To Be or Not To Be: The Actors

by Cathrine Goldstein

  Trevor took her hand. When he touched her, excitement radiated from her belly, out through her hands, tingling her fingertips. Gently leading her away from the kitchen, he pulled her down a hallway—running adjacent to the kitchen—she hadn’t noticed before. He pushed open a door revealing a slightly messy room filled with music. There were framed albums on the wall, four or five guitars in a corner, an LP player, and stacks of vinyl. Jenna spied an electric piano in the corner and walked to it. She ran her fingers gently and silently down the keys.

  “You can play if you’d like.”

  Jenna jumped.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “It’s okay. You just surprised me…”

  Jenna squeezed her eyes shut. He was directly behind her, and he reached his arms around her to the keyboard…his body just barely brushing up against hers. He was strong, and powerful, and the feel of him this close made her light-headed.

  Trevor plinked a few notes and then, taking her hands in his, led them back to the keys. He was so close now…she leaned back into the swell of his body—not touching—but still, her body vibrated from his proximity. She longed to lift her hands from the keys and wrap them around his neck. She wanted him to reach out and place his hands on her hips to turn her to him. She wanted him to…no. She needed to stop this. This—this place and whatever she was feeling, it was only a dream. And worse, it was a dream brought on by a nightmare. She opened her eyes and wiggled away. She was cold and empty as soon as she left the safety of Trevor’s aura.

  He ran his hand through his hair. “I uh, want to show you this.”

  He led her to a door that opened to a rooftop terrace. The terrace was about the size of the music room, with shoulder-high brick walls on two sides and a finished dark wood floor. The wall overlooking the city was waist-high glass with a metal guard rail, flanked by low shrubs in a long wooden box. A few more plants were tucked in the corners of the terrace. Two simple, light gray wooden chairs sat next to a small matching table.

  Jenna ambled forward to gaze at the view. She turned to Trevor, giddy despite their day. “It’s breathtaking.” She looked back out over the city, thinking of Don, her mood changing as quickly as the pedestrians rushing by on the street below. Now, she wasn’t giddy. Now, she was just sad. The warmth of the sun did little to battle the freezing temperature. “This is so New York.”

  “What’s that?” Trevor met her at the guardrail.

  She stared out over the city. “The penthouse, and this terrace, the view, they are all stunning. But this day. This day is New York—it’s bright and sunny, but it’s bitter cold. There can never be the good without the bad.”

  “Isn’t that balance?” Trevor moved closer to her. “Isn’t that what life is? The yin and yang? Life balancing death?”

  “I just don’t understand why there has to be so much bad.” She wiped away a tear, turning to Trevor.

  He moved closer to her. “I want to hold you so much, right now.”

  “Trevor…”

  Her body ached for him, and she gripped the guardrail. He moved closer until they were nearly touching, standing side by side, looking out over Manhattan.

  ****

  Jenna was so beautiful standing on his terrace and it felt so right to have her there. In all his years with Maggie, she only ventured onto the patio a handful of times, always complaining about New York weather. But the patio was his favorite place in the world—and today, with Don’s passing, it was the only place that felt okay. Problem was, it may be that it felt okay because of Jenna.

  “So uh.” Trevor really wasn’t sure what to do next. They stood on his balcony, both of them sad and lonely, and he wanted to fix it. But the only times he had women to his place was with the intention of seducing them. And truth be told, he never really had to seduce a single one. They were always ready to throw themselves at him. And if his looks and his celebrity didn’t do it then his apartment and view of Manhattan certainly did.

  But Jenna…Jenna was different. She was serious, and smart, and beautiful—she was so intriguing, but so distant. He inhaled, deeply, floating in uncharted waters, unsure if he’d be able to swim. Yeah, his attraction to her ran deeper than a casual theatre relationship. He didn’t want her because she was his Ophelia. He wanted her, because she was Jenna. “Do you want to go inside?”

  Jenna continued to gaze out over Manhattan. “Not really. Can we stay just a little longer?”

  “You must be freezing.” He looked at her thin coat.

  “I don’t really feel anything. I’m kind of numb…”

  “Yeah.”

  “Trevor…?” She turned to him, sighing. “I…I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting toward you.”

  His body swayed toward her. He wanted to tell her it was all okay. That none of it mattered, but there was more she wanted to say.

  “We had no money, my parents, my sister, and me. And whatever we did have went to my dad’s doctor bills early on. So we had nothing left at the end to prolong his life in any way. At that moment, the moment when I watched him slip away, I got so angry at rich people. I felt they had everything, including the ability to keep their loved ones alive.”

  He inhaled deeply.

  “That’s at least part of the reason I’ve been so awful to you. I’ve been angry you have money and success, and I don’t. You could have kept my father alive, but I couldn’t.”

  “Jenna.” Trevor’s heart ached for her. “You heard what the doctor said. When it’s time, it’s time. You are not the reason he died. Cancer is.”

  “Yes, but my father gave it all up for me. All of it. His dreams, his plans, all of it. He died a slow, horrible death while cancer ate away at him, and you know why? Because it had already eaten away at his dreams. Failure devoured his very soul, and after that, it’s easy for something to destroy a body. I mean, who cares at that point?”

  “Jenna, you are not to blame.”

  “It’s so easy to say that but so difficult to believe.”

  “I know.” He clasped his hands tightly, leaning against the guardrail. “I told you my father worked in the North Tower, so everyone just assumed he was in finance.”

  “He wasn’t?” She turned to him, her brow furrowed.

  “No.” Trevor stood up taller, facing Jenna. “He worked at the restaurant at the top of the tower. My entire life. He started off in the kitchen, and worked his way up to a waiter. It was hard work and a tough way to support a family. He gave my sister and me everything he could; we were never hungry but we never had luxuries like extra clothes or toys or electronics. This city is a crazy expensive place to raise a family, even in the boroughs.”

  “Which borough?”

  “Queens.”

  “I never knew.”

  “No one does.”

  “Your mom?”

  “She passed when I was twelve. Breast cancer.”

  “Good grief, Trevor. I’m so sorry.” Her eyes welled with tears.

  “My sister is older than me; she was already eighteen when my father died. My sister and I lived in that house until I went to college, and well, soon after, I became Caspian.”

  “Where is your sister?”

  “On Long Island. With her son.”

  Jenna beamed. “Your nephew, Toby. Are you close?”

  “Yeah. I was supposed to head there for dinner tonight, but…”

  She crinkled her brow. “No, you should go. When you lose someone you love, it’s important to be around someone who makes you feel better.”

  He reached out and caressed her cheek, gently. “I am.”

  ****

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the hell was he doing? There was no way he could start something with Jenna—it was unfair to Maggie, and most of all, to Jenna. So what if she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen? Who cared that she was real and honest, and gritty…? He was all turned around because of Don’s passing. That’s all.

  A gust of wind blew past, and Jenna
shivered.

  “Come on.” Trevor’s voice was a whisper as he led her back inside to the music room. He grabbed the shoulders of her coat to help her ease out of it, but she clutched it tightly around her, turning to him.

  She dropped her chin and gazed up at him. “Should I go?”

  He read her like they were playing a scene. They were actors and her three little words were sitting out there, loaded with subtext. He knew what she was asking: Was it okay with Maggie that she was there? And could she trust him to keep their relationship platonic…? Well, who the hell knew? All he knew for sure was that he didn’t want her to leave. Not now—not ever.

  “No. You shouldn’t go. Stay. Please.”

  She slid out of her coat, and he tossed it onto a chair in the corner of the room.

  “This is nice.” Jenna smiled as she curled up on the oversized couch. “It’s comfortable here. The whole penthouse is beautiful, but this room…it’s just special.”

  “I decorated this room.”

  “Really?” Jenna raised her eyebrows. “I love it. The vintage LPs on the wall, the artwork, the huge cushions on the floor. The couch and chairs. It’s perfect.”

  Trevor smiled, thinking the exact same thing about her. “Do you want something else to drink? More coffee?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Jenna looked up at him in a way that confused him. He furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of it. If that look were on any other woman at any other time, he would have taken her straight to his bedroom. But Jenna meant something more. He was sure she wanted him to share himself with her, but she didn’t want his body—not yet anyway. She wanted his soul…and the problem was, for the first time ever, he might just be willing to give it.

  “Will you sit with me?” She pulled her feet up tighter, making room for him on the couch.

  Trevor didn’t need to be asked twice. He made his way to the couch and sat down next to her. They sat side by side, awkwardly, like pre-pubescent ’tweens at their first dance.

  “What do we do now? For Don, I mean?” She yawned, her eyelids heavy.

  “I’m the executor, so I have to plan the funeral. I know what he wanted; it’s pretty straight-forward.”

  She nodded, placing her arm on the back of the couch, resting her head against it. With her black hair draped across her shoulder, she looked peaceful and beautiful. She yawned again, covering her mouth. “Sorry.” She stretched her arms overhead, resuming her position. “I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

  “No. Me either.” He forced his arms to stay at his sides. “You can take a nap if you’d like.”

  “I don’t want to be in the way.” As sleep overtook her, her words were becoming a murmur.

  “Jenna, please.”

  Within minutes, Jenna’s body relaxed and her breathing deepened. He smiled. This was technically the second time they had slept together and he’d never even kissed her. Come to think of it, this was the first woman he’d ever had to his apartment whom he hadn’t kissed—not that he didn’t want to. As he watched her sleep, he fought hard against the fantasies racing through his mind. He imagined he and Jenna lying together on the couch after Thai takeout and a long night of listening to his LPs. He would lie still, mesmerized by her soft voice reciting Shakespeare, running his hand up and down the worn cotton of one of his vintage rock t-shirts she’d be wearing. After a few minutes, he’d free his hand beneath the t-shirt, caressing the soft skin of her back, unhooking her lacy pink bra with one hand, while his other hand lifted her chin so he could kiss her softly, over and over again.

  Damn. Now he was uncomfortable. He sat up straight, trying to alleviate both the ache in his jeans and the guilt he was feeling. He was with Maggie—planning to propose to Maggie—how dare he have fantasies about another woman? But that’s all they were, just fantasies—and men did it all the time. Lots of married men watch porn or visit strip clubs, they weren’t technically cheating. So why’d he feel so awful? He stretched in his seat, trying to make room in his jeans. Because he wasn’t that guy—he was a guy who wanted to be with only one woman. Problem was, it was the wrong woman.

  But what if…? Trevor gazed at Jenna lying there, sleeping on his couch, and his body ached to pull her near. What if he were to end it with Maggie, then what? So what if her father was angry and canceled his contract? He was so damned sick and tired of playing Caspian Locke. It was time to move on. Amanda’s house was paid for, Toby was much better—they were just monitoring him now after his last open heart surgery a few months back, so maybe, just maybe, Trevor could break away from his obligations…? Why the hell not? He had plenty of money in the bank to hold them all over until he found work again. But what kind of work? Theatre? Who would hire a washed up soap villain? Trevor took a deep breath, rubbing the dull ache in his temples. Could this be his time to fulfill his lifelong dream of opening a theatre upstate…? But opening a theatre was a huge, expensive risk, and how would he ever make ends meet if, God forbid, Toby had a relapse? Even if his theatre company did well, theatre didn’t pay close to what he made as Caspian now. And even seven figures in the double digits that he had stashed away in the bank would be easily annihilated if Toby needed additional medical treatments that insurance wouldn’t cover…

  Sadness settled on Trevor like a suffocating blanket. Sometimes, sometimes it would be freaking great to be just a fraction of the bad guy Caspian was. How awesome to go through life not giving a damn about anyone but yourself—and the next woman you’re going to bed. He stood up quickly, jostling the couch. Jenna murmured.

  The walls were closing in on him, so Trevor ducked out of the music room and onto the patio. He took a deep breath of the freezing New York air. He needed to call Amanda and cancel on dinner. He hated to disappoint Toby, but she would certainly understand and smooth things over for him. Trevor dug his phone from his pocket and scrolled through the texts. The last one was from Maggie who had been on a shopping day with her mother. She texted she was exhausted and was turning in early. Complete with a yawning emoticon. Maggie’s incessant use of emoticons was never fun, but it used to be a hell of a lot less annoying than it was now. He held the phone tightly in his grasp, debating texting Maggie to tell her about Don. No. No way. He just wasn’t ready to share this with her, yet. Besides, she barely knew Don. Trevor scrolled away from Maggie’s text and found Amanda’s number, calling her.

  “Uncle Trevor?”

  “Hey, Toby. What are you doing answering Mom’s phone?” The suffocating feeling lessened as he spoke to Toby. No matter how unhappy Trevor was, his nephew could always make him feel better.

  “I beat her to the phone and recognized your number.”

  Trevor chuckled.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What?” Trevor was caught off-guard. “Why do you think something’s wrong?”

  “Your voice sounds funny. And because if you’re calling it probably means you’re not coming. So why not?”

  “You’re a pretty smart kid, you know that?”

  “Why aren’t you coming, Uncle Trevor?”

  Trevor looked out over Manhattan, debating what to tell Toby. He didn’t want to just no-show like Toby’s useless father, or offer some lame excuse. But what could he tell him?

  “A friend of mine…he uh…” Trevor choked on his words, clearing his voice. Why was he so torn up? Don was a ninety-three-year-old man. This was bound to happen sooner rather than later.

  “Did he go to heaven?” Toby’s voice was low and serious.

  Toby had so much concern for Trevor, Trevor’s heart ached. But he owed him the truth. “Yes, Toby, my friend went to heaven.”

  “Oh.”

  The line was quiet for whole moments.

  “It’s nice you know. Heaven. That’s what Mommy tells me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. It has video games and ponies and all the donuts you want. Plus, you never have to brush your teeth.”

  “Sounds pretty awesome.”

>   “It is. So Mommy says I don’t ever have to be afraid if I have to go there.”

  Trevor shoved the side of his fist to his mouth, choking back a sob.

  “Uncle Trevor?”

  Trevor cleared his throat. “Yeah, Toby. I’m here.” He wiped a tear that fell down his cheek. “But let me tell you something. You’re not going to heaven for a very long, long time. Okay? I’ll be there way before you. And I’ll be waiting with all the donuts you want.”

  “Promise?”

  Trevor turned, peering into the music room at beautiful, smart, talented Jenna curled up on his couch—exactly where she should be, and yet should never be, all at once. Maybe she felt him staring, because she woke, sitting up lazily, looking around. She turned to him and held up her hand, offering a single wave. She took her coat off the chair and pulled it on, wrapping her arms around herself, making her way to the door of the patio. She stepped out onto the patio, and the wind blew her hair back from her face—and in her eyes he saw…everything.

  “Uncle Trevor? Do you promise you’ll be in heaven before me?”

  Trevor swallowed hard. “Yes, Toby, I promise I’ll be in heaven before you.”

  “Trevor?” Amanda had taken the phone away from Toby. “What’s going on?”

  “Don Oleesa passed this morning.” His shoulders slumped with grief.

  “Oh, Trevor, I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks.” He fought to steady his voice. “Would you tell Toby I’m sorry about tonight, but I will be there next week, no matter what?”

  “Of course, Trevor. Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do?”

  “Nah. Thanks, Amanda. ’Night.”

  Trevor clicked off the phone, and Jenna turned to him, her eyes glassy from sleep and unexpressed tears.

  “Was that your nephew?”

  Trevor just nodded.

  “Is there a reason he believes he could be in heaven before you?”

  “Yes.” His throat ached, and his gut wrenched as he spoke.

  “How sick is he?”

  “He was born with a congenital heart condition, truncus arteriosus. It’s pretty rare. Something like one in every ten thousand kids has it. He uh, he had an abnormal truncal valve—not an aortic and pulmonary like we have. They performed a surgery when he was only a couple months old.” Trevor’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “Excuse me. That’s why I got the tattoo—he’s got a scar on his chest, and my tattoo is a way to match him. Anyway, a couple of months ago he had another open heart surgery, because his conduit pipe was too narrow. Blood couldn’t flow through. Well, about a week ago he started feeling breathless. Amanda’s not worried. At least, she says she’s not. They’re playing around with his medications, blood thinners and such. Everyone’s hoping they don’t need to operate again. If they do, it’ll be his third open heart surgery. But this time they may not need to. It looks good—there’s no reason to think…” Trevor’s words fell away.