She was drowning.
Her right thigh stung, but still her legs kicked, struggling to push to the surface of the water. She sucked in the air, desperate. But it was wet, suffocating. Too much water.
“Grab the line!” a man shouted, not the voice she thought. Gasping, her head bobbing under, she reached, stretching her fingertips to find the life preserver on the rope. Hugging it to her chest, panting, she let herself be dragged back to dry land. Her eyes set on the contemporary art museum gleaming along the darkened riverbank, Long Wharf, the lights of Boston twinkling beyond, as she tried to steady her jagged breaths and racing heart. She had never seen her world from here, from the water. It had never looked more beautiful...
* * *
Charlie awakened on her balcony, lightning illuminating the sky, thunder crashing, a storm raging. And Chase kneeling above her, in the downpour, white T-shirt and plaid boxers sticking to his body as he shook her.
“Charlie? Heard you yelling all the way in my room. What’re you doing out here?” he shouted over the cascading rain. “Is this about The Tempest? This some kind of ‘method’ shit? I really don’t get you guys.”
“I wish,” she said, sitting up now in her Tybalt costume. She remembered lying down when she grew weary of the Warwickshire crowds below. She smoothed her wet hair back from her face.
“Let’s get you inside.” He pulled open the trapdoor, gesturing for her to go in first, then yanking it shut behind them.
“Sure you’re cool?” he asked, soaked now too, standing in her doorway before crossing the hall to his room.
She nodded. Across the way now, leaning against the doorframe, she saw a woman’s figure—Harlow—pushing the golden hair out of her eyes. Chase swung Charlie’s door closed with a nod goodbye. From the other side of it, she heard Harlow’s silky voice: “What’s going on? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s nothing,” he said, protecting Charlie. “Back to bed, c’mon.”
In the suffocating quiet of her room, Charlie peeled off her wet clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor, and climbed under the cool sheets of her bed. For what felt like hours, she lay awake, listening to the rain beat against her window. And replaying, over and over on a loop, that dream. But it wasn’t a dream at all, but a recollection of what had actually happened. All the missing pieces assembling themselves into a full picture of that night she had driven into the harbor.
It was that memory of Nick, directing her, The Tempest shoot, that had shaken her out of her sleep as her car drifted to the depths of the harbor. It seemed unfair that it had been Nick’s voice in her head awakening her that night, signaling her body to fight, reaching into her deep subconscious and pulling her back to life.
36
WE’RE TEAM CHARLIE
Sierra, Fiona and Tripp were already at their regular table at the pub when Harlow swanned in with Alex and announced grandly, “Listen up! I have it from a very well-placed source. Jasmine Beijao is trying to win Nicholas Blunt back!”
“Yeah, we know, Sierra saw her kiss Blunt,” Tripp said, no big deal.
“Oh.” Harlow deflated, the wind sufficiently let out of her sails.
“Hi, stranger. You would’ve known that sooner if you’d come home last night.” Sierra smiled at Harlow and innocently sipped her iced tea. She hadn’t seen her roommate in two nights.
“The plot thickens!” Tripp leaned in. “But I do love Jasmine Beijao!”
“No! You can’t love Jasmine Beijao,” Sierra said. “We’re Team Charlie.”
“Why do we have to choose?” Alex asked. “And why does everyone use her full name all the time?”
“They hate each other—Charlie and Jasmine Beijao,” Sierra said.
“It’s over Nicholas,” Harlow said, dismissive.
“Charlie should be pissed, especially after whatever went on in London,” Tripp said.
“We don’t know that for sure,” Sierra said.
“It doesn’t matter.” Ethan appeared, tray in hand. “And it’s not just about a dude. It was about a role that was Charlie’s that he was forced to give to Jasmine.”
“A role in a terrible movie,” Harlow said.
“A terrible movie that would’ve been great if they had let Charlie do it,” Ethan said. “She would’ve fixed it. It was rushed.”
“Why do you people know all of this?” Fiona asked, typing on her laptop.
“Am I the only one who watches E!?” Sierra asked, embarrassed.
“You might be the only one who watched it a million years ago when all that went down,” Harlow said.
“It was, like—” Ethan paused, mouthing numbers like he was computing a math problem “—over a dozen years ago, factoring in the many years between recasting, filming and the release of the movie, which was in postproduction for ages. And released years later, probably because everyone involved knew it was so bad. Anyway, where’s your sense of history?”
“Of course we’re Team Charlie,” Tripp said. “But Jasmine is such a diva—we don’t have to like her in order to like her drama.”
“Jasmine Beijao is a bombshell of the highest degree,” Harlow defended. “And almost won an Oscar—”
“That wolf movie was awful,” Ethan interrupted, notepad out to take orders. “It’s fine to make a pretty girl ugly if the story is a good one, but there was nothin’ else going on. An empty ploy to get awards.”
“All costume and makeup,” Sierra agreed.
“I totally want to be her,” Harlow said.
“Why?” Sierra asked. “I would want to be Charlie.”
“It would just be a lot more work to be Charlie,” Harlow said. “But Jasmine seems like everything comes easy.”
“Easy is boring,” Ethan said, getting called away to the bar.
“Easy is boring,” Fiona confirmed, scrolling through her phone.
“I’m always whichever team had to work harder,” Sierra said, nodding.
“Speaking of hard work, I’m so spent with Romeo and Juliet,” Harlow said. “You guys have no idea how emotionally exhausting it is to perform on the main stage.”
“It can be intense,” Alex said, stretching his arms over his head. Sierra sipped her drink, trying not to let on how supremely left out and less than she felt.
“You guys are so lucky to have extra time to prep for the next auditions. Midsummer Night’s Dream is just around the corner,” Harlow said, turning to Sierra. “There are more apprentice parts for that one.”
She had possibly intended to be encouraging, but to Sierra’s ears it sounded condescending. “I know, I’m working on it.” Sierra tried to be breezy.
Ethan listened in as he refilled sodas at the next table. He leaned over to her. “Yeah, get on that, Sierra,” he said, rolling his eyes. Harlow was too engrossed in her phone to notice, and Ethan glanced at her screen. “Making plans for New York?” he asked.
“Maybe,” Harlow snapped, shielding the phone against her chest.
The apprentice trip to see Abby’s Road was just a few weeks away, but Sierra hoped it would light a fire in her to be there.
“The after-party with Bronwyn and the guys?” Alex asked, always at the center of everything. Harlow nodded. “A mutual friend from Juilliard is in the chorus,” he explained. “You guys should come.”
“Alex,” Harlow said, as though scolding him for inviting everyone.
“We’re there,” Tripp said, agreeing on behalf of the table.
Sierra didn’t mind: she could think of worse things than hanging out with cast members from the hottest new Broadway show.
37
YOU STILL ARE A CHILD
Charlie sat beside Gianni on the porch steps, which were still damp from last night’s storm. Her hair had dried in wild, beachy waves. She sipped her coffee. After sleeping so soundly for the first time in ages, she
now felt in a fog, her body not entirely awake.
“...and also if you want me to start an Instagram page for you—or Twitter, Facebook, Snapchat, what have you—let me know,” Gianni offered, waiting for Danica to finish packing him up to head back to camp. “It could be beneficial, I’m sure you have fans who would like to correspond with you. And me too, I write great letters.”
“Thanks, little man,” she said. “I think I’m good for now on all the pages. But I’ll take you up on the letters.” He threw his arms around her, surprising her with a warm, puppyish hug, then pulled away just as fast, loading an enormous Star Wars backpack onto his back. “And good luck with Sparky.” She patted his backpack, which held parts of the robot he was building and programming.
“You’ll get to meet him when I’m back for Midsummer, that’s one of my favorites,” he said as Sally and Danica emerged from the front door saying their goodbyes with tender kisses. Danica’s sentimental side made such rare appearances, Charlie almost couldn’t look away.
“Can’t wait,” Charlie said, sincere, raising her hand for a high five, then low five, then her left hand high and low, then both hands. She and Gianni had devised the secret handshake during breakfast after he had admitted he didn’t want to go back to camp. But now, he seemed fine. She wished she could overcome setbacks so swiftly.
“You’re good with kids,” Danica said to Charlie as the car pulled out. “Which shouldn’t surprise me since you kind of still are a child even though you’re forty?”
“Thirty-nine,” Charlie corrected, waving to the black Lexus as it rolled down the driveway.
“You should think about freezing your eggs.” Danica dispensed the advice like the doctor she had once played in an ad. “Now. Immediately.”
“Yeah, no, I think I’m good.” Charlie patted her belly like it was a foreign object not attached to her. “I’m not cooking anything up in here. It’s just not my thing, I don’t think. But... I’ll keep it in mind?”
“Good, glad to help.” Danica smiled, letting herself back inside.
Charlie’s phone buzzed: Nick again. can we meet before the show? She hadn’t returned any of his texts. She didn’t see the point. But she wanted this to stop: do NOT talk to me today. or ever. just let me do my fucking job until my sentence at this prison is over.
Chase bounded up the steps, in his yoga gear, squeezed Charlie’s shoulder. He let himself inside as her phone buzzed once more.
sometime when you’re ready, i need to explain. it’s important to me and then those three blinking dots: YOU are important to me.
She shoved her phone in her pocket without responding.
* * *
Knowing the basics of what had gone on the previous night—that Jasmine Beijao had thrown herself into Charlie’s world like an ax into a tree—Sierra dreaded the costume assignment Madame LaPlage had saddled her with. But Charlie had apparently run off in her Tybalt costume last night and it needed to be returned, cleaned and prepped for the next time Charlie would be playing that role.
They had a matinee today. Sierra arrived backstage early, lingering near Charlie’s dressing room. When Charlie did show up, it was earlier than Sierra had expected. The actress nodded a hello to her, her expression tense.
Sierra gathered her courage. “Madame LaPlage was asking about your Tybalt—”
She sighed audibly. “I’ll bring it back tomorrow,” she said like a kid without her homework.
“And there’s one more thing. Something I wanted to talk to you about, an idea, for this place.” She whispered the last part.
Charlie looked at her, curious, and opened the dressing room door, flicking her head for Sierra to join her. “I needed to get the fuck out of the house, you know,” Charlie said, taking a seat at the mirror, flipping on the lights and digging through her bag.
“I get that.” Sierra wished she could ask if Charlie was okay, after Jasmine and whatever it was that had gone on last night, but it felt too personal, invasive. Charlie said nothing, just tied back her hair into a low ponytail and pulled out a compact, sweeping a bronzer across her face, all business. “I was thinking about ways to help this place, you know, stay open.”
Charlie sighed. “Let’s hear it, I guess.”
* * *
When Charlie finished her makeup and Sierra finished her pitch, Sierra was shocked to find Charlie lead them out of the dressing room and straight upstairs to Nicholas Blunt’s office. Charlie knocked once and opened the door, not waiting for an answer.
“Charlie.” Nicholas stood up at his desk when Charlie appeared in his doorway. “I was hoping we could—”
“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Charlie said, flatly. “But Sierra does and I think you should listen. She knows this place is in trouble.” As she said this, his face dropped. “I didn’t mean to tell her, but you’re not entitled to be angry with me after what you’ve pulled in the past twenty-four hours.” He nodded at this, and she went on, “So Sierra seems to think people—the kind who have dollar signs attached to their names—would like to see more of us. You’re on,” she prompted Sierra, leaving her there alone.
Sierra nodded, taking her cue, fingers fidgeting until she mentally told them to stop. She felt as she had before her audition, as Nicholas sat there with his arms folded watching her, but reminded herself there were no lines this time. She was actually doing him a favor. “Well, I was just inspired seeing you greet guests at the show,” she began. “You may not realize it because you’re...you...but it’s a big deal to people, audience members, to come here and get to see you and talk to you and be heard by you and be near you. And that’s true of all the company members. That time, one-on-one, those microconversations matter but—”
He nodded slowly. “Like the gala.”
“But that was so many people,” she said, gently. “I was thinking, what if you hosted something more intimate, for a select group who are most likely to invest significant amounts of money? Give them attention and time with you and the company actors? Maybe a small dinner, somewhere that feels exclusive, a place most people don’t have access to. Honestly, I can’t imagine anyone saying no to, like, all of you guys,” she said, sincere.
“I suppose we can be charming when we want to be,” he said.
“It’s more than that though.” She couldn’t quite describe what he and the professional actors had, the allure, the ability to command attention. Perhaps it was something that came organically from years of being watched. Nicholas began clicking on his keyboard, eyes on the screen. She felt she had lost him, so she said simply, “Thanks for your time,” and took a step toward the door.
“So it’s decided,” he said, and she stopped. He swung the screen around, the July calendar. “We’ll do it next week—July Fourth.”
“Seriously?” she asked, not believing it.
“It’s the only day the theater is dark before the money runs out,” he said, almost to himself, swinging the screen around again. “They do fireworks in the field behind the museum, we can even see them from Hathaway House. We’ll do it there. I’m pushing back the Midsummer auditions a week.” He continued typing, not looking up.
“Really? They’re not tomorrow now?”
“Feel free to tell your friends. I’ll have Bradford announce the change at tomorrow’s workshop.” He said it all stream of consciousness and continued typing. “I just can’t deal with rehearsals and any of it this week, I just—” He stopped himself, as though realizing he was speaking this out loud. He looked up a moment. “Thank you,” he said, sincerely. “Your idea is a good one.”
On her way out, Nicholas called after her just before she closed the door. “And, Ms. Suarez, I know Charlie mentioned our situation here is a little...” He searched for the word but she understood.
“I won’t tell, I promise,” she said.
He looked instantly relieved. “Thanks.�
�� And then before she left again, he added, “And you know.” She looked back. “I wondered if you could tell Charlie that I appreciate her bringing you and your idea to me. Let her know I said yes? And that I was encouraging—I think I’m encouraging, right? Like in a mentoring kind of way?”
She smiled, warmed at the thought that even someone like Nicholas Blunt could have the same difficulties navigating relationships as she did. “Yes, I’ll tell her.”
38
ACT LIKE YOU’RE A NARCISSIST
It helped that Sierra had never planned to go on the July Fourth trip to Boston: a day of touring historical sites—Like where Charlie Savoy drove into the river! Harlow had said—shopping, fireworks and catching the last bus back. Most of the apprentices, who hadn’t been drafted into service for the contributors’ dinner, would be going. Luckily, Ethan was among those staying behind too. Sierra wished she had been allowed to tell him that this whole dinner was actually her idea, that she had found a way to be part of the theater, despite not earning a role on the main stage. But she kept quiet, as promised, and kept busy until she was needed for dinner prep.
While Ethan worked the early shift at the pub, she escaped into the lush thickets of Hopkins Forest in search of that elusive, endangered plant species. Hiking with her notebook and map, snapping photos on her phone of any plant life worthy of a cameo in her thesis. The hours trickled by as she roamed the well-trodden dirt paths, listening to the stark quiet, letting the calm envelop her, fully at peace even in patches so densely canopied the sun’s rays barely broke through. It had been a long time since she had been alone. The frenetic pace of the apprentice program had gotten her accustomed to so much multitasking. Here she could hear her own thoughts again, and they told her there was still time to make waves. That was easy to forget when everyone was so focused on Romeo and Juliet for so long, but auditions for Midsummer Night’s Dream were now just one day away: a new chance to be on the main stage. And there was still her part in the student Black Box show—Fiona seemed happy with Sierra’s work there; maybe one of the agents would notice her at that performance. It was just over a month away now. Still time to turn the summer around.
The Summer Set Page 17