“Though I am hearing you’re having some trouble with some of the numbers,” she said, looking at her nails.
I didn’t know where she’d gotten that information, but I could guess.
“I’ve actually seen the choreography,” Rachel said. “It’s not that hard. I could help you if you wanted.”
“No. Thanks,” I said through gritted teeth.
She shrugged. “Suppose it doesn’t really matter,” she said. “It’s just a workshop. And so much can change between now and out-of-town tryouts.”
I crossed my arms.
“And well, Broadway is a whole different story,” Rachel said. “But I guess you wouldn’t really know about that, would you?”
“Remind me,” I said. “How many Broadway shows have you starred in?”
Her cheeks went fuchsia. There was no shame in being in the chorus, or being a featured performer—both things that I knew Rachel had done. But I also knew she was aiming for my soft underbelly. It seemed only fair that I do the same.
Strangely, though, it didn’t make me feel better.
Was that growth? Or was I just that tired?
“There’s a first time for everything,” Rachel said.
I was done with this dumb cat and mouse game.
“What are you doing here, Rachel?”
New York was a small town, but it wasn’t that small. She was clearly here for a reason. Just like at the audition.
“Oh, just picking up my sweetie for dinner,” she said. “He’s the one who keeps me updated on the show…and the cast.”
I didn’t like surprises and this one was a fucking doozy.
“Well, isn’t that nice,” I said.
Fucking Cal.
It was one thing to be dating Rachel—no doubt he’d kept it a secret because Harriet would have been just as disappointed—but it was quite another to be sharing details of the production with her.
I could only imagine their pillow talk.
“He keeps telling me to keep my dance shoes ready.” Rachel paused and gave me a faux thoughtful look. “It’s funny. How karma works.”
I sucked in a breath through my nose.
“Seriously?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I didn’t think I’d have to wait this long, but c’est la vie.”
“You’re still blaming me for what happened at camp? When we were kids?”
“Oh, come now,” Rachel said. “Just admit it was you.”
“I would,” I said. “If that was true.”
Rachel tsked. “Sad,” she said. “All this denial.”
“You broke the rules on your own,” I said.
“What goes around comes around,” Rachel said.
I was finished talking to her. “I’m going to leave now.”
“Always a pleasure,” she said. “Toodles.”
It was a little cool outside, but it wasn’t the weather that was giving me chills. I walked to the train station, my brain buzzing, sorting through all this new information.
“We’re on the same team,” Cal had said.
Like fucking hell we were.
I felt foolish. I should have known better. No doubt, now that I’d acquiesced to the less complicated steps, Cal had proof—real tangible examples—of how I was falling short. He could bring Rachel in—have her nail the choreography—and just like that, I’d be out, and she’d be in.
She’d get her misplaced sense of revenge and Cal would get to destroy my career. Again.
Well.
Fuck that.
Fuck Cal’s behind-the-scenes machinations. Fuck his “I’m not like other directors” schtick. Fuck our truce.
I stewed and simmered. Through dinner. Through my bath. I got in bed, took an edible, and watched Jinkx Monsoon YouTube clips in hopes that they would calm me down.
They didn’t.
If anything, the combination of the weed and the bottle of wine I then opened made me angrier.
Cal never intended for me to go with the show to Broadway. He had made me jump through the humiliating hoops of auditioning—which he tried to sabotage by throwing an unrehearsed song request at me—and was now undermining me with this whole choreography bullshit.
He wanted to push me out and replace me with Rachel James.
In the back of my head, I could hear the voice of reason. That Harriet would never let him do such a thing. That Rachel was a liar out for revenge. That I was just having a bad day and I needed to sleep it off and start over again.
Unfortunately, that last glass of wine had all but drowned out my voice of reason. All I had left was the voice of anger and vengeance. She was very loud. And very persistent.
I didn’t even know what time it was when I picked up the phone and dialed his number.
“Kathleen?” Cal sounded like he’d been asleep. “It’s two in the morning.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “Did I wake you and Rachel up?”
The thought of her sleeping next to him…her arms around him…his around her…
“What are you talking about?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Look. I’m going to make your fucking night, okay?”
“Kathleen—”
“I’m out.”
There was a long silence.
“Excuse me?” he sounded wide-awake now.
Good.
I was feeling a bit hazy, but it didn’t matter. I’d set this train in motion. Time to send it off a cliff.
“I said I’m out.”
“You’re joking,” he said.
“Nope,” I said. “And you’re welcome, okay? I know what you’ve been doing. I know your plan. I’m going to make it easy for you. I’m out. I’m done. I’m so fucking done. You can have the show you want, the cast you want, all of it. I’ll get out of your way because the truth is, I’d rather teach kids with no rhythm and two left feet how to dance than spend another day being criticized by you.”
I sounded crazy. I knew I did. I also didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything but hurting Cal.
“I’m going to hang up,” Cal said. “You’ve clearly gone insane and I’m going to do both of us a favor and pretend this conversation didn’t happen.”