“Yes,” I said.
The rehearsal space was bright and big and open. High ceilings, mirrors on every wall, except for the one with floor-to-ceiling windows. I was pretty sure they were tinted, but it still gave me fishbowl feelings.
People were milling around, unwinding scarves from their necks—it was chilly today—and greeting familiar faces. I was grateful for Harriet and resisted the urge to reach out and take her hand. I wasn’t someone who got nervous meeting new people, but this situation felt different and unique and one thousand times scarier than anything else I’d experienced.
Cal looked up when we entered—he was standing over by the piano with a young woman who had impeccable eyeliner.
“You’re here,” he said.
Even though I’d just been thinking about bolting, I still didn’t appreciate his surprise.
“Looking good, Mr. Director,” Harriet said, and I was gratified that Cal got a little pink-cheeked, even though he tried to hide it by looking down at his clipboard.
“This is Taylor,” Cal said, referring to the woman with the eyeliner. “She’s our stage manager. Taylor, this is Kathleen and Harriet.”
I squared my shoulders and gave her my best Katee Rose smile.
“I have it on great authority that Cal only works with the best of the best,” I said, “which tells me that you’re an incredible stage manager.”
I could hear myself overcompensate—lean too far into grand diva. A turban and foot-long cigarette holder wouldn’t have been out of place from the way I rolled my R’s in “incredible.”
Over her shoulder, I saw Cal let out an aggrieved sigh. I didn’t blame him; I was cringing at myself as well. If I wasn’t careful I’d start complaining about how it was the pictures that got small, not me.
“You’re all very talented,” he said.
“Oh,” I said, “I know.”
Goddammit. Shut. Up.
Thankfully Taylor just grinned.
More people began to arrive. I saw in their expressions what I had long grown accustomed to—first the sense of unplaced familiarity, then the search through the mental Rolodex for my face, followed by the realization that I wasn’t a long-lost friend or co-worker but in fact someone who had once been very famous. And then, depending on how much they’d loved Ryan LaNeve, I could count on anything from mild judgment to utter disdain.
Today was mostly expressions of total shock. Like they weren’t just surprised that I was there but surprised that I was still alive.
That was followed by wide-eyed rubbernecking, stares darting between me and Cal.
Bad enough that I’d broken Ryan’s heart, but cheating with a member of his own band? Well, that was some high-grade villainess shit. I wasn’t just a slut but a temptress slut. The most dangerous of the slut varieties.
Casting announcements had listed me as Kathleen Rosenberg. I’d expected some people to make the connection, but apparently my reputation had not preceded me.
“Hello,” I said to the cast members that passed. Thankfully I did it like a normal person, not Norma fucking Desmond.
I wondered what they were thinking. Probably that they could look up the definition of “stunt casting” in the dictionary and find a photo of me.
Statler and Waldorf arrived, along with Cal’s assistant, Mae. There was a row of chairs along the wall for them, while the rest of us had music stands to place our scripts and music on.
Everyone else arrived, and I got a couple more double takes. I offered little finger waves to everyone who stared, trying to ignore the way my anxiety was disconnecting me from my body. I took a couple of deep breaths, focusing on my feet on the floor and my butt in the seat.
I felt unbelievably awkward and out of place. Not just in the room but in my own skin. I was sweating and freezing at the same time, my knees chattering. I pressed my palms flat against the script in front of me, all but bracing myself for what came next.
Cal stepped to the front of the room.
“Welcome,” he said.
He didn’t look nervous at all. He looked great, actually. Hair looked great, clothes looked great. Smile? Great.
But then I looked down at his hands and saw that they were trembling. Just a little.
He was still human.
For whatever reason, it didn’t make me feel any better.
“Now, who recognizes me?” he asked.
Everyone in the room looked around at each other, clearly not expecting the question.
“You were at our auditions,” someone said.
Cal laughed and it spread through the space.
“Fair enough,” he said. “I guess I should have clarified. How many of you recognize me from something else? Something, let’s say, a decade or so ago?”
A few tentative hands lifted into the air. I rolled my eyes and put my own hand up. I had no idea what he was doing.
“Oh, come on,” Cal said. “Really? You don’t remember this?”
He struck a truly ridiculous pose, one arm propped on the other, hand under his chin, lips in a broody pout. Any CrushZone fan would have recognized it from the cover of their first album, Shore Leave. All that was missing was a sailor hat.
Someone started whistling the title song from that album. I looked around. It was Harriet.
“Thank you,” Cal said, pointing to her. “Let’s just get this all out in the open, okay? I was a member of CrushZone.”
There was a smattering of applause—I could tell that everyone still didn’t really know where he was going with this.
“And I’m sure you all recognize the woman in the front over here.” Cal pointed to me.
The fuck?
I wanted to sink into my chair and disappear through the floor. Unfortunately, the laws of physics were still very much in place.
“You will all learn to know her as Kathleen Rosenberg, our Peggy,” Cal said. “But she too once graced the pop star stage as the legendary Katee Rose.”
I thought about throwing my script at him. My aim wasn’t great, but the book was big and I was pretty sure I could probably scare him into shutting up.
At least the applause was a little more robust for me. I turned and gave a little wave, before shooting a glare toward Cal.
Did he really need to single me out like this? On our first day?
I kept my spine straight, hoping my face wasn’t as red as it felt.
“I won’t speak for Kathleen,” he said. “But as much as I loved being a member of CrushZone, that’s in the past. You’re all here because you love the theatre, because you want to be a part of this very special show. You’re professionals. You’re the best of the best.” He put a hand to his chest. “I’m here to create something magical. Something important. Something new.”