by Serena Grey
The sounds of the party continue around me—the chink of glasses, laughter, someone tinkering out a tune on the piano—they’ve suddenly become unbearable. I feel like I can hear her name above it all, over and over, echoing across the room. Liz McKay. Liz McKay.
Liz McKay.
I start, almost dropping the glass as I realize that someone has said the words out loud, as if reading them aloud from my thoughts. My body stiffens, and a tingling warmth floods up the back of my neck.
Don’t turn around.
Don’t turn around.
I turn, drink still in my hand and there she is across the room.
My breath stops.
Dressed in a silky top and white pants, she is stunning, and not for the first time, looking at her makes me feel lightheaded. Lustrous auburn hair falls around her creamy, smooth shoulders in thick waves, accentuating the clean, perfect lines of her face. Her luminous green eyes are full of the kind of promises her full sensuous lips were made to keep. After all this time, she’s still the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.
“Liz.” Her name escapes my lips in a whisper. My entire body strains toward her with an uncontrollable pull of desire combined with the painful ache of longing.
She’s scanning the room, and almost as if she heard me whisper her name, she looks in my direction.
Her eyes widen as our gazes meet and hold.
Damn!
Years pass as I drown in those eyes. I remember pain, intense pain. I remember trying and failing to forget. I remember watching from afar as she became the star she was always meant to be. I remember the high-profile relationships that broke my heart all over again, the celebrity engagement I avoided thinking about by drowning myself in alcohol…and my life, filled with work, women, and more work, yet empty, because it lacked her.
I pull my gaze from hers, and the party—everybody that disappeared in that one moment when our eyes met—reappears. I feel sick with desire and infuriated because she can still twist my insides around with just one look.
The air crackles with excitement. I feel the pricks of eyes on me, waiting for my reaction. They know, of course, they know they are witnessing the confrontation of a Hollywood star and the man she tossed away for bigger, brighter things.
I want to curse. I wish I was anywhere else. I down my scotch and place my glass on the bar. When I look in her direction again, there’s an actor I vaguely recognize talking to her. She smiles at whatever he’s saying, but her eyes find me again and then she’s walking, cutting across the room, through the stares, coming straight toward me.
Our eyes hold, and there’s something hopeful in her gaze that inflames and enrages me. It makes me want to put my arms around her, to get on my knees and beg her for forgiveness even though she’s the one who ruined everything we had. It makes me want to rage and confront her, the way I never had a chance to do. It makes me want to crush her lips with mine, regardless of who is watching.
I wait until she’s a few steps from me, then just as she opens her mouth to speak, I move, striding right past her, through the crowd of titillated guests and out of the apartment.
Past
Chapter Three
Liz
The thick, musty smell of the old building envelopes me as soon as I enter the theater, but I don’t mind it at all. I’ve been in and out of theaters since I was a child, and I’m addicted to everything about them, the performances, the frenetic energy backstage, the costumes, the audiences… everything.
“Hey Liz,” Freddy, the security guy on duty grins from behind his desk as the stage door clicks shut behind me. “Come to see your pops?”
My pops is Dennis McKay, award-winning producer and best dad ever. I return Freddy’s smile. “Maybe. Maybe someone else.”
He gives me a measuring look from under arched and tweezed eyebrows. “Whatever it is, it better be good.”
“It will be,” I declare, sounding more hopeful than confident as I leave Freddy and make my way past the entrance lobby, the newly installed elevator and the serpentine stairs that lead to the basement.
Trembling with excitement, I reach a door with a small white sign that reads Edge of Madness. Producer. Dennis McKay in bold script.
The door is unlocked, and I step inside to find my father at his desk. He’s having a heated conversation on the phone, and his deep voice booms and reverberates around the small room.
“I expect you to be reasonable,” he says to the person on the other end. “I’ve gone over and beyond on this…” When he sees me at the door, he stops talking and his face breaks into a smile.
I wave. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hey,” he mouths, pointing to the phone at his ear before gesturing for me to sit. I shake my head. He’s a busy man, and I know from experience that he could be on the phone for a long time.
Back in the corridor, I almost bump into a group of technicians. They ignore me and keep walking, arguing about lighting while I wonder what to do with myself. I have about an hour to spare. As I hinted to Freddy at the stage door, I’m not at the theater to see my dad. I’m here for an audition with Aidan Court, the director of my dad’s new play.
I’ve been looking forward to meeting Aidan Court. He’s the latest and hottest thing to hit the New York Theater circuit. A talented twenty-four-year-old who has already directed a few acclaimed productions off-Broadway. He’s clever, irreverent, and also incredibly hot.
I’ve read every article written about him and pored over his profiles in the industry magazines, and now…I’m going to work with him.
Excitement courses through me and I take a deep breath.
Relax, Liz. You still have to get the part.
I’m confident that I will. In my second year studying drama at one of the most acclaimed theater programs in the country, it’s not news to me that I have enough talent to knock some of the best performers off the stage. In a way, I’ll be saving the play. The top-billed actress who rehearsed for the starring role pulled out because of a scheduling conflict, the same week her standby left to take another role.
I’ve never performed in a paying, public role, but I know this play like the back of my hand. Aidan Court can either pick a less talented person from the earlier auditions, give his understudy top-billing, or he can give me a chance to show him what I can do.
Another surge of excitement mingles with anxiety in my stomach until I’m sure I’ll be sick. To be truthful, I’m more nervous about meeting Aidan than I am about the audition. I’m a little too obsessed with him—his looks, his talent. Will he be able to tell? Will he be as impressed with me?
I turn a corner and find myself at the back of the stage. There are no workers around, only boxes and parts of the set stacked among dark velour drapes hanging from the suspended battens. Navigating past the paraphernalia, I end up in the middle of the stage.
The auditorium is barely lit. A single work light illuminates the part of the stage where I’m standing, showing me only the dark outlines of the seats. I imagine those seats filled with a rapt, admiring audience. I imagine the thunderous applause that would follow my future performances, the appreciative shouts of my name. It feels so real that, unable to resist, I perform a small bow.
Just then, a door at the gallery end of the auditorium opens, spilling bright light across the seats. Feeling ridiculous, I skitter away from the light. From the open doorway, the long-legged figure of a man I instantly recognize as Aidan Court strides into the auditorium, followed by a woman in high heels.
She looks around the empty seats for less than a millisecond before walking into his arms.
He backs away. “You wanted to see the empty theater,” he says, sounding amused. I can’t get enough of the deep, husky timbre of his voice. I’ve never considered that a voice can be sexy, but now I want to close my eyes and burrow into the sound.
His companion giggles and leans into him. “I did.”
“Well, now you have.”
Even I can tell he’s dismissin
g her. Is she too blind to see it, or does she just not want to leave?
“I should get back to work,” she says, her tone regretful.
“Me too.” He sounds relieved. Too relieved for her not to notice. After a pause, he adds. “I’ll call you.”
“You don’t have my number.”
From where I’m standing, I can’t see his expression. She holds out her hand for his phone and enters a number. I hear the muted sounds of a phone ringing from her purse.
“Now you can call me.”
I’ve got news for you, lady. He won’t.
She walks back to the open door, hips swaying. He watches her go, silent. Another man enters the auditorium just as she leaves. He’s as tall as Aidan, well-built, with luxurious brown locs in a ponytail.
“How was lunch?” The new arrival asks, amusement in his voice.
Aidan chuckles and inclines his head toward the door and the woman who just left. “That was lunch.”
“Lucky you.”
“We can’t all have the love of our life waiting at home for us after a long day at work, can we?”
The other man laughs. “Can’t, or won’t?” There’s a pause, when Aidan doesn’t respond, he continues. “So, are you ready for this audition?”
“Don’t remind me,” Aidan groans, running one hand through his thick, wavy hair. “It’s unnecessary and frankly, a waste of my time.”
The second man chuckles. “I hear she’s good.”
“Good is relative, isn’t it? His nineteen-year-old daughter for the lead? For fuck’s sake…It’s a Broadway production, not a kiddie special for Disney junior.”
It takes a moment for me to realize he’s talking about me. My face heats with shock and embarrassment. They keep talking, but I’m not listening anymore. I was so excited to meet him, meanwhile, he had already made up his mind about me.
Without even giving me a chance to prove myself.
“I’m exhausted,” he continues. “Let’s just get it over with so I can cast a new lead actress.”
There’s a sound, and a moment later, the auditorium is flooded with light. For the first time, the men notice me standing in the wings. I barely notice the other man as Aidan Court spears me with his intense blue gaze.
The initial shock of that gaze almost knocks me off my feet. Our eyes hold, and my throat goes dry. My anger disappears, replaced by a burst of awareness that I can see mirrored in his eyes.
He is cute.
No. That word is too bland, too banal.
He’s gorgeous, more gorgeous than any pictures of him have been able to capture. His masterfully chiseled face would make any actor proud. His tousled dark hair is just slightly too long and frames his face in waves that make my heart ache. His blue eyes are hypnotic and beautiful. His clothes—jeans, a t-shirt and a black jacket accentuate his broad shoulders and a lean body that barely contains the energy radiating from within it.
I’m staring at him, rooted, unable to look away. The theater, the stage, the seats, his companion…everything suddenly disappears, leaving just the two of us.
It’s only for a few seconds, then he looks away and my heart starts to beat again. He turns first to his companion, and when the other man shakes his head, Aidan turns back to me.
“Hey.” The intense expression on his face relaxes into mild curiosity. He’s clearly wondering who I am, unaware that I’m the subject of his disparaging comments from a moment ago.
I’m still feeling unsteady, and I breathe, reminding myself of what he’d said about me, and willing my anger and resentment to return. Just who does he think he is?
He takes a few steps forward, descending toward the stage with long graceful strides. “I’m Aidan,” he says. One eyebrow quirks as he waits for me to respond.
I lift my chin. “I’m Liz McKay.”
I watch with satisfaction as realization hits him, then I turn around and walk away.
Backstage, a few workmen give me puzzled glances as I hurry past them. I’m disappointed, angry, humiliated, and hurt. I don’t even want to audition for Aidan Court’s stupid play anymore. I’d rather lose my nose than work with him.
I’m heading toward the stage door when I run into my dad.
“I was just looking for you. Are you ready for your big audition?” He sounds almost as excited as I’d been thirty minutes ago.
I walk past him without a word. I hate Aidan Court and I’m going home. He can go ahead and cast a new lead actress worthy of being in his play.
“What’s wrong?” My dad catches up with me. He sees my expression and his face softens. “Are you nervous? It’s only an audition. It’s not a big deal.”
“I want to go home.” I almost say the words, then I stop myself. I’m being stupid, and weak. This is my chance to start my career. Why should I throw it away because of an asshole like Aidan Court?
Why should I be the one to run away?
No, I’ll prove I’m the best actress for this role. I’ll show him how wrong he is about me and make him wish that he’d never dismissed me without giving me a chance.
Chapter Four
Aidan
“Awkward.”
Cruz is vibrating with merriment, but I’m not amused. I try to remember my exact words. Something about Disney specials and her audition being a waste of my time.
Damn. What was she doing here, anyway? The audition isn’t for another thirty minutes.
After spending the past hour reuniting with an acquaintance from college I barely recognized, but who had been almost too eager to cut short her lunch and spend the afternoon in bed with me, I’m supposed to be in a good mood.
Not anymore.
I’m Liz McKay.
The hurt pride I’d seen on her face flashes in my memories and I grimace, feeling guilty.
Why do I care?
She’s just another actress.
“Looks like you’ve made an enemy,” Cruz says, still laughing. “What’s a play without a little drama?”
He looks very pleased with himself at the pun. I scowl at him, but he’s unbothered.
“She hasn’t got the part yet,” I mutter, dismissing Liz from my mind. She won’t be my first enemy of the female variety. I’ve made plenty of those since prep school days. “What’s she going to do? Tell daddy to kick me off the project?”
Cruz holds up his palms and climbs onto the stage, disappearing into the wings. I’m still frowning. I wasn’t looking forward to the audition before, but now I have mixed feelings. While I was dismissive before, now, I’m curious. I’m interested and strangely disconcerted.
I’m Liz McKay.
That voice…low and throaty and…arresting. The kind of voice an audience would remember…A voice I want to hear again.
I shut down the thought. She’s just an actress. One of the many angling for the role.
Except, when our eyes met, I’d felt the earth lurch. I’d felt as if I had to reach for her to find my balance again.
It’s ridiculous.
She’s just an entitled little girl using her father’s influence to advance her career.
The sooner she flubs her audition and leaves, the better for all concerned.
She doesn’t flub the audition.
I remain in the auditorium until Cruz returns. Dennis Mckay arrives after a while, looking nervous and proud at the same time. For a minute, I feel regretful about his inevitable disappointment when I reject his daughter for the role. However, he’s a professional. He didn’t get to his level of success by letting sentiment derail his work.
Arthur Bain joins us. He’s a respected forty-something actor who will read with Liz. Natalia Barrow, McKay’s assistant, also joins us. She’s as convinced of Liz’s talent as McKay is. A point in Liz’s favor.
A few minutes later, Liz walks onto the stage.
I study her, telling myself that I’m a director inspecting an actress. Her hair is a shiny, rich auburn, loose around her shoulders. She’s slim as a wine stem, but curvy enough
in the right places. Her eyes are a wide, luminous green, set in a face that would have been classically beautiful, if not for the unexpected lushness of her full pink lips.
She’s smiling, maybe nervous. “Hello,” she says in the general direction of the seats.
That voice again. It’s like aural temptation. Vainly, I try to stop myself from wondering what her lips taste like, what her skin smells like.
Get a grip, Aidan.
Arthur joins her on the stage. He gives her a reassuring smile, and she smiles back. She has a lovely, brilliant smile. The audience will fall in love with her.
If she can act.
Cruz reads the name of the scene. Arthur checks his notes, then starts to read.
Leaning back in my seat, I wait for her. On the first try, her voice cracks. She stops, a pained look on her face. Not that good after all, I decide, strangely disappointed.
She whispers something to Arthur, and he nods, then says his line again. After a brief pause, she responds.
She doesn’t need her notes. Hell, she doesn’t need anything. No costume, set, or music. Once she becomes the character, her presence fills the stage. It’s like she has lived in my mind and seen the character exactly as I imagined her, or even better.
I lean forward, the director in me thrilling like an addict at the sight of his preferred poison. She’s a natural, her voice, her body, her hands, her face…she was made for the stage.
The scene ends. I’m still leaning forward, intent. Cruz turns to me, waiting, but I can’t tear my eyes off Liz.
She’s watching me too, her face set in a proud, stubborn expression, her eyes challenging me. Leaning back, I call out another scene.
It’s the same, she flows through it like it’s a part of her.
Who the fuck are you, Liz McKay?
The new scene ends, and this time, everybody claps, even Cruz. Dennis McKay is beaming with pride. I can feel his eyes on me as he waits for me to say something.