She was right. “Just let me know.”
“And me,” Mike added. “You’re welcome to stay in the attached apartment until Miss Belle gets the all-clear.”
“Thank you,” Candy said. “But I have my own place and I can easily commute between my place and Betty’s.” Turning around in her seat, she met my eyes. “I won’t lie though, I’m dying to know how it works out with you and those hot boys.”
“Me, too,” I muttered, but the woman just laughed.
Sixty
Brant
“Y’all are pushing too hard, too fast.”
Landry ignored me, walking a little faster down the block.
“I don’t think we are,” Westin argued. “I don’t think we’re pushing hard enough.”
“You know what your problem is?” I asked. Westin whirled around and flipped me off. I was going to tell him anyway. “You want everything immediately. You have no chill.”
“I’ve been chill for eight fucking years, Brant. Forgive me if I suddenly have what I want within reach.”
“And she’s going to disappear if you move too fast!” I was yelling, but who cared? No one in New York. I didn’t get a sidelong glance. According to Josh, and from Betsy’s reticence at the suggestion of a date, she only wanted simple. Surface.
Didn’t they see what I saw? Betsy was lying to herself, thinking this nothing more than a physical relationship. It was her way of protecting herself—which I got. “We have to play by her rules. Follow her lead. She’ll let us in when she trusts us. Right now, she’s pushing and pulling.”
“We’re trying to win her over,” Landry said quietly. “Like we’d never met her before. Like our entire relationship never happened. And we have to start from scratch.”
That thought froze me in my tracks. Someone knocked into me. “Asshole,” they muttered and continued on their way. I ignored them, stuck on Landry’s comment.
The single most important relationship in my life didn’t count for shit right now.
“That’s why we have to move fast,” Westin said. He turned around, got right in my face, but I was too stunned to do more than blink at him. “We have to show her how serious we are so she trusts us again. Show her we’re not going anywhere.”
“We show her we’re not going anywhere by not going anywhere,” Landry said.
“I got my discharge confirmation. I’m now officially separated from the Navy.” Josh put his hands on his hips and stared at the ground. The four of us made quite the roadblock, and we got some choice words, but most people went around, not lifting their gazes from their phones. “I’m going to go wherever she goes. I have money socked away.” He stared off down the street, shaking his head. “I’m not going halfway across the world when she’s here.”
“That was my plan, too,” I said. I’d made my way up in the Navy, but like Josh said, compared to Betsy, there was no choice. “Won’t risk another deployment.”
We both looked at Landry. He was higher up than any of us, and had set himself on track for promotion. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m staying with her.”
Good.
He went on, “At her pace. If she wants to pretend this is just physical, fine. I’ll get her addicted to me.”
“There it is.” Wes grinned. “That’s a plan I can live with.”
Sixty-One
Betty
Celeste placed a number of outfits across my bed. “What do you think?”
“What goes best with my peg leg?” I asked, only half joking. I was limited in what I could wear with my crutch. “Maybe I should use the scooter?” I was afraid the crutch would be too jarring.
“Let me see how you walk,” Celeste said. “Go from here to the door and back.”
I did, doing my best to keep my gait even.
Steven sat in a chair by the window, watching everything. He steepled his fingers. “We want to remind them of who she is, so not too business woman.”
I had to sell the show. “Black slacks,” Celeste said. “Black shirt.” She picked up the outfit. The shirt would skim my shoulders and reveal my collarbones. “You’re a little bigger than you were before you began rehab.”
Ouch.
Aucoin sucked in a breath, but Steven just laughed.
“Your shoulders and arms, I mean,” she clarified. She smacked Aucoin with the back of her hand. “You know what I mean. She’s been working out.”
I flexed and kissed my biceps. “You’re not wrong.”
With Celeste’s help, we managed to get the outfit on. I looked just as fit as I used to, though my body was a little harder. I hadn’t noticed that I’d built muscle until she said something. Every day I was in some version of leggings and a t-shirt, all of which stretched.
“You look amazing,” Steven said. “They’re going to be blown away.”
Aucoin went through hair and makeup. When I looked in the mirror, I saw the person I had become used to seeing the last few years. I saw Betty.
A curl had come loose so I smoothed it back in place. I studied myself. In the past weeks, the woman reflected back at me had looked younger. Tired, yes, but fresh. Now I was perfectly coiffed and dressed. There were no freckles. No flaws.
It was strange and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.
“Can you be back by nine?” Steven asked.
Aucoin and Celeste assured him they could and left. Steven came over to me, pushed me over on the bench, and sat next to me. “What’s the matter?”
For the first time, I had the urge to lie to him. “I see Betty again. This whole thing has been awful, being injured, the rehab process, but it had also gotten me back in touch with who I was before all this. And I liked that girl—I liked that she was a little softer and a little more hopeful.”
I touched my face, the place I knew I had a small cluster of freckles. No one could say I wasn’t beautiful this way, but I sort of liked those freckles.
“Your past is right in your face these days,” Steven said quietly.
I nodded. It was. “I would have had to deal with it sooner or later.” I chuckled. “This is way better than therapy.”
I stared at my reflection, but Steven turned his entire body to study me.
“What?” I laughed. “It’s true.”
He pushed my head, messing up my hair. “Cheaper, too.” The smile disappeared from his face after a moment. “Seriously, though. Are you okay?” His glasses had slipped a little ways down his nose, and he adjusted them. “You deserve a happy life. That’s all I want for you.”
“What made you think I wasn’t?” I asked. I had been doing everything I wanted, striving toward more success and stability.
“Betty.” My name was a sigh. “I worked with you for four years, and the smile you wore was never happy.”
Was that true? “I don’t know if I’m happy now, though, either.” The boys had me confused and aroused. And hopeful I was on my way toward something better. But I didn’t know. Life could change on a dime, and everything I thought I had could be ripped away from me.
“I’ll get rid of them. Mike and me.”
“I don’t want you to do that,” I answered truthfully. “I want to see where this goes. Is that selfish?”
“You need to be selfish,” he replied. “You need to grab whatever joy you find with both hands and not let it go. You’ve bloody well paid for it, many times over.”
Sixty-Two
Betty
Unsent email August 25th, present day, from [email protected] to [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]
You’re in the building, probably getting grilled by Mike right now. I told him not to let you up. I told him to send you away after you sign your name. I can do that now, just send people away. Have someone else deal with the hard stuff. Usually, I’ll do it myself. I’ll say the tough stuff that needs to be said, but for some reason, I can’t look in your eyes and tell all of you I’ll see you tomorrow. If I see you, I won’t
say it. If I see you, I’ll invite you upstairs and I’ll turn myself inside out to make you smile. To make you happy.
Steven said I deserved happiness in my life. I agreed out loud, but deep down, I don’t know if I do. For the longest time, I thought that all the stuff in our past was payment for something I did. I kept thinking it was something I deserved. It was a lot easier to believe I deserved pain than happiness.
Maybe that’s why I can’t see you tonight, because it hurts me. And that hurt is so much more familiar and expected than the comfort and rightness I feel when I’m with you.
I won’t send this. And I probably shouldn’t even write it because one day this will be hacked and all my private thoughts will be splayed over the internet, but I had to get it out and I had to pretend you’d read it.
And understand.
Sixty-Three
Westin
I prowled around our hotel room like a caged animal. Tonight, after signing all the paperwork Mike wanted us to sign, he let us know Betsy was keeping her word.
She’d see us tomorrow.
I had really, truly thought I’d see her. Brant didn’t want me to push. Landry didn’t want me to push.
Josh didn’t want me to push.
So I was supposed to be okay with just walking away.
I did it. I heard what my friends said, respected it—respected Betsy—and came back here, to this cheap room. We were high above the city, packed on top of each other like rats.
How could anyone breathe here? I knew San Diego was a big city, but it wasn’t like New York. The speed was slower.
I laughed at myself, bracing my arm on the window as I stared outside. Who’d have ever guessed I’d be wishing for a slower pace.
Funny how things worked out. I wanted life to move slow, but I wanted my relationship with Betsy to move at breakneck speed. I wanted to sweep her off her feet. Marry her. Have a baby—
The sky was still blue, the sun shining, but at the thought of a baby, everything went dark and I suddenly needed a drink more than I ever had before.
There was a knock on the door connecting my room to Josh’s, but I ignored it. After a moment, it stopped, and I let out a breath. For once, he lis—the knocking started back up, longer and louder.
I strode toward the door and ripped it open. “What do you want?”
He stood there, long hair hiding half his face but not his pain. “I really thought Brant was wrong. And Landry. I thought after today we made progress.”
Sighing, I pushed the door open and went to the lone chair next to a shitty laminate desk. “Yeah.”
Josh came inside, closing the door behind him. Like I had earlier, he paced. “I got a fucking pit in my stomach. When I’m with her, it’s gone, but as soon as I can’t see her, it comes back. Worse.” He put his hands on his hips, dropped his head back and let out a breath. “I’m fucking everything up.”
I agreed with him. That pit? It was in my stomach, too. I’d gotten used to it, because I’d had it for eight years, but a day in Betsy’s presence had made it disappear. When my eyes met her, that was it. Everything was fixed. But as soon as I wasn’t with her, it was like getting gut punched. Over and over again.
“I know,” Josh went on, “I know Lan and Brant are right, but man. I’m fucking terrified.”
Me, too.
“And there’s someone out there who hurt her.” Now that he’d started talking, it appeared Josh couldn’t stop. I let him go, because he was my friend and because the same thoughts had been in my head. “Mike can deal. He’s trained. But it should be our job.” He smacked his chest. “My job. It’s my job to protect her, and I’ve never been able to do that. Not once.”
“None of us have.” I stared at my hands, turning them over. My entire body was inked with my regret. The only time I felt halfway human, felt a sliver of the person I used to be and liked being, was with her.
My phone chimed in my back pocket, and I pulled it out. Betsy.
“It’s from her.” I hadn’t registered the sound of Josh’s phone, but sure enough, the message was to all of us.
Betsy: I’ll see you tomorrow.
Just a short message. Four words. But the pit got a little shallower.
At once, three other replies appeared.
Brant: Miss you.
Josh: Can’t wait.
Landry: Good luck tomorrow.
I imagined her across town, reading all the messages. She didn’t know it, but those four little words were a lifeline I needed right then. They were oxygen.
I need you. There. Let my friends read that. Maybe they sent her private messages. I didn’t care. It was the truth.
Sixty-Four
Betty
“Stop fidgeting,” Steven whispered between his teeth. We’d been brought into a conference room at the Serial Staging office and had been waiting for our meeting for five minutes. Usually, being made to wait was a conscious decision. It was meant to throw us off, and it had done just that. Until this very second, I thought Serial Staging was serious about us, but now I wasn’t too sure.
The door opened and a man and woman came inside. The woman was clearly a dancer. Probably ballet. It took one dancer to recognize another. Her posture was perfect, her hair short and tapered over her long neck.
A ballerina never cut her hair until she retired. I had done my research on this company, but I’d never come across her picture. The man, however, him I recognized.
Manuel Garcia-Cortez. He was a former lead in hit Broadway productions back in the eighties, and he still had that leading-man persona, like he knew all eyes would be on him.
“Miss Belle, it is a pleasure to meet you.” The warmth in his brown eyes and greeting surprised me. “I’m sorry we kept you waiting. This is my colleague, Angela Masconto. I wanted her to join us because she’s familiar with dance reviews and productions.”
I stood, gripping the table to help me up before I held out my hand. “It’s a pleasure.”
Their smiles seemed genuine, and I relaxed a little as I sat back down.
“Steven.” They shook my manager’s hand and then seated themselves. I liked that they hadn’t put themselves across the table from us, but kitty-corner. It had the feel of a chat rather than a business meeting.
“I’m sure Steven has told you that we’ve been going back and forth on some of the details. The real purpose of this meeting is to get to know each other. I don’t go into business with anyone I haven’t looked in the eyes.” Manuel put his hands in the air, palms up. “Old fashioned, I know. But that’s how I work.”
“Miss Belle,” Angela said quietly. “I’m very excited about the prospect of replicating the success you have had with Belles of the Ball, but I am concerned about this not having staying power.”
I had been prepared for this question. “Burlesque, while right now in the public eye, has been around for hundreds of years. It got its start in opera, perhaps you’ve heard the term, operetta?”
Angela and Manuel nodded.
“I have,” Manuel confirmed. “But I think what Angela is saying is that it might not have the potential of pulling in big crowds.” My stomach sank. “Which is why we love your cabaret idea.”
“It fits the style of dance,” Angela said. Using a remote on the table, she dimmed the lights and began to project an image against the blank wall. “Intimate. Heady. It’s a sensory experience, from the drinks and the music, to the costumes and lighting. You’ve been very successful with your bigger venues. According to your numbers, and our follow-up, you’ve sold out nearly every arena you’ve booked.”
“We want the big arenas, too, but we think what will last, what’s sustainable, is the cabaret. So we want to propose something totally different.” Manuel studied us, looking for any indication we weren’t on board. It wasn’t what I had imagined, but that didn’t mean it was a bad idea. The entertainment business was fickle, and putting on big productions like ours were expensive.
“Go on.” I wanted to hea
r what they were thinking.
“We’re thinking of a series of Belles bars. Smaller places, in the heart of a city. It’s going to take a significant investment because we’re talking about purchasing properties, and that’s not what we’ve ever done before. I want to start with a handful of cities, buying and renovating. We have some great contacts who can help us with this side of the business. In the meantime, we want to set up your multi-city casts. They’re going to be your bread and butter, funding the renovations until each business is self-sufficient. Once we have those up and running, we’re going to create a tour. Once a year we’re thinking you’ll do the big cities, big venues, for as long as people keep buying. But like anything, we don’t know how long that tour would run. How long we’d be able to get those spots and fill those seats. So after that, we want you to tour the cabarets. What do you think?”
Behind Manuel was a photograph of a small stage, draped in luscious red fabric. It was everything Angela had described. It wasn’t what I had expected, wasn’t what I had dreamed, but who really got all their dreams? I was old enough and experienced enough to know that sometimes dreams had to be adjusted for real life.
My quiet made them shift in their seats. “Our other idea, if you don’t like this, is that we’d set you up with a long running show in Vegas. Steven let us know he’s been contacted by a number of venues. The Bellagio wants you back. We’d be willing to work with that as well.”
I shook my head. That wasn’t what I wanted. I’d tour Vegas, but to live there full time, putting on a show over and over, not being able to make out the faces in the seats, I couldn’t picture doing that for the rest of my life.
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