Page 82 of For My Finale
The room went still. All eyes turned to Blossom, waiting for a response, a solution. But what solution could there be? Her heart went out to Gloria, so stubborn, such a consummate professional that she hadn’t wanted to let anyone down. But they were all out of options at this moment in time.
“That’s it, then,” she said quietly, more to herself than to anyone else. “The play is over. Doomed.” She ran her hand over her face. “We’ll have to cancel.”
There was a second of complete silence, then a voice, clear and confident, cut through the air like a blade. “We most certainly will not.”
Blossom stiffened. That voice. It sent a shockwave through her system, made her heartbeat stutter, made her breath catch in her throat painfully. She turned.
There, standing in the doorway outline by the late afternoon light, stood Lilah.
Blossom’s world narrowed, her vision tunneling in on Lilah’s face, on the sharp, determined set of her jaw, the confidence in her stance. Her heart hurt, it was beating so hard, and a hundred emotions surged through her, relief and anger and longing, but she couldn’t pick one out of the masses. So all she said was, “How can we put on a play without a star?”
Lilah smirked and strode forward. There was some muttering at this, and a short roll of laughter. A star. Lilah raised an eyebrow. “A star?” she asked. She looked around then glued her eyes back to Blossom’s. “I’ve played Blanche once in summer stock, once on the West End, and I’ve been directing this production for weeks.” She stopped in front of Blossom, close enough that Blossom could smell her perfume, expensive and floral and far too familiar. “Still need a star?”
Blossom took a step back. The room around them felt charged, as if the entire universe had been thrown off balance. She gulped. “You can’t.”
“Why not?” Lilah asked, tilting her head.
Blossom struggled to form the words she needed. “Because… because you’re Lilah Paxton. You’re not a star. You’re the star. You can’t just step in and do a village hall play.”
Lilah pursed her lips for a moment, nodding. “The thing is,” she said. “I’m not a star anymore. A star or the star, it doesn’t matter. I’m neither.”
“What?” Blossom asked.
“I’ve quit. For good this time.” Lilah’s voice was even and neutral. “But I will make an exception for this. One more night. One more time. One more role. A swansong, if you will.”
Blossom was finding it hard to keep up with what was happening. “You quit?”
“I did,” Lilah confirmed. “And we really don’t have time for this.” She turned on her heel and clapped her hands. “Places everyone. Arty, get ready for a run-through. It’s the only one I’ll get before the curtain goes up, so let’s make it a good one.”
Arty blinked, then scrambled into action. The rest of the cast followed suit, some looking amazed, others uncertain, most simply taking it in stride. The entire hall shifted, the energy in the air changing.
Blossom was relieved, she couldn’t deny that. But she was also… suspicious. This wasn’t about the play, she knew that. This was about Lilah. She needed to know exactly why Lilah was back. But she wasn’t about to get any answers now, not when the actual show was mere hours away.
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The rehearsal had been rushed, there was no denying that. The blocking was hurried, there had been snatched glances at scripts, a few frantically scribbled notes in the margins. Butit didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. The audience was already settling into their seats, their murmurs and shufflings drifting through the thin walls of the backstage area.
The air was humming with anticipation, and for the first time in months, Lilah really felt like herself. This was why had become an actress. The rush of it, the certainty of stepping onto a stage and becoming someone else. The knowledge that, for a couple of hours, she would have the audience in the palm of her hand. She lived for it. Breathed for it.
Then she turned. And there was Blossom. And everything else disappeared.
She was standing just a few feet away, adjusting the collar of her shirt, a distracted frown on her face as she skimmed through the program that Arty had run off on the pub’s copy machine. The lights above her cast a soft glow over her dark hair, making her look angelic, almost unreal. Lilah couldn’t breathe.
For so long, she’d been searching for meaning. In the perfect role, in the next film, in the applause that followed her every performance. And yet here, right in front of her, was something real. Something steady. Something worth trying to hold on to no matter the sacrifices.
Her heart throbbed in her chest, and before she could talk herself out of it, she crossed the space between them and grabbed Blossom’s hand.
Blossom looked up, startled. “Lilah—”
“This can’t wait,” Lilah said. Her voice was low, urgent as she pulled Blossom around a corner and into the shadows. “I need to say this now.”
Blossom’s lips parted in surprise, but she didn’t pull away.
Lilah took a deep breath and steadied herself. “I’ve been an idiot.”
“Ah,” said Blossom.
Lilah huffed out a short laugh, shaking her head. “I’ve spent so much time looking for something bigger than myself. I always thought I had so much to prove, to Hollywood, the press, my own damn reflection. But I’ve been blind. The whole time,meaning was right in front of me. You were right in front of me.”
