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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.”
