Page 80 of Holiday Star
A little less lonely.
BREAKING DAWN
51
I’m rushing to meet Alvina and a few other co-workers for happy hour when I see it. There, in large gold letters on the marquee at the Prestige Theater on 49th Street, the sign reads: “Caleb Lawson Stars in Crazy for You, a Musical.”
I skid to a stop, staring up at the sign with my mouth agape. My heart plummets down to the ground, sinking into the pavement.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Even Wayne is speechless when I tell him about it the next morning. “I swear I had no idea,” he says as we walk to the hospital. He’s almost as pissed as I am. Mad that someone beat him at his own game. “Don’t worry,” he assures me. “I’ll figure it out.”
We’ve become conspirators over the past month, Wayne and I.
An update from him the next day. “It was arranged when Caleb was finishing rehab. The producers auditioned him from there. Must have gone well because they gave him the lead role.” Wayne looks at me suspiciously. “I didn’t even know he can sing. Did you?”
“Umm.” The sidewalk is suddenly very interesting.
“Gwen,” he warns, and I understand that I’m about to lose my daily vanilla latte if I don’t start talking.
“He’s actually really good. At singing. Likereally good.” I spill like a pinata at a kids’ birthday party. I don’t tell him about the stage fright, though. No need to give away all of Caleb’s secrets. There must be no more stage fright. Not if he’s playing on Broadway, right? Even thinking about that, about staring into an enormous crowd a few feet away from the stage, frightens me for him.
I hope you know what you’re doing, Caleb.
52
Alvina talks me into going to the musical. She says that I need to see Caleb to get over him, and this is the perfect way. I can hide in the crowd and watch him anonymously. Prove to myself that he’s alive and okay. That I don’t have to worry about him anymore.Even Wayne agrees when I mention the idea.
I’m doubtful that it’ll work, but I go along anyway. Since Caleb’s reappearance, I’ve been too scared to leave messages on his phone. I’m exhausted by the end of the day, frustrated without the outlet of talking to his voicemail.
It’s ridiculous.I’mridiculous. It’s been almost three months now. I seriously need to move on…find a healthy relationship where I talk to a real person instead of an empty voice mailbox.
We’re running twenty minutes late. Alvina had taken forever to get ready. As we rush down the street, my heel lodges in a crack in the sidewalk. I wrench it free, then run to catch up to her. She’s holding the large wooden door to the theater open. “Hurry,” she says frantically.
The lobby is empty. Everyone must have already gone in. The lilt of music drifts out through the gap in the doors that lead inside.
“I have to stop at the restroom,” Alvina says in a harried tone, her features drawn tight.
“Really? Right now?” I grit out, annoyed that she can’t wait. This is seriously the worst timing.
She pushes me toward the entrance. “Go! Get our seats before someone else takes them.”
“Okay. Okay. Geez.” I frown at her, not appreciating the shove. I don’t need her being bossy on top of the nerves I’m already feeling. Now that we’re here, this doesn’t seem like such a brilliant plan.
Not wanting to bother anyone, I push the doors open a tiny bit and turn sideways to slip through. It takes a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the low light inside.
Once they do, I can’t make sense of what I see.
Built during more opulent times, the theater is gorgeous. It’s painted in tones of red and gold, with soaring curtain-draped balconies. Elaborate gilded chandeliers hang, dimmed and glittering, from the ceiling. Fancy golden scrollwork runs over the walls and surrounds the large dais where the actors perform, framing it like a picture.
It’s beautiful, and it’s…empty.
Rows and rows of deep red velvet seats stretch out before me. All leading down to the stage, where a single spotlight illuminates a man sitting on a plain wooden stool with a guitar in his hands.
Caleb.
And he’s looking right at me. “Hi, Gwen.” He says my name for the 229th time. Okay, I’m not sure about the number—I lost track—but it doesn’t matter because he’s here and he said it.
