Duet Rubato Read online

  His cheeks darken. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that. Bright Light is having an open call for a show tomorrow. Will you come?”

  My head snaps up; he’s grinning. “You’re serious?”

  “As a Jackie.”

  I snort at the Legally Blonde musical reference. “That would be great.” I pause. “So, what brings you here?”

  * * *

  “Hells, I mean, Ms. Helmsworth wanted me to scout out some new blood.”

  My jaw unhinges. “Did you say Helmsworth? As in, Tony Award-winning director Gina Helmsworth? From Manhattan?” Holy cow, Grayson really does have friends in high places.

  Frank presses his lips together. “One and the same.”

  “I heard she was here, but I thought it was a rumor.”

  Frank laughs. “Nope. She’s here all right.”

  Now I know this is too good to be true. I swallow to clear my dry throat. “What is she doing in Boston?”

  “Beats me.” He flags down a waitress and motions for a menu. “All I know is, six months ago the city threatened to bulldoze the theater if our ticket sales didn’t improve enough to renovate. The next week, she stormed in and declared herself the new director.”

  “No way.”

  “Mm. Sent the old one fleeing like a madman after chewing him out.”

  “Yikes.” I cringe. “And what makes you think I would work for her?”

  “You’re in between jobs, aren’t you?”

  Crap. Suddenly it’s freezing in here. I hug my arms to my chest. “Yeah.”

  “So, try out. Who knows? Might be your lucky break.”

  I scoff. “Yeah, right. Gina Helmsworth, hire me.”

  The bartender brings him a menu and I ask for a glass of water.

  He shrugs and flips through the menu. “Hey, you know what they say.” His chair scrapes against the floor as he rises. “There’s no business like show business.”

  I chuckle dryly. “Ha, ha, very funny.”

  “Think about it.” Then he disappears into the crowd with the menu tucked under his arm.

  My eyes flick between his receding form and the glossy business card. There’s no way this is real.

  Forty-five minutes later, I force myself to focus on the awful music Grayson’s pumping through the sound system, and get lost in the crowd of strangers on the dance floor. I reach the edge of the stage as Grayson announces a break before the next set.

  He waves and hops off the platform. “How’d it go?”

  I smile, fiddling with Frank’s card in my jacket pocket. “He invited me to the call at Bright Light tomorrow.”

  “Really?” Grayson says. “Great.” He grips my shoulder. “I told you this would work out.”

  I laugh sheepishly. “Yeah, thanks to you.”

  He shrugs. “No big deal. You know I’d do anything to help you.”

  I dip my head. “I know.”

  “When is the audition?”

  My heart jumps. “Tomorrow.”

  Grayson’s eyebrows meet his hairline and he whistles. “Damn. Tight fit.”

  I nod. “Think I can do it?”

  “Are you kidding?” He squeezes my shoulder. “If anyone can do it, you can.”

  I blush. “Thanks.”

  He smiles and checks the time on his phone. “It’s 8:30. I’ve got one more set, then we can get out of here and I’ll help you run lines.”

  I nod. “Did your parents say how Lys is?”

  “Evelyn called on my last break. She’s fine. We’re keeping her overnight.”

  I frown. “Next time, please ask me if you're going to have Lyssa spend the night. She’s my child, too."

  Grayson scowls and cuts his gaze to Mac, who switched with him. “I can't win with you. I thought you'd be happy since we have more time to prepare. This has been hard on me too, you know."

  It takes two to tango. I close my eyes and count to ten before speaking. “For the last time, You. Had. A. Choice.” I thank God when my voice comes out level. Grayson grinds his teeth. “Catherine, I told you—”

  “I don’t care. I know they’ve done a lot for us, but you can’t let them keep bulldozing you like this.”

  His eyes blaze. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh? Don’t I? Tell me, Grayson, why would you want to continue being their puppet? Why let them back into her life?” My voice cracks, but I fight to keep my features steady.

  “They gave me no choice!” he bellows.

  Several eyes bore into us, and Mac glances our way. Grayson stares them down and gestures for his friend to continue spinning. He does, and the crowd slowly disperses.

  “There’s always a choice, Grayson,” I say, quieter this time. “You made the wrong one.”

  Grayson drops his head in his hands. “You don’t get it.”

  I scoff. “No. I don’t. But please, enlighten me.”

  “They threatened my job, Cate! They were going to drain my inheritance. Lyssa’s too, if I didn’t do this. I had to.” He shrugs. “I wanted to protect my family.”

  “Money?” I raise an eyebrow. “After everything we’ve been through together, you’re betraying me for money? How could you?”

  “I know this might be hard for you to believe.” He places a hand on top of mine.

  I pull away. “Don’t touch me.”

  “But I do care. All I want is for both of you to have your best chance.”

  “No, you don’t,” I say. “You’re 32 years old, Grayson. Learn to say no for once.”

  “Oh, like you’re so good at that. Why didn’t you say no to those aerial silks then, huh? You were pregnant for God’s sake!”

  A strangled gasp escapes me and I stumble back. My face burns. I struggle against the panic roaring in my gut.

  “How dare you?” I blink back the sting behind my eyelids. “How dare you throw that in my face?”

  Grayson’s features crumble. “Oh, God.” He grasps my hand. “Catherine, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

  I spin to face the crowd. “Don’t! Just don’t.”

  “Catie, please!” His heavy footfalls shuffle behind mine as I shove toward the front of the venue.

  “Go back to your set, Grayson.” I clutch my jacket to my chest and glower at him as my chin trembles. “You’ve done enough.”

  He winces. “Catie, I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll be waiting in the car.”

  Throwing open the door, I stomp across the pavement.

  The auditorium bulges with people warming up like they’re convinced snagging a lead in a local theater production is one step closer to Broadway. I guess I should’ve known, considering we managed to acquire the rights to the eighth-longest running show on the Great White Way.

  As I hunch over my binder to inspect the audition schedule for the fifteenth time, the last line of Defying Gravity echoes through the theatre. I wince as the girl’s voice cracks on the high notes.

  Samantha, our assistant costume designer, nudges me and snickers. "Ouch, right?”

  I set down my pencil and roll my eyes. “I'm surprised the windows didn’t shatter.”

  Our associate choreographer, Maddy, chimes in from the seat behind me. “Since you’re so critical, why don’t you go up there and try it?”

  I snort and swat her arm where it rests on the back of my seat. “Yeah, right.” I swing back around and resume writing, hoping that will be the end. It’s not.

  Logan, the apprentice lighting designer moves to sit next to me.

  Shit.

  “Tell us again, Addie,” he says. “Why aren’t you trying to snag that role?”

  Because I haven’t sung outside of my shower in forever. The last time . . . I shudder. That’s a memory I’d much rather stay buried. Forever.

  I curl my fingers tighter around my pencil. “Me? Not my thing.” I press the pencil against the paper, puncturing a hole through it.

  “Why not?” Sam crosses her legs and smooths the paint splatters on her bl
ack tights. “You have the kick ass vocals for it.”

  I whip toward her. “What?”

  She combs a long strand of thick, straight black hair from her brown eyes, exposing pale skin.

  My mouth tightens into a scowl at her smirk. “How do you know?”

  Logan crosses his arms. “You sing while you work.”

  My ears itch when the girls start giggling behind me. “I do not!”

  “Yes, you do,” Maddy says. “And you rock at it.”

  Sighing, I toss the binder down to face her. “How would you know, with those glued to your ears all the time?” I point at the lime-green headphones entangled in her loose, white-blond hair.

  Her green eyes brighten. “I have the ears of an eagle.”

  “Come on, Addie.” Sam places a hand on my shoulder. “We’re joking.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Logan’s curly, dirty brown hair bounces as he shakes his head, looking up from his blueprints. “Adaline can sing circles around most of the people in this room. It’s high time she owns it.”

  “Yeah!” Maddy adds.

  “Me? As Elphaba?” I purse my lips as a jolt of excitement sparks over my spine. “When pigs fly.”

  “Don’t you mean monkeys?” Sam jokes.

  I scowl.

  Logan opens his mouth.

  I slip my phone from my pocket and hold it to my ear. “Hello? Oh, hey. What’s up?” I put my hand over the speaker, mouth, Sorry, to my friends and get up.

  They shoot me looks.

  I scurry away before they can call my bluff. Once out of sight, I glance around for something, anything, to keep me busy until this whole nonsense blows over. I settle in the far corner of the theater as Maddy calls out.

  “Addie? Where’d you go?”

  What does she want now?

  She yanks me toward the director’s table, my binder in her hand. “Helmsworth wants the set schedule before auditions start.”

  “Now? But I—”

  “Come on.”

  I trip as she tugs on my arm one time too many. When I glare at her, she grins sheepishly.

  “Sorry. But she’ll bite your head off if you keep her waiting.”

  I sigh. “Fine.”

  Once again, I shove my way through the crowd, and once again, I’m stopped by a familiar voice.

  “Addie?”

  My spine straightens and my features harden as I slowly turn toward the sound.

  “Is that you?”

  I nod mutely. I must be seeing things.

  “Addie?” Maddy’s voice rings in my ears. “What are you—oh.”

  A mess of blond curls bounces toward us.

  “C-catie?” No. No way. This cannot be happening.

  Her nervous laughter floats above the crowd. “Hi?”

  I blink. Open my mouth. Close it. Warmth pulses through me, but I push it away. “What are you doing here?”

  She shrugs, gesturing around the room. “Auditioning. What do you think?”

  My long, dyed brown hair slaps against my cheeks when I shake my head. “No, I mean, what are you doing here? Like, at this local theater? I thought you were off touring with some fancy dance company.”

  It comes out harsher than I mean it. Catie’s face matches her red leotard top. She looks down and toys with a loose thread on her tights.

  “Oh, um . . .”

  Why does she seem so nervous? If either of us should be making this situation more awkward than it already is, it’s me.

  She clears her throat. “It didn’t work out.”

  My eyes bulge, but I force my features back to neutral at the tears shimmering in her eyes.

  The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Maddy’s eying me. I clench my fists. Butterflies flutter in my stomach, but I shake them away.

  In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t have imagined perfect Catie Klarken getting fired from anything, let alone the dance company that accepted her before she finished her degree.

  When we were younger, our friends used to call us the Dynamic Duo; me, the diva with the boldest voice, and her, the ballerina with lightning in her feet.

  I place my hand on her shoulder. She grimaces. My grip loosens, but I don’t let go. This is the closest we’ve been since . . .never mind. At least it got her to look at me. That’s all that matters.

  “Those people are idiots.” The venom in my voice surprises me. Where did that come from?

  It gets a laugh out of her, though. A real one, however short. “Thanks, Lyn. It’s good to see you.”

  “Y-you, too.” Fuck my stupid, unconfident vocal chords. I used to make fun of those girls who claimed their knees went weak at the sight of their significant other. Until Catie.

  She smiles, giving my outfit a once-over and planting a hand on her hip. “Where’s your leotard? Aren’t you trying out?”

  My shoes scuff against the carpet. “Um, I’m not.”

  “Oh? Why no—”

  “I’m the assistant director now.”

  “The assistant. . .” She shakes her head, blue eyes wide. “But—”

  “Catherine? Catherine Klarken?” Franklin calls from the stairs to the stage.

  “Coming!” She looks back with a sorrowful expression. “Hey, um, can we catch up afterward? You know, to talk? We haven’t spoken since. . .” The sentence dies.

  I flinch. She’s right. We haven’t. I haven’t seen or heard from her since she left the dance program at the Manhattan Conservatory for Music and Dance (MACMA) before graduation. My throat goes dry and my palms sweat, as all the memories of that night come flooding back.

  “Klarken? Is Catherine Klarken here?”

  Catie pushes her shoulders back and flashes a camera-ready smile. “Wish me luck!” she says, bounding toward the stage.

  “Break a leg,” I choke.

  Maddy steps up and elbows my side, but, thank God, waits until Catie hands her music to the accompanist before speaking. “Sam underestimated you, Lyn.”

  I fight the urge to stiffen at the sound of Catie’s nickname for me coming out of anyone else’s mouth. I haven’t heard it in so long. It feels foreign.

  “You are much sneakier than we thought.”

  I huff, waiting for my pulse to return to normal. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure you don’t.”

  I don’t let my eyes follow Catie any longer, training them on the far wall. Maddy whacks my shoulder.

  “Ow!” I glower at her. “What the hell?”

  “Hearts in your eyes.”

  “Fuck no!” I jerk my binder from her hand and march toward the director’s table. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Maddy’s Chuck Taylors pound against the carpet as she races after me. “Wait, what’s with your girlfriend?”

  I freeze. The scratch of my nails on the plastic-coated cover of my binder echoes in my ears.

  “She’s not my girl—”

  Familiar chords reverberate off the theater walls. My eyes dart toward the stage. Catie opens her mouth and the bridge of The Life I Never Led from Sister Act—our song—floats over the crowd.

  It’s beautiful. Just the way I remember. Her voice is light and clear, but not nearly as mesmerizing as the graceful steps she’s choreographed. They’re nothing outlandish. An arm stretched out here, a few steps stage right there, a change of focus on a new phrase. Each time she punctures a word with a little extra emotion, it’s another stab to my heart.

  I close my eyes, letting the melody take me back in time. For a moment, it’s she and I. Before, well, everything. Before my heart tap danced every time our hands brushed. Before my hopes climbed higher when she laughed at one of my corny jokes, or scooted her sleeping bag a smidgen closer to mine whenever we hosted sleepovers in middle school. Before my world crumbled to pieces in an instant of cowardice. What I wouldn’t give to go back.

  As the last notes fade into the walls, Maddy’s raspy voice jolts me back to the present. “Are you crying?”

 
Huh? I raise my hand to my cheek and my stomach twists when it comes away shiny. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. My gaze cuts to Catie, reorganizing her sheet music at the piano. If there’s anything more humiliating than my friends seeing me cry over that stupid, stupid song, it’s her seeing me cry over it.

  “Addie?” Maddy asks. “Are you okay?”

  I swipe my hand across my cheeks and take a deep breath. I need to fix this. I need to fix this now.

  I square my shoulders and open my mouth, facing my friends where we’ve crowded in the back of the theater. Unfortunately, all my brain comes up with is, “Damn onions.”

  Maddy cackles—though she slaps her palm over her mouth to muffle it when Gina swings around in her seat with a death-stare.

  “Next!” she screeches

  I smirk at Maddy’s stricken face. We didn’t nickname her Hellsworth for nothing.

  Sam, who has stepped up behind me, along with Logan, shakes her head. “You are so whipped.”

  “I am not.”

  Logan mumbles, “What onions?”

  Sam’s grin widens as she claps him on the back. “Exactly.”

  His mouth stretches into a ghoulish grin.

  I bolt out the back doors of the theater, not stopping when Hellsworth calls my name.

  Yep. I’m fucked.

  I spend the rest of the two-hour audition block hiding in the bathroom, praying Catie didn’t notice my major meltdown.

  I set my binder on the counter. The clap of the cover echoes in the empty room, and a flash of anger surges through me. For a moment, I contemplate tossing the whole damn thing in the trash.

  Most of the time, I’m content behind the scenes. When the stage lights go down and the curtain rises on opening night, I enjoy it. But the surge of excitement that ripples through the house every time someone opens their mouth to tackle a difficult song always brings me crashing back to earth. More than once, the green monster of jealousy has perched on my shoulder.

  I should’ve been the one receiving standing ovations, rocking those famed ruby slippers.

  Sometimes, I wonder if I made the right decision. What if I hadn’t thrown it all away?

  No. Not when every little thing—a dance step, a melody, a song choice—reminds me of her. Of her laughter and her spirit and the life we were supposed to have together. Worst of all, it reminds me of that damn night everything went to hell.