Broken Juliet (29 page)

“Well, that’s just wrong.”

“Tell me about it. He’s already done a piece about how skeptical he is about this play. He doesn’t like the script, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like Ethan and me.”

“Has he met you? Seen you perform?”

“No, Cody. He’s a
reviewer
. He doesn’t have to see something to know he doesn’t like it.”

I pull a brush through my hair. “How’s Ethan doing?”

“Well, he vomited.”

“How many times?”

“Three. Now he’s lying down. Do you need me to get you anything?”

“Valium, a bottle of bourbon, and about ten pounds of self-confidence.”

“I’m predicting that if I get you the bourbon, the self-confidence will take care of itself.”

I turn to him. “Holt’s been telling you stories about me being drunk again, hasn’t he?”

“Just a few. I’m impressed.”

“Let me just say this: That time in Martha’s Vineyard?
Everyone
was half naked. Not just me.”

“He did explain that. Okay. I’d better go raid a liquor store. Be back soon with your bourbon.”

“Wait, you can’t buy booze. You’re, like, twelve.”

“I’m twenty-two, Miss Taylor.”

“Really? You’re legal? Hmmm. I might have to rethink not sexually harassing you, then.”

“Please don’t. Mr. Holt is a large man. He’d crush me like a bug.”

“He doesn’t get jealous anymore.” Cody gives me a look. “Okay, he does, but he’s not an asshole about it.”

“Did you tell him Mr. Bain sent you that massive bouquet of roses?”

“Are you insane? He’d tear the place apart.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think so. Still, maybe lose the card, okay?”

He takes the card and shoves it in his pocket. “It’s gone.”

“You’re awesome, Cody. And pretty.”

He laughs. “Have a great show, Miss Taylor.”

“Thanks. See you when it’s over.”

When he’s gone, I slip into my Act One costume and begin my focusing exercises.

I do three sets of tai-chi before giving up. My focus is screwed. I need …

There’s a knock at the door. Perfect timing.

“Come in.”

Ethan enters. He looks like crap. He’s also in costume, but even through his makeup, I can see how green he is.

He walks over and collapses on my couch.

“You okay?”

“Yep.”

“Really?”

“Nope. Did you hear the asshole from the
Times
is coming tonight?”

“Yeah, plus every other Broadway reviewer and blogger in New York.”

He clutches his stomach. “Fuck. Also, my parents are here.”

“They’re going to love it. Mine are coming next week. I wanted to make sure I had some time to spend with them away from the craziness of opening night.”

“They send you flowers?”

“Yes. One giant bunch each, because you know, divorced people can’t possibly talk on the phone and organize a joint present.”

“Of course not.” “Tristan sent me a gift-boxed vibrator with a card that read, ‘
If the reviewers don’t like your show, give them this and tell them to go fuck themselves
.’”

He laughs, then groans. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day. He coming tonight?”

“Yep. Bringing his new boyfriend.”

“Oh, good. I’d really like to put a face to the inappropriate descriptions of his ass.”

“Likewise.”

He sits up and sighs. “I see Connor sent you roses.”

My heart falters. “Uh … you did?”

“Yeah, he was dropping them off at the stage door when I arrived.”

“Uh huh. So … you talked to him?”

“Yeah. He wished us both luck.”

“You seem very calm about it.”

“I am.” I give him a skeptical look, and he waves me off. “Connor was a blip on our radar. Despite my fantasizing about beating the shit out of him on the regular, he’s a nice guy. The only thing he ever did wrong was take a liking to the girl of my dreams. Can’t really blame him for that. You are fucking spectacular.”

“So you’re okay with him sending me flowers?”

“Yep. He can send you all the flowers he wants. At the end of the night, I’m the one taking you home.”

“Well, you walk me home.”

“Semantics. I take you back to your apartment, then we say good-night at the door and share a marathon hug that ensures I’ll be hard for hours afterward.”

I laugh. “
Hours
? Really?” He glares, and I drop my smile. “I’m sorry. You must be frustrated.”

“Nope. I’m fine. Because I know that one night, you’re going to invite me in, and on that night, I’m going to make sweet love to you for hours on end, and Connor will be nowhere to be found. At least, I hope he won’t. If he were, that would be creepy.”

I laugh, and when I go over to him, he pulls on my hand until I’m straddling him. I balk for about three seconds before admitting to myself that I need this. I need him. Of all the things to be worried about tonight, he’s not one of them.

He moves beneath me and makes a noise.

“Am I hurting you?” I ask.

“No. What you’re doing is the opposite of hurting. God, you feel good.”

I snuggle into his neck, and he wraps his arms around me. Within two minutes, our breathing is synchronized, and my nerves have calmed.

There’s a brief knock on the door, and I murmur, “Come in.”

I crack my eyes open to see Marco standing in the doorway, staring at us.

“What on earth are you two doing?”

In unison, Ethan and I say, “Focusing.”

Marco blinks and shakes his head. “Erika certainly taught you some interesting techniques at that school. Still, whatever works. I was going to wish you both luck for tonight, but I don’t really need to because I know you’ll be magnificent.”

Ethan says, “Thanks. We know,” and tightens his arms around me. If I weren’t so relaxed, I’d giggle.

“Well, all right then. Have a wonderful show, and I’ll see you afterward.”

“Bye, Marco.”

When he closes the door, we both sigh.

“I pity those reviewers,” Ethan says.

“Why?”

“Because by the time we’re finished with them, they’re going to run out of superlatives for how fucking awesome we are.”

I smile against his neck. “So true.”

Three Years Earlier

Westchester, New York

The Grove

Night of the Senior Showcase

The after-party is manic. Everyone is decompressing so hard, all sense of being civilized has flown out the window. The air heaves with primal energy. People throw back alcohol amid thick clouds of marijuana smoke, and I see things being done in public that should be kept private.

Ethan’s on the other side of the room talking to Avery and Lucas but glancing at me intermittently. It’s obvious he’s angry about tonight. No problem. So am I.

“Trouble in paradise?” Ruby asks as she drapes her arm around my shoulders.

I roll my eyes. “Men. Why are they so stupid?”

“To make us look smart? I take it Holt didn’t dig your little scene with Connor.”

“Not at all.”

“Well, to be fair, it was pretty steamy. And let’s be honest, Connor is all kinds of easy on the eyes. If I were Holt, I’d be pretty pissed, too.”

“Ruby—”

“Just saying.”

I grab her beer and take a swig. “I’m just glad it’s done. Maybe now he can get over it. I’m so tired of having to defend myself over nothing.”

“I hear you. There’s nothing more draining than having to constantly deflect suspicion. I had an ex-boyfriend who accused me of cheating every time he saw me so much as talk to another guy.”

“Really? How did you deal with him?”

“I cut him some slack. After all, I was fucking several other dudes.”

I hand her back her beer. “You’re not helping.”

“Oh, honey, lighten up. Go get your man, take him back to our place, and screw his brains out. In the morning he won’t even remember why he was so pissed.”

“You think?”

“Well, it
is
Holt. He has a talent for holding on to things. Maybe throw in a morning blow job for good measure.”

I give her a hug. “I love you dearly, but you’re useless at advice.”

“Yeah, I know. See you tomorrow?”

“Yep. I’ll be the one blowing my boyfriend.”

“In your bedroom with the door shut, right?”

“If you’re lucky.”

I take a breath and walk over to Ethan. When I get there, Jack puts his arm around me, clearly inebriated.

“Ah, sweet Cassie Taylor. You were so good tonight. So good.”

“Thanks, Jack. You too.”

“I especially enjoyed getting a peek of side-boob during your scene with Connor. That was hot. Holt, your girlfriend has a spectacular rack. I hope you appreciate that.”

Ethan shakes his head. “Yeah, and now everyone’s seem it. I’m thrilled. Really.”

Right. That’s it.

I grab the front of his shirt and pull.

“Hey!”

“Where are you guys going?” Jack whines.

“I’m taking my boyfriend home to screw his brains out,” I announce. “Maybe then he’ll stop being such an idiot.”

There’s a chorus of catcalls as I drag Ethan out of the party, but I don’t care.

I take his keys from him and push him toward the passenger door. I’ve barely had anything to drink but judging by the way he wobbles as he gets into the car, he’s well over the limit.

As I pull away from the curb, he mumbles something about being careful with his car. I ignore it.

He turns on the stereo and AC/DC blares from the speakers.

I turn it off and slap his hand when he tries to turn it on again.

He slumps down into his seat and looks out the window.

“Did you mean what you just said?” he asks.

“Yes. I am indeed going to screw your brains out.”

“No,” he says, “I meant about me being an idiot.”

“Yes. I can see how pissed you are over the scene with Connor, and it’s dumb. We did what the play called for. You know that’s how it works. I feel like you’re blaming me.”

“I’m not, it’s just … I keep seeing him touching you. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

“That’s why I didn’t want you to see it. Ethan, we can’t keep doing this dance. You have to try to find a way to get past this.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds, then says, “I’ve been reading self-help books.”

“What?”

“I have a whole stack of them. I’ve been meditating and trying to change how I react to stuff, but it’s really fucking hard.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Like I want you to know how desperate I am.”

“At least you’re trying.”

“Yeah, and failing,” he says. “It’s frustrating as hell, because I want to change so badly, then something like tonight happens, and I’m back to where I started.”

I touch his face. His air of hopelessness is scaring me. “Please … keep trying, okay? Don’t give up.”

He nods, but I wonder if he’s already too far gone.

We pull up in front of my apartment and head inside. When I close the door, he pushes me up against it and kisses me. There’s a desperation in him that I want to extinguish, but I don’t know how. It mirrors my own.

I don’t think either one of us is a bad person. Why can’t we just get to be happy together?

When we make love, it’s rough. Almost angry. And when he falls asleep, I lie there and try to imagine being the one to leave this time. Could I do it? Get out before he destroys me?

It’s a tempting thought.

Present Day

New York City, New York

Graumann Theater

Opening Night

The party’s loud and flamboyant, just like most of the people attending. There’s a cavalcade of
“Darling!”
and
“You were FABULOUS!”
and
“I
loved
it!”
, and through it all, I try to take the compliments and make small talk, when all I want to do is find Ethan and bury myself in his chest.

I spot him across the room, chatting with a throng of women all desperate to get his attention, but all the while, he keeps one eye on me. The way he looks at me keeps permanent color in my cheeks. Even across the room, he radiates sex. I pity the effect he’s having on the poor women huddled around him.

“So what’s the story with you and Ethan?” the reviewer from
Stage Diary
asks. “I’ve heard you had a tumultuous love affair at drama school. Are you still together?”

Ethan takes a sip of champagne and nods at the woman talking to him.

I can’t stop watching him. “No. Not together.”

“Friends?”

He moves his gaze to me and stays there. “No. Not exactly friends.”

“What then?”

Ethan frowns. Does he know I’m talking about him? “He’s … Ethan.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m still figuring that out.”

“Hmmm, intriguing.”

“Yep. Definitely that.”

Marco swoops in and kisses me on the cheek. He’s doing that a lot tonight. It’s pretty obvious he’s ecstatic with the reception the show has received.

“Marco, I’m trying to get Miss Taylor to give me the scoop on her relationship with her costar. She’s being cagey. Care to elaborate?”

“Dear lady,” Marco says, “if I could figure out what’s going on between my leads, rehearsals would have been far less fraught with tension and angst. Then again, the show would have been lifeless. Whatever’s going on between them, I pray it continues. Now, let’s talk about the fabulous write-up you’re going to give us.”

Marco puts his arm around the woman and leads her away.

I barely notice. Ethan’s still staring at me. Amid all this excitement and energy, he calms me.

He excuses himself from the women around him and walks toward me, so handsome in his suit. People congratulate him as he passes, and even though he acknowledges them, he keeps his attention on me.

When he reaches me, he holds out his champagne glass.

“To us.”

“To us,” I say, and clink his glass. “We were amazing tonight, even if I do say so myself.”

“We were,” he says, “but I wasn’t toasting the show.”

He leans in and kisses my cheek. “You’re so goddamn beautiful, you make me think very bad thoughts. Please stop.”