Under the Spotlight

by Bree Verity

  He needed Penny to tell him what was up with her. He needed to know that tomorrow, when he woke up, he wouldn’t find her unresponsive.

  And if she couldn’t assure him of that, then he needed to let her go.

  The realization hit him like someone had punched him in the solar plexus. He would have to let her go. He couldn’t do the whole mental illness thing again. He just couldn’t. He would never survive through that again. His heart had been shredded, and the guilt was so bad, he would spend hours standing under the shower, just crying, wishing he had known she was in such pain, reliving again and again the times when he should have seen the signs, beating himself up over letting her go through that with no support from him.

  “Ten minutes,” he heard in his earpiece.

  Okay, right now he needed to focus. There was a show to take care of. But he would have to talk seriously to Penny sometime soon, make her understand that he couldn’t live with her having secrets.

  She would have to tell him. He would make her tell him.

  Or, they would have to break it off.

  His heart hurt at the very thought.

  Penny was pretty sure she had brought on Marc’s mood when she wouldn’t tell him what was going on with her panic attacks. He had stridden away from her, and kept looking at her with a concerned expression that she just wanted to slap off his face.

  As for Penny, the tears continued to reside just under the surface, waiting for her to tip the balance and spill them over again. How she had kept it together all day at work was beyond her. Her old passive persona served her well - she smiled, spoke as little as she could, and interacted as little as possible. But doing that had left her exhausted and strung out, worse than she had felt in years. And now Marc, the one person she thought perhaps she might get some support from, was behaving like a class one jerk. Well, she knew how to protect herself from that. She would just retreat into her shell, doing what needed to be done, but not allowing anyone, least of all Marc, to draw her out tonight.

  But it seemed Marc was having none of that. To Penny’s dismay, he came charging up to her as soon as the changes were done for Scene Eight. It was a long break between scenes, and one that Marc obviously planned to make use of.

  “I need to talk to you, Penny,” he said, taking her arm. She pulled out of his grasp.

  “I have no desire to talk to you.”

  His eyes snapped with anger. “We can do this here, in the wings, or we can go into the green room. Your choice.”

  Not wanting to create more of a scene than Marc already was, Penny walked stiffly into the green room, then turned to Marc, her arms crossed defensively over her chest.

  “What do you want, Marc?” she said, her voice quiet and chilly.

  “I want to know what’s wrong with you.”

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

  “Fine. There is something wrong with me. But it’s not something I can talk to you about. Not yet, at least.”

  “Why not?” Marc grabbed her arms, his distress obvious even though he still spoke in whispers. “I thought we were going to have no secrets from each other, Pen. I thought we agreed to that.”

  Penny was silent, her eyes pleading with Marc to understand. “I can’t tell you. Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m still working through it.”

  “Through what?”

  “Stop it Marc.” The tears Penny had been holding back all day drew precariously close to the surface. She angrily wiped away the one that managed to escape. “I can’t tell you. That needs to be enough.”

  “Well, it’s not, alright? I’m not sure this will work if you think it’s okay to hold back like this.”

  He turned away from her and stalked back toward the stage.

  Penny stood for a moment, her mouth hanging open in shock, then strode back to her stage manager’s table, her jaw clenched so much that it hurt. There were too many questions pounding in her brain, too many bright sparks of anger and hurt and…

  Oh no. She doubled over, the pain starting again, from her chest and radiating out all her extremities. She felt like her breath deserted her, that the small amount of air she took in had no oxygen and that she would faint. Memories descended upon her, people and places and names… a nameless baby with its life torn away… guilt and sadness, overwhelming sadness. She scrambled for a handhold, happy to find a wall she could lean on. She sunk to the floor, balled up in pain and panic. She didn’t know how much time passed, if any. There were no thoughts, nothing, except her own psyche.

  Breathe, Penny. Just breathe.

  “Penny!” Someone ran up beside her, placing a hand on her back. “Penny, what’s wrong?” She couldn’t reply, couldn’t even look up. The pain shot everywhere over her body, pricking every nerve and blasting through her muscles. “Marc!”

  No. Don’t call Marc.

  And then he was there, cradling her, smoothing her hair from her face, telling everyone that she would be fine, everyone just needed to give her some space.

  Her pulse slowed, and she found herself crying, her face buried in Marc’s shirt. He held her close, whispering, “Everything’s fine, Pen. Just breathe, baby. I got you.”

  She moaned. “Everything hurts.”

  “I know, Pen, but it’ll come good soon.”

  Suddenly, she never wanted to let Marc go. No matter how angry he made her, or how frustrated. “Never leave me, Marc.” She clung to his shirt. “Never leave me.”

  She felt his muscles stiffen, and when his only answer was a quick kiss to the top of her head, her tears started up afresh.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was their usual Wednesday meetup, and Penny had hoped to have a nice, girly gossip with her friends. She needed it, after the trauma of the past few days.

  But the calculating sparkle in Lydia’s eyes just didn’t bode well. And once they were all settled with their coffees and cake, they all sat back down on the low couches and Lydia began.

  “So,” she said airily, “about your theater ghost…”

  Pen’s stomach dropped. She hoped Lydia had forgotten about that. Apparently, so had Desiree.

  “Oh, no, Lyddie,” she groaned. “Can’t you just drop it?”

  Lydia turned on Desiree with a flounce.

  “It’s a real ghost, Des.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “It is, right Pen?”

  Penny suddenly found two sets of eyes on her, one chocolate, wide and eager, and the other green, with one skeptical raised brow above them. She flushed.

  “You know what Des?” she said, with a contrite shrug of her shoulders. “I actually think it is.”

  Desiree shook her head sadly. “Delusional,” she said. “That’s what you both are.” She turned away from them and picked up her coffee, and Lydia’s shining eyes turned back to Penny.

  “So, can we come to the theater tomorrow night?”

  Penny shook her head dubiously, but Lydia continued, begging, “Please? I promise we won’t be any trouble.”

  Her friend was so keen, Penny didn’t want to disappoint her. And saying no was a big step outside her usual passive zone. Penny just didn’t feel up to girding her loins to combat the cajoling that would happen if she continued to say no. So, she reverted to the old Penny.

  “Fine,” she said, rewarded by Lydia’s blinding smile.

  It was a nice feeling, to have someone smiling at you. Penny had felt it far too little the past few days, what with her argument with her parents, and then Marc’s pronouncement.

  “Hey, you guys,” she started cautiously. “If Marc and I agreed there would be no secrets between us, then I had to keep something from him for a really good reason, am I a bad person?”

  Both Lydia and Desiree looked at her dubiously.

  “What are you keeping from him?” Desiree asked.

  “About the psychologist,” Penny offered, hoping it would be enough information so her f
riends didn’t keep pressing for more. She was in luck.

  “He doesn’t know you’re seeing a psych?” Lydia asked. Penny nodded her confirmation, adding, “His fiancée killed herself, and I don’t want him to think I might do the same, that there’s something mentally wrong with me.”

  Lydia frowned. “But doesn’t he know you’re having panic attacks?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, you want him to think you’re doing nothing about them? That doesn’t make any sense to me, Pen.”

  Penny shook her head. “No, it’s not that. He knows there’s something. I just can’t tell him exactly.”

  “Why not?”

  Penny let out a frustrated sigh. “Because his girlfriend killed herself.”

  Desiree raised one eyebrow and brought her cup to her lips, murmuring, “If I were him, I’d be getting more and more suspicious.”

  “Why? I’ve told him I will tell him when the time is right.”

  “Seriously? You told him that?”

  Lydia butted in. “What Desiree means to say is, isn’t that the kind of thing that a couple would work through together? If Tad had some kind of illness, mental or physical, I’d want to know about it at least, even if there was nothing I could do to help.”

  “Me too,” chimed in Desiree.

  “But what about if I tell him, and then he pulls away?” Penny argued.

  “Then that gives you a pretty good idea of the type of person he is,” said Desiree. “If he’s not there for you during the hard times, why on earth should he get the benefit of the good times?”

  “And if you can’t rely on him during the bad times, why would you want to share the good times with him?” Lydia agreed with Desiree.

  “Okay,” said Penny, “but we’re like two dates into our relationship. Isn’t it too early to dump all my problems on him?”

  “I don’t think so,” replied Lydia, receiving a confirming nod from Desiree, who smiled and said, “A couple of weeks after I started going out with Jack, Nathan died, remember? I was a complete mess. I’m not sure I could have gotten through it without him.”

  “So, you both think I should tell him?”

  Her friends chorus of “Yes,” “Absolutely,” brought a thinking frown to Penny’s face.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll have to find the right time, but okay.”

  She took a sip of her delicious skinny latte. The coffee was always good at Greens.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dr. Johnson was sympathetic over the reaction of Penny’s parents to her news, but despite that, she seemed pleased that Penny had broached the subject with them.

  “It’s great that you could talk to them. That’s more than you thought you could do at the start of our sessions. And I do think it’s better to have this out in the open instead of festering,” she insisted to a dubious Penny. “Now you can all work through the issue.”

  “I’ve pretty much had the cold shoulder from Mum since I told her,” said Penny. “There hasn’t been any working through, I can tell you.”

  “Give it time,” encouraged the doctor. “From what you’ve told me, your Mum isn’t an unreasonable person. And she loves you.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “You don’t mean that, do you?”

  Penny smiled at Dr. Johnson’s sharp question. “No. I know my Mum loves me. But this is really hard - I don’t think she and I have argued this hard since I wore a micro mini to the school dance after she told me I couldn’t wear it.” Penny grimaced at the memory. Her mother had been absolutely furious that Penny had changed into the tight little skirt after she got to the dance and had subjected her to two days of haughty silence. “No. Even that wasn’t as bad as this.”

  “Why do you suppose your mother has responded so strongly?”

  “She said it was because she wanted me to keep the baby from the start. When I said I wish I’d kept the baby, she just… she was so angry. At me.” Penny’s tears started to fall again. It seemed to be a common occurrence in the psychologist’s office. Dr. Johnson handed her the tissues and Penny wiped her eyes. “Mum doesn’t get angry like that. I can almost feel it kind of sizzling off her when I walk past. And Dad just gets this sad look when he looks at me.”

  “Just give them some time,” repeated the doctor, warmly. “It sounds like your mother is still grieving.”

  “She grieved years ago. Much more than I ever did.”

  Dr. Johnson nodded. “But grief is a strange phenomenon. You can go back and forth through the stages of grieving, and grief can start up again after long periods of time - no one person grieves the same.”

  “Brilliant,” grumbled Penny. “I’ve made my mum sad again. I’m a great daughter.”

  “What about you?” asked the doctor. “How are you feeling?”

  “I feel… okay,” said Penny with some surprise. “It felt good telling them, even though I’m pretty sure I forgot everything you told me about word choices and lowering the emotional content and all that. But I’ve decided I’m not telling anyone else. And I feel good about that decision, too.”

  The doctor nodded. “Understandable, after the reaction you got from your mother.” She hesitated for a moment. “Let’s talk about how you felt when you told them.”

  “It was relief. It kind of washed over me. For a second, anyway.” Penny grimaced at the doctor. “Until Mum.”

  “And how do you feel now about not telling your friends? Earlier, you said,” Dr. Johnson looked back over her notes, “that it was like you took their confidences and didn’t give them yours.” She looked expectantly back up at Penny.

  “Did you write down every word I said?” asked Penny with a grin, before she fell serious. “I just can’t tell anyone else now. Please don’t make me.”

  A slow smile crossed the doctor’s face as she took off her glasses. “I would never make you do anything you aren’t comfortable with,” she said.

  “I don’t know what to do, then,” said Penny. “If I suck it up, will I feel guilty about it forever? And if I don’t, what if they take it as badly as Mum did? And if it’s that causing the panic attacks, what do I do then?”

  Dr. Johnson shook her head. “You may never have a panic attack again,” she said. “You may have them forevermore. We don’t know. All we can do is work to reduce the stress on your body.”

  Penny let out a dissatisfied humph. “That doesn’t help me at all,” she said.

  To her surprise, the doctor reached over and patted her leg. “You’ll know what to do, when the time comes,” she said, encouragingly. “Give yourself some credit. Trust yourself.”

  Penny shook her head. “I haven’t trusted myself for a while,” she said with a wry grin.

  “Then maybe it’s time to give it a try.”

  Penny swept the curtain back, conscious of the action going on onstage. There, glinting in the pale backstage light was a new pile of small personal items, much like the one they found on the props table. Penny sighed in irritation.

  Lydia jiggled her elbow. “It’s the ghost again, right?” she whispered eagerly. “The klepto poltergeist. He just can’t help stealing things.”

  “Shh,” she said. “No, Edwin stole one thing at a time. This,” she indicated the stash with a wave of her hand, “is the work of someone very, very human.”

  With a sigh, she leaned in to quietly pick up the goods. Penny didn’t need this. With only a little bit over a fortnight before actual performances began, they were still struggling with lines and scene changes. At least the replacement handkerchief stayed where it was supposed to be, even though the original still went missing, usually somewhere between the end of the first act and the beginning of the second.

  Then there was Marc. While he had apologized for what he said, Penny could tell it still annoyed him that she was keeping things from him. He tried not to let it show, but there was something different in the way he held her, the way he looked at her—as if he was hurt by her refusal to speak to him. Bu
t Penny had still to decide what, if anything, she was going to tell Marc. And she didn’t need to be made to feel guilty every time she looked at him.

  And now, she still had a thief to deal with.

  Tailed by Lydia and Desiree, she stepped quietly around the back of the stage and to the greenroom, where she placed the stash on a shelf at the back of the props table.

  “What do we do now?” asked Lydia.

  “You sit down and stay quiet ‘til the act is finished,” instructed Penny in a hushed tone, “and I go do my job. Then, we’ll have a word to Jane.”

  Lydia seemed disappointed, but Desiree nodded, and pulled Lydia by the elbow into a chair close by. Both of them knew better than to have anything more than a whispered conversation backstage while a rehearsal was in progress.

  Marc stepped close to Penny as she tiptoed back into the wings. “What are those two doing here?” he asked quietly.

  “Ghost-hunting,” replied Penny with a grimace. “And they found more stuff.”

  Marc’s brows raised, and Penny nodded. “We’ll deal with it at the end of the act.” Marc nodded and continued his way around the back of the stage.

  It seemed to take ages to get to the end of the act, but as soon as she had closed the curtains, Penny stuck her head through and said, “Jane? Can you come back? We’ve found more stolen stuff.”

  Jane scowled and nodded, immediately getting up out of her chair. Penny returned to the greenroom.

  “Everyone listen up.”

  Penny waited until the noise in the greenroom subsided, and Jane was by her side.

  “There’s been more personal items taken. I have a bunch of things that we found around the side of the curtain.” There was a swell of murmuring. “I don’t know what else to do. I think we’re going to have to call in the police.” She turned to Jane, who nodded her confirmation, her expression serious.

  “Could it be the ghost?” asked Cerise, her eyes wide.

  Penny raised an eyebrow. “No, Cerise, it couldn’t be the ghost.”

  “Why not?”

  Penny hesitated.