presses the blade slowly against the skin of her arm. The shiny plastic clicks slightly and disappears — not into her arm but back into the hilt of the weapon.
It’s a prop.
It can’t be for Echo and Ariston, though. Wrong time period. Leopold must be looking at props for his next production.
Zara flips open the calendar on top of Leopold’s desk to see what show he’s doing next. December is crowded with Echo and Ariston — tech, gala, previews. When they open on the twenty-ninth, Leopold can leave the Aurelia and start rehearsing a new show. January stares up at Zara, perfectly white, completely blank.
So do the months after it.
Zara hears someone coming down the hallway. She flips back the calendar and quietly slides back the drawers.
Leopold strides in, snow still clinging to him from the bitter world outside. “My dear.” He gives her a hug, which lasts longer than she expects, and she melts into it a little bit. Leopold gives off a sense of calm that Zara hasn’t felt in weeks. There’s been an anxious buzz around the director for too long, like a swarm of flies.
This is a moment of relief she didn’t even know she needed.
Leopold sits down at his desk. Zara hopes he can’t feel her imprint on his chair. Her warmth, lingering.
“I think it’s time that we talked openly about the challenges of this production,” Leopold says. “Two of our company have died, swiftly and unexpectedly.” Zara sighs, and tension drops from a hundred small places in her body where she’s been holding it tight. She’s thankful that Leopold mentioned Roscoe and Enna. The silence around the deaths has started to feel like a bruise. A tender spot that no one wants to touch.
“I’m not blind to how difficult things are at the moment,” Leopold says. “And if you ever need someone to talk to, please remember that I am here. Come straight to me if you need anything.”
Zara nods, but she can’t help thinking:
She didn’t go straight to him.
She went straight to Eli.
Leopold stands up and paces, even though the room is tiny. “Despite these difficulties, you and I still have a love story to tell.”
“What about Adrian?” Zara asks. His absence feels strange all of a sudden. It’s true that he breezes in and out of rehearsals, that Zara barely sees him except when they’re face-to-face in a scene, because the whole production schedule has been designed around his movie star needs. But if they’re talking about Echo and Ariston in love, shouldn’t he be here now?
Leopold gives her a knowing head tilt. “Adrian Ward is here for his pretty face and his ability to pull in ticket sales.”
Zara blinks, startled. She didn’t think Leopold would be so blunt about it.
What does he say about Zara when she’s not in the room?
Leopold stops right in front of her, demanding Zara’s full attention, but the all-knowing director is gone. His expression is stripped of the usual charm. Leopold looks almost — nervous. “I want you to know that I am sorry if there have been moments when I’ve made things difficult for you, if I’ve been less than perfect in my role.”
“No,” Zara says. The words rush out of her without any real thought. “You’re just doing your job.”
“This play must be perfect, above anything else I have done,” Leopold says. “I’m sure you understand that feeling.” Zara does. This is her one chance to be Echo. Every other thought she’s had recently scatters like leaves before a strong wind. “So how do you and I tell the world’s greatest love story when you have never been in love?”
Zara feels the storm hit.
She doesn’t answer — what answer can she give? That she was afraid he would notice? That she has fallen in love, but Meg told her to forget it because Leopold wouldn’t approve?
Zara made a promise. No distractions. She can’t tell him that she’s already broken it. That she plans to keep breaking it.
“I’ve never been in love,” Zara says woodenly. “It’s true.”
Leopold smiles, clearly pleased that he was right. The delight rises off him in waves. “You have nothing to draw on, which puts a stranglehold on your performance.” He sets a hand on her shoulder, and it’s heavy there, keeping her in place. “We will have to do something to help you find those feelings.” He draws a circle around her with his steps. “I want you to close your eyes.”
Zara does as she’s told.
He’s here to direct her. She’s here to act.
But she won’t tell him about Eli. There’s nothing to tell. They haven’t kissed. They’ve barely touched.
“Imagine that you are perfectly in love.” Zara’s mind stays blank. She’s afraid to even think of Eli. “Imagine that you have known another body stacked on top of yours. Bearing down. Heat. Pressure. Imagine that you have no breath, and the words fight to come out of you.”
Leopold moves behind her. His breath is warm, stirring the fine hair at the base of her neck. “Imagine that you are holding nothing back.” She can feel his fingertips creeping onto her waist. His lips close to her ear.
She can feel a tremble, and it’s fear, but she’s not sure where it’s coming from.
How much she wants Eli?
How little she wants Leopold to find out?
The little fact that she just lied to him, and she’s afraid he can tell?
His hands on her waist?
Zara breathes and tells herself a story. She is safe. She is calm. She is in love. Nothing can touch her.
Leopold steps away and claps, a private little applause session. Zara opens her eyes to see him smiling broadly. “Zara. This is great work you’ve done here. Can you feel it?”
It’s a good thing that she’s gotten so much practice lately, because the lie slips out, unrehearsed. “Yes.”
She tells herself that she can handle this — she can like Eli this much and keep it to herself. She can deal with the pressure of being a professional actress. She can banish her strange fears. She can be the perfect Echo. She can keep Leopold happy. She tells herself that everything is going to be fine. Better than fine.
Beautiful.