by Lynn Turner
“What about love?”
“Certainly, so long as you fall in love with a rich man.” Prudence took what was left of Camille’s naked camellia, plucking the last of its petals. “I know just the one—Baron de Varville. He’s desperate to meet you, and I told him I’d introduce you…”
“Prudence!” Camille looked appropriately aghast.
“Tonight, at the theatre.” Prudence pinched Camille’s cheeks, inviting a flush of color to her presumably dimmed complexion. “That’s better. Wear gold. It suits you.”
“Lights,” Chuck called, and the stage went dark.
Everything was madness for a minute, as Mina dashed backstage with the other actors and Chuck supervised the crew setting up the next scene. She narrowly missed colliding with a stagehand, still learning where her track was, the invisible path she’d follow backstage during every show. Everyone had their own tracks, and the choreography backstage was just as intricate as any onstage, making sure cast and crew navigated the limited space without crashing into each other.
Amy materialized at her side. “How are you?”
“Eh, I’m not sure.” Mina watched Sebastian bump into one of the hair dressers. “It all seems so chaotic, like it’s going to be a complete disaster.”
Amy laughed. “That’s what putting on a show feels like. It always feels like it’s going to be shit, like those last details will never come together. Because there are a million moving parts. Like props—I had to keep track of a broom for Fiddler on the Roof last season and it was the bane of my existence. But somehow it all falls into place.”
Mina gave her a small smile. She liked her, which was great since Amy would be seeing all her bits and pieces.
“We’ll do your quick-change for the next scene here,” Amy said. “We only have about two minutes, so there’s no time to get to a dressing room—Don’t worry.” She seemed to read Mina’s mind. “Next week’s tech week. It’ll feel like second nature by then.”
“I hope so.”
“Beginners!” Chuck cued the actors for the next scene. “I need Allende, Coen, Mori and Hughes.”
Mina’s heart dislodged in her chest. It was time to be stabbed at close range.
It was the shittiest déjà vu, feeling Mina’s little flinch whenever he touched her—which was only the quick brush of their fingers since their characters were meeting for the first time in this scene. There must be a million nerves in the fingertips, and every single one of his was buzzing. His skin was starved for her, prickling at the smallest contact. He had no fucking idea how he’d lived before meeting her, how he’d managed not to feel lonely, or gotten enough sleep at night. Let his body tell it, he hadn’t been living, only existing.
Worse, was her wincing every time he met her eyes. It was subtle, like a little nerve tick in her face. At some point in the last couple days, he’d sensed her pity for him turn to anger, and for some twisted reason, he preferred it. He’d rather deal with her temper than sympathy, than being reduced to a victim in her eyes. Someone vulnerable. Weak.
“Keep to your marks,” Chuck said, snatching Zack from his reverie. “Tetley Theatre’s rigged for stage animation, so you’ll be up in your fake box seats about ten feet off the stage.”
Adjusting his position, Zack took a sweeping bow, posing as the Baron du Varville—a fact the audience would know, but not Camille.
“Enchanté,” she said demurely, offering him her hand.
Again, he clasped her fingers, and again, she reached inside him and melted his insides out. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Her breath caught—quite convincingly—and she snatched her hand away.
“That’s not quite the reaction I’m used to getting,” he quipped, off-script, and laughter filtered out from the wings.
Wincing (again), he had to feed her her next line, which seemed to fluster her further…and getting through the scene was torture.
“Let’s take five,” he finally said, when it was clear they weren’t convincing anyone it was love at first sight.
Mina bolted from the stage.
He didn’t seek her out. That wouldn’t have been fair, and frankly, he had no idea what to say. Nothing he said would take the place of the conversation she wanted from him, and he wasn’t ready to give. So, five minutes later, they did it again. This time, she may as well have been wearing a half mask for a masquerade because Mina was nowhere in sight. Camille took over the stage.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said.
“That’s kind.”
“It’s true, and the cleverest, too.”
Fanning herself coquettishly, she set her body to seem surprised. “Are not the ladies in your circles clever?”
“Indeed, as clever as their limited education allows. It’s the greatest irony, don’t you think, that one such as you, snubbed by society for your profession, possesses more education than many of the finest ladies?”
Camille seemed to forget her façade, revealing her honest nature. “I don’t find it ironic at all, but sad.”
Armand looked stunned. “You pity the women who resent you for your beauty?”
“It’s not my beauty they resent, but my freedom.”
Zack fixed his expression and body language to seem quite enthralled. “Your freedom, mademoiselle?”
“Yes. I come and go as I please. I’m as educated as any man.”
“But, as any woman, you depend on a man to keep you.”
“I get to choose. I am not chosen.”
There was a dramatic pause, an invisible spark kindled, but before Armand could reply, Kyoko burst onto the scene with Sebastian at her side.
“Oh, there you are, Camille! See? There she is! Isn’t she lovely? Camille, this is the Baron du Varville, who is very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Camille looked aghast, collecting herself quickly, and allowing the true baron to kiss her hand. She shared a longing look with Armand, who slipped quietly from the theatre box.
They took another five, so the crew could dress the next scene, then rehearsed. Six months passed in Lady in Red’s timeline, and Armand and Camille met again at a party. She was the baron’s mistress now, and Armand was desperately in love with her. They snuck to the garden, which would be cleverly revealed by a revolving set onstage. On one side, the lavish party would go on. On the other, Zack and Mina would play star-crossed lovers under custom lighting to mimic a starry night.
“How could you deceive me?” she cried. “You made me like you, and then you turned away.”
Jesus. Either she was method acting, or those were real tears. There was silence in the wings, and a pin drop could be heard onstage.
“Because I loved you before I met you,” he professed. “I followed you for weeks, certain you would not have me.”
“I would have had you.” She coughed, sounding progressively worse. “And now, it’s too late.”
“It’s not too late, my darling.” He touched her cheek, and she closed her eyes. “You’re unwell. Come to the country with me. Let me take care of you.”
“Cue music,” Chuck called out.
Zack pulled Mina into a dreamy waltz, shivering with relief to hold her again, as he did every day since stage rehearsals began. If she noticed, it didn’t show in her face. She was thoroughly Camille, and he sang to her his rousing petition:
Let me take care of you.
Tell me what you need.
Tell me I’m essential,
That all you need is me.
Maybe, maybe then,
There’s a chance we can get by,
A chance I’ll make you happy,
A chance that we can try.
Please take care of me,
Of the heart I give to you.
Don’t leave it with the other gifts
From suitors come to woo;
To sit there on your vanity
like vanity itself,
And make me covet you,
when all you want is wealth.
Let me take care of you.
Tell me what you need.
Tell me I’m essential,
That all you need is me.
“Curtain,” Chuck called out again, noticeably quieter.
Mina stepped from his embrace—less reluctantly than he’d written in the script—but he heard her little sniff before she walked off the stage. She wasn’t the only one, apparently. Either someone was chewing hot chili peppers in the wings, or they’d nailed it.
By Friday night, Zack was confident they’d be ready for tech week. They’d had a good rehearsal. If he was honest, it had been a great rehearsal. Even the perfectionist in him could admit that. Still, it wasn’t incredible. Not yet. Most of the cast had their lines down, choreography was second-nature, voices were fine-tuning, and the stage animation and scene painting were nearly complete. The biggest nightmare, according to Riha, was finishing the beading on Mina’s party gown for the second act in time for previews. For that, she’d insisted, she needed two more assistants, each with tiny hands.
Grabbing dinner from a food truck, he ducked under a corner store awning to dial his mother.
“Let me guess,” Carmen answered. “You won’t make it to dinner on Sunday?”
“Lo siento, but I have to wrap up a few details before tech week next week.”
“You’re gonna work yourself to death for that crazy woman.”
“Vera’s been generous, mamá. It’s a big risk for her, throwing money at a first-time director. It’s nice to have support for my vision without feeling micromanaged.”
“That better not be a dig at your father. You two need to patch things up already.”
“I know, and I will, when I have time.”
“Make time. You know he’s been stressed lately, trying to make sure our little working-class neighborhood doesn’t get smothered by coffee shops and chain stores. We support you, always, but try to see his perspective.”
“I see it, mamá, but I’m not trying to build a dance school to ‘clean up the neighborhood’ or drive up the rents. It’s for us. It’ll be part of the neighborhood. The heart of it. A little trust would be nice.”
He heard her sharp intake of breath, and was about to apologize, when she spoke again. “What’s wrong, mijo?”
Massaging between his brows, he expelled a breath too, one he felt like he’d been holding in for days. “She knows.”
Carmen was quiet, long enough for an Uptown bus to stop with a ‘tss,’ unload its passengers and load up again, then pull off into late night traffic. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t have a simple answer for that.”
“I didn’t ask for one,” she said gently. “I only ever want you to tell me the truth. No matter what, okay? So, tell me the not simple answer.”
Some asshole ducked under the awning and stood right next to him, puffing a cigarette. Shooting him a scowl, Zack left his temporary sanctuary. He was one of a million people on their cells, dancing the sidewalk tango to avoid crashing into each other. Anywhere else, he wouldn’t have this conversation out in public. Here, he could light himself on fire and they’d all just cross to the other side of the street. “Not simply? No. I don’t think I’m okay. I don’t think she is, either.”
“What happened?”
“You really want to talk about my sex life?”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“I know you don’t want to hear this,” she said carefully. “Papi was wrong to put you on the spot like that at dinner, but what he said about you needing to be in control…”
“Mamá…”
“I’m so proud of you. As a dancer and choreographer, you’ve mastered your own body, taught others to master theirs…but at some point, you have to confront the reason you find a few unchoreographed moments of intimacy so frightening.”
Nearly colliding with a business woman who looked like she’d bludgeon him with one of her heels, he ducked into a phone booth—It smelled like a urinal. “I think it’s pretty well documented that I have confronted it. Hours and hours of sitting in someone’s office confronting it. I’m tired of confronting it. I’m ready to move past it and get on with my life.”
“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about your need to choreograph everything. Your need to be in control.”
“For fuck’s sake…” There was that word again.
It might have been the first time in his life she didn’t scold him for his language. “I think I can guess, at this point…but tell me, mijo, what is she to you?”
“Everything.” It came out in a rush of breath. Because it was that easy. And hard as all hell. Mina was like a hurricane that had blown into his life and stirred everything up. “It’s never been like this before. I’ve always been able to focus. With Mina…I find myself stopping everything because there’s a poem, or a song, or just one line in my head that I have to write for her.”
“Ah, ya veo,” Carmen breathed. “She’s your muse.”
It was true. She was his muse. She was the muse, the expression, the art…everything.
“Has she seen any of it?” Carmen asked.
“God, no.”
“Maybe you should show her.”
His pulse went nuts at the thought. He’d written most of it just to get it out of his head, for his own sanity. Showing it to Mina would put him in the most vulnerable position he’d ever been. It was frightening as fuck.
“Maybe.” He bit his cheek. “But I have to fix this first.”
“You know you can’t fix things with her until you stop fighting yourself.”
“In theory, yes. I do know that. Much as I’d love to live in theory, reality isn’t so easy.”
“And that’s okay. If you’re too afraid to be vulnerable and tell her what’s in your heart, then let her read it.”
Let her read it.
His mother really was a genius.
*
“What’s wrong?” Sophie asked through Mina’s speakerphone. “Is my replacement mistreating you? If she is, I’ll come out there and kick her ass.”
Turning onto her back, Mina stared at the ceiling fan. It was dark in her room, but she’d been awake for an hour now and her eyes had long adjusted. If she focused them, she could track a single blade, as if it spun in slow motion. “Kyoko isn’t your replacement. She’s Kyoko.”
“Good, because you already have a sassy friend with incredible hair—who, by the way, was in the middle of some serious REM sleep.”
“I’m sorry.”
She lost focus, and the fan’s blade disappeared in a blur, just like Étienne had in her dream. One moment he was scolding her about the expiration date on her mascara, telling her that her lashes would fall out if she continued to use it, and the next he was gone. She sniffed.
“Say it out loud,” Sophie nudged. “I can’t read your mind, chère.”
“I know, it’s just…” Mina’s voice sounded small, even to her own ears. For someone so physically strong, and with a will that had withstood everything life had hurled at it, her tear trigger was pretty weak. Merde. She was so tired of crying. “I’m heartbroken, Sophie.”
“Oh, Mina… I’m so sorry. Tell me what happened.”
She did, explaining everything as best she could without giving specific details about the horrors Zack had suffered as a child. She told her about Carmen and Manny, and how they’d rescued a special ten-year-old boy who had grown up to be a very, very complicated man. She shared how much she’d opened up to him, more than anyone else she’d dated—more than anyone, really—and how he was keeping her at arm’s length now.
“And you’re sure he’s got you out in the rain?” Sophie asked. “Maybe he just needs some space to sort himself out, and then he will talk to you.”
“Non, you should have seen his face, Sophie. It was so determined. He’s the one out there all alone in the rain, and I’m just…not enough to convince him to come back inside.�
� She felt a sob churning up in her throat, and quickly gulped it down. “If he’d asked me for space, I would feel so much better, but I don’t think he intends to talk to me at all. I feel so stupide.”
“Stop it, chère. You said yourself, he’s complicated. And anyway, things between you have been intense since the beginning. It makes sense you’d fight intensely, too.”
“I wish he’d fight. I’m used to fighting with him. It’s the silence that scares me.”
“Why should it scare you? You’ve hardly known him two months…”
“But I do know him, Sophie. I’ve spent almost all my hours with him in those two months. I—” Her call waiting beeped. “Un moment…The number is French, but I don’t recognize it.”
“I’ll be here…with my eyelids taped open.”
Laughing a little despite things, Mina clicked over. “Allô?”
“Mina? It’s Noémie.” She spoke in rapid French. “Your mother’s been shot. She’s in surgery now. I’m calling from the hospital. I’d have called sooner, but your mother didn’t want you to worry. I booked you the earliest flight out of New York…”
Mina heard nothing else, because she’d dropped her phone.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Never had the seven-hour flight across the Atlantic felt so long. Mina didn’t sleep a wink. By the time she’d boarded her plane at John F. Kennedy airport, her mother was already out of surgery, so she’d spent the entire flight going over and over the details Noémie had given her.
Her maman had forgotten something the morning before. When she’d returned to her apartment to get it, she’d interrupted a burglary in-progress. Noémie was waiting in the car outside when she heard the gunshot, saw a man fleeing, then ran up to the apartment to find her mother bleeding on the floor of her bedroom. Surgery had been required to find the source of the internal bleeding. It turned out to be her spleen, with the bullet still inside. They’d operated to remove them both.
Mina shivered at the eerie déjà vu. The same thing might have happened to her in New York if she hadn’t been with Zack the night her own apartment was burglarized.
Zachary…
Impending doom had a peculiar way of trivializing all other matters. When it seemed her mother’s life was hanging in the balance, every other worry, every other gargantuan fear, had faded to specks. She hadn’t even hesitated to call him last night.