Her pulse was racing so fast she felt tingly in her hands, dizzy. She balled her hands into fists and shut her eyes. Shut out the sterile reminder of the need for medical care. “I know you think I’m nuts for being upset. You keep saying it’s nothing, what happened tonight. But it’s not nothing to me.”
Carlos leaned forward and he grunted with pain. “Monica, it just happened. I’m going to be fine.”
It just happened. That got to the heart of the problem. It just happened – to him. But it had never happened – to her. In fact, a violent knife fight on an abandoned parking lot had never happened to anyone else she knew, besides Carlos. Not her mother or sister, thank God. Not Barbie’s husband. None of her friends had ever had to test their survival skills in a fight for their life.
Carlos was the only one.
These guys knew Carlos. They’d once been gang members together – joined by a fraternity of fighting and violence. She released a deep breath. He was so different than anyone she’d ever known. Ever dated.
Ever made love to.
She shuddered and he noticed. He leaned forward again to pull her against him for an awkward hug. “Baby, are you okay?”
She shook her head. “I’m so confused.”
He lifted her chin with his finger and when she faced him, he kissed her, his lips warm and familiar on hers. It would be so easy to sink into the kiss and ignore the fact that something was now very different than the last time they’d kissed.
She pulled away, stood and took a few steps. She put her hand on her lips, brushing away the delicious taste and scent of him.
“Carina, talk to me.”
She couldn’t do that. She had no idea what to say. She had no idea even what to think. What to feel.
“It’s late. I’m tired. I’m going home to get some rest.” She backed to the door.
He nodded. “See you tomorrow?”
She mumbled something, tripped over a foot and righted herself.
“Opening Night.”
She nodded and pushed open the door.
“Te amo.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but she heard it. And wished she hadn’t.
The next day dawned bright and sunny, despite the chilly December temperatures. It hit her the moment she awoke – this was the day her dream would come true. The day she’d been waiting for her entire life. Her inner diva would emerge today for all the world to see.
Well, at least the portion of St. Louis who attended the play tonight.
She sighed and pushed her covers back. She’d barely slept. A fuzzy feeling invaded her head; her eyes weren’t cooperating. She stumbled to the kitchen, eager for a cup of coffee.
A cup, nothing. She needed a whole pot.
Monica prepared an English muffin and waited for the coffee to brew. As she munched on the bread, her thoughts whirred to the events of last night. As much as she loved being with Carlos, she had to confront the unwanted reality of his violent past. Sure, they shared movies and pie and dressed-up dance shows now. But his past had apprehended him, unbidden, and caught up with him in a horrifying confrontation. And if it happened once, it could happen again. Time and time again.
She loved him, but she couldn’t come to terms with this element of danger his past brought to their relationship. Could she love the man he was today while hating the parts of his past that brought him to where he was today?
Talking about his past in a gang had been enough to scare her. But witnessing it first hand was terrifying. If things had ended differently last night -- if Carlos hadn’t warded them off, it could have just as easily been her or Luisa recovering from a knife wound. Or much worse.
Tears she’d held off all night forced their way to her eyes. She sniffed and brushed a napkin across her face. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t believe it was true, but she’d come to a decision. She knew what she could and couldn’t live with.
Being a part of the brutal world of violent streets didn’t fit into her life. How could their worlds possibly blend?
Her breath hitched. He’d risked his life to protect her, and she was grateful for it. But they were all wrong for each other. How could they ever reconcile the drastic differences between them? She wasn’t willing to live with the possibility every day that the man she loved would be injured by violence, or worse. As much as it killed her to do it, she knew what she had to do.
She went to her desk and pulled out a sheet of stationery and a pen. She scribbled a note, folded it and stuck it in an envelope. Later, she drove to the hospital.
She pulled into the vast parking lot and found a space in the far corner. She turned off the engine and sat, gripping the envelope. She took deep breaths trying to get her racing pulse under control. She looked across the expanse of pavement and images from last night flooded her mind – the flashing lights of the ambulance cutting through the dark night, sirens piercing the solitude. The pain and devastation of the knife wound.
Just one event, but so much had changed.
She slipped out of her car. Now that she was here, she couldn’t bear to face him. She couldn’t take the chance that he’d talk her into changing her mind. But most of all, she couldn’t afford to get into an emotionally draining confrontation with him. Not today, of all days. Tonight she’d go onstage and give her first performance as leading lady. She needed to save her strength.
Monica walked through the building to the floor where they admitted Carlos overnight. She went to the nursing station and found a nurse immersed in paperwork. “Hi. Is Carlos Garcia still here?”
The woman focused on the medical records a few seconds more, before tearing her gaze away. She checked a whiteboard hanging behind her. “Yes, room 313.”
She handed her envelope to the nurse. “Could you make sure he gets this, please?”
She stared at the envelope, furrowing her brows. “You can go on back there. It’s visiting hours.”
“No.” It came out firm and loud. She cleared her throat. “That’s all right. Just promise me you’ll give this to him and ask him to read it today, please.”
The nurse shrugged and took the envelope. She turned back to the paperwork.
“Promise me.”
She turned to her. “Yeah, okay.”
“Thank you.” She left the hospital.
Monica pulled up to the theater, hours before curtain time. The hustle and bustle of Opening Night never failed to reach out and grab her. Hours before curtain time, excitement and terror competed in their race through her veins. However, Opening Night for the leading lady was an entirely different matter than Opening Night for the props mistress.
Could she do this tonight of all nights?
She was back to the prospect of opening night without a single soul in the audience to send her positive vibes. She was sure that after Carlos read her letter today, he not only wouldn’t want to come to her play, he wouldn’t want to see her again at all.
This morning, she’d placed a call to Mrs. Garcia’s house, and after inquiring how they had made it through the night, she asked to speak with Luisa.
“How did you sleep?”
“Fine.”
“No nightmares, sweetie?”
“Nope.”
Good. Monica had sheltered the little girl as best she could from the stabbing. But she knew Luisa had a vivid imagination, capable of creating scenes worse than reality.
“Honey, there’s one other thing I have to tell you. There’s been a change of plans about the play tonight.”
“I can’t wait to see you on stage!”
“Well, as it turns out Carlos won’t be able to come to the play. I still want you to come though, so I’ll get you a ticket one night when you and my mom can come together. Is that all right?”
A little pause told her Luisa battled with disappointment over not being able to come tonight and the need to be considerate of Carlos. Of course, she assumed it was because of his injury. And that was well and good. She didn’t need to know the r
eal reason.
Luisa had sighed. “Okay.”
Now, Monica trudged to the back door of the theater. She had to get a grip on her nerves so she could remember her lines and blocking. And to look like a real actress up there, like she’d always dreamed.
She sighed and pulled open the door. A single pair of hands clapped in the dim light of backstage. She shook her head and blinked. The applause came closer until she saw it was Steve, stepping toward her.
Of course, Steve. He was her support system – her best friend with her every step of the way in her transition from backstage to center stage. She ran to him and flung herself into him. Surprised, he wrapped his arms around her.
“What the --?”
She couldn’t help it – tears jumped into her eyes and she sniffed against his shirt.
“Ah, buddy, what’s up? What’s this all about?”
She shook her head, pulled back from him. She rubbed her eyes. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m a mess.”
He took her hands and squeezed them. “All worked up about Opening Night?”
She nodded. “That, and …” Her voice hitched and she cleared her throat. “I broke up with Carlos today.”
His mouth dropped open and he stared at her. “Today? What were you thinking? Why?”
She shook her head. “We’re just too far apart, Steve. Different worlds. No way.” And she realized the more she talked about it, the less chance she’d have of composing herself. She waved both hands frantically. “Can’t talk about it.”
He pulled her into another hug. “Ah, sweetie. I don’t get you sometimes.”
“Huh?” Sure, her ears were muffled against his chest.
“I don’t get you. You’ve been happier than you’ve ever been. You’re dating a guy you’re crazy about, doing new things, out from under the thumb of your family. Your dream is coming true tonight; you need all the support and love you can muster today, and you … oh yeah, makes sense: break up with the guy?” He shook his head. “Don’t get it at all.”
She sighed. “It makes sense if I explain it to you, but I’m not in shape to get into it. I need to get ready for tonight.”
He studied her. “Okay. Let me just ask, did he cheat on you?”
She shook her head.
“Abuse you in any way?”
“Of course not.”
“Break the law?”
Monica blew out an exasperated breath. “Steve…”
Steve held up both palms. “Okay, okay, we won’t talk about it. But once tonight is over, you and I have a chat, capisce?”
He took her by the shoulders and guided her to Hair and Makeup, where she was immersed in a cacophony of well wishes from her cast mates.
She was no longer Monica. She was Victoria.
She shouldn’t be admiring the fabulous job she did selecting the set and props. She should be taking in the mountain ski lodge she and her husband had picked for a winter getaway, marveling at the beauty of their vacation spot.
She was an actress now. Maybe if she kept reminding herself, it would sink in.
Monica stood backstage, gasping and trying to get her pulse under control. Her blood tripped fanatically through her veins; she felt light headed. All she needed to mark her debut was to faint. She concentrated on breathing in, then out. Slowly, under control. She could do this.
Steve had deserted her; well, he had to go to the lighting booth in the back of the theater, so she was alone. Entirely, completely alone, facing her dream of acting on stage. This should be the best day of her life.
Under the circumstances, it wasn’t.
She knew what Victoria was supposed to say and where Victoria was supposed to move. Now, she simply had to do it. Be professional. Put it on automatic pilot. Ignore all the people in the audience staring at her, wondering why she was there instead of Trina.
The curtain raised, a hush settled over the theater. Monica and Brad entered the stage, Monica walking slightly ahead of Brad, who was laden with heavy suitcases.
“Oh my! This isn’t quite as the travel agent described it, do you think, Ralph?” Monica looked around haughtily.
Brad, struggling with the bags, dropped several and heaved a deep breath. “No, dear, it’s fine. Just fine. We’ll have a good time here.”
Monica pointed at the dropped suitcase. “Be careful with those. They’re Louis Vuitton and cost more than you make in a month.”
Brad rolled his eyes, picked up the bags and toddled after Monica as she strolled to the front desk.
A few minutes later, Monica and Brad vacated the stage and waited behind the curtain for their next entrance. “You’re doing well,” Brad whispered.
Monica scanned his face. “You really think so?”
He nodded. “Just try to loosen up. You’re doing everything right – you haven’t missed a line or a movement. Just, you know, relax. Have fun with it.”
Monica nodded. Simple advice. The question was … how? Brad wandered off to where he’d stowed a water bottle.
The night went on. Each time Monica went onstage she delivered her lines, she moved just right, she smiled as she’d rehearsed and she threw fits right on cue. She was nothing if not hard-working. She’d memorized this play front to back and could recite the lines of any of the characters. But was this what it was like to be an actress? Just push a button somewhere in your brain and you recite memorized lines by rote, doing the same thing night after night?
She didn’t think so. There was more to it than this. But she wasn’t quite getting it. She was missing something.
The curtain dropped on the first act and the applause from the audience was gratifying. She heard the shuffling of the crowd as they rose from their seats to stretch for intermission. She had twenty minutes to relax before the play resumed. She headed for the actors’ dressing room.
Dave ran into her in the hallway. “Monica, open up a little more.”
Monica nodded, staring him down in concentration. “Open up, right.”
“More emotion. Become the part. Leave yourself behind. Got it?”
She could tell he was in a big rush so she nodded and gave him a confident thumbs up. “Got it, Dave. Thanks.”
She reached the dressing room, closed the door behind her, sank into the vanity seat and stared at her reflection. What was wrong with her? She should be reveling in this realization of her fondest dream. Instead, she was counting the minutes till it was over.
She sighed. There was a knock at the door and she turned to it. “Come in.” It wasn’t a private dressing room – it was a shared space among several actors; she just happened to be the only one in here at the moment.
The door swung open and in walked … a huge bouquet of red roses. As if by magic, the gorgeous mass of flowers floated in the room a few feet off the floor, a short set of legs visible beneath them. Monica chuckled at the sight. The legs walked toward her and stopped inches away.
Monica reached out and retrieved the glass vase. When she moved the heavy load to the vanity table, a now flowerless Luisa was revealed.
“Oh!” Monica gasped and knelt down to be closer to the little girl. “What are you doing here?”
Luisa beamed and shrieked, “Break a leg!” She giggled and said, “That’s right, right? You say break a leg to an actress?”
“Yes, yes, that’s right.”
“I don’t really want you to break a leg, but that’s what you say.” Luisa flung herself into Monica’s arms. Monica hugged her and breathed in the lovely scent of her shampoo. Then she pushed her gently away so she could get to the bottom of this mystery.
“Luisa, how did you get here? Who brought you?”
Luisa smiled, then stepped back, holding her arm out with a flourish like a master of ceremonies in the center ring of a circus. Monica shook her head in confusion, but followed the direction of her motion.
There in the doorway stood Carlos.
Chapter Twelve
Monica stared, her heart pounding and eyes wide.
Carlos approached and reached for her hands. “You look beautiful.”
She turned away, unable to face him. He looked way too handsome, like he’d taken care this evening to look his best for her. His lean, muscular frame, clothed in a tight sweater and new jeans, was enough to take her breath away. She’d never be able to carry through her intentions if she had to actually … look at him. She wouldn’t have the strength. “Didn’t you get my letter?”
But he wouldn’t have her cowardice. He gripped her shoulders and swung her around. “Letter?”
Her heart sank. He hadn’t read it and now she’d have to face the confrontation she so desperately wanted to avoid. “You didn’t …?”
“Luisa, venga aqui.” He dug in his pocket and gave his sister some coins. “Here, go to the lobby. Get a soda. Wait for me there. Got it?”
She nodded, her eyes clouded. “Don’t be late …”
He bent down and kissed her cheek. “I’m with the leading lady, aren’t I? The show won’t start without her.”
Luisa’s expression cleared with a happy smile. She nodded and skipped through the doorway. Her patent-leather soles echoed through the hallway.
When he turned back to her, Monica took a deep breath. “Carlos, there’s been a mistake …”
“A mistake? Yes, there’s been a huge mistake if you think I’m going to miss your opening night.” He gripped her shoulders and pulled her close. “It’s a mistake to think you can keep me away from watching you achieve your dream.” He squeezed her arms tighter, his voice became lower and deeper and his face came closer. “I want this just as much as you do.”
Monica’s heart pounded, whether with fear or desire, she wasn’t sure. He leaned forward the remaining inch separating them and claimed her lips with his. The roughness of the kiss they shared terrified, yet exhilarated her. She’d never experienced a kiss like this before – on the border between lust and anger.
He ripped his lips away and kept his face a breath’s distance from hers. He pointed to something behind her. “Now, sit right there and let me tell you just where your mistake started.”
Inner Diva Page 15