Ironic, that it was that song. Ironic because, maybe, if I’d loved enough, things would have been different with Aaron.
But I could love Patrick in a pure sort of way that wouldn’t hurt either of us.
At the end of Guys and Dolls, I clapped and cheered and shouted “Bravo” during the curtain call, then hung out by the stage door along with other fans. I joined the crowd, waiting patiently in a sky blue dress that matched my eyes, and strappy sandals. When the group of men and women asking him to sign Playbills thinned and it was only me, I said hello.
He flashed me a smile, the warmest, kindest smile I’d ever seen. “Hi. I wanted to say you were amazing. I’m so impressed with how you pulled off this performance in two days. You were simply breathtaking.”
“That’s very kind of you to say.”
His hair was slightly damp, and his cheeks were red, and there was this glow about him. I knew that glow. I’d felt that glow. It was the mark of a job well done.
I held out a hand to shake. “I’m Jill. I’m an actress, too.” Then I waved a hand as if to dismiss the comparison. He was a Broadway star; I was merely a theater student with only a few high school productions to my name.
He shook my hand, clasping it in his. I wanted to carve that moment into relief, to hold onto the perfection forever. My hand in his. Him touching me. “Jill, I think that’s fantastic. How is it going? Tell me about some of the roles you’ve played.”
My eyes lit up. My insides fluttered as he leaned against the stage door of the Gershwin Theater, looking so relaxed in his jeans and a gray V-neck t-shirt.
“As a matter of fact, I played Sarah in Guys and Dolls last year in school.”
He smiled so brightly, then launched into the opening notes of “I’ve Never Been in Love Before,” inviting me with his warm brown eyes to join in. There we were, outside the theater, singing together. I’m not exaggerating when I say it was the best night of my life.
Soon, he said he needed to get some rest since he had a matinee and an evening show the next day, but he walked me to the subway stop and I thanked him profusely, and he said he’d had a grand time.
Grand. Yes, grand.
I sent him flowers to the stage door a day later. I ordered them online, using money from my job at a bookstore, taking a particular delight in addressing them simply to “Patrick Carlson/Stage Door/Gershwin Theater.”
Then I wrote a note. “Hi. It was so fun meeting you. Would you like to get coffee sometime?”
Nerves aflutter, I hit send on the online order.
And I never heard back.
Maybe he thought I was a stalker. Maybe I was.
I suppose in some world, I wanted to believe the flowers had never arrived.
That’s what I tell myself. Because Patrick—my Patrick—would never have ignored me like that. He loved me like I loved him, right? He just didn’t know me yet, but when he got to he’d have to realize we were meant to be together, just as I knew he was the answer to all my problems. That when my world went to hell, he’d step in. The possibility of Patrick got me through so many nights and days when I was wrecked.
“What if he does remember?” Kat asks, bringing me back to the present.
I shrug. “I’ll improvise. I am a Broadway actress, after all.” Then I wink at her, hoping I’m doing a great job of acting confident.
But acting is really all I’ve ever done. Acting like I’m fine. Acting like what happened back then with Aaron wasn’t all my fault. I suppose now, six years later, I’m mostly okay. People who know me say I’m carefree, laidback, happy-go-lucky. Sometimes I truly am. Other times, I’ve become so damn good at the appearance of moving on that even I believe the illusion. Fake it ‘til you make it, right?
* * *
When I wake up before the sun has risen the next morning, and pull on a fleece jacket and yank my hair into a ponytail and head for the West Side bike path, I do what I have always done. I run off my regret. I picture it unspooling behind me, like a snake shedding, leaving the old behind. All the layers of remorse that I peel away. Someday, maybe even soon, I’ll have let go of them all.
I meet up with Reeve after a few miles.
“Try to keep up,” I shout at him, as he joins me mid-stride.
He rolls his eyes at me and keeps a perfect pace. I like running with Reeve because he is the only one who runs like I do. Full tilt. Nothing held back.
“Can I say I told you so?” he says after the first half mile.
“About not being able to keep up?”
“No, idiot. About the show.”
“By all means. Say it all day long.”
“Get me good seats for opening night.”
“I’ll do my best,” I say, and I smile. I am happy to see my friend. Happy because I am out of my own head for a while. I can escape from my thoughts.
I am happy, I am happy, I am happy. The more I say it the more I believe it. Rinse, lather, repeat.
* * *
After we finish the run, I head back to my apartment. As I walk up the steps to the second floor, my phone rings. I dig around in the side pocket of my fleece jacket and pull it out. My agent’s name is flashing across the screen, and my heart gallops with a fleeting fear that I’m about to lose the job. That it was all an error.
“Don’t tell me Davis Milo changed his mind,” I say, stopping on the stairwell.
She laughs. “No, darling. Don’t ever worry about that. The producers sent me the contract already and I’m working on it.”
I breathe again and walk up the rest of the steps.
“But that’s not why I’m calling,” M.J. continues. “I just got off the phone with Milo. He wants to meet with you before rehearsals start.”
“Oh. Why?”
“He likes to meet with understudies to set their expectations. So you and I will go together to his office on Friday at ten in the morning. Does that work?”
“Yeah, I’ll see if my schedule is clear, M.J.”
Another laugh. “I’ll email you the address.”
After we hang up I unlock the door to my apartment, pour a glass of water, and sink down onto my couch with my laptop and everyone’s best friend in the world—Google.
I quickly cycle through his resume, though I know it by heart. The South Pacific revival he won his first Tony for, then an original production called Anything for You, followed by the play The Saying Goes. He’s worked on the West Coast too, and directed a production in San Diego at the La Jolla Playhouse three years ago that earned all sorts of accolades. Called World Enough and Time, the play was inspired by a line from an Andrew Marvelle poem, and there have long been rumors that it would one day become a movie. I find a photo of him with Madeline Blaine, the young actress who played the lead and then rocketed to show biz success, landing a starring role in a romantic comedy movie that made millions at the box office. She’s been on Maxim’s Hot List and now commands top dollar for her roles. Once I go down that photographic rabbit hole, I can’t resist looking up more pictures of him.