He didn’t seem very bothered by it. Then again, very little seemed to bother him. It was annoying.
“For the record,” Cal said, “I’ve had a relationship with this theatre for many years. It started with Camp Curtain Call, but they’ve always been supportive of me, and I wanted to return the favor. It felt like the right place for the show.”
“Full circle,” I said.
“Something like that,” he said.
Fish meowed, and Cal leaned forward to give her a little scratch through the carrier door.
“No pets?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“I travel too much,” he said. “Wouldn’t be fair.”
I nodded. That had been the case for me too. Being able to stay in one place for an extended period of time was something I’d learned to value. The ability to put down roots. To make a home for yourself.
I realized I didn’t know where Cal called home anymore.
His family was from Texas, his college years spent in New York. CrushZone went all over the world, but I assumed that when things ended, he’d wound up in Los Angeles.
“If we go to Broadway, you’ll be able to stay in New York,” I said.
“Sure,” he said.
I thought about Rachel. Bet she was thrilled that he’d be staying put for a while.
It was a little strange that he hadn’t said anything about her—that after the kiss, she hadn’t come up as a reason why it was a bad idea. It remained a bad idea, but there were moments when I kept forgetting why.
Like now. And the moment in Marie’s Crisis.
“You come alive onstage,” he’d said.
It was time to change the subject.
“How are ticket sales?” I asked.
“Good,” Cal said. “But you shouldn’t worry about that.”
“I shouldn’t worry about the success of the show I’m starring in?”
Cal sighed.
“I don’t want to fight with you,” he said.
I lifted my hands. Truce.
“People are buying tickets,” he said. “We’ll have a full house. On most days.”
The train continued on. It was clear that Cal was much more comfortable with silence than I was, so I stopped trying to engage him. Tried to embrace the quiet. It wasn’t that hard, I found. I didn’t have a book, but I did have my phone and I was long due for some retail therapy. At some point we left New York, but I couldn’t tell when. It was all fall leaves and gray skies until Rhode Island. By the time we arrived, I’d ordered a pair of new boots, overpriced moisturizer, some toys for Fish, and a cute beret that I was certain I’d never wear, but also knew I needed in my life.
Cal, ever the gentleman, pulled my suitcase off the top rack for me, and waited patiently as I gathered my things. We got off the train together without exchanging a word—not counting Fish’s meows, which were increasing in volume with every jostle and perceived slight.
“Share a cab?” Cal asked.
Even though we’d just spent several hours next to each other on the train, the cab ride was much, much more intimate. Fish and her carrier were on my lap and somehow my thigh was wedged up against Cal’s.
It was a nice thigh. Very strong.
I wondered if he was thinking the same thing about mine.
Once a dancer, always a dancer.
I was dropped off first. I’d chosen a place walking distance to the theatre as a reminder of what I was doing here. I had to focus. Had to get it right.
Cal helped heave my suitcase onto the sidewalk. I was pretty sure I’d brought or shipped more things for Fish—litter box, toys, bed—than I had for myself. Because what did I need? I was going to be at the theatre all day every day. I wasn’t going out, I wasn’t exploring, I was working.
“I’ve got it from here,” I said, fairly certain he would—without really thinking—offer to help bring my things inside.
Not a good idea.
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “See you at the theatre tomorrow.”
The cab waited, no doubt on Cal’s request, until I had finished fumbling with the keys and managed to unlock the door. With it propped open against my hip, I gave a little wave.
The cab didn’t move. It didn’t leave until everything was inside and I had closed the door behind me. I watched from the front window as it finally pulled away.
I reminded myself that it was just polite for Cal to wait until I was inside. That it wasn’t some sign of his exceptional goodness or his being deserving of praise. That it was, in actuality, a very basic thing that all humans should do for each other to show they care about one another’s safety.
Cal was just a man.
And I wasn’t going to risk my career—again—to fuck around with him. Again. There were sayings about making the same mistake twice. Mainly that people who did it were idiots.
Besides, Cal wasn’t that hot.
It felt stupid trying to lie to myself.
Cal was that hot, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t worked with attractive men before. I’d shot music videos with half-naked men, both of us covered with water, and managed not to get all bent out of shape about it. I’d even made out with some of these men on camera and been able to keep it professional after.
A lot of them had been gay, but still.
I just had to stop thinking about the kiss. About his hands. About the way he smelled.
Other men could kiss. Other men had great hands. Other men showered. Cal wasn’t special. He wasn’t exceptional.
He wasn’t worth the pain. Any pain.
I could control myself. I was a grown-ass woman with self-control. Wasn’t I?
Wasn’t I?
CHAPTER 20
“How does it feel?” Harriet asked.
She wasn’t looking at me—she was staring out at the empty seats instead.
“Weird,” I said. “You?”
“Very weird,” she said.
It smelled the same. A mixture of floor polish and stale air and dust. It was a beautiful theatre, but it also felt like a time machine. This was where I’d stood, all those years ago, singing for my future.
What would I say to my fourteen-year-old self if I could? That we’d take a few detours, but eventually—eventually—we’d end up right where we belonged. Which was right where we started.
Full circles and all that.