Broken Juliet(70)

“Did you hear about what happened last year?” Miranda whispers. “Nearly half the class got offered contracts for shows all over the place.”

“Like where?” I whisper back.

“L.A., Toronto, London, Europe, San Francisco … even Broadway.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. Shit’s serious, man.”

As if I wasn’t nervous enough.

I’m just about to demolish my other thumbnail when Ethan grabs my hand and laces his fingers through mine. “Quit it. I like you with fingernails.”

“I’m freaking out.”

“I know. Stop. It’s infectious.”

“Do you think we’ll get a scene together?”

“We’d better. I’m never as good as when I’m onstage with you.” He squeezes my hand and smiles.

God, I love him. Still haven’t told him that, of course. Still waiting for the right moment. Every time I try, my heart pounds like I’m a frightened rabbit.

Doesn’t mean I don’t feel it, though.

Erika gives us our scene allocations and says, “Now, I’ve thought long and hard about these groups and pairings. I’ve tried to give you all scenes in which you’re working to your strengths, but I also need you to show your range. Therefore, some of the scenes you’ll have performed before, but some will be new. You’ll all perform three scenes and two monologues. One of your monologues must be Shakespeare.”

I look down the list. Ethan and I will be doing the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. Thank God. Something I know I’m going to nail. Ethan and Connor will be performing their scene from Enemy Inside. No surprise there. They were excellent.

It’s interesting to see that Ethan is paired with Jack for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. I’ve never really seen Ethan do comedy. I’m excited for him.

My other two scenes are new: Jean Genet’s The Maids, with Zoe and Phoebe, and something called Portrait, with Connor.

The scripts for all the excerpts are paper-clipped to the rehearsal schedule. I’m already familiar with The Maids, so I flip through Portrait to see what it’s about.

I only get two pages in before stopping short.

Oh.

Oh, God. No.

Ethan is going to lose his shit.




Dr. Kate takes off her glasses. “I take it the play had some controversial content.”

If I weren’t so tense, I’d laugh. “You could say that. But I think if I’d been paired with anyone but Connor, Ethan wouldn’t have cared so much.”

“His reaction was extreme?”

A chill runs up my spine. “Actually, no. It wasn’t the reaction I’d expected at all.”




He’s quiet. And still.

The thought of him ranting and raging was bad enough. This is so much worse.

“Please say something.”

He blinks.

The energy in the room is beyond tense. I want to touch him, but I have no idea how he’ll react.

“Ethan, it’s no big deal.”

He frowns and nods.

“I mean, Erika said she wouldn’t make me do it, but it’s what the script calls for, and I don’t want the producers or directors to think I’m a prude. I mean, it’s not like everyone is going to see them. My back is to the audience for most of it. The only person who can really see them is Connor.”

He laughs, short and bitter. “Just Connor.”

“I can wear pasties.”

“What the f*ck are pasties?”

“You know, sticker things that cover my nipples.”

He laughs again. “Oh, well, that’s okay then.”

I drop my head. I almost want him to yell. That would be easier to deal with than this quiet, sarcastic fury.

“Ethan—”

“No, you’re right, Cassie,” he says and holds up his hands. “It’s no big deal. My girlfriend is going to be topless in front of hundreds of people, but the only person who’ll get a good look at her boobs is the one guy who’s probably been beating off to images of her since the first day they met. No big deal. I have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“You don’t. So he sees my boobs. So what? You’re shirtless with him in your scene, too. Hell, he kisses your damn chest.”

“You sound jealous.”

“I am jealous. I hate seeing you do that sort of stuff with another person. Even Connor. But I know it doesn’t mean anything.”

“That’s because Connor and I hate each other! Him ogling you is completely different. You don’t hate him, and he sure as shit doesn’t hate you.”

I sit down next to him. I don’t know what to say to make it better.

He sighs and rubs his face. “Can I at least see the script?”

I hand it to him and watch his face as he skims through it. I know there’s stuff in it he won’t like, but forewarned is forearmed, right?

He gets about halfway through when his frown reaches epic proportions.

He points to the stage directions. “Marla removes her shirt and bra. Christian sketches her, while glancing up with obvious lust. ‘The more I stared, the more beautiful she became. The more I reminded myself that she was married, the less it mattered. She was more than my model. She was my muse.’ He walks over to her. She’s unresponsive as he touches her body. ‘The longer I painted her, the more realistic my fantasies became. Every stroke of my brush made my fingers tingle like they were caressing her.’ He runs his fingers up her side then cups her breasts.”