Page 84 of For One Night Only

Itcouldbe unrelated, but I have to know for sure. I scramble to a seat and start a video call.

My heart races as she picks it up almost immediately. Lola is Mexican American, and her dark hair is piled into a neat ballerina bun on top of her head. She’s a dancer as well as an actress and singer—a true triple threat—and I imagine by her leotard that she’s heading into some kind of rehearsal. But she doesn’t look her usual serene self.

There’s something wild and stressed about her, and it puts me on alert.

“Oh my god, Val.”

“Ryan fucking Tate just called me asking for a comment because—he claims—our show got canceled. Is it true? What do you know?”

Her eyes widen. “I spoke with Patricia about an hour ago. My agent has been trying to get more answers, but it sounds like we’re done.”

The news hits me like a punch in the gut. “Shit.”

She tosses her free hand up in the air. “They weren’t even planning to call us.” She swears under her breath. “They were going to let us find out in the press release!”

I place a hand on my chest, trying to breathe. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I wish,” she says. “I had a good panic about it in the bathroom, had to take a Xanax.”

“Did they give us any kind of explanation?”

Lola gestures to someone off-screen, then refocuses on me. “No, not that I could get from my agent. I know Tyler has an in, so I was going to try to call him after my rehearsal.”

Tyler Rowe. I have zero desire to use hisin, but it might be necessary to let the nepo baby call in a precious favor. “Let me know what you find out.” I swallow back the tears in my throat. “God, Lola, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

She shakes her head. “No, you can’t put this on you. They would have renewed us months ago if we really had a shot. Besides, you’re like the hottest thing in LA right now. I’m really sorry you heard the news like this, and at the worst possible time, but I hope you can forget it all and focus on being incredible out there today.”

My gaze goes blurry, and I blink. “God, how am I supposed to go out there after this?”

“It’s hard to focus.” She laughs bitterly, but her eyes are still sad. “I wish I could make the concert, but I just booked the new national tour forLegally Blonde, and they’ve got us in all-days to learn the choreography.”

“That’s incredible. Congratulations,” I say. I hope she can’t tell how hollow my voice is. Lola will be fine afterEpic Theme Song. She did Broadway before, and she’ll do Broadway again.

“Thank you,” she says. “Can we talk soon? I think I’m still in denial, but I’ll need a good cry later this week. I’m so, so sorry you found out rightnow. I would have called you, but I was hoping you could avoid the news for at least one day.”

“It’s…what it is,” I say.

She frowns, her eyes soft and sympathetic. “Break a leg, babe.” And then she ends the call.

I groan. I need to get down to sound check, but everything feels numb. I haven’t booked a single audition since theEpic Theme Songhiatus. Sure, I can have Wade broaden my net to television now that I’m no longer tied to a show, but this feels like an ending.

My career as an actress is over.

I stand up and begin to pace, trying to make sense of it all. Is this really it?

No one wants a failed leading lady with a messy reputation. I’ll be lucky to book guest-starring roles again. As soon as the news cycle for the reunion—and hell, the cancellation—is over, I’ll fade into obscurity. The only thing I have left is the Glitter Bats. It’s ironic, since the whole reason this reunion started was to salvage my career, and now there’s nothing left to save.

It’s all too much. I stride over to the big windows and pull the curtains closed, trying to shut out the world.

We tried to fix my image, and it actually worked. But maybe it was doomed from the start. My knees go weak at the realization that Lola was right—if they were going to renew the show, they would have done it months ago. Anything I did was never going to be enough.

Defeated, I sink to the scratchy hotel carpet. It scrapes my bare legs like sandpaper, but I’m too stricken to care.

After tonight, I’ll be nothing more than a girl who used to be famous. Unless I can think of a way to turn it all around, all I can do is hold myself together until the last notes of the encore.

The Glitter Bats Return!

Ryan Tate forGossip Daily

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