by Tracey Ward
“Calm down,” she scolds softly, her face close to mine. I can smell her perfume. It smells like honey and flowers. And money. “I do this all the time. You’re in good hands.”
“Don’t blind me.”
“Don’t move and I won’t.”
I sit still, obediently waiting until she’s done. She doesn’t step away, though. She stays in close to me, putting her fingertips under my chin. Her eyes are serious.
“How are you doing? Really,” she asks, her voice uncharacteristically soft.
I melt a little under her stare. I feel just as uncharacteristically soft as her voice; vulnerable in a way I try very hard not to be. It’s weird that it feels good. Like a relief somehow.
“I’m hanging in there,” I reply quietly.
She purses her lips together, nodding tightly. “Keep it up.”
“I will.”
She moves her hand to the side of my face affectionately, casting me a small smile. It’s brief, a tender moment that’s gone immediately after her hand leaves my face, but it lingers in my mind. In my gut that’s rolling slowly. It’s not angry. Not anxious. Just disturbed, like a pond after a pebble has been cast in its center.
Sarah looks around the room irritably. “Where the fuck’s the Evian?”
I chuckle, settling back in my seat. Meagan, my very sweet, very quiet assistant, gets Sarah a fuckin’ Evian.
We run auditions out of the sitting room attached to my hotel room. We could have rented a space and gone there, but this saves time. And money.
I made my first million when I was fourteen years old and here I sit seven years later, pinching pennies.
Thanks, Dad.
We run through two auditions before lunch. A brunette from Incidental Intersection and the male lead from Rendezvous. The girl is good, I could take her or leave her, but Cam Wallace is solid as a singer and on his feet. He’s tall and broad, built more like a football player than a Broadway dancer. He’s an inch shorter than me, probably six-two. His hair is dark and dusted with lighter strands that glow almost golden in the sunlight pouring in through the window. He’s a good looking guy, chiseled and clean cut.
I catch Sarah eye-fucking him as we’re finishing up and I know immediately what her vote will be. And her vote counts for ten of ours just because she can yell louder and longer.
I stand when he and Danny are finished dancing. I lean forward to offer him my fist. “That was killer, man.”
Cam breathes heavily, his face shining with a light layer of sweat from his workout. He steps forward to bump my knuckles with his. “Thanks. I like the routine. It’s fast. It’s fun.”
“Good. Thanks.” I take my seat, sitting back with my ankles crossed. “So what do you know about what we’re doing?”
“Next to nothing.”
“It’s a small event in Emerson, Washington,” Grant informs him. “The town doesn’t have a big enough venue for us to do anything we’re used to, but it will be televised.”
“With a delay, I hope,” Sarah mutters under her breath.
Grant ignores her. “It’s one engagement. One concert. But we’ll fly you in a day before it happens for some press and practice on the stage. We’re hoping you can work it in around your schedule with Surrendered.”
“Rendezvous,” I correct him.
He frowns. “Are you sure?”
“He’s right,” Cam tells him, his voice unnaturally calm. “It’s Rendezvous.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Cam assures Grant. “I should have guessed you guys were looking at people from other shows. And what show is bigger on Broadway right now than Surrendered?”
I watch Cam closely, drawn in by his tone. His stance. I recognize it easily because I’ve been affecting the same attitude every second of every day for the last year. An I-don’t-give-a-shit-nothing-bothers-me attitude. That’s the act. The well-lit lie I’ve been living. It makes me wonder what Cam is hiding behind his lie.
“It’s a good show,” I agree with him casually.
He nods, avoiding my eyes.
I watch him for a second longer before nodding to Grant.
He offers Cam one of the thick manila envelopes off the table. “Take this with you. Look it over. Inside is a release for us to do a background check on you. Also instructions for where you’ll need to go for a drug test. All of the show information is there for you to check out, see if it works for you. We’ll need an answer and the packet back in forty-eight hours if you’re in.”
“You got it.” He shakes Grant’s hand before reaching for me. “Thanks again.”
“Thanks for coming in, Cam.”
“Yes,” Sarah says with a slow smile. “Thanks for showing us what you’ve got.”
Cam smiles at her warmly, dipping his head to her in a sort of bow that she eats up like it’s candy.
When he’s gone, I turn to the table. “What do we think? He’s a lock, yeah?”
“I like him,” Danny agrees readily. “He picked up the routine quick. He’s precise. He’s in shape.”
“Yeah, he is,” Sarah drawls, still smiling.
Grant chuckles. “Keep it in your pants. We’re trying to stay scandal free here.”
“Ryker is. Not me.”
“All of us.”
“Try and stop me, I dare you. I think he can sing and he can definitely dance, but, Ryker, do you want someone that attractive on stage with you?”
I scoff at her. “Are you saying he’s hotter than I am?”
“Did you see his shoulders?”
“He’s bigger than me, but he’s not—”
“He’s hotter,” Grant interrupts.
I smack my palms down on the table with a loud clap! “You too, dude?”
“I can’t help it. He looks like the captain of a lacrosse team. It does it for me.”
“You’re a Judas.”
“My dick is, yes.”
“My vagina owes allegiance to no man,” Sarah proclaims proudly. “You want to plant a flag here, go to the gym. Get arms like that. Then we’ll talk.”
I sigh. “I’m not planting my flag in any of you.”
“He’s good,” Danny says seriously. “He knows how to be in the background without drawing focus. He’s perfect.”
“Would you date him?”
“Who said anything about dating?” Sarah demands.
Danny shakes his head. “I’m straight.”
“Answer the question,” I press.
“No. I would not date him.”
“Thank you!”
He nods, flipping pages in his hands. “Can we move on to the next one?”
“Meagan, when’s the next one scheduled?”
She looks down at the datebook always in her hand. “Not until one. Greer Madsen. We left an hour in between for lunch.”
I stand from my seat with a grunt, suddenly feeling anxious. Excited. “Let’s do lunch then. Where are we going?”
“We could order in,” Grant suggests.
My lip curls up in disgust, my eyes flashing to the window. Nothing but blue skies and sunshine. “I’d rather get outside. Get some air.”
“Humid, sticky, sweat soaked air.”
“Still.”
“Whatever you want to do.”
I hate that answer. I get it all the time. I understand why – I’m the boss. They defer to me because my name is on their paychecks, but there are times that I wish they wouldn’t. Sometimes I don’t want to be the one always making all of the decisions; big or small. After a while it gets overwhelming and then you wake up one day and find out that you can’t make a simple choice to save your life. Red shirt or white? New song or old? The blond or the brunette? It’s easier to stand back and let life decide because that’s a little known hack I recently discovered.
Time goes on. The world keeps turning, with or without you.
CHAPTER TEN
Greer
I’m bouncing off the walls. I’ve been up longer tha
n the sun, and I haven’t sat down since Cam left for his audition. I’m nervous and excited and terrified, so much more than I was for my first audition with Rendezvous. I never thought I’d get the part back then, but now it’s worse because I actually think I can do this. I have this strange, budding confidence. It’s a feeling I never had much of growing up. I never thought I deserved it. Not until Cam. Not until he plucked me out of a nightmare to give me a shot at a dream. It was kindness, plain and simple, because Cam Wallace is exactly that; kind.
It makes me all the angrier that Eve did to him what she did. She betrayed all of us, but what she did to Cam was so much more. It was ugly, hurtful, and just fucking bitchy. I wonder sometimes what I would do if I saw her again. That should worry her. I grew up on the streets; she doesn’t want to find out what I consider fair play.
The door opens, making me jump nearly out of my skin. I’m looking from the kitchen with wide, eager eyes when Cam steps into the apartment. He freezes for a beat when he sees me before breaking into a deep laugh.
“Have you been standing in that exact spot since I left?” he asks, tossing a manila envelope onto the empty coffee table.
“No. I haven’t stopped moving since you left. I cleaned.”
“Obsessively, it looks like.”
“I’m freaking out.”
“I know,” he replies softly. He comes into the tiny kitchen, moving slowly like he’s worried he’ll spook me. “It’s gonna be good. They’re gonna love you.”
“Did they love you?”
“I think so. They gave me a packet with a release for a background check and orders for a piss test.”
I stiffen, my chest tightening. “A background check?”
Cam leans back against the counter. He levels his eyes on mine, holding me steady. “Don’t stress it.”
“They’ll see I don’t even have a GED.”
“It won’t matter. It didn’t matter with Rendezvous and it won’t matter now because you have the talent to make it irrelevant.”
“It’s embarrassing,” I insist, my anxiety skyrocketing.
“Tell them the same story you told John. The sickness thing about getting better and coming to New York to pursue your dreams.” He snags a grape off the bundle on the counter next to him. “People eat that shit up. It’s inspiring.”
“It’s a lie.”
“So is mascara, but you still use that every day.”
“Not the same kind of lie.”
“A lie’s a lie. There are no different kinds. We just say there are because we feel less guilty about some than others, but anything other than the truth is deception.”
I narrow my eyes at him, examining him. “You’re philosophical today.”
He pops another grape in his mouth with a smile. “It’s a good day.”
“Did they tell you anything else about the show?”
“Not much. I read some of the info they gave me on it when I was on the subway. There are only going to be two men and three women chosen.”
“How many were invited to audition?”
Cam shrugs. “No clue. And I didn’t see anyone waiting for their shot when I left so they’re staggering the appointments. I don’t think any of us are supposed to know who else is trying out.”
“They’re being really shady about it,” I mumble thoughtfully. “Is that normal?”
“No, but there is no ‘normal’ in this business. Everything happens the way it happens. I trust it, though. Jace Ryker was there in the room. It’s not some scam.”
I feel my heart start racing, a smile stretching my mouth. “You met him?”
“Yeah. He was cool. Relaxed and happy as far as I could tell. Not the way you described him.”
“Weird.”
“Rough night, remember? He must have been off. It was late.”
“Yeah. Must have been.” I check the clock on the microwave. It’s getting late. I need to get going, but I don’t know if I can. My feet feel glued to the floor.
“You okay?” Cam asks.
I nod, forcing another smile. “I’m great. Just nervous.”
“Don’t be. He picked you personally.” He steps in to kiss me quickly on the forehead the way he always does. “You’re gonna be great.”
“Thanks.”
Cam disappears to take a shower, telling me to get my ass in gear, so I do. I hurry out the door with my bag on my shoulder and my heart in my throat. It takes me twenty minutes to make it uptown to the address on the card Jace gave me. It’s a hotel, something that would send up red flags if Cam hadn’t already made it in and out alive. And if Jace personally hadn’t given me the card.
I feel underdressed walking into the beautiful, ornate lobby. I’m surrounded by black and gold, suits and high heels. Starched collars and thick wallets. I’m greeted by a man in a blue suit the second I step inside and I’m quick to show him the card, like it’s a passport into this otherworld. It definitely works like one. He smiles warmly, pointing out the elevator bays behind him. He wishes me a good day. He calls me ‘miss’.
It’s all so damn surreal I feel sick in my stomach.
For years on the street I was invisible. I wasn’t ‘miss’, that’s for sure. I wasn’t even Greer. I was ‘get out of the way’ or ‘fuck off’. I was ‘get a job’. ‘Freeloader’. ‘Worthless’.
I was ‘take it off slowly’. I was ‘call me daddy, baby girl’.
I was nobody for so long I’m still struggling to adapt to being somebody again.
A tall, well-dressed black man is waiting in the hall when I step out of the elevator. “Greer Madsen?”
I glance at my watch, checking to see if I’m late. I’m early by about ten minutes.
“Uh, yeah,” I reply, hurrying forward to offer him my hand. “I’m Greer.”
He smiles all the way up to his warm, dark eyes. His haircut is precise with perfect tight lines and an even buzz across the top. “Nice to meet you. I’m Grant, Jace’s agent. Come on inside.”
“I’m not late, am I? The card said one.”
“No, no,” he assures me, opening the door with a slim, black card. “You’re early, but we’re ready if you are.”
“I am,” I promise. I’m lucky he can’t hear the butterflies in my stomach. They’re a tornado in my torso, their wings beating loudly in my ears.
The room is gorgeous, just as decadent as the lobby. The colors are dark, rich, and the furniture looks like the stuff you find in a museum. I’m surprised it’s not behind velvet ropes warning me not to sit on it. A couch and two chairs have been pushed to the side of the room, opening up the center of the floor. Looking directly at the emptiness is a long table covered in notepaper, water bottles at varying levels of fullness, and a stack of manila envelopes that make my breath catch in my chest. They’re the same kind Cam brought home.
“You’re early,” a woman calls from the table. She grins, tapping her nails lightly on the table. “I like you already.”
I smile at her, trying not to stare. She’s beautiful. Older, probably in her mid-forties, with the silkiest raven hair I’ve ever seen, an oval face, and clothes that fit her so effortlessly they must be tailored. She watches me closely as I put my bag down by the discarded couch, moving slowly to the center of the room.
Grant takes a seat next to her. On her other side is another man, probably thirty, Hispanic descent. He’s dressed more casually than Grant and the woman. Loose jeans and a gray T-shirt. White sneakers that look brand new, fresh out of the box.
On the other side of Grant is an empty seat.
“Greer, this is Sarah, Jace’s publicist,” Grant introduces us. “Next to her is Danny, our choreographer. Jace is here but he’s on an important call, so if you’re ready to sing for us, we’ll go ahead without him.”
I nod nervously, sucking in a deep breath to steady myself. To remind myself to keep breathing.
You can do this. You’ve already done it a hundred times on stage. This is no different.
I clo
se my eyes. I picture the stage. The lights. The anonymous faces on the other side, and I tell myself I’m untouchable. That I’m safe.
They don’t offer any equipment to play accompanying music, but I don’t need it. I’d rather sing acapella. It gives me a freedom to do what I want, to take the song where it tells me it wants to go. And that’s what I do with Chandelier by Sia. I let the song own me, not the other way around. I let it take over, and somewhere inside it I open my eyes. I feel myself fall into that calm that performing gives me, and I’m soaring inside my own head. My words. I’m out of my body, inside my voice, and I’m flying.
When I finish, I’m breathing heavily from the exertion. I start to come down, come back into myself, and the nerves are waiting for me full force. I scan the faces in the room, starting with Sarah. I immediately wish I hadn’t. She gives me nothing but a blank stare that sends my stomach tumbling down into my ass. But Grant and Danny, they’re smiling happily.
“Powerful,” Danny tells Grant.
“No shit,” he agrees, not taking his eyes off me. His smile doesn’t dim. “Did you audition for the lead with Rendezvous?”
“Yeah.” I shrug vaguely, my words stumbling clumsily from my mouth. “I wasn’t—it was two years ago. I wasn’t very good.”
Grant laughs. “Seriously? I can’t imagine that.”
“It’s…” A door opens behind the table. Jace steps out of the bedroom, walking silently into the space. I feel faint looking at him, like the air has been yanked from the room. “I was up against Eve Sanders. I never stood a chance.”
“I’ve seen her perform. She has nothing on you,” Grant argues.
“I don’t know about that.”
“He’s right,” Jace says quietly.
Grant snaps around to face him. “You scared the shit out of me, man.”
Jace smirks, and it’s so familiar it hurts. I shouldn’t know that look. I don’t know this man, but in a way I guess I do. The same way the world knows him. As a poster on a wall. A face on a TV screen.
“Sorry,” Jace apologizes. He doesn’t sound at all sorry. He looks at me as he takes his seat next to Grant, sliding his phone across the table. “A voice like yours, you should have been a lock for the lead.”