Absolutely perfect. I squeeze her hand. "So what do you think about San Diego?"
"Laurie is probably going to throw an end of season party."
"Ditch it."
She smiles. "Okay. But I'll be exhausted all weekend. I won't want to get out of bed."
"I wasn't planning on spending much time out of bed," I say. "Except to eat amazing Mexican food, drink loads of tequila, and lounge on the hotel's private beach."
"Private beach?"
"Mhmm."
She nods. "Okay. But I don't know if we'll even make it to the beach. Or if we'll even have the energy to lounge."
"Miss Summers..."
She nods. "Don't worry. You'll get a taste soon." At the next stoplight, she kisses me. It's a hungry kiss. She must be waking up. "Thanks, Luke," she says. "I need something like this. I haven't had enough of you lately."
"I could never have enough of you," I say.
We pull into the driveway and I wait for the garage to open. Alyssa's eyes are on fire. In only minutes, we'll be alone in our house, and God only know how quickly we'll be out of our clothes.
Well, it's not strictly our house. Technically it's my house. After the agony of Samantha buying me out of my half of our house, Alyssa refused to share a mortgage. My ex-girlfriend was willing to resort to whatever emotional manipulation it took to get her way. Including multiple suicide attempts.
Hell, Samantha's manipulation almost ruined everything between Alyssa and me.
"Well, Mr. Lawrence," she says. "I do believe you have a promise to live up to."
She brushes her lips against mine, sliding the straps of her dress off her shoulders.
Damn.
There's no sense in making her wait.
CHAPTER THREE
Alyssa
An urgent message from my agent greets me when I finally get to my dressing room. "Darling, call me back. Trust me. You will die when you hear this."
Corine is always going on about some stupid opportunity. It's good. She's doing her job, earning her ten percent, but her opportunities are usually awful parts as the sexy wife or the naked murder victim in blockbusters. I know. A hundred-million-dollar film is a big step up from a cable comedy, but she should know by now that I'm past the point in my career where I'm willing to play the hot chick.
I check the time--just after seven. Corine left this message three hours ago. She's probably still at work. I better get this over with so I can spend my night with Luke interruption free.
Even if we're not going to do much more than watch TV.
I take a deep breath. It's a weeknight. We're supposed to be relaxing. And I'm the one who always insists on TV. I'm too tired for anything else, and I have lines to cram.
I close my eyes. I'm almost done. Eight more days and we'll be done shooting. Eight more days and I'll be in San Diego with Luke, doing something much, much more exciting than watching TV.
But it might really be a great opportunity.
As instructed, I take a seat before calling her back. This better be good.
"Darling," Corine greets me. "How is everything? Are they treating you well over on Model Citizen?"
"I'm fine. Just tired."
"Do you remember what you said when you met me?"
"You remind me every time we talk," I say. "About playing Ophelia in Hamlet."
"Yes, well, Ophelia is pathetic. Killing herself over an indecisive loser like Hamlet. I've got a much, much better opportunity for you."
"Better than Shakespeare?"
"You grew up on the East Coast. I'm sure you dreamed of New York City."
My throat goes dry. Of course I grew up dreaming of New York City. Everyone around me dreamed of getting an apartment in the village and "making it."
But I chose L.A. It's warmer, cheaper, farther away from home.
"I'm listening," I say.
"And, as an aspiring actress, you no doubt wanted to appear on Broadway?"
I swallow. "Broadway?" Who would want to be on Broadway, with her name in lights on a marquee, performing in a historic theater every night?
Broadway. Of course I want to fucking be on Broadway.
The air leaves my lungs. Broadway. Broad-fucking-way. It's not possible. I must be dreaming. There's no way I'm going to have a part on Broadway. I can't compete with full-time theater actors, and those parts don't go to B-list TV stars. They go to serious film actors, the kind who win Oscars.
"And darling, I know how you adore Tennessee Williams."
"What?"
"Ah, so do I finally have your attention?" she asks.
"Yes. God, yes. Tell me."
"Do you remember Kyle Lee, the producer from that film... Golden State, wasn't it?"
"Yeah." We met once during production and had a thirty-minute conversation, mostly about the weather. He was nice enough, but it didn't seem like I made an impression.
"He's got some sort of family connection and he's in charge of a revival of A Streetcar Named Desire."
"If you're fucking with me, I swear."
"Never," Corine says. "He wants you to play Blanche."
My heart catches in my chest. Blanche DuBois. He wants me to play Blanche DuBois. One of the best fucking characters in American theater. He wants me to play Blanche DuBois in a Broadway revival of A Streetcar Named Desire.
There's no way this is real.
"Corine, I swear. If you are fucking with me."
"I have the contract right here."
"What?"
"Well, Mr. Lee is lacking in the organizational department. He wants you in New York as soon as you're done with Model Citizen."
"But that's in eight days."
"I know, it's sudden, but it's Tennessee Williams, Alyssa. You won't get this chance again."
"Did his first choice drop out?" I ask.
"He fired his Blanche this afternoon. You're his first choice for a replacement."
"What happened?"
"Artistic difference, drug addiction. Who cares? You're a TV actor. You're not getting another chance to appear on Broadway unless you learn to sing and dance."
Corine is always so supportive.
"I want to," I say.
"Don't tell me--your boyfriend wouldn't like it?"
"You know I'm not with Ryan anymore," I say.
"Yes. I found out through the gossip blogs. You're a stronger woman than this. You shouldn't let men run your life."
"I'm not," I say. "I want to spend time with him. He'd beg me to take it. In fact, he'll be upset if he finds out I turned it down."
"Really?" Her voice hums with delight. Another angle she can use to try to convince me to agree.
"Don't even think about it. I want to do it, but I've barely seen him for the last two months. We've been so busy. I need a few weeks off. We have a trip planned..."
"So come to New York instead. It's only a six-month engagement."
That's quite a run for a revival play. And it's too long to be away from Luke.
"I can't," I say. "I'll miss him too much."
"I'll tell them you're considering it."
"Corine, no. Not this time."
"Darling. It's Wednesday. I'll promise them an answer by Friday evening."
"I'm not going to change my mind," I say.
"Sure. No pressure. Sleep on it. Dream about the Tony you'll place on your mantle."
I shake my head. I can't dream about anything. Six months is far too long to be away from Luke. Things are so good right now. It's not worth risking them.
Not for anything.
***
I'm relieved when Luke isn't home. It gives me time to compose myself, so he doesn't immediately know I'm hiding something.
God, I shouldn't be so secretive. He's not Ryan. He's not going to hold it against me.
But he'll get so excited. He'll offer to come with me and completely throw the six months he's spent building a business out the window. Or he'll be devastated when I tell him I can't take it.
> It might be worse if he didn't offer to come with me. What if he was okay with six months apart? I know he loves me. I never doubt that... but passion does fade. Even Luke's.
The buzz of my phone jolts me into awareness. It's Luke. I'll be home in ten.
It's just a part. It's no big deal. There's no reason why I have to tell him.
And there's no reason why I shouldn't tell him. Not if I trust him.
I resolve to play it by ear, and step into the shower. That should ease the ache growing in the back of my head. It almost works. The pounding water drowns out my thoughts. And it's warm enough to relax my achy muscles.
Only eight days and I'll be in San Diego with Luke. I'll be spending the weekend rolling around in bed, reacquainting myself with every delicious part of his body.
The front door opens. We don't have to wait until this weekend. We can get started early.
I turn off the shower and meet Luke in the living room.
His eyes go wide with delight. He smiles. "I like your outfit."
I arch my back and shrug like it's no big deal that I'm naked in the living room.
He takes a long look at me, practically licking his lips. "Did you eat at work or do you want in on my delivery order?"
"I'm in," I say.
He slides out of his jacket and hangs it off a chair. His eyes find mine. They're concerned. "Is everything okay?
"I'm naked and you ask if everything is okay?"
He nods. "I'd love to throw you on the bed and have my way with you, but you seem upset."
I shake my head. There's no reason to bring up the part. Not yet. "I'm tired. That's it." I bite my lip. That's close enough to the truth.
"Well, you'll be on vacation soon. But I have to admit, you won't get much rest." He slides his arms around me. "Are you sure nothing is wrong?"
I nod.
"Because I have to say, I like this look of yours. I like it a lot." He rubs my shoulders, but he's holding something back. "Didn't you take a shower this morning?"
"I wanted to relax."
"Ally, you know I don't want to push you, but..."
"You go crazy when I don't talk to you?"
He nods. He looks so sincere, like always. I know how much he cares. I know he really does want to know the stupid things on my mind. But it's still hard to believe sometimes.
"Can you promise you'll react as calmly and cooly as possible?" I ask.
"Last time I checked, you weren't a fan of promises from Luke Lawrence."
"That's true."
"But, I do promise. What is it?"
"It's not a big deal."
"You want to wait until we order dinner?"
I nod.
"And I imagine that you, unfortunately, want to get dressed?"
I shake my head. "No, but I probably should. Unless..."
"Not right now, Ally." He kisses my cheek. "But later, if you're still awake and you're still up for it."
I disappear into our room and spend what feels like forever changing into my pajamas. It is a big deal. It's a huge deal. And he's perfectly capable of crushing me with his reaction.
CHAPTER FOUR
Luke
Alyssa joins me at the dinner table after hiding out in her room forever. She presses her lips together, squeezes her hands together. She's a nervous wreck.
I wish she had an easier time talking to me, but I'm not going to push it.
"I ordered from the Indian place," I say.
"It's so overpriced."
"I don't care. You deserve the best."
I offer my hand and she takes it. Her skin is so warm, but she's shivering.
"Ally, what's wrong?"
"It's really not a big deal." She presses her lips together again. Her gaze moves to the floor.
"Are you sure about that?"
"Yes." She presses her fingers into the table. "And I'll tell you, but I don't want to be talked out of my decision."
"Okay." What could she be talking about?
Her eyes stay on the floor. "I was offered a role in a play in New York and I turned it down." She fiddles with her tank top as she pulls her knees into her chest. "That's it. No big deal."
"What play?"
"Some famous play."
"Some famous play, my ass. If anyone cares about some famous play it's you," I say. She really does read the most awful, English major shit.
She smirks, but it only lasts a second. Then she's back to that same serious expression. "It's not a big deal."
"Nothing is a big deal to you."
She clears her throat. "A Streetcar Named Desire."
My heart sinks. "You turned down a roll in A Streetcar Named Desire?"
"Yes, and it's not a big deal. An actress was fired and I'd be the replacement. But it's too sudden. I'd have to leave the minute I finished shooting here." There's no pause between her statement and her hiding behind a glass of water.
"Which part?" I ask.
She shrugs like it's not a big deal. She was offered a part in her favorite play, but it's no big deal.
"Come on, Ally. Who do you think you're kidding? We both know you could spend the entire night talking about the themes in any depressing work of American literature."
"It's not depressing."
"Oh yeah?"
"Okay, maybe it's a little depressing. But why is that such a bad thing?"
"You're proving my point," I say.
She uncrosses her legs. "I know. It's a great opportunity, and under different circumstances, I'd love to do it. I'd love to do it if it was in Los Angeles and I could come home to you every night."
"Ally..."
"No, don't Ally me. Right now, I'd rather spend my time with you."
"What was the part?"
She looks at the ground. "Blanche."
My stomach drops with a thud. Alyssa would kill to play Blanche.
"Ally..."
She folds her arms. "You promised."
"Okay. I won't talk you out of it."
She stares at me like she doesn't believe me. Every urge in my body is begging me to object, but I have to respect her wishes.
"I won't," I say.
She raises an eyebrow, the tension in her expression easing. "Okay. Then why don't we set up for dinner?" She stands and fetches plates from the cabinets. "Do you want a drink?"
"Water."
She pours herself a generous glass of tequila.
"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask.
She nods. "Tired. I really can't wait to be done with filming so I can relax."
"So you're not turning down the role because of me?"
"Can we not do this?"
I move towards her. Slide my arms around her waist. She looks away, but she leans into me, her body relaxing as I hold her tighter.
"I won't try and change your mind," I say.
She sighs. "Good."
"But, I won't be upset if you take the role."
"Okay."
"And I don't want you to reject it because of me."
"I'm not." She turns back to me. Slides her hands behind my neck. "I'm rejecting it because I want a break. I'd rather hang out with you."
"But the Alyssa I know would kill for a chance to play Blanche DuBois."
"Usually." She leans into me, wrapping her arms around me. "But I don't have the same priorities I used to have. I'd be away for six months. That's too long to be without you."
"But, Ally..."
"You promised."
"I could come with you. For a while at least. I could visit every weekend."
She shakes her head. "This is what I want."
"Are you sure?"
She nods. "Positive."
Our food arrives. Alyssa promptly changes the subject, but something is still off. Alyssa is so desperate to talk about anything else. She even asks about boring legal technicalities.
I try to shake it off. This conversation isn't going to change her mind. And I want to respect her decision. I do. But I can't hel
p the nagging feeling in my gut that I'm holding her back. I'm my asshole father, forcing my mother into this tiny box, refusing her desire to be something besides a wife and mother.
I can't let Alyssa give up what she wants for me. And I know Alyssa. There's nothing she loves more than tragic literature. She reads Sylvia Plath like it's pulp fiction. And for God's sake, she's obsessed with plays. Despite her undying love for her Kindle, she has an extensive collection of paper plays and they're all highlighted and annotated to death.
There must be a way to make her realize how much this means to her.
I sit next to Alyssa. "I was just thinking."
"You look cute thinking."
"I've never given A Streetcar Named Desire a proper read. You must own a copy."
"Don't start," she says.
"But it sounds sexy with the desire and everything."
She rolls her eyes, but there's a tiny smile on her lips. Perfect. She's getting excited.
"There are a lot of sexual themes," she says.
"Do tell."
"Please. Like your PhD mother didn't explain Brando's performance to you."
"Yeah, but I don't remember."
"You don't fool me, Lawrence. I know what you're trying to do." But her lips are curled into a smile. She likes talking about this kind of thing.
I move towards her. "Miss Summers, I meant what I said. I'm not trying to convince you. I just want to learn a bit more about theater from my favorite teacher."
"You could start with an acting lesson so I'd buy that story."
She laughs, her eyes are bright. I have her exactly where I want her.
I sit next to Alyssa, my body facing hers. "You don't have to believe me. But you do have to humor me."
"I have to do nothing."
"But you want to."
She folds her arms. "Maybe."
"So what about this desire?"
"Go read SparkNotes."
"But there's no chance SparkNotes will end with you on top of me."
That gets her attention.
She shakes her head, but her voice is low and throaty. "You're shameless."
I press my lips into hers. She kisses back hard, hungry.
"See, you're teaching me so much already," I say.
"Jesus, you aren't going to stop. Are you?"
I shake my head.
"Fine," she says. "Well, it's been a little while since I've looked at A Streetcar Named Desire, but I'll explain it as well as I can. Blanche is obsessed with being the object of desire. She's always flirting with men and taking great delight in dressing provocatively. There's a scene where she comes on to a young man. But she's got this virgin-slash-whore thing going on. When she tries to seduce a proper suitor, she pretends like she's this chaste, honorable woman."
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