Page 112 of Close Match
Instantly, I become incensed. “Why Off Broadway? Is it because of the time she took off? Are people so heartless up there they don’t realize she saved your damn life? Is it because of her injuries? What the hell is wrong with them? She’s Evangeline Brogan!” I’m shouting so loudly at the end, I don’t realize my father is laughing. Hard.
“Calm down, Monty. Her agent had plenty of roles for her to choose from. This was something that intrigued her. I have a side bet with her that it lasts a month before it ends up on the big stage.”
“Oh.” Feeling a bit foolish, I reach for my Shirley Temple with mint, something I began drinking because it made me feel closer to Linnie. “Is it going well?”
“She says it is. They’re still practicing for opening night. It was written by a student from NYU’s theater department,” he says thoughtfully. “It’s about the battle between Heracles and Hera.”
My eyes pop out a bit at that. “It’s not a musical?”
He shakes his head. “No, though she said she could practically hear music in her head. When Linnie called the other night, she said she’s going to try to get the writer together with a composer she knows. She thinks they could be the next generation of Rodgers and Hammerstein.”
“If anyone would know, she would,” I murmur. A silence descends around the small card table that was brought in with our meal.
“And lastly, no.”
I tip my head at him in confusion.
“Care to elaborate, old man? Or are you just telling me no to dessert? It’s not half-bad around this place,” I tell him, but my heart is thumping out of my chest. I think I know what he’s saying, but I’m afraid to have him say it.
“Do you think if she hated you she’d be asking me every time we talk if I’ve heard any updates on your progress? She doesn’t hate you, Monty.”
Sitting back in my chair, I give him my truth.
“I appreciate knowing, but it doesn’t change anything because I hate myself enough for both of us.”
Sixty-Eight
Evangeline
It’s raining out. Even in the warmth of my home, chills race up and down my spine. My fingers trace the woven leather cover of the journal I just finished. And suddenly I hurl it across the room, taking out a vase of flowers left from the opening night ofQueen of the Stars.
My mother’s words are seared on my brain.
I’m married to a man I don’t love with a daughter who will amount to nothing. And, God help me, to forget, I’m forced to repeat the same mistake over and over that caused her to be that way. The bottle is the only way I can endure this life.
I’m shaking so hard, my teeth are practically rattling.
“Blame your husband, blame me, for your fucking addiction? How dare you, you bitch?” I scream.
“Um, I take it this isn’t practicing for the show?” I whirl around, and Bristol’s holding Alex in her arms. He’s fretting due to my outburst. My chest heaves as she makes her way closer. “Why don’t you hold your nephew while I clean this mess up?”
“I’ll do it,” I bite off, starting to move past her toward my kitchen when she stops me.
“How about I rephrase that. Sit your ass down, hold your nephew, and I’ll clean up.” Shoving Alex into my arms, she turns me around and points me in the direction of my sectional.
Alex’s blue eyes look up at me trustingly. I dip my face super close so he can get used to my features as I coo, “It’s all right, sweetheart. Aunt Linnie is just having a little tantrum like you do when you’re wet or hungry.”
I get a gurgle in response that helps heal the fresh tear in my heart. Hearing the sound of the dustpan from across the room, I call out, “Do you think he’s going to keep his blue eyes?”
“I don’t know. I could get a kit, and we could just let him drool into it to find out?” Bristol teases me.
I burst into tears.
“Hey! What’s wrong?” She drops the pan, and I hear the glass go flying again. “Linnie, talk to me.” She starts to move toward us, but I shake my head.
Rubbing my tears against my shoulder while I still hold my nephew, I whisper, “Find the journal.”
Turning left and right, she spots it. Snatching it up, she demands, “What am I looking for?”
