Page 5 of Close Match
“No, you don’t,” he says confidently. His arm slips around my waist as we wait for our cue.
No, I don’t.Simon is like a brother to me. He’s been my friend for forever in a business where there are too few of them. When we met in London, our only goal was to see how hard we could push the other to laugh on stage. Our genuine enjoyment for each other and the show translated to our characters. Together, we’ve become theater gold.
When Bristol came over to visit me, I almost fell over myself watching him try to charm my baby sister. He went from being this giant goofball I joked around about over FaceTime to this pompous peacock strutting around, trying to get noticed. It wasn’t until I downed a sandwich made of tomato, mozzarella, and onion—accidentally forgetting to brush my teeth—that Simon dropped the act backstage. What he didn’t realize was Bristol was standing there for his little tantrum.
“You did that on purpose,” he’d accused me.
“I swear I didn’t,” But I couldn’t keep the laughter out of my voice.
“All week I’ve been trying to impress your sister. Tonight, she’s here, and it was all I could do to prevent barfing in your mouth.”
I snickered right in his enraged face. “Trust me. You haven’t impressed her much.”
“You’re just mean.” He sniffed the air before groaning. “For the love of all that’s holy, someone get her a breath mint!”
I was sure my laughter could be heard in the front row. “You don’t like onions?”
“Not when you must have eaten the whole damn thing like an apple.”
“Hmm, too bad. I don’t think Bris brushed before the show either, did you, darling?” I looked around Simon’s shoulder at my sister, who was doing all she could to contain her laughter.
Simon’s face paled right before he spun on his heel. Before he could get his mouth open, Bris slid her hands up against his chest and kissed him lightly on the lips. I know for damn certain she ate exactly what I did, but did Simon utter a word? Nope.
“Maybe they don’t taste quite that bad” was what he whispered.
It was the first and last time he ever missed a cue.
While Bristol overlooked their auspicious beginning, it was the declaration of our halitosis war anytime we have a scene onstage where our lips are forced to meet. Since we’re often cast as romantic leads, that can be every damn night. I vow I’m going to find the most grotesque onion-laced cheese I can find for tomorrow’s performance.
As we take our bows later, I realize it’s been two fabulous years of working with a man who’s become my closest friend outside of my blood family. I wouldn’t trade a second for the world.
As he escorts me from the stage, he grins. “I knew that combo would get you.”
Elbowing him in the ribs, I grumble, “It’s going to be my luck your kid’s going to come out farting cilantro.”
Simon laughs. “Are you going out tonight?”
I shake my head.
“You’re passing up a night at Redemption? Marco will be devastated,” he teases me. Simon’s older brother owns a nightclub located on the edges of Manhattan in an area called Fort Washington. Luxurious doesn’t begin to describe it. The minute you step inside, you’re sucked into seductive temptation. Between the crushed velvet, the spotlights glancing off the exquisite crystal chandeliers, and a sound system that makes music pulsate through your blood when you take to the floor, it’s a playground for the bored and beautiful.
I dismiss Simon’s not-so-veiled attempt to hook me up—again—with his brother. He’d love nothing better than to see two of his favorite people happy together. It’s just not there. Don’t get me wrong. Marco Houde is devastatingly handsome, and he’s not faking the refined smoothness Simon tried to use to win Bristol’s heart. He just is that way. But it does nothing for me. Marco gave it a halfhearted shot, not that I’ll ever admit that to Simon. We quickly decided we were better great friends who would eventually become family.
“C’est la vie,” I say, dismissing Simon’s overly dramatic eye roll. “He probably just needs some quality time with his brother.”
“You never gave him a chance.” He raises his voice dramatically. Several people stop.
Pulling away from him, I raise the back of my hand to my forehead. “But darling, somewhere out there is a love just for me. A man who will see only me when he looks at me…” I frown as if I’ve forgotten my line.
He slaps his hand over his mouth to cover his laugh. When he’s able to speak, he dons a British accent and snootily decrees, “Sixth toe?”
“Yes! My sixth toe. You couldn’t deal with it, you roué! You left me for my sister, damn you!” I go stomping off toward my dressing room to a round of applause from the backstage crew. When I reach the door, my mother has sidled up to Simon. She’s flushed but grinning like a lunatic. “Bravo, darling!” she calls out.
I bow with a flourish before sweeping into the room to cream off the heavy stage makeup. It isn’t until the door closes behind me that I collapse in a fit of giggles. It’s nice to see that the crazy is genetic in this family. Bristol and Simon’s baby doesn’t stand a chance.
Three
Montague
