Stage lights flooded over the cast, and we took a synchronized bow. Despite being nearly blinded, I wanted to hold on to this feeling as long as I could. I wasn’t sure when I’d get it next. The audience’s applause was louder and longer than usual tonight. Maybe they sensed it, too, whatever was in the air. As a cast, we’d gone the extra mile, our emotions high knowing we only had a few nights until it was curtain for good.

My castmate squeezed my hand. We took another bow, grinned at each other, and that was it.

Backstage, we did the obligatory rounds, meeting fans, signing playbills, and holding conversations with castmates’ friends. When I saw two dozen roses headed in my direction, I knew instantly who was behind it.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, grinning.

Corbin peeked around the flowers. “I can’t make it to closing night next week since I’ll be out of town on business. I didn’t want to miss seeing you one last time, though.”

I took the bouquet and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

“You get better every time I see you up there.”

“You watched the whole show?” I asked. “How many times is that now? Three?”

He shrugged. “I just can’t believe you’re actually doing it.”

“It’s just Off-Broadway, and I’m up there less than half an hour total.” I nudged him. “I hope you at least brought a date so you wouldn’t get bored.”

“Not tonight. I thought maybe you and I could get a celebratory dinner.”

“Sounds good. I’m starved. Want to say hi to everyone?”

Sometimes I thought Corbin hung out backstage to meet my pretty castmates, but the truth was, they were usually the dumbstruck ones. Even in a world of trained actors and actresses, his charm shone through. He flustered both my male and female counterparts.

After I’d dropped the flowers off in the dressing room I shared with some others, Corbin and I were listening in on a discussion with the director and some fans.

I looked up just as a man in a suit approached us. “Sorry to interrupt, Carl,” he said.

The show’s director turned. “Mike Galloway. Nice to see you.” They shook hands. “Coming to steal away one of my stars?”

“Can’t I just sneak behind the curtain to give praise? Do I need another reason?” He winked at me. “Off-Broadway is the new Broadway, I hear.”

Carl snorted. “Right. I’d tell you to leave us alone, but the show’s run its course anyway. Who you here for? Gina? Keith?”

“No.” The man’s eyes were still on me. “Lake, right? Do you have a moment?”

I glanced back at Corbin, mostly out of confusion, but Corbin must’ve thought I needed help. He put a hand on my shoulder. “Regarding?” he asked.

“Apologies. I should’ve introduced myself first.” He stuck out his hand for me. “I’m Mike Galloway, a casting director from California. Mind if we talk in private?”

My director tilted his head at me. “Well, go on, kid. Don’t you know who Mike Galloway is?”

Admittedly, I didn’t. The name was familiar, maybe someone Roger or a castmate of mine had mentioned. Despite the fact that the rest of the world was obsessed with Hollywood, I hadn’t given it much attention. Here in New York, we performed. This was theater. We didn’t hide behind glitz and glam like they did in Los Angeles. Not to mention, Southern California continued to be a sore reminder of what could’ve been.

I led Mike Galloway and Corbin to the dressing rooms. Mike didn’t bother looking around, and I got the feeling he’d been here before. “Have a seat,” he said to me, even though it was my room.

Corbin and I exchanged a glance, but we sat. “What’s this about?” I asked.

“Lake Kaplan.” He smiled, gliding his hand in front of him. “It’d look good in opening credits, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s just my name.”

“Not anymore. Lake, this is the second time I’ve come to see the show, and I assure you it’s not because I think it’s any good.”

“All the way from L.A.?” I asked. “Do you normally come to the theater looking for . . .” I sat back. “What are you looking for?”

“You have a friend working as a PA on the new Marvel movie?” Mike asked.

“Val?” Corbin and I asked at the same time. Val had left New York soon after the Twin Tower terrorist attacks. For one of the strongest, most resilient people I knew, Val had been shaken to the core by 9/11. She’d been wanting to break into Hollywood for some time, and that was the catalyst she’d needed to move. She’d been a production assistant on more than a few film crews but was still struggling to break in. I’d only spoken to her a few days ago, but she hadn’t mentioned any of this.

“She gave your name to a colleague of mine who knew I was coming out here in search of talent. But you aren’t just talent, Miss Kaplan. You’re a star.”

“I’m a supporting role, and a small one at that,” I deadpanned. “Plus, my vocals don’t compare to anyone else’s in the show—yet—and my footwork needs—”

“That stuff’s not important for what I need.” He waved a hand. “Your director is notorious for overlooking star quality anyway. He always puts the good ones in the back, and that’s where I often find my hidden gems. You, Lake—you have a look that I’m after.”

I touched the ends of my hair. “What?”

He scratched his chin. “I’m casting a TV show in California, and I want you to come meet with us. I’ve shown your headshots to the directors and they’re very interested.”

My gut reaction was a nervous giggle. Neither Corbin nor Mike laughed, and that made my bubbling laughter more embarrassing. Not only was Hollywood knocking on my door, but they wanted me to pursue a life in Los Angeles, the exact thing I’d run away from years ago? Why? I had a lot of work to do on my craft. My castmates had been at this since they could walk. I often felt like I was playing catch up with them. I’d worked hard and come a long way, but acting didn’t come naturally to me, and from most angles, I was still an amateur.

“Do you have a business card?” Corbin asked.

Mike took one out of his wallet and handed it to him. “I’m not here to say Lake has the part, but I can assure you, it’s promising.” He shifted his attention to me. “I’ve already spoken to your agent. You should have a message, or five, from June. Check your cell.”

I just blinked at him. “I can’t afford a phone,” I said.

“Your pager, then. Surely you’ve got one of those?”

Between monthly rent and student loan payments, I rarely had much cash left over. My part didn’t pay well, and yet I’d devoted time to perfecting it that I probably should’ve spent making money. “I don't, and actually, flying out to Los Angeles would be financially difficult.”

“We’ll handle the expenses, and I know this production is coming to an end. We can set up a meeting after closing night.”

Corbin leaned his elbows on his knees. “What exactly is the part?”

“Five twenty-somethings in California working in the arts. Think Friends meets Center Stage sprinkled with the issues of today.” He pulled at his chin, looking me over. “The parts I have in mind for you would depend on your demeanor and how you play off the rest of the cast. I need a bitchy blonde babe who’s always pulling strings behind the scenes. The other part is America’s sweetheart—adorable, sugary girl-next-door that every boy wants to marry.”

I couldn’t help thinking of Tiffany in that moment. Where I stood in comparison to her was obvious, but I’d never consider myself as anyone’s sweetheart. “Are those the only two options?”

“Your friend mentioned you have some family drama? She wouldn’t get into specifics, but she said it was worth asking about if you were comfortable.”

“What does that have to do with it?” I asked. “I wouldn’t let it get in the way of my craft.”

He laughed. “No, it’s not that. It can help. This is where we’re on the verge of something huge.” Mike hiked up his pant legs and sat on the coffee table across from me. “Reality television.”

I tilted my head. “What?”

“Survivor. The Bachelor. You’ve seen the craze over Paris Hilton and Jessica Simpson. The world wants to see beautiful Californians, and they crave a story—struggle, gossip, drama. This show rolls it all into one.” Mike shifted to Corbin. “Are you two dating?”

“Uh.” Corbin cleared his throat. “No.”

“Doesn’t matter. Look at you. You’d be a perfect addition to Lake’s story.”

“My story?” I asked. “I don’t understand. I haven’t seen any of those shows.”

“You’ve watched Real World, haven’t you? MTV?”

“A little.”

“It’s just like that, except it would be a little more—how do I put this . . . contained. You aren’t running completely wild. We’d give you direction, even though the American people would see it as real life.” He opened his hands. “Now that I’m sitting here with you, I’m thinking America’s sweetheart. You have a real naïveté about you that would play well on camera.”

“But I’m not that—I’m an actress,” I said.

“You would still act. Loosely. That’s why they hired me, a casting director, to find the right people. I feel very good about this, Miss Kaplan, and I’m rarely wrong. That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

Corbin narrowed his eyes. “Would she have to move back?”

“Of course. We’d go through rounds of interviews, background checks, physical exams and whatnot, but if you’re hired, you’d be expected to move there. You’d live your life as you normally would—auditioning, going to school, dating, fighting with your family—whatever it is you’d do on a daily basis, just with some input from producers.”

“I don’t speak to my family,” I said.

“Even better. There’s opportunity for real, meaningful stuff there, and maybe even a reconciliation at some point. We can work out the specifics,” Mike said. “We’d set you up with a roommate, another member of the show, and you’d all be friendly. Filming starts this summer so there’s plenty of time to get situated.”

Going home? Reconciling? Those were reasons enough not to do it. To me, California wasn’t sunshine, palm trees, beaches and killer weather. It was the site of my first heartbreak. It represented the regret of losing what I’d never had, and the division of not just my family, but Manning’s, too. “I’m sorry, I really don’t want to return to California. I love New York.”

“It wouldn’t be forever. Plus, if the show gets picked up and it’s a hit, maybe they’d follow you wherever you go and set you up along the way. If you want to come back to New York, discuss that as a storyline with the producers.”

“What’s it pay?” Corbin asked.

“More than she’s making here,” Mike answered.

“And that would be?”

“For the purpose of the show, we’d want you living like a normal twenty-something. No flashy apartment or car, just business as usual. So, the pay is decent, but it’s not a movie star’s salary or anything. Let’s just say you could get yourself a few cell phones.” He winked. “One for each boyfriend.”

Hollywood was a far cry from Broadway, but it was hard not to get swept up in Mike’s excitement. “I have to think about it,” I said. “I went to Tisch to be a performer, and this doesn’t sound like what I had in mind.”

Mike stood. “Reality television is the wave of the future, Lake. Take my word for it. Not to mention, if this takes off, you’ll be famous. Once your contract is up, you can turn that fame into anything you want—movie roles, a clothing line, charity work, or, of course, you can come back to Broadway with an audience directors won’t be able to ignore.”

I shifted on the couch and felt Corbin’s eyes on me. The idea made more sense as a means to an end. It wasn’t the most honest way to make my career, but I couldn’t imagine any of my peers turning down an opportunity like this. I already knew Roger, who’d been chasing fame since he’d narrowly missed being cast for the Mickey Mouse Club, would scream for me to accept. I thought of the animal shelter where I’d worked up until last year when they’d had to shut down due to lack of funding. “Could I draw attention to issues I’m passionate about?” I asked.

Mike checked his watch. “That’s a question for the producers, but I think they’d welcome it within reason. Nothing too depressing. Listen, I have a dinner to get to.” He shook my hand. “I’ll be in touch, and your agent has more details. Plan on flying out soon after the show closes.”

He exited stage right, leaving Corbin and me as startled as he’d found us. I turned to Corbin, glad he’d been here for that tornado of information, but also fairly sure he’d say it was a bad idea. “You don’t think I should do it, right?” I asked.

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s a little insane. Acting for reality? And I’d have to leave you and Roger and New York and the career I’ve made here.”

“Lake, you’ll be twenty-six this year. Your life here is in limbo,” he said. “You’re single, and in a few days, you’ll be out of work. Val’s gone.”

“I’ve been trying to build a name for myself in theater, though.”

“Well, maybe this is just one way to go about it,” he pointed out. “Not all paths will be the same.”

I studied him a few moments, the way he fidgeted with his hands laced between his knees. “I’m surprised,” I said. “I would’ve thought you’d tell me to stay.”

“If I were being selfish, yeah, I would. But the truth is, Lake, sometimes I don’t know what keeps you here.”

I pulled back a little. I’d wondered the same, but I thought I’d done a pretty good job of being happy considering I was living with a permanent hole in my heart. “What do you mean? I know I haven’t found a lot of success like my friends, but that’s because I haven’t been working at this as long.”

“I see them killing themselves every day to get auditions and take dance classes and singing lessons. Roger’s on Broadway because he can’t not be. I know you do those things, too, but your friends have a fire inside them I sometimes think you’re . . . missing.”

I sat back, trying not to look as hurt as I felt. “Seriously?” I asked. “How can you say that to me, that I don’t have fire? You’ve brought me a pillow because I had to spend half a night on a concrete floor waiting for news about a show. I rehearsed for this play seven days a week, and now that we’re in season, I practically live in this theater.”

He rubbed his jaw. “Maybe I’m wrong then. It seemed like some of your passion flamed out after graduation.”

That hollowed out my chest a bit—which was a normal reaction to thinking about that time in my life. My five days with Manning, and how he’d left New York and taken a very crucial part of my heart with him. Not to mention my ability to trust and love. It was no surprise to me or Val I hadn’t had a healthy relationship since.

Since December that year, I’d been in motion. I ran every day, usually between auditions. I worked for a temp agency, picking up administrative work all over the city when I wasn’t performing. I put my heart and soul into my nights at the theater. In the beginning, I hadn’t been able to stop and think or my mind would spiral back to what my life would’ve been if I hadn’t left after the wedding. What would’ve happened if I’d graduated USC and gone to grad school.

I’d been on the go so long, chasing an exciting and exhilarating career—those things had been further from my mind than normal lately. I wished the same was true about Manning. I thought of him constantly—what I’d lost that day he’d left New York.

What he’d lost several months later.

All the pain between us seemed too great to overcome. “I don’t want to leave New York,” I said quietly. “I think I’ll say no to the audition.”

“Lake.” Corbin sat forward and paused, as if he were considering how to phrase what he had to say. “Don’t say no out of fear.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“I don’t believe that. You’re an adult now, and that puts you just as much in the wrong as them. You have to face your family. It’s time.”

“I’m not having this conversation again,” I said and went to stand.

“Listen to me,” he snapped.

Surprised, I sat back down. It was rare for Corbin to raise his voice at me. “Your family misses you. You miss them. I know you do, so don’t try to deny it. You’ve let pride get in the way too long, and that makes you no better than your dad.”

“Are you kidding me?” I asked. “I’m his daughter, and he’s pretended I don’t exist for the better half of a decade.”

“He’s a jerk, but he’s your father, and I know in his own twisted way, he’s never wanted anything but the best for you. That’s why you leaving has been so hard on him.”

I shook my head. There were things Corbin didn’t know. If it weren’t for my dad’s meddling, Manning and I might’ve had a chance. “You don’t understand.”

“Whatever beef you have with him, with Tiffany, it’s time to put it aside. You’re not sixteen anymore, but you’re still acting like a child. You never even went to see her in the hospital, your own sister.”

I looked at my hands. It wasn’t that I didn’t care that Tiffany had miscarried—it was the opposite. When I’d found out she was pregnant, I’d wished the baby away. I’d hated Tiffany for how she’d treated Manning and me. But I’d never expected my wish to come true. Despite what we’d all been through, no matter how I felt about any of it, Tiffany hadn’t deserved to lose it all. And not just the baby.

Months after the miscarriage, almost a year since New York—she and Manning had divorced.

“Give me one honest answer,” Corbin said, “and then we can drop it for good.”

I crossed my arms into myself. “Fine.”

“Are you staying in New York because you love it, and it runs in your veins, and you can’t imagine being anywhere else? Or is it because you don’t want to go home?”

I didn’t have an immediate answer. I rarely stopped to wonder whether New York was where I wanted to be, because deep down I knew the truth—my roots, my one love, my youth, would always be in California. But going home meant reopening wounds, admitting mistakes, looking my family in the face after all the pain I’d caused them. Because it was true—they might’ve hurt me over the years, but I’d hurt them, too, in ways I could never take back.

“You haven’t talked to your dad in eight years,” Corbin said.

And I hadn’t talked to Manning in over three. Hadn’t kissed or made love to or even laid eyes on him in three years, and my dad had played a part in that. I’d been proud, but so had he. If Dad still couldn’t pick up the phone, then it was better this way, because I had nothing to say to him. “If I go to California, it’s not to see them,” I said. “It’s because I want a change.”

Corbin sighed, standing up and holding out his hand for me. “I think that’s a mistake—but I think it’s also a start.”