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She looks me over, then peers over my shoulder. I know she’s looking at Nica. “Are you sure? Because it’s kind of late to bring Mike Greenwood on.”
I shake my head. Mike’s a good guy, but he’s been a terrible understudy. I’m not sure he even knows the songs, let alone the blocking and script. “I’ll go over my lines tonight. I think the long break since Saturday is throwing me off.”
Her lips press together as she crosses her arms. “Getting involved with a fellow actor during a show is always a mistake—especially when you’re playing romantic partners. When Stella suggested putting Nica in, I was worried. But she’s a pro, and I thought she’d elevate our performance. Despite our little contretemps over the social media, she’s done just that. But I’ve heard rumors about you two—” She wiggles her fingers with a distasteful frown. “I won’t have your carrying on disrupting my show.”
A spurt of anger pushes me a step closer. “My carrying on?” She leans back, a flash of concern flowing over her face. I take a deep breath and remind myself that while my relationship with Nica might be private, if I can’t remember my lines, that is Edie’s concern. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be fine.” Without waiting to see if she has more to say, I stomp away, looking for Nica.
As I cross the concrete pad where the audience will sit, Nica’s little yellow car zips down the street. I stare after it, my mouth falling open. What is happening? Last night was magical, then tonight was like working with a stranger. And now she didn’t even wait to say good night. She said stuff was going on with her father, but maybe I could have helped her with whatever it was. Isn’t that what friends do? And I thought we were more than friends. But was that just an act?
As I trudge home, I replay yesterday in my head. She enjoyed spending time with me—I know she did. She might be a great actress, but why bother faking it? She wouldn’t have stuck around all day if she was bored or uncomfortable. She could have given an excuse and left at any point.
And last night—the kisses. That wasn’t acting. I may not have experience with a lot of women—I married Judy in college, and I haven’t dated much since the divorce—but Nica wasn’t faking those.
Maybe it’s all physical with her? She keeps telling me she isn’t the woman I think she is. That the “nice” persona is just an act. That could be why she said she didn’t want anything long-term—because she’s interested in me physically, but nothing more.
I feel a sick little surge of pride that my forty-five-year-old body can attract a Hollywood actress, but the thought that her feelings might be so superficial leaves me reeling.
Dropping deeper into a pit of despair, I stumble into the house. Fortunately, Eva is out tonight. I trudge up the stairs and collapse on my bed. Maybe my “relationship” with Nica is just a pathetic, one-sided crush. With a groan, I bury my head under the pillow.
My thoughts keep returning to last night, replaying the memory over and over. After dinner, she wanted to talk. Then we kissed, and she left without saying anything. A seed of anger burns bright in my soul. Is this just a game to her?
Without thinking about consequences, I roll onto my back, yank my phone from my pocket, and text her.
What’s the deal? You run off without a word? I thought we were going to talk?
I hit send, then reread the words. They sound angry—fair enough, I am angry. But less confrontational might have been a better choice. Can I delete it? The screen shows “delivered.” I hold the little speech bubble down, but “delivered” changes to “read.”
I wait, but the three dots don’t appear. She isn’t texting back. Ugh. I toss the phone onto the bed and pull the pillow over my face, groaning into the soft, muffling folds.
The bed vibrates. I throw the pillow away and grab the device.
Nica
You’re right. Let’s talk.
My insides go cold. I don’t want to talk. I want to go back to this morning when my life looked beautiful and sunny. When the memory of our kisses warmed me like a campfire.
Now?
The phone rings and my stomach clenches. “Hello?”
“I’m sorry about tonight.” Her voice is low and rough. It could be from all the singing tonight, or she could have been crying. “I—I’m sorry about everything. I should never have gotten involved with you.”
I wish I could see her face. “But you admit we’re involved?” I cringe. I sound pathetic.
She sighs. “Yes. Kind of. Look, I told you I can’t do long-term. You said you’d take what I can give. Well, it turns out I can’t give anything right now. I’ve told you over and over, I’m not the girl you see on screen.”
“I don’t want the girl on the screen. I don’t even own any ice skates.” I wait for a chuckle, but it doesn’t come. “Nica, yesterday, the whole weekend… everything, since we met back in April… It’s all been amazing. And you’re right, you aren’t the women in the movies, but I don’t want them. I want you. Then last night—tell me those kisses didn’t mean anything to you.”
She’s silent for a long time. When she finally answers, her voice is even rougher. “Matt. I like you. A lot. But I’m not the woman you think I am. Sure—going to the lake was fun. Having dinner last night was fun. But there are a million times I’m not fun. You’d discover that soon enough if I hung around.” I hear the unspoken words—that she’s not going to stay long enough for me to experience it firsthand.
“Life isn’t fun all the time. I have twenty years of failed marriage to prove that.” I stare at the ceiling, not really seeing the pale wood slats. “But the good times get you through the other times—if you care about the person you’re with. That’s why I stayed with Judy so long—until the person I cared about disappeared completely.” I take a deep breath. “I care about you. And you are worth caring about. Can’t we try—”
“It’s not going to work, Matt.” Her tone is final. “I understand if you don’t want to see me again. Do you want me to quit the play?”
“What? No, Edie will kill me if you do that. ‘The show must go on,’ right?” A tiny flame of hope flickers in my chest. Maybe I can change her mind. As long as we’re working together, I have a chance to convince her.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Good night.” The phone goes dead.
