Page 127 of Close Match
I settle into my seat to enjoy the phenomenal efforts on stage to see Broadway unite as one. And to bide my time until I can brush my fingers against Linnie’s face again.
If she’ll let me.
I thought seeing Linnie come on and off the stage as emcee was enough until I could reach out and lay my hand to her gently at the reception to help repair the physical pain I caused. That was until the curtains parted without a word and she stood there in a short dress that glittered the second the lights hit it. Her long dark hair cascades around her shoulders in waves, begging me to slide it to the side and make her gasp as I feast on the delicate skin of her neck.
A lone guitar from the pit starts to play, and the blood rushes to my heart so fast, I fear I’m going to pass out.
Linnie begins to sing a rendition of Kelly Clarkson’s “Sober” that shatters the last illusion I held I was going through my pain alone. Even though the song might give the impression it’s about an alcoholic, it’s not. It’s about addiction in all its forms—including love. Linnie’s voice sings about keeping her flowers as she rids herself of the destructive weeds, and I realize it’s my choice to be one or the other for her. I can choose to have a drink, and she’ll always love me, but she’ll remove my toxicity from her life. Or I can stay firmly rooted in the steps I’ve taken to fix myself, and maybe we can see if what we had will take root.
Her voice soars to the heavens as she sings about how much harder it is now.I agree, my love. It is harder now. I don’t have a crutch anymore. I’m just this broken man who’s crawling after a dream. And the only hope I have it’s enough is the fact you sent me this ticket.
Linnie’s not done singing, but I don’t think twice. I stand. I want her to know I’m waiting for her. Always.
When she turns from the other side of the stage, only someone who knows her every facial tick would catch her falter. But she makes her way over. Standing almost directly in front of me, she finishes singing the last few lines of the song, adapting them to her magnificent voice.
And soon, I’m not the only one standing.
But it’s my eyes she holds while using her free hand to clasp her hand over her heart as she sings the last line of the song before she makes her way offstage to a standing ovation.
I know I’m clapping louder than anyone else there.
Eighty-One
Montague
Other than the time necessary for the network commercial breaks, the show hasn’t stopped for hours. Either Linnie or Simon has come out to introduce every act, explaining how their lives have been impacted by drug or alcohol abuse.
Unfortunately, I’m less shocked than some of the other tuxedo-clad people sitting around me when Simon comes on stage to declare, “Tonight we entertained you because of the effects of how drugs and alcohol have affected Broadway and musical theater. But right now, I want to give you some statistics that affect everyone watching. According to the National Survey on Drug Use and Health performed in 2017, 19.7 million American adults—where an adult is considered twelve or older—are battling a substance abuse disorder.” The room gets eerily silent.
“Seventy-four percent of adults suffering from a substance use disorder in 2017 also struggled with an alcohol use disorder. That same year, one out of every eight adults battled both a drug and alcohol disorder. 8.5 million Americans suffer from a mental health disorder and a substance abuse disorder concurrently.” He takes a deep breath to keep going.
“The NSDUH also tells us the following: drug abuse and addiction cost Americans $740 billion annually in lost workplace activity, crime-related costs, and healthcare expenses. What if we can stop some of that now? By reaching out a hand to people who need some help?”
Linnie steps onto the stage. “Addiction isn’t always something someone can control. I knew from an early age I’d have to be concerned. Addiction in all its forms is genetic; it accounts for 40 to 60 percent of the people at risk.”
Simon says grimly, “Teenagers and people with mental health issues are more at risk for drug, alcohol, and other addictions than any other population in the nation. This includes our military veterans.”
“And finally, emotional factors contribute to a risk of addiction. It starts with a tone from the top. This is where our children learn. When my mother put her sobriety ahead of anything, it’s where I learned. I’m just grateful my sister never had to experience the same thing.” Linnie’s eyes drift out across the audience before they settle. I can only assume Bristol’s here.
“At the end of tonight’s broadcast, there will be information about how to get help. Please, if you or someone you love needs help, call those numbers. There are people who are in your area who care as much as we do.” Simon’s voice is heartfelt.
“And if it’s you—if anything we’ve said or sung has got through—reach out. No one is going to turn away your hand.”
“Linnie and I have one last number to sing tonight. We’ve asked the entire cast to join us. And we’re going to ask some of you to join us up on stage. Take a look around.” I and everyone on the floor of the theater turn around. Holy crap. The aisles have been cleared. Focusing forward, I see the orchestra drop and a stage move into place. Simon and Linnie clasp hands. “We’re going to pull some of the people we love up on stage. These are people who helped bring this event together for us in our hearts. We’re also going to ask you all to get on your feet.” There’s a muted roar of excitement as thousands of people start to get to their feet, myself included.
After the noise finishes, a lone banjo starts to play. Simon begins clapping and steps back. “Sing it, babe.”
Linnie smiles before her lips begin to sing about being hurt, forgiveness, and hearts breaking free. She reaches the refrain where the two of them harmonize as they clasp their hands together and walk out to the new edge of the stage. Simon kisses her hand before he goes down a small set of stairs to walk over to Bristol. Grabbing her hand, he keeps singing with Linnie.
She’s smiling and dancing around the stage for the people in the rafters until Simon’s back on the stage before she starts her descent. It must be a dream when I feel her hand touch mine. “What?”
Pulling her mic away, she whispers, “Take my hand, Monty.”
And as I touch her for the first time in six months, trying not to crush her delicate fingers in my larger ones, I follow blindly up the aisle while she sings with Simon. I can’t see shit between the lights and my tears, so I stumble on the first step. Her head whips around in concern. I swipe at the wetness and shake my head. Her smile, dynamic before, trembles.
I don’t know what to do other than absorb the moment in my soul. It’s just Linnie and Simon facing each other harmonizing as if in a singing challenge. Then from behind me comes a voice—a gospel queen—singing on top of them. And someone else adds their voice. A four-part harmony that sends shivers through me to let me know I’m alive and blessed to be.
All because one woman stood by me.
