Page 85 of The Maine Event

The ride to the studio is a blur of nerves and anticipation. I drum my fingers on the back seat, trying to focus on the first round of interviews I’ve scheduled for tomorrow, but my mind keeps drifting to thoughts of Dan. Will he be happy to see me? Will he understand that I came at Chloe’s request and that I don’t want to miss the chance to see him perform?

As the car turns into the lot, the looming façade of the soundstage comes into view, and I feel my pulse quicken. I press a hand to my chest, as if I can calm the fluttering there. I shouldn’t be this nervous—this was Chloe’s idea. I’m just here to support her. That’s all. And yet, the thought of walking into Dan’s world, uninvited, unannounced… It feels like trespassing.

I spot Chloe waiting by the entrance, bouncing on her toes with excitement. She waves at me enthusiastically, her grin wide and infectious.

“Rachel! You made it!” she exclaims, pulling me into a tight hug as I approach.

I laugh, returning the embrace with equal fervor. “Of course I did. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

We make our way inside, and are issued audience passes at reception and told to proceed through to the soundstage. Chloe’sclearly been here before and navigates the bustling corridors of the studio with ease.

It feels like we’re walking in circles, the anticipation of other audience members and the echo of shouted instructions surrounding us like static. It’s another world—one built on performance, precision, and perfectly timed emotion. I wonder, briefly, what it must be like to live in this world full-time. Chloe seems to float through it like she belongs. Maybe she does.

Arriving at Soundstage #1, we’re ushered through to the bleachers. It’s free seating, and Chloe takes my hand and leads me across to two seats that are still empty in the front row. I would have preferred something higher up, hidden away. It’s only when we get to the seats, I see a small sticker on each which reads Chloe Rhodes +1. Of course, a benefit for the cast and crew to enable friends and family to see their loved ones at work. But then it hits me that I am the plus one. Not the colleague, not the PR expert, not the careful strategist. Just… Rachel. Someone she chose. And maybe that’s who I want to be now—someone people choose, not someone who forces herself into the room.

The place fills up fast; the air is buzzing with energy, the chatter of the audience and the hum of equipment filling the space.

“Dad’s going to be so surprised to see you,” Chloe says, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “He has no idea you’re coming.”

My heart skips a beat at the thought, a mix of nerves and excitement coursing through me.

“I’m not sure he’s a big fan of my surprises,” I say, trying to keep my tone light.

Chloe gives me a knowing look, her smile softening. “Trust me, he’ll like this one.”

As we settle in our seats, I find myself scanning the stage, searching for any sign of Dan. The minutes seem to stretch on endlessly, each second feeling like an eternity.

I haven’t seen a full episode of the show yet, but I found a few trailers and clips online last night. It’s a fun show that’s billed as a comedy-drama. For once, it’s actually true—the dialogue is sharp and very witty, but then the characters find themselves embroiled in high-stakes drama that really tests their relationships. The pilot has a solid 7.8 stars on IMDb, which is very healthy indeed. They’re filming the apartment scenes from episode three today, which will air next week.

Chloe grips my hand, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “This is going to be so cool,” she beams. “Dad is so good.”

I smile at her enthusiasm, my heart fluttering with a mix of nerves and excitement. I keep telling myself I’m only here to chaperone Chloe. And I am. But I’m also here for my own reasons—I really want to see Dan again, even if it’s from a distance.

The house lights dim, and the audience respectfully reduces the volume of their chatter. Everyone who needs to cough, or thinks they might need to cough, tries to get it out at the same time.

The three camera operators swivel their cameras, and in quick succession give a thumbs up to an unseen producer.

The director’s voice crackles over the PA system. “Places everyone! Scene four. Take one. And… action!”

The set springs to life, suddenly bathed in warm, inviting light. I recognize the cozy living room from the clips I watched last night—overstuffed couches, family photos on the mantle, even a lazy golden retriever sprawled on the rug.

And there, striding in with two of his castmates, is Dan. My breath catches. He looks good. Really good. The hint of grey at his temples only adds to his charm, and that crooked grin of his still makes my heart skip a beat. Not that I’d ever admit it.

Dan launches into his opening monologue, his rich baritone filling the studio. But then, mid-sentence, his eyes find us in thefront row. Those piercing blue eyes lock with mine, and for a moment, the rest of the world falls away. I’m transported back to our—his—housewarming party, the promise of something up against the wall of the boathouse…

But then Chloe squeezes my hand, snapping me back to reality. “He’s doing great,” she says, her voice filled with pride.

I nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah, he is.”

I watch as Dan finds his rhythm again, slipping effortlessly back into character. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that something shifted in that moment. Like a spark reigniting…but of anger or something else, I’m not quite sure.

Dan’s castmates exchange worried glances as he falters, but being true professionals, they adapt seamlessly. The scene flows on, yet an undercurrent of tension ripples beneath the surface. I can see it in the set of Dan’s shoulders, the flicker of his eyes toward us.

Chloe leans forward, hanging on her dad’s every word. I’m torn between drinking in the performance and studying Dan himself, searching for clues in the subtext. Is this just acting, or is there something more brewing beneath the scripted lines?

As if in answer, Dan goes off-script. He pauses, scans the audience, and when he speaks again, it’s not as his character. It’s as himself, raw and unbridled. Whispers ripple through the crew. The cameramen turn in their chairs, trying to catch the eye of a producer. Dan’s co-stars exchange quick, confused glances, but they follow his lead. Chloe tenses beside me, her hand a lifeline in mine. I know, without doubt, that this isn’t acting anymore.

“Sometimes,” he says, his gaze boring into mine, “life gives us second chances. Opportunities to right wrongs, to say the things we were too afraid to say before.”

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