Adrian has one dress rehearsal to make things right.
He thought the kiss at the gala was a good idea, and then Zara ran away. She hasn’t really talked to him since. Obviously, they’ve still been kissing, because Echo and Ariston are always kissing. Adrian has to put his hands on Zara’s hips, his lips on her earlobe. Earlobes make things awkward.
They have about five minutes before they go on for second dress — maybe the first one they’ll actually get through — and Zara is sitting at the very back of the wings, just in front of the cyclorama. She looks upset, and Adrian wonders if maybe it’s his fault. (Was he supposed to try harder? Kiss better? Run after her?)
Adrian approaches slowly, waiting for Zara to notice. But she’s folded over her phone, the little screen lighting up her face. They’re not supposed to have phones back here, and until now Zara has been all about the rules.
Adrian wonders what changed.
“Hey,” he says, tapping on Zara’s shoulder. “Z.” She gives him a quick glance, and it’s sad how even that much can make him feel less alone. He’s been completely on his own since he got to New York. (His publicist and his personal assistant and his dialogue coach and his driver don’t count. Paparazzi definitely don’t count.)
Zara turns to Adrian, and her eyes tell him that she needs to talk. He thinks she is going to bring up the kiss (he’s waiting for it, he’s prepared), and instead she blurts out, “Have you ever heard of Vivi Laurent?”
“Uh,” Adrian says. “Yeah, I guess so.” One of the good things about his brain is that once it has a grip on something, it holds on tight. “I never met her. I mean, I think she died before I was —”
Famous. Adrian doesn’t like to think about his life before that.
“It happened ten years ago,” Zara fills in. “She died here. At the Aurelia.”
Adrian shivers. There’s a lot of death hanging around this theater. Roscoe died right before Adrian got there, so he missed the worst of it. But then Enna went, too. And now this Vivi person? Even if it’s an old death, it still feels like they’re piling up. “Yeah, I remember. She was doing really well, getting all these great parts, and then she killed herself.”
Zara nods, more focused on her screen than she is on him. Extreme distraction can be a sign that a girl likes him. But why would she fixate on dead actresses? There are more important things to fixate on. Like when the two of them are going to kiss again. He pulled away when Zara kissed him in the studio, but the gala gave Adrian a taste for it and now he doesn’t want to stop. And there’s no reason to — right?
His fans love her.
Adrian is supposed to make them happy. They make him happy. He was miserable before he had fans.
“Vivi starred in a play here,” Zara says, her hair hanging down in a curtain, cutting Adrian off from her. “Winterset. Something pretty and tragic. She landed a few movie roles. She lost — forty-seven pounds. Can that be right?” She looks up at him for confirmation.
Adrian shrugs. That’s a lot of pounds. But it’s been known to happen.
“And then she came back here for another show,” Zara says, in a trance. “And she killed herself.”
“You don’t need to think about that,” Adrian says, sweeping Zara’s hair to the side. She jolts like his fingers are electrified.
(That’s a good sign, right?)
Zara hides her phone behind the chair. “It doesn’t worry you?”
Adrian shrugs. “Why would it?”
Zara shakes her head, like there are so many things she wishes she could tell him.
They go out onstage and the play starts. Scene by scene it builds a reckless energy that it’s never had before. Adrian doesn’t think he can take much credit for it. The difference is mostly coming from Zara. She sets the love scenes on fire. She strokes his arm with this soft confidence.
Is she trying to tell him something? Or is this still the play? Adrian is going breathless. Muscles tight. Kisses flowing.
And then they’re torn apart, and Adrian feels it for the first time. There’s a harsh empty space inside him. Zara is marched to the top of the platform, a metal skeleton with the image of a cliff projected onto it.
She looks down at the pool, and it’s obvious that she’s afraid to do the jump. The messenger says his lines. Zara’s cue comes. And she just — stands there.
“Echo,” Leopold yells. “That’s you, dear.”
Zara wavers at the very edge of the platform. She looks like a stone about to drop. But she doesn’t.
Leopold calls her to the front of the stage. Whispers in her ear. Adrian drifts forward with the vague hope that he can do something to help Zara. Leopold dismisses her, turning away, and Adrian takes advantage of those few seconds to stop Zara on her way back to the platform. He can see the worry rattling around in her eyes, wanting out.
“You okay?” he whispers, rubbing her upper arm. (Girls love when he does that. They actually go a little crazy.)
“He wants to meet with me in his office after rehearsal,” Zara says numbly. “In private.”
“And you don’t want to go.” He thinks of their last meeting in Leopold’s office. (Meg and Leopold, getting too close for comfort.) “Yeah, I can’t blame you.”
She looks at him, and her eyes spark. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure,” he says. “Anything.”
She tells him what she needs, and Adrian says yes right as the AD sends them back to places. Adrian strides upstage right, so high on this rehearsal that he doesn’t even see the stagehand, dressed in black, moving with quick steps.
They slam into each other. And he’s so starved for contact that even that feels good.
“Sorry,” the girl says. “Oh my God, I’m so, so, so sorry.” “It’s okay,” Adrian says with a humble sort of head duck. “You’re great tonight,” she says, biting into her bottom lip. (He loves when girls do that.) “Like, really great.”
“Thanks,” he says, seriously hoping she’s right. The girl stands there, waiting for him to say more. This level of attention feels normal to Adrian now. People want to do things for him. They want to give him time, and answers, and gifts, and pictures of themselves naked. They want to give him flowers and good reviews and parts of their bodies to sign.
There was a time when he was too scrawny, too energetic. Always disappointing his mom, who said he was a natural. Adrian’s dad left when he was two, for someone younger and prettier but also with more plastic surgery than a body should be able to stand. His mom had crappy boyfriends. She told him if he was good enough, if he made enough money, they wouldn’t need the boyfriends.
At ten years old, Adrian was still that weird kid, the one in the corner who couldn’t get cast in the cereal commercial or the Gap Kids ad. The one with multiple learning disabilities and zero muscle definition. He worked hard and he went to every audition. At some point he discovered working out, and his body magically turned into what everyone wanted. The rough edges of his energy vanished, or maybe he just learned how to shove them down.
And then he started getting romantic leads. He acted the way he thought people should when they were in love. The way that nobody ever acted in his real life.
And audiences loved it.
The scene starts up again, and the cute stagehand pulls back to the wings, but lingers there. Watching him. Waiting.
Adrian thinks about asking her to meet up with him later. After his favor to Zara. He can find a supply closet, press this girl against the locked door. It’s been too long since he’s kissed someone. (He’s starting to think that kissing Zara at the gala didn’t count. Kissing her at that one rehearsal definitely didn’t count. He forces himself not to think about Kerry, and it’s like trying not to get hit by a runaway truck.)
But this new girl would only go to the tabloids or get on the Internet. Kissing her will make him more alone, not less. Kerry was right. Being as famous as he is changes everything. Adrian can’t be with just anyone. He needs another actor. Someone who understands.
(Someone like Kerry.) Someone like Zara Evans.