Page 62 of Resist
“Okay. But if he shows up, he better pray to God I don’t get my hands on him.”
Standing up, I hobbled inside, furious with myself. “Damn it. I shouldn’t have said anything. This has nothing to do with you.”
“Hey, hold up.”
He grabbed my arm, but I threw it up in the air and shrugged off his grip. “NO! I think you should leave. You need to get ready for the show.”
“Helena—”
“Please, just go.”
In true Lucas fashion, he read the signs I gave him and turned for the door, because this time I really did want him to leave.
“I just want to help … to be there for you.”
“I don’t want or need your help. Just stay out of my business.”
“I’ll see you later,” he said without turning back.
As the door closed behind him, I realised I’d fucked up by telling him about Colin. Him knowing just the smallest details put him in danger too, and I didn’t want that. I also didn’t need his protection. All I needed was me. I needed to be on the ball. Alert. Fierce. I needed to dig deep and find the strength I’d wielded for the last two years. And I needed to find it fast.
“You guys have five secondsto cover up before Helena comes in,” Johnno shouted to the guys through the backstage change room door he held ajar for me.
I counted to ten — just to be fair — before I limped in, the scent of coconut hitting me like a … coconut.
Costumes were strewn everywhere, t-shirts, jocks, and duffle bags containing towels and bottles of body oil open and covering the floor.
“What a mess!” I performed a three-sixty and spotted what looked like a mini Dalek from Dr Who. “What the hell is this?” I asked, picking it up.
They all said, “Wilbur” in unison.
“This is Wilbur?” I rotated it with interest. “Not quite what I expected.”
“Sorry, Helena.” Matt took Wilbur from me and shoved it in a bag. “We’ll clean up at the end of the show.”
I wiped my hand on my skirt. “I know you will. I just thought I’d pop in during the intermission to say well done. Your energy on stage tonight is great! Really, really great. And, Brad, nice opening to the show; you set the tone for the evening.”
They all displayed has-she-been-smoking-drugs expressions, except for Lucas. He just carried on getting dressed in his construction worker gear.
“Okay,” I said, clapping my hands together. “That’s it. As you were. I want to see more of what I just saw.” I turned to leave but stopped at the door. “Oh, and Lucas, turn it up a few notches. I know you can do better.”
Johnno shut the door behind me, and I paused, balancing on my crutches, regret instantly tugging on my insides.Lucas hadn’t been at all bad in the first half of the night. In fact, he’d been rather good. His engagement with the crowd, his timing … it had all been perfectly fine. So what I’d just said to him in front of his peers was for no other reason than to put him in his place because he’d pissed me off back in my room. He’d gotten too personal, too involved, and I hadn’t liked it.I’d been on my own for two years. I’d been learning to support myself, protect myself,bemyself. For the first time in my life, I’d taken control, and I didn’t need him taking that control from me.
Damn it!Unable to go back and retract my comment, I decided I’d apologise after the show so headed into the function room, ready for the second half, which now opened with Lucas’s original construction worker act. It was better placed in the revue, but his new routine was shaping up to be so much better. More theatrics. More steam. More surprises. I couldn’t wait until it was finalized and to showcase what Lucas truly was capable of.
“All right, ladies and gents,” Patsy bellowed. “Actually, do I have any gents in the room?”
Two guys standing at the back raised their hands.
“Excellent!” Patsy grinned, took the microphone out of its stand, and leapt off the stage en route to where they were now cowering. “I love it when the gents ‘come’.” She winked at a woman in passing. Another woman giggled. “I didn’t mean it like that, you dirty girl.”
The audience laughed and I couldn’t help but smile, too. Patsy was charismatic in her own, crass, unique way. I also realized I couldn’t possibly hire another person to help her out. No one would suffice; she’d eat them alive.
“Good evening, fellas,” she said in a sing-song voice. “You havin’ a good night?” Patsy shoved her microphone into their faces.
“We’re havin’ a ‘Wild Night’,” one of them said, his eyebrows rising higher than a high rise.
The crowd cheered and whistled, so he clapped in response.
