Playing With Her Heart (32 page)

The entire theater
turns starkly silent for one brief moment, then the quiet is broken
with a deafening wail that rings through the house. I rush down the
steps and Shannon races to Alexis as the star of the show clutches
her knee, shrieking.

An hour later, Shannon
calls me from the hospital to tell me Alexis has a torn ACL and will
be on crutches for four to six weeks, and out of commission for even
longer.

I find Jill in her
dressing room, chatting with Shelby and looking at photos on their
phones. I don’t smile, I don’t laugh. I’m not glad that Alexis
is hurt. But, it feels a bit like payback, and a lot like karma for
Alexis.

I rap my knuckles
against the doorframe. Jill looks up. “It appears you’ll be
opening the show, and starring in it, too, for the foreseeable
future.”

Her eyes go as wide as
saucers, and she tries to hold back her glee with little success as I
tell her what happened.

“Is she going to be
okay?” she asks, and I’m proud of Jill for having the common
decency to ask.

“She’ll be fine in
time. As for now, the show must go on.”

Jill

I can barely eat the
next day, I am so aflutter with nerves. But I force myself to finish
off a piece of toast, and Kat brews me tea.

“I believe it’s the
drink of choice for all the superstar sopranos,” Kat says as she
hands me a mug.

I take a deep breath,
and it’s probably the fiftieth or the five hundredth I’ve had to
stop and take today to quell the butterflies. I always knew it was a
possibility that I might go on, but I figured it would be a night
here, a night there. Not opening night. I drink the tea then grab my
purse and head for the door.

“See you after the
show? You’ll come backstage, right?”

“Like I would miss it
for anything.” She rolls her eyes. “Get out of here. And I’d
tell you to break a leg, but somehow I don’t think that’s the
right thing to say at the moment.”

I reach for the door
handle, then stop, and turn back. “Kat?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you. I just
wanted to say it.”

“I know, silly. I
love you too. I’ll be in the third row, and I will be your biggest
fan.”

“Bye.”

Then I leave and I take
the subway, because I always imagined when I went to work in my first
starring role that I’d take the subway, I’d emerge from the New
York underground into the neon and lights and noise in Times Square,
and I’d walk purposefully to the theater, head backstage, get into
costume and do a few quick warm-up vocals.

So that’s what I do.
As Shelby and I run through our exercises I am jittery, I am jumpy,
but I am also confident. I’ve been ready for this since before we
even started rehearsals. I know Ava, I know this show inside and out.

I don’t take over
Alexis’ dressing room because that would seem a bit rude. I stay
with my chorus girls, because I am still a chorus girl. I’m just
the lucky one who gets to swoop in at the last minute.

At six forty-five,
Davis comes by to wish us good luck. He is business-like and
professional, and that’s what I would expect.

“You’re all going
to be great,” he says to the group of us, and then tips his
forehead to me, then the hallway. I stand up, and join him in the
hall.

“Do you remember what
I said the first night I rehearsed you? How I wanted you to be able
to blow the audience away?”

I nod. “I remember
everything about that night.”

A smile plays on his
lips. “Me too,” he says in a sexy voice then he returns to his
directorial one. “I told you I wanted them to melt for you. To fall
for you.”

I nod, eager to hear
what’s next.

He leans into me,
brushes his lips on my forehead. “You’ve got this, Jill. They
will. They will fall for you.”

“Thank you,” I say,
feeling warm and glowy from both the kiss and the praise.

“I’ll see you
after. We’ll go celebrate.”

“Of course. But you
might have to come to the cast party because, you know,” I say
teasing him, “I gotta hang with my actor peeps.”

“I would be honored.”

Then he heads down the
hall on his way to find Patrick and give him a pep talk. A few
minutes later Shannon knocks on the door to tell me my brother is
here.

Even though I saw Chris
a few days ago, I still jump into his arms.

“Hey, little sis.”

“Hey, big pain in the
ass.

Then I turn to meet
McKenna and she’s so pretty and has the coolest dress on—a
rockabilly number with dog prints on it. “I’ve only seen you in
your Helen video. I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you. You’re
even hotter in person.”

She blushes. “Stop
that.”

“No, seriously. I
can’t believe my brother snagged a total babe. How did you trick
her, Chris?” I say, teasing him. Then I lower my voice and whisper
to the woman I’m pretty damn sure is about to become my sister in
law-to-be in a few minutes. “I’m so glad he found you. He’s mad
about you.”

“The feeling is
completely mutual.”

I offer to show them
the stage, because that’s all part of the plan Chris and I drummed
up in Bryant Park. Then I smack my forehead. “I forgot something in
my dressing room. I’ll be right back.”

I head for the wings,
but I can’t resist watching Chris get down on one knee to propose,
and it makes my heart soar when she says yes. I want to clap and
cheer and run over to them. But it’s their moment, so I let them
have it, even as I grin like a crazy person from my private little
hideout spot.

“Okay, let’s clear
the stage now,” Shannon says. They walk off stage, holding hands,
with McKenna giving Chris kisses all over his cheeks as they go.

“You guys are the
best,” I say, and give them both huge hugs before they head for the
lobby. I return to the dressing room, where I touch up my makeup,
making my mascara pop even more, and then applying lipstick and lip
liner. Shelby smooths out my hair for the first scene, pulling it
back into a simple ponytail and spraying it.

“I can’t resist
being the hair stylist,” she says happily.

“I love it,” I tell
her.

Then all of the chorus
girls in the dressing room do a few quick yoga stretches to loosen
up. When we’re done, Shelby grabs my arm as if she forgot
something. “We need to go say hello to the ghost,” Shelby says
excitedly.

“You’re right! We
have to.”

We rush down the
red-carpeted hall, pop backstage and wave grandly to the pretend
ghost of Hammerstein in the balcony, since he’s only here on
opening night. I peek at the audience members filing into the
theater, thrilling at the sight of them taking their seats, opening
their Playbills and seeing
my
name in the white slip of paper
that was inserted into the programs tonight.

At tonight’s
performance, the role of Ava will be played by Jill McCormick.

I take my place in the
wings. Shelby grabs my hand hard and squeezes it. “You’re going
to be great,” she whispers.

I nod a quick thanks
and when the overture fades, I make my entrance to the stage in front
of the packed house at the St. James Theater for my first performance
ever in a Broadway show.

It is electrifying.

I spend the next two
and a half hours singing and acting and crying and fighting and
kissing and falling in love with Paolo. Because that’s who Patrick
is to me. I leave myself behind, but this time it’s as it should
be. This is when I can forget who I am and become someone else.
Because this kind of pretending is what feeds my heart and my soul as
I become this broken down character who somehow finds a way through
her pain and loneliness to the other side.

When we sing the final
lines in the final song, and then fall into each other’s arm for a
last staged kiss, I feel as if I am flying. This is the highest high,
and the purest joy I’ve ever felt—performing and doing what I
love with my whole heart.

The curtain falls, and
Patrick grabs me for a bear hug. It is a friendly, affable embrace,
and then he high fives me. “I knew we would be great together on
stage,” he declares with a fist pump.

“It was amazing,” I
say with a grin as wide as the sky, and maybe that’s how Patrick
and I were meant to be together—as actors, playing parts, and
making the audience believe. Perhaps, that was always what was in the
cards for the two of us.

He rushes off to stage
left, I head to stage right, and we wait in the wings. I am still
riding on the adrenaline and I probably will be for years, as the
audience starts cheering and clapping when the curtain rises again.
The chorus members rush out to take their bows. Then the supporting
actors and featured stars make their way, one by one, to the front of
the stage.

The notes to our
signature song flood the theater and I beam at Patrick as we rush out
and meet in the middle. He grasps my hand, and we head to the front
of the stage and take our bows together.

In the audience, I see
Chris and McKenna, Kat and Bryan, Reeve and Sutton, and I wave to
them all. The cast links hands together for one more bow as the
cheering grows even louder, and we gesture to the orchestra in the
pit who played the beautiful score.

Finally, the curtain
falls, and I am overcome with emotion. Fat tears slide down my
cheeks, but they don’t last long when Shelby jumps in my arms.

“You were absolutely
amazing! You broke your Broadway cherry! And you did it in a big
way!” she says, and I stop crying tears of happiness because now I
am laughing. We return to our dressing room, and I’m still floating
on this magic carpet ride of the most amazing night of my life as I
change out of my costume, pull on jeans and a sweater, and sweep my
hair into a loose ponytail.

My friends all stop by
for congratulations, and then it’s time to hang with the cast.

“Ready for Zane’s?”

“Yeah, let me meet
you there,” I tell Shelby, then pop out of the dressing room to
look for Davis. I head down the hallway, but I don’t see him
anywhere, and even when I peek at the empty stage he’s nowhere to
be found. I hunt around more, and finally I leave the stage when I
see a handful of people lingering in the now empty seats.

There’s Davis’
lawyer, Clay, as well as a man in a sharp suit and a woman in black
slacks. They look cool and business-like, and Davis is holding court
with them. He’s leaning against one of the chairs in the front row,
his long legs stretched out as they chat.

They must be the
Twelfth Night
producers, and there’s a part of me that kind
of likes watching him, unseen, as he conducts business and is wooed
by the financiers of the theater world who want his talent, his
vision, his eye. My lips curve into a grin—that’s my man over
there, and everyone wants a piece of him, but I get to have him.

A woman walks down the
aisle, and I tense. The last time I saw her was at the gala. Only
it’s not Madeline. It’s Joyelle Kristy, the actress who was
interested in
Twelfth Night
. She joins the crew, and I tell
myself not to be jealous because this is his job, and he will work
with many beautiful people over the years, just like my job is
sometimes to kiss men on stage and I did that tonight.

But she smiles at him,
and it’s so unlike the way Madeline looked at him. Madeline was all
distance, but Joyelle has this happy, buoyant vibe around her that I
almost can’t quite put my finger on. Then, it hits me. She looks
like
me
when I first learned I was cast. Like me, she’s
throwing her arms around Davis, gripping him in a huge hug, and he
responds by hugging her back and smiling.

I step back, nearly
stumbling. That’s how he treated me outside Sardi’s. He’s
interacting the exact same way, and seeing the two of them unleashes
a new feeling in me, a foreign feeling. Something I haven’t felt
before because I haven’t loved like this.

The
fear
of us
unraveling.

He sees me in the
corner of the theater, untangles himself from Joyelle, and gestures
to them that he’ll be right back.

“You were
breathtaking,” he says when he reaches me.

“Thank you. What’s
going on?”

“The
Twelfth Night
producers are here.”

I nod a few times,
trying to prepare myself for what I know is coming. Him leaving. “So
you’re taking the job in London?”

“Yeah, I am. But you
knew I was leaning towards it.”

“And Joyelle? Is she
Viola?” I ask, my body flooding with worry that this most wonderful
thing could fall apart when a new leading lady walks onto his stage.

“Hey,” he says
running his thumb along my jawline. “She’s just happy she was
cast.”

“Right,” I say with
a nod.
Just happy she was cast.
Like I was, and I can see it
all unfolding again. He’ll be in London, away from me and working
with her. She’ll have late nights with him. She’ll have private
rehearsals with him.

“I better let you
finish your meeting,” I say, as my heart starts to race at a
frantic pace, like it’s trying to escape from my chest.

“I’ll see you at
Zane’s.”

“Yeah,” I reply,
but I feel completely unmoored as he walks away and rejoins the
people he’ll be working with next as he moves on from me.

All along, I thought
I’d be the one to hurt someone. I’d avoided relationships for
that reason. But Davis has my heart, I’ve given him my most
valuable possession, and now he can hurt me too.

I grab my coat and
leave the theater, the heavy stage door clanging shut behind me. I
button my coat, and head out to Forty-Fourth Street, and am shocked
when there are audience members waiting for me, asking me to sign
their Playbills. It’s thrilling, and I sign several and pose for a
few photos too, but inside I am awash in stupid worry.