Which was true, but also, a lot of work sometimes.
But Ryan seemed to thrive under the attention. I was happy for him—and he was good with fans, generous and friendly. Eager to pose for photos and autograph whatever was shoved into his hands. He made it look easy and effortless.
A glance at Cal, who had moved away with Harriet, indicated that he was less excited about being in the spotlight.
Well. He was going to have to learn how to deal with it, just as I had. Because I knew, in my bones, that he and the guys were about to become very, very famous.
CHAPTER 6
First days were always that riotous combination of excitement and fear. First day of school. First day of camp. First day on set. I’d had many first days, but this one felt more momentous than any of them. And far more terrifying.
“I can’t wait for you to meet everyone,” Harriet was saying.
“Hmm?” I’d been lost in thought, staring down the approaching building like we were playing a game of chicken.
One that I’d lose because, well, it was an immovable object.
“We didn’t fight about a single cast member,” she said. “I think that’s a good sign. We agreed on everyone.”
It had been determined that it wasn’t necessary for Harriet to sit in on my audition, but Cal had her deeply involved in every other part of the process.
Still, I was only half listening.
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Great.”
We were waiting for the traffic to slow, one more street before we got there. The cars cleared and Harriet crossed, but I stood there, frozen on the sidewalk, eyes fixed on the glass and chrome monolith where we were due in thirty minutes.
Harriet darted back to me.
“Kathleen?”
I blinked at her, startled back into reality.
“Oh wow,” she said. “Come on.”
I let her tug me into a coffee shop.
“Matcha tea,” she told the barista.
“Something caffeine-free,” I corrected. “I’ll be bouncing off the walls.”
The last thing I needed was a burst of energy right now.
We sat down at a table toward the back.
“Are you okay?” Harriet asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
I’d spent my entire life hoping for an opportunity like this. A road map to Broadway, full speed ahead. Now that it was here, now that we were about to start the workshop, I was suddenly wishing things would slow the fuck down.
It was all happening so fast. Hadn’t it been yesterday that we met with Cal in the first place?
“You’re going to be great,” Harriet said, her hand on my arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
I wished I could believe her, but I couldn’t. I was terrified. Near paralyzed with fear.
Anxiety—that bastard—had my heart rattling like a paint mixer. I felt like I wanted to peel my own skin off and run around Manhattan naked in my bones. Definitely not a moment for caffeine.
Every part of me said that I couldn’t do this. That I was going to fail.
I’d been so confident when I was younger. Never thought for a minute that I wasn’t going to do exactly what I wanted to do. Maybe I should have been a little more fearful back then. More careful.
“This is a mistake,” I said.
“No,” Harriet said, her voice firm. “This is not a mistake.”
I looked up at her and I could feel the desperation visible in my eyes. It seemed to radiate out of me.
“Stop it,” Harriet said. “You’re psyching yourself out.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I said.
She grinned at me. “That’s the Kathleen I know and love.”
I glared at her, but she had managed to chase away the fear, if only for a moment.
“Look,” she said, “you’re ready. You’ve been rehearsing with that vocal coach, right?”
“Right,” I said. Annoyingly she’d been one of the recommendations from Cal.
“Working with that dance teacher?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Everything was rusty. I was in shape, but not eight-shows-a-week shape.
“You know the show.”
“Sure,” I said. “As much as someone knows a show that’s about to be workshopped, taken apart, and then reassembled.”
“You’re going to be fine,” Harriet said as she stood up to get our drinks.
I was pretty sure I was never going to feel ready. Because I was never going to be ready.
I’d had my moment and perhaps it was dangerous and foolish to think that I could try again.
Harriet plunked the tea down in front of me and we both ignored the way my hand shook as I lifted the cup to my mouth. I had to use both hands for good measure, like a fucking child.
There was no point in telling Harriet I couldn’t do this.
And I was a lot of things, but I’d never backed out on a commitment.
Well. Except that one time.
“I’m nervous too,” Harriet said.
I blinked. I’d been so caught up in my own anxiety spiral that I’d totally ignored the fact that today was a big day for Harriet as well. It was probably bigger for her. She was about to hear the musical she’d written, spoken and sung out loud with a full cast, for the first time.
Reaching over, I put my hand on hers. Sure enough, it was trembling too.
“The show is incredible,” I told her.
Harriet smiled down at the table. She didn’t meet my eye.
I felt a twinge of guilt. I knew it had to be hard for her. For most of our friendship, I’d been in the spotlight—or working toward it—and she’d been in the background, cheering me on. A real Beaches of a situation, minus the tragic illness.
“I’m so proud of you,” I said, feeling like it was probably long overdue.
I hadn’t seen much of her during the audition process. I’d assumed it had been because of schedule and timing, but now I was wondering if I should have been checking in more. Should have been more attentive to my oldest friend, rather than entertaining my anxiety at all hours of the day.
I made a mental note to focus more on Harriet going forward.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
“Are you?” she countered.
I wasn’t.