Page 101 of Someone to Have
33
TAYLOR
I thoughtI could manage this, but the knot in my stomach on opening night tightens with every passing second. As I sit in front of the long row of lighted mirrors in the communal dressing room five minutes before the show is scheduled to start, the butterflies in my chest feel more like a stampede.
Sydney Tomlinson, the crew member Bryan tapped as my potential replacement, comes to stand behind me.
“I don’t mind going on in your place if you need me to,” she says, which clearly means she—and everyone else—can read my anxiety. “Bryan told me to check on you.” Her words have an edge, like she expects me to crumble. Same, girl. Same.
“Back off, Sydney. And tell Bryan to back off as well.” Ellie Seidel, the female lead—just as I’d predicted during auditions—approaches from the far side of the dressing room.
The weight of a dozen pairs of eyes on me feels suffocating. I can almost hear the whispers hanging in the air.
“I’m just trying to be helpful, and so is Bryan,” Sydney argues. “He’s the director, Ellie, not you. He has a vested interest in making sure no audience member is puked on.”
I manage to choke out a laugh as I place my head in my handsand focus on my breathing the way Eric showed me. His dark eyes flash in my mind, calm in this storm of panic.
“The only thing that’s going to make someone in this cast puke,” Ellie announces, her voice loud enough to puncture the cloud of anxiety engulfing me, “is more unnecessary and unhelpful notes from ouresteemeddirector.”
My head snaps up. A decade ago, Ellie was a working actress on Broadway—actual Broadway—where she was in the chorus and understudied for several successful shows, includingCatsandWicked. With her talent, she could have—should have—made it big. But when her mom was diagnosed with Parkinson’s about seven years ago, she came home to Skylark to care for her ailing parent.
I assumed she would leave again when her mom passed away last year, but she stayed. We haven’t exactly gotten close during rehearsals, but I have a lot of respect for her. I’ve also never heard her say a negative word about Bryan, or anyone for that matter.
“She can’t do it,” Sydney insists, then pops her gum.
“She can, and I told you to go away,” Ellie says.
“You’re not the boss of me.” I can practically hear the hip pop in Sydney’s scoff.
I peek through my fingers as Ellie moves directly in front of her—so close that the tips of her black shoes nearly touch Sydney’s boots.
“Go. Away,” Ellie whispers, but she might as well be shouting the command. Tensioncrackles between them.
I can tell the other cast members in the dressing room are pretending not to care, but they’re glued to the scene like they’re watching a Tony-nominated production.
Sydney rolls her eyes but turns away. “I’m sure glad I told my family not to buy seats in the first row,” she calls over her shoulder.
It’s a low blow, but I’m immune to that particular barb by now.
“What a bitch,” Ellie breathes as she looks at me in the mirror.
“She might not be wrong,” I mutter softly enough that no one else can hear.
I can’t seem to let go of the need to apologize for being me.
“You’re going to be great, Taylor,” Ellie insists. “You’ve gotten better at every rehearsal.”
“But Bryan says?—”
“Screw Bryan Connor,” the woman playing the production’s villain calls from three seats down. “He’s a dick.”
A smile plays around the corners of Ellie’s mouth as I gape. “Does everyone think that?”
A chorus of murmured assents, dramatic nods, and a few eye rolls ripple through the dressing room.
The male lead mutters, “We’ve got a Bryan Connor support group forming.” The laughter that follows is like a salve rubbed over my frayed nerves.
“We thought you were into him,” Ellie explains. “I hoped you had better taste than that.”
