Waiting For A Star To Fall (Autumn Brody Book 2) (11 page)

"No point, but thanks for offering. Gabriel's giving me a lift to the theatre in twenty. Samuel has even more changes in mind. Choreography this time."

Slipping into the cab, Autumn quickly directed him to her hotel. "Okay, but we're coming by between shows. You're having dinner with us, our treat. Okay?"

In the background, she could hear the booming, warm voice of Gabriel, urging Veronica to get ready. Somehow, she sensed Veronica's version of twenty minutes was more like five. "I'm coming! Okay, swing by at like five. That'll give us time to run through this new choreography between performances, as I'm sure Samuel will insist upon. I love him, but my God, he's overly critical."

"Will we have trouble getting in?"

"Nope, you're permanently on the list for backstage access. Just ask for Jose if there's a problem. See you soon."

"Okay, V. Love you."

"Love you too. Gotta jet."

Hanging up reluctantly, she smiled to herself.
Five, huh? Not a chance. We'll be there at four.
If the security at the theatre couldn't keep a stalker from slipping backstage with a box in tow, she wasn't about to trust them to prevent any further interactions.
Besides
, she mused,
it'll give me time to see just how someone could have gotten by the cameras and staff without detection
.

By the time her cab driver had evaded traffic snarls and the pedestrians who simply refused to obey signals at nearly every light they approached, it was coming up on noon.
Four hours to unwind, grab lunch and maybe a swim
. It sounded like a wonderful way to decompress after the morning's intimidating news.

Calling up to the suite, she suggested Andrew join her in the hotel restaurant for lunch, to which he happily agreed. Sinking into a leather couch near the concierge, she scrolled through her Twitter feed on her cell, skimming news headlines and the summer-centric tweets of friends. One of her favourite indie bands was headlining a key venue in the city, and she made a mental note to buy tickets. A semi-local politician was resigning over undeclared conflict of interest.
Just another Wednesday
, she mused, shutting the app down.

She'd spoken too soon. Andrew had only just greeted her when her phone rang. Glancing at the display, she flashed the screen at her fiancé before answering.

"Hey, Evan. I'm roaming in New York. Any chance I can call you back later on a landline?"

"What a coincidence: I, too, am roaming in New York. Well, almost. I'm in Newark."

The phone nearly slipped from her grasp as she headed to a corner of the lobby to escape the rising din. "I'm sorry, Evan. I swear you just told me that you're in Newark. As in Jersey."

He's where?!
Andrew mouthed.

"I am. Look, I know Veronica's made a decision and thinks we can't manage a relationship around her Broadway schedule and classes. I get it. But I still love her, and I'd like to think if nothing else, she and I can remain friends. So when I hear someone is possibly stalking my friend, I can't sit back and do nothing."

Autumn hesitated briefly, gauging the emotion in his voice. There was no anger, as best she could tell. He was simply hurt, perhaps disappointed. Above all else, he was worried.

Screw it.
"Evan, what do you think she's going to say when you show up?"

An announcement in the background advised of the arrival of an airport shuttle service and Evan cursed, muttering that he needed a moment. A bang and a chime, then a huff of air followed by a curse.

"Juggling this phone and the suitcase is a chore. This place is a mess."

"Evan? What are you expecting?" Autumn gently probed.

"I want her to tell me, to my face, that it's over. I need closure. But that can wait. I want to make sure she's going to be safe, offer to listen if she needs it. If she asks me to go home, then I guess I get back on a plane. Autumn, you know me. You know her history. I have to see for myself that she's okay."

"I get it. I do. And she will be safe. Andrew and I are arranging a bodyguard for her." At this, Andrew gave her a questioning look, to which she offered him a thumbs up.

"That's good. I don't like the idea of some creep being able to get backstage. She's tough, but tough does nothing against a weapon." A shuffling noise now, a crackle of static. "Hey, I know this is a lot to ask, but I've only managed to figure this out as far as getting to Penn Station. Would you maybe be able to come get me in an hour? I don’t want to get lost."

"Penn Station in an hour?" she echoed for Andrew's benefit. At his frown, she replied, "With traffic, it's unlikely we’d get a cab there in time. I'll text you the name and intersection of our hotel. Any cab driver will know how to find it."

"That works. Thanks, Autumn. I know this is awkward for you, being between us and all."

"No problem. What's a sister for?" After a moment's debate, she blurted out, "Veronica still loves you. She broke up with you over Sheffield."

"Sheffield? What? I don't understand."

"She's going to kill me for telling you, but this is like that time I wouldn't tell Andrew why I wouldn't talk to him. She compared it to her giving up Broadway to be with you. She refused to let you do it. Hell,
I
refuse to let you."

A grumble was his only reply.
He knows I'm right
.

"Look, what's a year if you're meant to be together? You knew coming in that her career could be time-consuming, right?"

"And I didn't care. I don't care."

"And so's journalism. So why put it on hold? She knew what she was getting into when she told you to apply. That should say everything."

"I... I guess it does. I won't tell her you told me, but... Thank you. I guess I've had my head up my ass for a long time."

"I've got to go; Andrew's about to gnaw on the lobby furniture," she joked, shooting him a knowing look. "But call when you get here, okay?"

"I will. Don't forget the text."

"See you soon, Evan."

Hanging up, she quickly tapped out a text with their hotel address and room number as she trailed behind Andrew. A tap of the send button and she slid the phone inside her purse with a huff.

"Veronica is probably going to be pissed," Andrew mused.

"She owes me, and right now, there are more pressing matters to worry about. Like her physical safety, for starters. Now, lunch?"

Andrew rubbed his stomach, feigning pain. "I was starting to think we'd never get to eat. Let's go."

* * *

"Alright, quickly now: one last time."

With a clap of his hands, Samuel Schatzman settled into his front row seat, studying his altered choreography for the fight scene that ultimately led to the death of Veronica's character, Johanna. In discussing the show with a trusted friend, it had apparently occurred to him that repositioning Zachary and Jonathan close to centre stage lent a more natural flow to Veronica's stumble and ultimate branding of the tree. While he certainly wasn't
wrong
about it, Veronica couldn't make herself give a damn about improving aesthetics. She would dutifully memorize her new marks, but if her director expected to get verbally jerked off for a shift of three inches, he was looking at the wrong woman.

The fight unfolded, Zachary now more central as he struggled with Jonathan, defending the honour of his beloved. Frantic and defiant, Veronica threw herself into the fray, halting with a gasp as the stage blade was jammed into her left abdomen. Smacking her palm against the wound as if to trigger the blood pack used during the performance, she staggered backwards, naturally coming to a halt as her back connected with the broad trunk of the tree.

"Johanna!" Zachary wailed, rushing to her side on cue.

As she did every night, she remembered Evan's voice as she'd broken up with him, and poured her heartache into her final, sung reprise: "
A place where love rules... over all... A place where women rise, not... fall
."

Collapsing into Zachary's arms, she let her exhaustion take hold, falling limply into his waiting arms as he grieved in song. One verse in, Samuel called for a halt to the proceedings.

"Excellent! Thank you, all, for your cooperation and flexibility. Performance in an hour."

Pulling free of Zach's grip, Veronica shook herself, drew a deep breath and demanded a coffee from the stage manager, Zoe Ferguson. Diva behaviour? Sure. But in light of the shitty night she'd had, she believed she deserved a little slack -- perhaps enough to strangle someone with. With a huff, Zoe delegated a Starbucks run to an intern before chasing after Samuel, muttering something about lighting.

"You're not yourself. Late night?"

Veronica glanced over at Camilla Kinsey, envying her ability to seemingly roll out of bed looking glamorous. Fifteen years her senior, Camilla had taken to mothering Veronica now and again. Nothing extreme or annoying—more of a gentle chiding and imparting of lessons learned.

"Not the good kind," Veronica replied as they made their way backstage.

"I didn't think so. Have Angie do your make-up today; she's a pro with a dark circle. Lisa doesn't know concealer from blush." From the venom in her tone, it was clear Camilla had learned this from unhappy experience.

"Duly noted. Where the hell is that coffee?" Veronica grumbled, glancing around. "There are
two
Starbucks locations within a block of this place."

"It'll come, Veronica. Go toss your hair into rollers. By the time you're annoyed by that, Zoe's little flunkie will be toting your Grande with a smile."

With a sigh, Veronica paused at the door of her dressing room. "I'm just bitchy today, Camilla. I know you're right."

"We understand. Well, perhaps Mr. Romper Room doesn't, but he thinks with his
head
, so there's no sense in trying to make him." Camilla had made no secret of her distaste for Zach from the start. It was their initial bond.

"Oh, who cares about him? I know who my friends are."

With a wistful smile, Camilla squeezed her shoulder. "Then you're about five years ahead of me, my dear. Go on, then. The show must go on and all that crap."

With a forced smile, Veronica retreated into her dressing room, slumping into her chair and flipping the switch to heat up her 2-inch rollers. With a weary sigh, she fumbled in her drawers, searching for her citrus perfume. It always perked her up on rough days, although 'rough' was a goddamn understatement for today.

Call Evan
.

She shook her head, immediately arguing with herself.
Bad idea. He needs to understand that without balance, we're doomed. Plus, I broke his heart. Why would he give a shit about my problems?

Perfume in hand, she spritzed her wrists, rubbing them together.
That's not fair. He would care. He's a good soul
.

Apparently, she was losing her mind. Awesome. She was a party all by herself now. Inhaling the warm, grapefruit-heavy scent on her wrist, she tucked the bottle into the drawer—and froze.

No. No, not another one
...

The familiar heavy stock of the envelope made her stomach turn. If nothing else, she knew her admirer spent money on his psycho stationery. The envelope flap was tucked in, not licked, as per usual.
Avoiding DNA
, she concluded, based on her avid consumption of Investigation Discovery programs. With shaking hands, she pulled a single sheet of paper free from its sheath.

It bore yesterday's date. Her stomach lurched at the implications of the letter's location. He'd been in here, with enough time to go through her belongings. He... Oh God, he'd even spritzed her perfume on the page. Or had he somehow learned what scent she enjoyed and purchased his own bottle?

Veronica,

I couldn't resist spoiling you a little. You've worked so hard on the show, you deserve to be rewarded. I could tell by the way you lingered in the store with these heels on your delicate feet that they were the pair you truly wanted, as opposed to the pair you settled for.

I'd like to take you dancing. I suspect you're secretly gifted with the classics: the tango; the samba. Sensual dances, the kind meant to be shared with intimate understanding. So few people understand you as intimately as I do.

I regret to be the bearer of bad news, but Parsons has been hinting that TMZ has been telling the truth about your relationship with him. Fear not: I know he's lying. I'll make him behave.

Sleep well, tonight. Maybe you will wear nothing but your new heels. When you are ready to be with me, they will be the only thing I allow you to wear. True beauty should never be hidden away.

Stop hiding. Come seek me.

A rapping on the door behind her sent the page fluttering to the ground. With a soft whimper, Veronica spun around, relieved to see the intern with her coffee in hand.

"Dark roast, four sugars?" he asked anxiously.

Veronica rose quickly, reaching for the paper cup. "Yes. Thank you. I'm just a little... out of it today."