Broken Juliet(76)

The rest of the night passes in a blur. We do scenes and monologues, take our applause, and get changed into our next costumes. We see each other briefly backstage, but we’re focused on what we’re doing as we slip out of one character and step into another. Show our range. Impress the audience. It’s not just people filling those seats tonight, it’s representation and contracts, too. It’s our futures.

Ethan and I rise to the challenge. Despite our nerves, we both perform incredibly well.

The last scene of the night is Portrait with me and Connor. I’m confident and in the moment. Connor and I are on fire. The energy onstage crackles with realism, and it’s not until I take my bow that I see Ethan, stony-faced, in the wings. My smile drops. He hasn’t witnessed this scene before. I’d made sure of that.

After our fight a few days ago, I’d begged him not to watch it tonight.

Obviously he’s done listening to me.

I barely look at him as I exit the stage.



Present Day

New York City, New York

Graumann Theater

Opening Night

Every opening night is a mixture of excitement and fear, but this one … well, it’s even worse. I have to do my eyeliner three times because my hand is shaking so much, and when the production intern, Cody, knocks on the door to find out if I need anything, I just about jump out of my skin.

“You okay, Miss Taylor?” he asks.

“Yeah, fine.”

“You’re ready early.”

“Yeah, well, I have a lot of panicking to do. I need to allow enough time to fit it all in.”

“You don’t need to panic. You’re amazing. The show’s fantastic.”

“Yes, but every Broadway reviewer worth their salt is here tonight. The * from the New York Times is out there, for God’s sake, and he makes a habit out of not liking things just to piss people off.”

“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 * 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 * 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 f*ck themselves.’”