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“Don’t give me that.” Chrissy takes a sip of her smelly fat-burning tea. “Paul wasn’t some tortured saint. He was a cheating scumbag.”
“That’s pure speculation. We don’t know that,” I grind out.
“We do.” Chrissy slams her tumbler back on the table. “You don’t. Everyone around you knows. They just don’t say anything because you’ve been through enough.”
Do my parents and sisters think the same thing? That Paul had an affair?
“You have no reason to sit and pine for him. Ordering him food, doing the whole preaccident ritual,” she says with conviction, spinning in her chair to signal our waitress to bring the check. Her eyes remain on me.
Yeah. Chrissy may or may not have caught me keeping up with my takeout tradition with Paul.
“Look.” I groan. “Even if he did cheat on me—which I’m not saying that he did—we’d shared an entire history together. We’d been through a lot. I can’t just forget about him. It’s not that simple.”
“My point exactly! Another reason why you should move on. If he did this to you after everything you’d gone through, then I’m sorry, but he shouldn’t be forgiven, nor mourned. No one’s gonna judge you if you move on.”
The delicious food tastes like mud in my mouth. The waitress slides the check between us. I attempt to grab it, but Chrissy is faster. She grins, wiggling her eyebrows as she drops her credit card into the black leather bill holder and hands it back to the waitress.
“Point is, it’s time for you to move on, before the world moves on without you. Tough times never last, honey. Tough people, however . . .” Chrissy reaches to pat my hand as the waitress hurries along with her credit card. “Life is beautiful and wild, and it doesn’t wait for you to decide to participate in it. You need to jump into the water headfirst. And when you do? Make sure to make a splash.”
An hour later, I walk into Calypso Hall for rehearsal. Since the place is closed until the matinee shows start, Jeremy, the daytime security guard, unlocks the door for me.
“Miz Ashcroft. Lovely day out, isn’t it?” he greets me.
I smile back in response, handing him a biscotti and coffee I purchased from the Italian place before coming here. “The loveliest, Jeremy. Here. I hope this sweetens up your day.”
“You’re too kind for this city, Winnifred.” He sighs.
I make my way backstage. Jeremy waves a frantic hand to stop me.
“Hey, wait, Miz Ashcroft! Have you seen this? Impressive, don’t you think?”
I turn around, coming face to face with something I have no idea how I missed when I walked in. It’s a floor-to-ceiling poster of The Seagull. Rather than displaying all the actors, it’s a close-up of Rahim and me.
ANTON CHEKHOV’S THE SEAGULL.
STARRING: RAHIM FALLAHA, WINNIFRED ASHCROFT, RENEE HINDS, AND SLOAN BARANSKI
The shot is of me staring at the camera, Rahim standing behind me, whispering in my ear. It is beautiful, tender, and erotic. But I can’t muster any excitement and pleasure from it. My heart doesn’t skip a beat, nor does it beat faster. This is the height of my career—something that would have made the old me leap in excitement, gather Jeremy into a hug, kiss the poster, take pictures, and send them to everyone on my contact list.
I feel so empty I want to scream just to fill my body with something.
Shed a tear. Just the one. To show yourself that you can. You’re an actress, for crying out loud!
“Good for you, Miz Ashcroft.” Jeremy tilts his hat in my direction. “Well deserved.”
Somehow I get through the entire rehearsal without having a meltdown over not having a meltdown about the poster. Am I ever going to feel anything again? Joy? Pleasure? Jealousy? Hate? I’ll take anything at this point.
Rahim is in high spirits. He rushes to admire our poster when it’s time for our break.
“How sad is it that this place sucks so bad we get excited over a poster?” Rahim clucks his tongue, examining himself on the floor-to-ceiling thing once again. “Do you know how much money they poured into Hamilton’s marketing?”
Lucas walks around like a peacock between rehearsals. Apparently, for the first time in twenty years, actual critics are going to attend a premiere at Calypso Hall. He smiles and laughs with the technical crew, doesn’t complain when two of the sound guys go home early, and hugs the set designer when she accidentally breaks a prop.
When rehearsal is over, Renee and Sloan dash to an amateur production by a mutual friend that’s premiering tonight.
“See you tomorrow, Win. Oh, and my girlfriend says thanks for the cookie tip.” Rahim kisses my cheek, also on his way out. “The yolk and brown sugar? Godsend!”
“Tell her to call me whenever. This thing is full of recipe hacks.” I knock on my temple. “But remember, no sharing trade secrets with your felting club!”
