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"Everyone, take five," she announced. "Mara, come with me. We need to work on your delivery."
As the cast and crew dispersed, Genevieve led Mara to a quiet corner. But instead of offering notes, she fixed the understudy with an intense gaze.
"Mara," she said softly, "Did Eden tell you she’d need you to fill in today? Has she contacted you at all? Said anything about where she might be?"
Mara's eyes widened in surprise. "N-no, Ms. Howard. I haven't heard from her. Is . . . is everything okay?"
Genevieve forced a smile to mask her crippling concern. It was unlike Eden to not even give her understudy a heads upthat she wasn’t coming in. They’d struck up something of a friendship as stewards of the integral role. "Everything's fine. I just need to speak with her about some last-minute changes. If you hear from her, let me know immediately. Understood?"
Mara nodded, clearly confused but unwilling to question her director further.
As Mara walked away, Genevieve pulled out her phone once more. The lump of metal and glass was starting to look as useful to her as a stale slice of bread. Before she could decide whether or not to try calling Eden for the umpteenth time, Genevieve heard someone clear their throat rather pointedly behind her. She turned to find Mr. Harrington, his sallow face now turning a worrying shade of puce.
"It seems you and I need to have a little chat, Ms. Howard," he snapped, a fleck of spittle landing on Genevieve’s face while she threw all her energy into not flinching. She nodded silently, following him to a quiet corner of the theatre. She could feel the eyes of the cast and crew on her back, their whispers floating through the air like accusatory phantoms.
"Am I missing some great joke?" Mr. Harrington began, flailing his hands in the air with all the gusto befitting a custodian of the theatrical arts. "Where the hell is your lead? And how have you managed to throw together such a pitiful band of monkeys that the whole production should come crumbling down without her?"
Genevieve took a deep breath. He was right. For all her self-doubt, Eden might be somewhat comforted by the fact that every member in this company seemed to thrive off her energy as their lead. "Mr. Harrington, I understand your concern. But I assure you, Eden's absence is totally unlike her. She's dedicated, passionate about this role-"
"Passionate enough to disappear without a word?" Mr. Harrington cut her off. "Do you hear yourself? Your judgment isin question here, Ms. Howard. Not just in your casting choices, but in your entire approach to this production. Your tunnel vision is proving to be your downfall."
The words stung, but Genevieve refused to let it show in her stoic expression. "Eden is the perfect Beatrice," she insisted. "She embodies everything this character represents - the fire, the wit, the complexity. What you saw today with the understudy . . . that's not our show. Eden will be here for the performance, I guarantee it."
Mr. Harrington scoffed. "You seem to have an awful lot of faith in this vanished girl, Ms. Howard. One might wonder why you think she deserves special treatment."
Genevieve felt her heart skip a beat. Did he know? Had he heard the rumours those stagehands were gossiping about? She pushed the thought aside.That’s just paranoia talking.
"I have faith in her because she's earned it. You know very well that I don’t award my approval to just anyone," Genevieve replied curtly. "Eden has poured her heart and soul into this role. Whatever's keeping her away today, it must have a perfectly valid explanation. She wouldn't jeopardize this opportunity otherwise."
"For your sake, I hope you're right," Mr. Harrington said through gritted teeth. "Because if this show fails, Ms. Howard, it won't just be Eden's career on the line. The board is watching closely. The future of experimental productions at TBTC hangs in the balance. As does your position here."
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Genevieve alone with the weight of his words threatening to crack her ribs.
As the day drew to a close, Genevieve retreated to her office, tail between her legs. She sank into her chair, staring at the silent phone on her desk. She'd lost count of how many times she'd called Eden today, each unanswered ring another twist of the knife in her heart.
As if compulsively going through the motions of some sort of masochistic ritual, Genevieve swiped at the screen again until she’d brought up Eden’s contact. As the phone rang, she closed her eyes, silently pleading for her to answer, though there wasn’t one fibre of her being left that still held out hope.
"You've reached Eden Rowley. I can't come to the phone right now, but leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!"
"Eden, it's me. Um . . . again," Genevieve murmured, letting her raw emotions seep into the hushed words. "I . . . I don't know if you're listening to these messages. I hope you are. I hope you're okay. God, Eden, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for running away last night. I'm sorry for not being brave enough to face what's between us. I was scared, Eden. Scared of how you make me feel, of how much I . . ."
She trailed off, the confession lodging in her throat like a creature with claws, refusing to be dragged out into the light. Even now, alone in her office, she couldn't bring herself to say how she really felt.
"Please come back," she continued, weakly clearing her throat. "Not just for the show, although God knows we need you. But for me. I need you, Eden. I need your light, your passion, your . . . everything. We can figure this out together, I promise. Just . . . come back to me."
Genevieve hung up for what she decided was her last attempt. Her behaviour was verging on creepy-desperate. Eden was a grown woman. If she wanted to talk, she’d call.
But the phone remained silent, and Genevieve was left alone with her thoughts.
As she gathered her things to leave, Genevieve found herself drawn back to the stage. The theatre was empty now, the hustle and bustle of the day replaced by an eerie stillness. She walkedto centre stage, her tired eyes roving over the unlit set, the silent wings, and vacant stalls.
This was her domain. Her empire. And yet, for the very first time, she felt powerless. Uninspired. Her muse so out of reach that the vision had gone blank.
"I love you too," Genevieve whispered into the cavernous space, the words she'd been too afraid to say finally set free in the darkness. "I'm sorry I couldn't say it. I'm sorry I ran away. I hope you can forgive me."
14
EDEN
