Chapter 52 - Ryan

Nadia wasn’t the first fuck-buddy I’d ever had.
The first couple weren’t ones I’d proactively tried to arrange. They just sort of happened. A girl in my high school French class who used to come over to study. We’d have sex, study French, and then have sex again. Then there was a coworker I’d had at a bar in Montreal. I was a line cook while she was a waitress. We went home together after an especially long shift, and for the next month we had a standing sex-date if we were both free at the end of the night.
Pretty great, right? I always thought so.
The problem with those relationships was that someone always developed feelings and ended up hurt. It was as inevitable as the Lincoln Tunnel backing up every afternoon. In both of my previous situations, it was the girl who wanted to turn our friends-with-benefits arrangement into a real relationship. I had to break them off because that’s just not what I wanted, and I knew a guy like me wasn’t boyfriend material. Especially not when things had started off purely physical.
But as we walked to the rehearsal meeting together, I couldn’t help but wonder if this time would be different.
Dorian and Andy were with us, but as we got on the train it was Nadia who chose to sit next to me. She smiled widely, and I smiled back.
“You’re looking more alive than you were an hour ago,” I said.
“A stomach full of food goes a long way.”
“That, and my hangover cure.”
She rolled her eyes. “Alright, alright, the drunken Easter bunny might have helped.”
“Fucking right it did.”
I found myself yearning to make Nadia laugh so I could see that amazing smile of hers. The kind of goofy impulse a kid got when he wanted to catch his crush’s attention in the middle of class. I had to fight down the urge to crack a joke or do something stupid.
I definitely have feelings for her.
After last night, I was certain now. She had been there for me the way nobody else ever had. When shit hit the fan in my life, I always ended up dealing with it alone, so when Atkins fired me I did the one thing that came natural: I ran. Down the street and to the first bar I saw so I could be alone with my vulnerability.
But Nadia had followed. She cared enough to make sure I was okay, even if all that entailed was giving me a hug and listening to me bitch.
She was much more than a fuck-buddy. And for that, I was falling for her.
“Wait a second,” she suddenly said in the seat next to me. “My memory is hazy from all the tequila, but didn’t you get fired yesterday?”
“I want to see why Atkins is calling this meeting.”
Andy twisted in his seat. “What, are you going to hide in the back and hope Atkins doesn’t notice you?”
I snapped my fingers. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Nadia reached up and pulled her hair into a ponytail. “What do you think the meeting will be about?”
“I’ve got a few theories.” I held up one finger. “Now that the producer’s granddaughter has been injured, Atkins might be announcing a huge budget increase for security. More than just a few cameras.”
“That’d be nice,” Andy mused.
I held up another finger. “The show might be delayed if there’s any sort of criminal investigation.”
Dorian bobbed his head. “The show might be delayed if Tatiana is injured, too.”
“That was theory number three,” I said. “Or the worst one of all: the show is canceled entirely.”
Nadia flinched next to me. “What? You think so?”
“Sure. The only reason John Vandercant funded the show in the first place was to give his granddaughter a lead role. If she’s injured, or too scared to perform, he might pull the plug entirely.”
“Even after how far we’ve come?” Nadia asked.
Andy grimaced. “Sunk cost fallacy. Doesn’t matter what’s happened to this point if the entire reason he did it is gone.”
“So yeah, I want to see what’s happening,” I finished. “Because if the show is scrapped today, I’ll feel a lot better about getting canned yesterday. No offense.”
Nadia looked like she’d seen a ghost. “In the middle of Broadway season, too. It’ll be months before there are new casting calls.”
Dorian held his head in his hands. Nadia leaned forward to pat him on the back. I felt a pang of guilt for bringing it up, but it was best that they were prepared for the worst ahead of time.
When we got to the theater, I slowed down to let the others go inside first. Then I side-stepped into the sound and lighting booth at the back of the theater with Andy. The booth had a glass window so the technicians could watch the show and make adjustments, so I stood in the door frame where I was mostly concealed from view on stage.
“Atkins isn’t here yet,” Andy told me. “Neither is Tatiana. And Braden, for that matter.”
I stepped into the booth so I could see. Most of the cast was up on stage, pacing and whispering. Everyone looked anxious about the news they were going to get.
We milled around for another ten minutes before Atkins finally arrived. A severe-looking woman in a pencil skirt followed behind him.
“Who’s that?”
“She looks like a lawyer,” Andy replied.
“Shit.”
I hid in the doorway out of sight. Atkins was too preoccupied to even notice me.
“Hello everyone,” he said in a neutral tone. “Thanks for coming early. I know your schedules don’t always make that easy. I’ve been given a note from the producer to read to you all tonight.”
“Vandercant,” Andy whispered.
Atkins pulled out a small envelope. The kind usually reserved for personalized thank-you cards. It was tough to tell from across the theater, but it looked fancy. Atkins removed the letter within and held it up to read.
“To the cast of my first show, The Proposition. Our lead actress, Tatiana, has suffered a sprain to her anterior cruciate ligament that will sideline her for the next four to six weeks. It should go without saying, but she will be unable to perform on opening night.”
Gasps and whispers went up among the cast.
“Her injury last night was not an accident,” Atkins continued to read. “Investigation of the theater has revealed that the trapdoor was triggered with a remote sensor. Furthermore, a note from a potential saboteur was discovered near the theater elaborating on their motives. This was a deliberate act to intentionally harm Tatiana. She has been the target of continued harassment and victimization.”
Atkins paused to take a deep breath, and then went on.
“Although producing an off-Broadway show is an artistic endeavor, it is primarily a business venture with the goal of making a profit. Few shows, whether Broadway or off, have had financial success after suffering the loss of their lead actress before opening night. Such shows fail to generate media buzz, which in turn leads to reduced box office sales…”
Andy and I glanced at each other. He’s canceling the show.
“Guess I’d better dust off the resume,” Andy whispered.
But the rest of Vandercant’s note went in a different direction.
“While we do not know who this saboteur is,” Atkins said, “or what their primary motive is for targeting Tatiana, we must not allow it to dissuade us. I am increasing the budget for further theater renovations, including additional funding for security measures to ensure your safety. I have also hired an assistant for Director Atkins to be a permanent musical director and dance captain. I hope this will help you all bridge the gap between now and opening night. We will all have a jolly good time, and the show must go on.”
“Holy shit,” I muttered.
Atkins lowered the letter. “Congratulations, Nadia. You’re the new lead of The Proposition.”