Wicked Burn(44)
“Well, I suppose we better take our seats,” Jenny said after Niall and Max had exchanged a handshake. “Please tell Vic we’ll be there to celebrate his opening at the party at Mina’s afterward. Max went to school with someone who’s a patron of the Hesse, so he scored us an invite.”
“Just what Vic needs tonight,” Meg muttered under her breath as she watched Max lead Jenny down the stairs.
“Hmmph,” Ellen grunted sourly. Her sharp, light gray eyes looked suspicious as they followed the stunning actress across the theater lobby. “Vic needs her like he needs a daily dose of arsenic.”
From the little that Niall had seen of Jennifer Atwood, she had to agree wholeheartedly.
Still, Meg’s frank expression of worry bothered her. Would the situation warrant concern if what was between Jenny and Vic was a thing of the past?
And was arsenic by any chance addictive in addition to being deadly?
Niall supposed a mother did indeed know best when Vic slid into the empty seat next to her just seconds before the curtain rose. His thick hair stood up haphazardly, as if he’d been raking his fingers through it. He looked harried and rumpled and utterly gorgeous in a well-cut blazer, brown dress pants, and an off-white chambray shirt. His collar was unbuttoned, and Niall spied his pulse beating rapidly at his throat.
He gave Meg a dry glance when she leaned forward and gave him a big sister stare of dark amusement. Ellen just gave him a brisk wave before she turned her full attention to the stage.
“Sorry I’m late,” he whispered as he picked up Niall’s hand and gave her a quick, warm kiss on the back of it.
“It’s okay,” she assured him softly as she squeezed him back in shared excitement. He met her eyes briefly and gave a small grin before he hunched his big body down in the seat, spread his long legs as far as the confining space allowed, and turned his total focus to the production.
Niall turned her attention to the events on the stage as well, but her heart went out to the man next to her. He seemed so tense, so anticipatory. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to put so much of yourself into a creative endeavor and then sit by and watch as months . . . maybe even years . . . of hard work unfolded before your eyes. She was always nervous and proud of the exhibits she planned at the museum, of course. But this was different.
This was like watching an aspect of Vic’s soul brightly illuminated on a public stage.
No wonder he got so worked up, Niall thought in awe at the culmination of the first act. She’d been held spellbound by the scenes between Sissy, the character played by Eileen Moore, and David, who was being played by an actor Niall had frequently seen in supporting roles in films. The dialogue crackled with wit. The sexual tension between the two characters was so taut as to be nearly tangible. But aggression and anger also laced almost every interaction between them, creating a potent, fascinating brew of love, lust, and rage that seemed ready to explode on the stage at any given moment.
It soon became very clear to Niall that the title of the play, Alias X, referred to the identities that people took on in order to shape themselves to their lover’s desires. The X referred not only to an artificial, nameless existence but also to the mysterious, sometimes beautiful, often ugly, unknown depths to which human beings could sink if they sacrificed what was genuine for the sake of another’s love.
Niall felt a little dazed by the intermission. She was glad that Vic took her hand and led her into the noisy lobby, because she needed the guidance.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked solicitously when he turned to face her. “I don’t think they sell Scotch at the concession stand, but I’ve got a bottle in my office. Just happens to be your brand, too.”
“I don’t need anything.”
She wondered if her heart was in her eyes, because he started to say something and then abruptly paused as he looked down at her.
“What?” he drawled.
“The play is amazing, Vic,” she said softly. But she meant that he was. And Niall thought he probably knew it when a slow grin curved his lips. Did he have any notion of how beautiful he looked at that moment . . . how happy?
She had assumed that he would go and have some terse exchange with one of the technicians or the stage manager during the intermission, but instead he spent the short break with them. Niall was only vaguely aware of Ellen and Meg approaching, and then the steady line of well-wishers who followed to offer Vic congratulations that were entirely too enthusiastic to be feigned. Not that Niall would have guessed otherwise. The electric intellectual vitality of the play had transferred to the audience. It was obvious in the expressions of the people who approached Vic, but also in the energy level of the lobby as people engaged in lively conversations about what they’d seen thus far.
Most of Niall’s attention centered on Vic, however, as he patiently listened while a newspaper critic gushed or made that subtle rolling motion with his jaw as a Hesse board member raved. He glanced up once and gave Niall a quick wink when a particularly garrulous city council member walked away glowing, not seeming to notice or care that Vic had barely uttered two syllables during their entire exchange.
“Guess what they say about Chicago being called the Windy City because of its politicians is true,” he murmured into her ear before he kissed it.
Pride for him swelled in Niall’s breast, mixing with a host of the other emotions that had been ignited by his soulful, volatile play. He introduced her to everyone who approached. He put his arm around her while Ellen detailed every item that she’d ordered at the restaurant.