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Rachel
The plan was to change after my audition. To take my time removing my makeup. The glitter, the sparkle, the bold lavender eyeliner. The full lips, the bright cheeks, the star sequins I’d stuck to the corners of my eyes. The shimmer I’d dusted across my collar bones. The plan was to take off my costume. Pack away the feathers. Fold the fishnets. Gently arrange the dramatic corset with its velvet cords. Tuck in my top hat so it didn’t get crushed, didn’t get scratched by the costume jewels that were…well, everywhere. The plan was to change into jeans, a white tee, sneakers instead of towering stilettos. The plan was to go back to the hotel, sink into a bubble bath, calmly, slowly, carefully think things over.
The plan was to wait till the morning to take the bus over to Dublin Ink. When I was ready. When I was prepared. When I wasn’t still shaking with post-audition adrenaline, still blinking indigo mascara from my eyes, still making sure that my tits hadn’t popped out of my costume as I paced the small back dressing room with an uncontainable joy.
Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans, and believe me, none of the plans for my life had ever been particularly “laid”. But fuck it. They’re all the easier to throw out the window that way. Fuck best laid plans. Fuck plans. Fuck doing anything well-thought-out, well-reasoned, well-judged.
I was laughing and crying and shaking and telling myself this was probably not a great idea and not giving a single fuck as I dialled Aurnia’s number. Mason’s number had been disconnected. But I had a way back to him this time. And I had the courage to take it.
“Aurnia, hi, hey, hello, it’s me,” I said the moment I heard the phone line pick up, not even letting her have a chance to say anything.
“Rachel?” Aurnia said. “Oh my God, Rachel!”
“Oh my God, Aurnia!” I laughed back.
“Look, I’ve been trying to tell Mason what a feckin’ eejit he’s been and how he’s such a fucking gobshite for letting you go and—”
“Aurnia,” I tried to interrupt, but my young friend was kind of bullheaded when she got going; that’s what I liked about her, she reminded me of someone I knew.
“And Mason had all these excuses about finding out that you were engaged to someone else and how you were never coming back, how it was all a scam, a lie, and I tried so many times to tell him to trust you, to trust your love for him, because I saw it, I saw it, you know?”
I paced the small back dressing room, still fully in costume, as Aurnia rambled.
“Yeah, Aurnia—”
“Like for weeks I tried to get through to him and he was just so angry and it was like talking to a wall, like a fucking angry wall, but I swore I wouldn’t give up, because I didn’t give up on Conor and—”
“Aurnia.”
“But I must have finally gotten through to him!” she said.
When silence finally came I suddenly had nothing to say.
“Rachel? Rachel, you still there?”
“You got through to him?” I repeated her words. “What—what does that mean?”
I’d never heard Aurnia so bubbly as when she said, “Yeah, all that beating my fists against that brick wall must have finally made a dent somehow because he just called to ask if I can cover his clients for a while.”
“What?” I asked.
“Yeah, can you believe it?” Aurnia said. “I mean, shite, I hope I’m not ruining his grand romantic gesture. Ah shite, am I ruining it?”
In the background I heard Conor’s gruff voice murmur, “You’re fine, baby. Mason is probably just going to show up to her place with grocery store flowers and Taco Bell.”
I’d stopped pacing.
“Aurnia?” I said. “Show up where? Why does Mason need you to cover his clients?”
But Aurnia was stuck in conversation with Conor.
“You don’t really think he’d do it like that, do you?” I heard her say, clearly cupping the phone as she held it away from her.
I couldn’t help but laugh, despite the racing of my heart, as Conor replied, “I know for a fact that it’s how he’s going to do it.”
“Aurnia!” I shouted, but she didn’t hear me.
“Conor, you have to talk to him!” Aurnia insisted in an impassioned plea.
