Chapter 57 - Nadia

The construction backstage was done, and the men were cleaning up their equipment. I followed Atkins down the hallway and past a row of rooms with five-pointed stars stenciled on the outside. Each was covered by a sheet of plastic.
Atkins stopped in front of the farthest door. All of my suspicions about the last-minute construction disappeared as he peeled away the plastic from the star.

RESERVED FOR
NADIA HELMUTH

“The star of the show needs her own dressing room,” Atkins said with a huge grin on his face. “To help mentally prepare, like you were doing downstairs.”
“Right,” I said as he opened the door.
The room wasn’t very large, but it didn’t need to be. It held a makeup desk with a big mirror surrounded by large-bulb lights, and a comfortable stool with a plush purple cushion. On the opposite wall was a brown leather sofa, with a mini-fridge underneath one of the arms in the corner. The back wall held an antique-looking wardrobe, and when I opened the doors I found a dozen hangers inside filled with my various wardrobe changes for the show.
“Yours is nicer than the rooms for the two male leads,” Atkins admitted, “but it was all commissioned months ago, for Tatiana. Now a more deserving actress gets to enjoy the luxury.”
I stared around the room in wonder. A dressing room. My very own dressing room. I peeked inside the mini-fridge and found bottles of water, Coke, and even champagne inside. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
Atkins crossed his arms and nodded once. “In the past week, and even before then, you’ve worked harder than anyone else in this theater. You deserve a little pampering.” He gestured. “Save the champaign in there until after the show, though. It’s bad luck to pop it before the final curtain falls.”
He left me standing there, still dumbfounded by everything around me.
I sat down at the makeup mirror and looked at myself. This was all really happening.
I’m the lead. I’m the star of the show.
Someone knocked on the door. My first impulse was to rush to open it, but instead I made myself take a slow, deep breath.
“Come in.”
The makeup artist I’d met during dress rehearsal popped her head inside. “Nice digs! Much better than working on you out there with all the commotion.” She held up her bag of makeup. “Ready to get started?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The first thing I did was change into the wardrobe for the opening scene: an orange summer dress with flowers all over it. Then the makeup artist began her work: tying down my hair, putting my long blonde wig on, then the foundation and all the makeup.
“Has Braden shown up?” I asked while she clipped on extra-long eyelashes.
“Who?”
“The actor playing Hector.”
“Oh. I don’t think so. I saw the other makeup girl working on the understudy, Charlie.”
I knew it was probably too late since he wasn’t in the program, but I still felt disappointed. Part of me had hoped he would appear and take over and tell me everything was okay. That all was forgiven and we could be friends—and more—again.
I guess real life doesn’t work the way it does on stage.
When the makeup artist left, I admired myself in the mirror. I hardly recognized myself—now I was Jane, the character who was about to take the stage and sing about her tragic love triangle. It was really happening.
I glanced at my phone: 15 minutes to curtain. It felt too diva-like to sit in my dressing room until the show, so I went out where everyone else was waiting backstage. The rest of the cast was dressed or in the process of dressing, and between them and the stage hands it was like someone had kicked an anthill. There was an excited hum in the air, like large machinery just out of sight. People grinned and waved at me as I passed, and told me to break a leg. Dorian saw me and came rushing over.
“Darling Nadia! You look more stunning than a cast mate could ever have hoped.” He punctuated it with a formal bow at the waist.
“As do you.” As Jane’s husband Marshall, an aspiring country music star, Dorian’s character spent most of the night wearing jeans, a black button-down shirt, and a silly cowboy hat. After I complimented him, he stuck out his cowboy boots to show them off.
“You ready?” I asked.
“I think so.” He jerked his head. “Have you looked yet?”
“At what?”
He led me over to the side of the curtain and pulled it back a crack. “Take a peek.”
I was greeted with the most amazing sight I’d ever seen: a packed house. The excited hum I’d heard in the air backstage was actually the constant hum of conversation from the thousand-or-so patrons filling the theater. Only a few seats were empty, which were quickly being filled by people climbing the steps up in the balcony.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
Dorian put a hand on my back. “Right?”
A few other backup dancers came rushing over to look themselves. “Holy moly! They sold out!”
“I’ve never seen so many people…”
One of them leaned in close to me. “I’m so glad it’s you and not Tatiana. With you, I know the show is going to be a great success!”
“Thank you.”
“Did you see John Vandercant? The billionaire producer?” She pointed across the theater to one of the boxes on the side, elevated above the orchestra. “He’s the one in the white suit.”
I squinted up at him. The people were all facing away from us, mingling and drinking inside the box. Only one man wore a white suit. He was gesturing with a glass of wine to the people around him.
“Is Tatiana up there?” I asked.
Dorian snorted. “I didn’t see her. And I doubt she would want to come watch the show. That’s like rubbing lemon juice on a wound.”
“I saw Vandercant speaking with some young man,” the dancer said. “Maybe he’s a writer for the Times.”
“I did hear that the same writer as before is back,” Dorian added.
Before I could get a better look, someone shouted behind us, “Braden’s here!”
Dorian and I whirled around.
Sure enough, there was Braden Williams walking backstage. He was already in wardrobe, and one of the makeup girls was trying to apply concealer while he walked. The understudy—who looked dejected—handed Braden all the minor props for the character: a rolex watch, a gold chain necklace, and the cell phone that would clip to his belt.
I shoved my way toward him. Relief and excitement surged through me. He was over his issues. He’d probably forgiven me. His anger was only temporary. Maybe I hadn’t fucked things up.
When I reached him, he was talking to one of the backup dancers. I interrupted her and said, “Braden! I’m so glad you’re here.”
He smiled. But it wasn’t a warm, genuine smile. It was the polite smile someone gave a waitress when they were ready for the bill. A smile that never reached his gorgeous eyes.
“I couldn’t miss opening night,” he said.
“It’s a packed house,” Dorian said carefully. “I hope you’ve been rehearsing on your own…”
“I have.”
I took him by the arm and pulled him away from the rest of the cast. “Hey, do you want to get a drink after the show? So we can talk about everything? There’s a bottle of champagne in my changing room—I have a changing room, Braden!—and Atkins told me to wait until after final curtain to pop it.”
Braden’s smile was half-grimace. “I’m only here for The Proposition. My career can’t take missing out on this role.”
“But we should talk about—”
“I don’t want to talk about us at all.”
His tone was like a whip. I clamped my mouth shut as he stared over my head, looking around at everything else. Pointedly ignoring me.
Atkins rushed toward us. “Braden! I thought they were joking. You’re in wardrobe. Does that mean you’re ready?”
Braden nodded confidently. “I’ve been practicing all the lines and working on my track nonstop. I’ve got this, Director Atkins. I swear.”
I could see Atkins’s dilemma as he adjusted his glasses. Braden had missed the last week of rehearsals, including the critical dress rehearsal. Letting him start the show would be rolling the dice. But his understudy Charlie was a noticeable step down in skill, and it was opening night…
“Alright, you’re in,” Atkins finally said. He waved to a stage hand. “Go tell Andy about the switch. He needs to add it to the announcements.”
As the stage hand ran off, Atkins climbed onto the nearest crate and waved his hands to get everyone’s attention. The cast quieted down as he prepared to speak.
“This is it, people. You’ve worked hard for three long months. Practicing and singing and staring at my ugly mug practically every night.” He paused until the laugher died down. “You’ve also battled adversity and challenges that most actors never have to face. Yet you did it all without complaint, always keeping the end goal focused in your mind. Well, all that practice and dedication is finally paying off. It’s opening night. The producer has just informed me that we are officially sold out. There’s not an open seat in the house!”
We broke out into applause, which Atkins quickly patted down.
“You know your lines and tracks by heart. You’re more prepared than I ever could have hoped. I have real faith in this show—which is not something I could have said a month ago.”
A few people glanced over at me, including Braden. I felt my cheeks heating underneath my layer of makeup.
“This show isn’t for the crowd,” Atkins announced. “Although they’ve paid good money to be here. This show isn’t for the producer, though he’s here too and funded the entire enterprise. No, this show is for you. Do it for yourselves, as a reward for how tough you’ve been and how hard you’ve worked to get here. Make yourselves proud.” Before we could applaud again, he quickly said, “Places people! We’re one minute from the opening overture!”
Right on cue, the lights on the other side of the curtain began dimming. The hum of conversation in the theater dwindled, and was replaced by Andy’s booming voice over the loudspeaker.
“Good evening, and welcome to Vandercant Theater. A change to the program has been made: the role of Hector will be played by Braden Williams. Please silence all cell phones at this time. Flash photography is strictly prohibited…”
Dorian reached over and squeezed my hand, then took his place on the other side of the stage. The orchestra struck their opening chord, loud and introductory. As it was during dress rehearsal, it was strange hearing the music from a live orchestra rather than the speaker system. It was all more real.
No more practicing. This is it.
The opening overture of The Proposition was a medley song involving all the characters, with my entrance at the very end. Which made me feel like a kid who had to present her school project last. The dancers exited to the stage first, one by one disappearing through the curtain. Dorian was after them—a flashing smile appeared on his face as he strode out on stage right, immediately launching into his verse in the song. His voice was rich and clear as it echoed through the theater without any enhancement.
Braden was over on stage left, wringing his hands together while waiting for his cue. I tried to catch his eye, but he was staring straight ahead. “Psst,” I hissed. “Braden.” I wanted to give him a thumbs-up, or tell him to break a leg. Anything to start the show on a good note rather than how we’d left things off moments before.
He strode out onto stage without seeing me. His voice was deeper than Dorian’s, a powerful note that reverberated throughout the theater. A chill ran down my spine at the sound. He was definitely more skilled than his understudy.
A stage hand tapped me on the arm. “Nadia? This is for you.”
He handed me an envelope. “What is this?”
“It was given to the box office. I think it’s from a fan.”
I’m getting fanmail already. I pushed down my flash of giddiness. I would have time for this later, when I wasn’t about to march onto stage and sing the most important song of my life. I turned around and began to toss the letter onto a nearby equipment crate…
And then I saw the script on the outside of the envelope.

Nadia

Flowing cursive letters written in thick ink. Exactly like the note the saboteur had written to Tatiana.
No. It can’t be.
I cocked my head to catch a bit of Braden’s song. I had another 30 seconds before my cue.
With trembling fingers, I tore open the envelope and removed the letter. There was only a single sentence written.
My heart sank as I read it.