Gloria laughs. "It's good to have a backup plan. Now, what do you want to eat?"
My stomach pangs with hunger. "I'll just make myself a salad."
Maybe I should consider asking Gloria for her therapist's number.
Chapter 8: Josh
Ilike being in rehearsal forKiss Me, Kate.Not only is Cole Porter's music fun to play, but it means Leslie isn't here.
Not that she's not occupying space in my brain.
Space I did not give her permission to occupy.
But even as Amy sings "So in Love," I find myself wondering how Leslie's making out. Is she going to stay? Of course, she is. Can she do the role? That remains to be seen.
We need her to succeed. The Edison depends on it. The future of this show depends on it. Yet, I know somewhere deep down I don't want her to succeed. If she's the person she showed me ten years ago, the thing she values the most in the world—above everything and everyone else—is being a success. Being the best.
It's petty, I know, but I don't want her to have that. Someone who can be so careless and cruel doesn't deserve to get everything they want in life.
Okay, that's harsh and immature. She can be successful, but I don't have to be happy about it.
I shoot Mei a text. I'm not even sure why I do. Maybe I don't want her to think I'm not thinking about her. Maybe I want her to know that even though I'm here and she's there, I'm not ghosting her. It's not like she's the love of my life or anything, but I'm trying to be a nice guy here.
Or I'm trying to make up for the vengeful thoughts that have been flooding my mind about Leslie all day.
Seriously, out of all the theaters in the world, she's got to walk into mine?
It's fine. I'll just have as little to do with her as possible, and before I know it, the time will be up, and she'll disappear for another decade. I hope.
Finally, we're done and closing up for the night. I see a light on in the dance room. No matter how Grayson and Henderson go on and on about saving electricity, someone always leaves something on somewhere.
As I push open the door, I realize it's not just a light carelessly left burning. It's Leslie, practicing on the silks. Her back is to me, and I watch as she grasps the material, putting her foot in. She extends that leg gracefully in front of her, her toes pointed in the hammock. With a contraction of her arms, she hoists herself up to standing, her back arching gracefully as her free leg floats up in front of her. This leg then swings out to the side and suddenly she's doing some sort of split, suspended in midair. She lets go with one hand, arching back, dangling like she's done this for years. She moves her leg up and around the fabric, twisting, and then all of a sudden, she's hanging upside down, her arms gracefully posing, as years of ballet have trained her to do.
At which point, she sees me. I know this because of the blood-curdling scream she lets out as her legs begin to flail and she gets more twisted. The silks begin to spin the more she squirms to get out.
Rushing forward, it's not until I reach her that I realize I have no idea how to begin extracting her from this tangle of red fabric.
"Stop it. Stop!"
I'm not sure if she's yelling at me or the apparatus. Maybe a little of both.
I grab the fabric, unsuccessful in avoiding her thrashing limbs. She strikes my legs and torso. Ouch.
"What are you doing?" she yells.
"Trying to help you out. Stop kicking me." I finally get to a point where I can stabilize the hammock. Leslie begins to try to reach up and haul herself upright. Her legs are all twisted up, spread apart like in some torture device. Her butt hangs below her levels, and unless she has abs of steel, I don't see any way she's going to get back upright to sitting in this thing.
"Oh God, I can't. My arms are spent. I don't think I can get myself out of this."
Letting go of the fabric, I grab her under her arms and try to pull her upright. At the height she's dangling, she's not too far off the ground, but also just high enough to make this awkward.
"Stop. I've got an idea." This time, she lets herself fall backward, reaching toward the ground. "Okay," she pants. "Can you untwist this leg?" She wiggles her foot, pushing her leg out.
I reach up and unloop the fabric. As her limb is finally freed, she slides down, catching her weight on her hands for a moment, before collapsing to the ground, her other leg held upright and entangled in the fabric. Quickly I work to free her. Her leg flops to the floor.
For a moment, she lies there on the ground, panting heavily. "You scared the crap out of me. I could have gotten hurt."
"Well, you shouldn't be in here by yourself. You could have gotten hurt and no one would know."
