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I glared at him. “That solves his problem. But it doesn’t solve things between Braden and me.”
“Oh. Well, um, it’s something at least, right?”
It’s not the thing I want solved, I thought as I looked up at the sky.
51
Nadia
The next week flew by faster than any of my life.
I was swamped, so I didn’t take any more temp work with Dorian. I had enough money saved up now to last me through opening night, assuming Braden didn’t kick me out of the townhouse. Instead, Dorian and I spent the mornings practicing songs on the roof. We went back and rehearsed all the song from the first act of the show so I could get a feel for them. I’d already practiced them some, but there was a difference between going through the motions as an understudy and practicing them knowing I would be doing it in front of a crowd soon. Dorian was a fantastic partner, and learned all of Braden’s track and lines to better help me prepare. Slowly, one song at a time, I became more confident in my ability to do this.
Dorian also made out with me whenever we took a short rest. Which was nice as a distraction from my anxiety, and nice all on its own.
In the early afternoon, before our real rehearsal, I met with Carmina at the theater. The lead actress in a musical required special attention, Carmina was fond of saying, and she was the perfect person to give it to me. She had me ignore the track movements and focus solely on singing. She would play a song on her iPad, listen to me sing it, and then give me feedback immediately after.
Carmina was fantastic at picking out parts of the song where I wasn’t living up to my potential, and helping me identify how to solve it. She made me sing the low melody for the song Through the Window six times in a row until I hit the notes just right. She also made more changes to the notes, both based on my strengths and weaknesses and based on her own stylistic creativity.
My private singing lessons ended when everyone else arrived for the real rehearsal, with about 30 minutes in between for me to sit in the back and relax my vocal cords before straining them again. Rehearsal itself was a completely different affair than it used to be. Director Atkins was focused and engaged, giving detailed feedback and corrections to both the stars of the show and even the minor background characters. It was as if he truly believed in the show.
After rehearsal, I went home and drank hot tea to soothe my throat from all the singing I had done, and then I relaxed the best way a woman could: by sleeping with her roommates. Ryan one night, Dorian the next. Andy and I had one night where we made love until 3:00 in the morning, again and again until we were sweaty and exhausted and bearing our souls to one-another while recuperating.
It was exciting, and new, and the perfect way to unwind at the end of a very long day. Balancing the three relationships was a fun way to distract me from the opening night deadline hurtling toward me like a freight train of responsibility.
The only problem was Braden.
“You mean he hasn’t shown up all week?” Robbie asked me.
I was working at the bar on Wednesday. We’d had our final dress rehearsal early that afternoon, and it went flawlessly. Even performing in wardrobe and makeup was as easy as could be.
“Nope,” I told Robbie while we filled glasses of beer at the bar. “Not only has he not shown up for rehearsal, but he hasn’t come home. I can only assume he’s been staying with his parents.”
“What does the director think of that?” Jack asked from his usual barstool. “Is he concerned?”
“Director Atkins doesn’t know what’s going on either. He’s not answering his texts. He might not even be performing on opening night, since he missed the final dress rehearsal today.”
“I don’t mean to point out the obvious,” Robbie said across the beer taps, “but it sounds like you’ve totally blown your chance with him.”
I glared back at him. “I realize that. And honestly, I’ve accepted it by now. I had a chance and I ruined it.”
It would have made me depressed if I wasn’t so busy preparing for opening night, but I’d definitely lost whatever chance I had with Braden. If I ever had one to begin with. Maybe we were destined to be a one-night stand in a secluded subway station and nothing more.
“Is he going to kick you out of the townhouse?” Robbie asked.
“Lord, I hope not. The other guys all said they wouldn’t let him, but ultimately it’s Braden’s place. He gets the final say. If I have to move back to Queens…”
“You can always sleep at the bar. There’s a cot in the back.”
“Next to the rat traps and the tubs of frying oil? I’d rather move back in with the Ukrainians.”
Robbie sighed. “At least you still have the other three hunks. I still can’t believe you managed to sleep with all three of them. Even mister just-wants-to-be-friends. Who, by the way, I was totally right about.”
“Not so loud,” I hissed, looking over my shoulder at the crowded room. “We don’t need the entire bar knowing I’m a slut.”
“I, for one, am fully supportive of your polyamorous relationship,” Jack announced. “It makes more sense that way, too. One woman and multiple men, rather than one man with multiple women. Guys have to reload.”
“I appreciate your support.”
