If Ever

by Angie Stanton

  "Thanks," she says, and stares across the room with an empty expression.

  I whip up the drink, keeping an eye on her. I've dealt with plenty of disappointments in life, but nothing compared to the rejection of a parent.

  "Here you go." I place the warm mug in her hands and sit beside her, my arm around her slumped frame.

  "You're too good to me," she says quietly, contemplating the lettering on the Something Rotten mug.

  "No, I'm not, but I love you so much and wish I could fix this."

  "No one can fix it." She sips her drink and pauses a long time before she speaks. "I was finally happy, and seeing him after all this time churned up all the ugly truth."

  "I know it seems impossible, but this will pass, and you'll be happy and stronger than ever. I promise."

  Her lip trembles. "You know why I went into International Business and learned French?"

  I shake my head, but I have a good guess.

  "Because I wanted him to approve of me. I thought maybe he'd love me if I was more like him." Tears well up in her eyes again and she sniffs back her cry. "What's wrong with me that my own father doesn't love me?"

  I regret not slugging the guy when I had the chance. "Shh. There's nothing wrong with you. This is all on him."

  "All I ever wanted was his love."

  "I know. But I love you." And God I hope it's enough.

  She turns her glistening eyes on me. "I love you, too."

  Huddled together she drinks her hot chocolate until I eventually feel her body warm up against me.

  "Thank you for the wonderful day. I'm sorry I ruined it."

  "You didn't ruin anything, and you're going to be okay." But I don’t think she hears me as she stares into the distance.

  33

  The next morning Tom enters the living room in plaid pajama pants with his hair sticking up at odd angles. He slides in beside me on the couch and stretches out his legs on the coffee table.

  "How are you?"

  "Fine," I say, because I can't possibly put into words the chaos in my mind.

  "Were you able to sleep?"

  "Some," I lie. Last night after a couple hours with the heat of his body pressed against mine, I feared my tortured thoughts would wake him, so I escaped to the solitude of the living room where I've been wrestling with the renewed reality that my own father doesn't love me. I've felt unlovable much of my life, and he's reminded me of that fact once again.

  Tom studies me. "Are you hungry?"

  I smile weakly. "You don't have to take care of me. I'm fine."

  He frowns. "No, you're not. What can I do?"

  I caress his face. The shadow of scruff has grown since yesterday. "Nothing." I brush my hand against the bristly hair, enjoying the touch of him and how he smells in the morning.

  His hand covers mine. "But I need to do something."

  "You must have things you have to do today other than worrying about me. I'll be fine." He's been busy every day.

  He smooths my hair as he speaks. "I'm scheduled most of the day. I'm sorry, but I can't change it."

  Which is good because I don't have the energy or interest to do anything after last night. I’m a wreck, and I guess I always have been. It’s unavoidable when you grow up without a parent around. And I suppose it explains why I’ve never been able to keep a long-term relationship.

  He lays his hand on my thigh. "God, I don't want to leave you here alone today."

  “Honestly, I just want to be by myself.”

  He takes my hand in his. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

  "Not really."

  His concern is touching, but nothing can help me. I just want to stay with these miserable feelings. Sometimes it's easier to give myself over to the pain, because somewhere in those dark, lonely places, there's a sense of security. No one can hurt me anymore if I stay down here in my pit of misery.

  "Chelsea?" He's watching me again, his eyes squinty with unease, and I'm not sure how long my mind wandered off.

  "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

  "I'll be back after my audition and we can have dinner before the show."

  "All right."

  That night I'm on the love seat in Tom's dressing room with the sound of his voice from the stage pouring through the wall speakers. He insisted I come to the theatre. I guess he was afraid I'd slit my wrists or something when he came home and found me in the same spot on the couch as when he left.

  Hearing him perform in front of a thousand people when I've unloaded all my hellish drama on him adds another level of awe. I don't know how he can turn it all off and disappear into his character. I wish I could turn off the turmoil in my head.

  The silky sounds of his powerful voice help soothe me. His talent is unparalleled with his ability to move people through a kaleidoscope of emotions. I'm lucky to have him and yet I feel so inferior. At this point I can’t manage to land a job. Why is he even with me?

  The door opens and Tom appears, a sheen of perspiration on his face, his hair damp with sweat. I hadn't noticed they'd gone to intermission.

  He grabs a bottle of coconut water from the fridge, a towel off the rack, and falls onto the loveseat beside me, dropping his hand on my leg.

  I place my hand on his. "You're great out there. I don't know how you do it."

  "Because I have to." He laughs, and leans his head back and closes his eyes. "That's the gig."

  He lays there quietly, catching his breath, and coming down from the high-octane energy of performance mode. I experience the same thing on Celebrity Dance Off, but I only had to maintain the energy for a few minutes while on camera. He has to do it for most of two and half hours.

  "How are you?" He tilts his head my direction, concern in his eyes.

  "I'm not trying to pry open the window to jump, so you can stop worrying."

  He smiles and I sense his relief.

  "But I have been thinking."

  "What about?"

  "Life, big stuff, small stuff, you know."

  "And?" He takes my hand.

  "I’ve been bouncing around for a while with no real direction. Running into my dad made me realize that I've spent most of my life trying to please others."

  He listens closely with concern etched on his handsome face.

  “He’s my only living family, and he can’t bear to be in the same room with me.” I pull my hand away.

  “Your father is an idiot.”

  I stand and go to the window. The street is illuminated by the bright marquee, but few people are out. “Maybe so, but I need to fix things. I can’t keep living this way.

  "As long as it doesn't take you away from me, I'm all for it."

  I turn to face him. “If you’re sure you still want me around after seeing my dark side.”

  Tom joins me and puts his arms around me. “Always. Nothing could change that.”

  But I’m not so sure.

  34

  “It's a pass on the movie," my agent, Sean says two days later.

  I sigh and press my lower back to the living room floor in an effort to stretch the tight muscles. "Any word on the TV pilot?"

  "No, but you've got a call back for the Broadway project tomorrow at eleven, and I set two auditions for you next week. One is an HBO pilot, the other is another new musical in development. Both would be great for you."

  "When are they?"

  "Next week Tuesday and Wednesday. I'll send over the details and audition materials this afternoon."

  Any chance you can switch Tuesday audition to Thursday? This schedule has been kicking my ass."

  "I'll see what I can do."

  "Sean, tell me I'm doing the right thing by leaving the show."

  "Don't doubt yourself. A full year in that show is accomplishing the impossible. I guarantee that future replacements will be in three-month increments. It's time you move to the next stage of your career and broaden your experience."

  "Says the guy paid to be optimistic." Flat on my back, I
notice a cobweb floating from the ceiling.

  "True that." He laughs. "Catch you later."

  The bathroom door opens as I click off. Chelsea comes out wrapped in nothing more than a cloud of steam and a fluffy white towel.

  "What are you doing?" She grins down at my prone position. It's great to see her smile after the horrible run-in with her father, but I worry she’s just burying the pain. She’s been overly cheery all day.

  "It's called the Alexander." My knees are bent with my back and neck stretched out straight and flat. Water from her damp hair rolls down her arm.

  She cocks an eyebrow. "All right. I assume this is another goofy theatre thing."

  "More or less. It's a relaxation technique that's supposed to elongate and relax the back."

  She sits on the coffee table and crosses her bare legs. "Is the pain worse?"

  "Not when I'm distracted by you, half naked and two feet away."

  She flashes her eyebrows and lifts a long slender leg. "Like the view, do you?"

  "You know I do, you cheeky wench."

  "How bad does it hurt?"

  "It's nothing some stretching, muscle rub, and a bottle of painkillers can't mask." She rises and steps over my knees, one foot on each side of my hips, just out of reach for me to peek up her towel. My hands reach out and caress her ankles, warm and soft. She has a sexy twinkle in her eye that I love. “You seem in a good mood today.”

  “I am. I have an interview at the Hamilton Literary Agency tomorrow?”

  “You don’t say? Well, that is good news.” I never asked Paige to help Chelsea in her job search, but the timing couldn’t be better.

  "So if I were to, say…" Chelsea nibbles her lip. "…make myself comfortable, I wouldn't be hurting your back?"

  "If you plan to do what I think you are, pain is the last thing I'll feel." My traitorous body gives away my interest.

  Her delicious mouth curves into a knowing smile. "Consider it sexual favors for putting up with my friends this weekend. It's not too late for us to get a couple of hotel rooms if you're not up for it."

  My phone pings. I reach over and check the caller ID. Shit. Will that woman never take no for an answer? I set the phone down.

  "What was that?"

  "Nothing important."

  "Then why were you frowning?"

  "It's someone from my past."

  Chelsea arches a brow. "That sounds ominous."

  "It’s nothing to worry about. Now about your friends, I can't wait to meet them."

  "Let's wait and see how you feel by the end of the weekend. I'll be stocking up on booze before they get here."

  "So, you're a bunch of lushes?" I tease.

  "We have our moments. How do you think they got me to audition for Celebrity Dance Off? I was bombed."

  * * *

  I hear hoots of feminine laughter and music from my flat as I open the door after the Friday night show. From the entryway I see a girl wearing nothing but a skimpy piece of lingerie.

  "Um, hello," I call out.

  The girl whips around in her filmy ensemble, revealing more of her shapely figure. One look at me and with a shriek she races into the extra bedroom. The other girls squeal with laughter.

  I enter the room nervous of what I'll find next. My flat is a debris field of luggage, coats, ladies footwear, and wrapping paper. The coffee table is littered with wine glasses, half empty bottles and the remnants of two pizzas.

  Chelsea rushes over, her eyes bright with happiness. "Oh my God, that was so funny. We made Anna model the lingerie we gave her." Chelsea kisses me quick and takes my arm. "Tom, these are my friends, Kayla, Jacque and Megan."

  "Thanks for letting us stay here," Kayla a long-haired brunette says.

  "No problem. I'm glad to have you." All eyes are glued to me as I remove my coat. This is more nerve wracking than auditioning before a Tony-winning director.

  "Especially after walking into that!" Jacque says with a giggle. She's got dark shoulder-length hair and an infectious smile.

  "Chelsea, he's hot! And his accent is adorable," Megan, a striking blonde blurts, boldly checking me out.

  "Megan!" Kayla whacks her with a throw pillow.

  "What? It's a compliment. And who doesn't love a British accent?"

  I look to Chelsea and scratch my head, a little wary. She shrugs and the girls laugh. "Let's get you a drink?"

  "I think I'll need a double. Let me get it." I take the opportunity to hide in the kitchen.

  The former lingerie-modeling girl sneaks back into the room wearing leggings, a long sweater, and a face flushed with embarrassment.

  "And this is Anna, the bride," Chelsea announces with a grin.

  "Hi." Anna waves, sits on the couch, and clutches her drink.

  "Congratulations on your wedding. Your fiancé is going to love that little number you were wearing." I raise my glass in salute.

  Anna turns a brighter shade and hides her head in her hands as her friends roll with laughter.

  With my gin and tonic firmly in hand, I find a spot on the floor among the disarray and stretch out my legs. Chelsea touches her stockinged feet to mine and smiles.

  "So, Tom." Megan sips her wine. "As you know, Chelsea doesn't have any family, that is other than her bastard excuse of a father, who I plan to take down someday," she adds. "As her adoptive family, we'd like to know your intentions."

  I glance at Chelsea, who is shaking her head in embarrassment.

  "Yeah," says Kayla. "Chelsea's too nice for her own good. We're her muscle. So what's up?" All eyes are on me. I fight the urge to squirm.

  Chelsea shrugs and leaves me to fend for myself.

  "Out of respect to your position as her handlers, I assure you my intentions are most sincere." I wink at Chelsea. What would they think if I pulled the engagement ring I’ve been carrying around in my pocket and proposed right now? But I aim to propose in extraordinary fashion when the time is right. After the tough time with her dad, I want it to be spectacular.

  "You do have the cutest accent," Jacque says, and now they're all waiting for me to speak again to hear more of it. This is one of those moments when being British gives me the ace in the hole.

  35

  I've never been more proud then when I arrive at the theatre with my friends. None of them have been to a Broadway show before, and seeing Tom's image plastered outside the theatre has them in awe.

  "Geez, Chelsea. I didn't realize Tom was such a big deal."

  I smile, because he is and he isn't. He's a normal, kind, unassuming person, which makes his incredible talent all the more special.

  When we take our seats, a slip of paper falls from my Playbill into my lap. The role of Charlotte Wilkerson will be played by Tanya Jenkins. A phantom punch in the gut stuns me. I don't want to see Tanya? I want Paige in the role. But mostly I don't want to watch Tom making out with Tanya in front of my friends. Or me.

  The overture begins. Anna bumps my shoulder. "This is so exciting!"

  And I wish it was, but for some stupid reason, I can't get past the Tanya thing. I'm not enjoying the show as much as I usually do, and why didn't Tom warn me? He knows I don't like her. Heck, I don't think he really likes her either.

  Yet when they're onstage together you'd never know it. He gazes into her eyes, caresses her, and sings a love song. I squirm in my seat. Not once has it bothered me to watch Tom do the same thing with Paige. But she's happily married and treats Tom like a best friend—sort of like Dominic and I.

  After the show, the girls gush over Tom's performance. "Oh my God, how do you stand watching him make out with another woman?" Megan says,

  I smile and grit my teeth.

  "I mean, they were in bed together. I'd go crazy. If I caught a guy I was dating kissing someone else, even if he was getting paid to do it. That'd be it," she says.

  "Megan, you are so rude!" Anna steps in. "He's a professional actor. It means nothing."

  Megan holds her hands up. "I'm just saying. I wouldn't
like it."

  "It's no big deal," I respond, but tonight it is. Tanya is vile and I can't stand her.

  Backstage, Tom gives them the grand tour. He's charming and handsome and everything I could dream of, except he didn't tell me about Tanya. When I get him alone for a moment, he admits that Paige is out of town and this is his third show with Tanya. The information jabs me like a sharp betrayal, even though I know it shouldn't.

  Tanya swings by to say good show and good night to him. She smiles coyly and giggles. I'm pissed. And when Tom kisses me goodbye, all I can think of is that his lips were on Tanya's first. And then I remember him saying someone from his past had called the other day. It must be a woman. His ex-girlfriend? How many women do I have to compete with?

  It's a relief to leave the theatre behind and hit the town. It's been so long since I've partied with the girls.

  "Are you okay?" Anna asks.

  "Fine. Why?"

  "I saw how that Tanya chick looked at Tom. It's got to be hard."

  "I'm glad it's not just me who sees it. His normal costar is terrific, but Tanya, well—"

  "She'd steal him from you in a second if she could."

  "Exactly!" It's good to get validation that I'm not dreaming this stuff up.

  Anna bites her lip. "Do you think he'd cheat on you?"

  "God, no. I mean, I never thought so." But the image of him making fake love with Tanya is seared on my brain like a cattle brand.

  "I don't think he would either. Drink up and cheer up. Tonight is about having fun."

  After that the drinks go down easy. Our group attracts lots of guys. Megan flirts shamelessly and Jacque is a dude magnet with her gorgeous smile. At one point my phone pings and I expect it to be a text from Tom, but it’s Dominic. He’s going to be in town next week and wants to get together. Absolutely, I text back and let him know I’ll give him a call then. It’ll be great to catch up.

  A couple of guys at the bar say how familiar I look, and Anna blabs that I was on Celebrity Dance Off. There's lots of selfies with guys we meet, and on an intoxicated whim, I send some to Tom so he knows how it feels to share the one you love.