Bound to Her: Three Dates With a Billionaire (6 page)

“What makes you think I plan to visit?”

“I’m your mother. Of course you’ll visit. I can open a lot of doors for you.”

I would slam them right back in her face.

“I hope you enjoy the show tonight.” I hung up before she could say any more and thumbed the off switch.

Fury ebbed, replaced by a sensation I hadn’t experienced since I was a child.

Helplessness.

It was so strong that I couldn’t breathe, my throat tightening until I fell back on my breathing lessons and
forced
the air in and out of my lungs. Leaning forward, I pressed his hands on my knees, as if I’d just run twenty miles, sucking in air and trying to regain my equilibrium. All my balance, all my carefully constructed confidence melted away as if it had never existed, and I became a child again, sniveling in the dark.

When my phone rang again, I leaped into the air like a spinster squealing at a mouse in an old nursery rhyme.  This would never do.

Jolting around, I stared into the mirror on the wall opposite, forcing study. There I was. Seeing myself there, outside myself so to speak had always calmed me. I did it as a child—iut had been the beginning of my acting career. Making that person in the mirror behave properly, and act like he didn’t care had forced the same behavior on to me.

The Troy in the mirror seemed wild-eyed, hair spiked up. I hadn’t realized I’d slipped into that childhood habit. My mother had made me grow my hair long, almost to hippie length, in a time when the clean-cut look was the one all my friends tried for. I was relieved when one of the guys at school cut off my pony tail. She’d only made me grow it again, but that snip had given me an idea. I’d cut it in secret. If she didn’t catch me, then she didn’t punish me.

I smoothed my hair with my hands, and stared at my reflection until I appeared perfectly calm, the image of Foxman in his civilian life. Playing a superhero with two lives had been such a reflection of my childhood  that I’d fallen into the part. However I despised myself for taking money from the man and becoming part of the madness, I’d had that, some truth I could bring to the role.

Before my mother called, I’d been on the verge of breaking through into the inner Antony. Now it was gone, scattered to the winds.

My phone was still ringing. I was calm enough to answer it now. I checked the number and smiled. “Hello, Dad.”

“And hi to you. Are you set for tonight?”

“I’m fine. I still have some rough edges to clear out, but that’s what previews are for.”

Previews were as important in the movie business as they were in the theater. Of course my father understood.

“You know if you’d wanted me there, I’d have dropped everything?”

“I know.” And I did. Nervousness had made me want to treat this part as just another job. I didn’t want fuss or muss, I just wanted to turn my back on a part of my life and start again. “I’m doing good here. I’ve even found a nice girl to date.”

His father humphed. “Couldn’t you have found one in LA?”

“Could’ve, but didn’t. Besides, I was caught up in the other shit.”

“Yes, I know.” My father had never turned his back on me, even when my behavior had threatened to drag him down into the mire. As it was, he’d lost a few percentage points, but he had enough to spare. He was pulling back now. My Dad was involved in a different movie franchise, the one with the prehistoric monsters, and discussing a superhero venture, but he always had fingers in all the pies he could reach. People constantly asked him to help, even though he’d produced his fair share of flops. But with the monster franchise and a blossoming TV company, Dominic Cooper could do no wrong. “I’ll be thinking of you, you know that. And I want to be there for opening night, so save me a box, you hear?”

“I’ll do my best, Dad.” If I lasted that long. At the moment, I could barely remember my lines, much less motivation.

No, the lines came back. They always did. I suspected I had a photographic memory, but I never had it tested. Anyhow, I never found it difficult memorizing the lines, as long as I saw them written down. I knew I wouldn’t dry. I would trudge through it and do my best.

I checked my watch. I only just had time for a quick shower before I left for the theater. I’d walk, it was faster than taking a cab at this time. “You should look into New York. The theaters are crying out for a new direction. The musical boom is fading, and ticket prices are so high ordinary people can only afford seats at the back.”

“What are you saying?”

I smiled at the sharper tone. My Dad the businessman. “If we offered a cheap day once a week, we’d fill every seat in the house.” Or some other theater would. The way I was feeling now, my understudy would do a better job. Maybe I could leave it to him.

Fuck, no.
I’d never walked away from a challenge unless somebody forced me to. I wasn’t about to start now.

I said goodbye to my father, showered, changed, and set out for the theater. I went around the back, noting the throngs of people waiting outside, by that idiot picture of me gazing at Sonia like a lunatic. Amazing how many people failed to notice me in their midst, but I took care not to draw attention to myself. I loved the way New Yorkers took my presence in their stride. If anyone recognized me, I could do a couple of selfies and go on my way.

My dresser was waiting. I changed into the pseudo-Roman gear. Cassie would laugh when she saw it, but we were trying for a Roman look with a Tudor vibe, since the original actors would have dressed in doublet and hose. I had a few bare-chested scenes, mostly to draw the feminine interest, so at least I’d do something right.

Sonia kept to herself. She had her rituals, I had mine. Once that had included a stiff drink, but stage fright hadn’t affected me for a long time now, so I just sat there while the makeup man did his thing. I learned stage makeup once, but like a lot of skills, I needed to relearn it before I could replicate exactly the same look every night.

When I left my dressing room, Sonia was waiting. We had a triumphant entrance in the first scene. I was glad to get out there, not to wait.

I walked on and at first everything went well. I heard the words “A strumpet’s fool,” introducing me, and it all came back. I turned my head, following the directions, and I saw my mother.

She must be older, but surgery and implants, as well as clever makeup, had served her well. She looked about forty.

Next to her sat her special friends, Bunty and Joyce. The wicked witches of New York, I’d labeled them. Even though they wore designer, and sat elegantly, as if they were attending a fashion show, they were witches for all that.

That choking feeling took me again and it was all I could do to say my line on cue.
They
were watching me. If I didn’t perform to satisfactory levels,
they
would punish me. That was all I could think as I moved around by rote, going through the scene, praying the end would come soon.

I could fake sickness and let the understudy take over. But no. My mother would know I was running away, and I stopped doing that years ago.

Somewhere up there Cassie sat with Cindy, her roommate. I glanced up, but short of shading my eyes, I could see nothing but shadowy figures, and the occasional glint of opera glasses.

Sonia’s lips thinned, and she shot me a venomous glare before she went up a notch to cover my inadequacies. Or to take the play for herself. I couldn’t do anything to stop her.

She was superb. She judged Cleopatra to perfection. I’d never seen her act the part so well. As we went through the play, she got better and I receded into the background. Like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from, I watched myself falling and I could do nothing about it. Doggedly I stuck to the lines and the movements we’d blocked out. Sonia used them as a launching pad, showing the audience how a great actress rose to the occasion.

I plummeted like a stone. I knew what they’d call me in the morning. The critics wouldn’t give their judgment until opening night, not officially, but once they heard how bad I was, they’d descend like a pack of hyenas and tear me apart.

Tension snapped in the audience, and not the good kind, the kind that the actor yearns to create. No, I had lost their trust. The audience placed itself in a good actor’s hands, went along and enjoyed the ride. If they sensed something wrong, then they would back off. That created the kind of tension where the tightrope walker fell off the wire.

I didn’t fall off, but I didn’t perform any spectacular tricks, either. I tried to remember where Cassie would be, and failed. I gritted my teeth and concentrated, but it was no good. I didn’t have it, if I’d ever had it in the first place.

I was a pretty face, a well-toned body, but I was no actor.

As soon as we took the final curtain call Sonia dragged me into her dressing room, jerked her thumb at her dresser and waited until the woman left. Plucking off the wig she had just died in, she hurled it at the stand, and like an Aunt Sally, it went right down.

Sonia had gone through with it. When I’d watched her death scene from the wings, I’d gasped along with everyone else when she’d let the wig fall, showing her bald, shiny head. What other actress would have the balls to do that?

“So what the fuck was that? You weren’t even as good as you were at the dress rehearsal, and that was fucking poor. What were you thinking?” She strode around the little room, ripping off her golden girdle and her jewelry, flinging them to the corners of the room. “You weren’t thinking at all. Did you get stage fright?” The tone of her voice turned into a sneer. “Did you get scared, seeing all those real people in the audience?”

I understood only too well. This was Sonia’s comeback to Broadway, and I was ruining it for her. But how could I explain the sheer, freezing terror that had seized me when I had seen those three witches in the front row? “I don’t have it,” I mumbled. “I can’t get it.”

“Your fucking understudy is better than you.”

“I know.” Sonia had helped me and I’d let her down. But I did have some value. I was the draw to the dozens of teenagers sitting in the audience. They’d say I was perfect, whatever I did. Maybe that depressed me more than anything else. I spread my hands. “I’m going on the circuit tonight, because if I slink away they’ll think I’m ashamed. How about we say I’m working toward it?”

“Yeah, sure.” She put a hand to her forehead and waved with the other to dismiss me. Just like Queen fucking Elizabeth, who she’d played in a recent movie.

I got the hint. I went.

C
assie

As we got up to leave, one of the ushers stood at the end of our row. “Miss Norris?” When I nodded, he handed me a note.

I opened it, excitement thrumming through my veins. It was typed.

Another date for you. Your phone was off, so I had to send it this way. I get the feeling you’ll take this one. Usual rates.

Madame X

There was something else in the envelope. I shook it out. A rubber wristband. No, two.

Cindy squealed, attracting the attention of several people around us. “Are they what I think they are?”

I handed her one. “Yes.” Two backstage passes. I hadn’t realized they’d spread to theaters, but I guess with somebody like Troy in the cast, they had to hype up security. Around us, fangirls were whispering excitedly.

I felt strangely deflated. But at least it wasn’t a date with somebody else. The bands were stamped with the name of the theater. It was nice of him to remember Cindy. I glanced at the usher and he explained. “Go out by any exit and down to the lobby. When you get there, show the band to someone and they’ll tell you where to go.”

“Hey,” somebody to my right said, a girl, dressed in a dress so tight I wondered how she breathed. She was all bones and hair. “How much for the band?”

I looked down at the band on my wrist. “I can’t sell it.”

“Why not? Nobody will know. What are you, the stage director’s niece or something?”

Cindy laughed. “No, she’s Troy’s girlfriend.”

Now the girl laugh, and so did her friends, four of them. “Are you kidding me? What would Troy see in
you
?”

I gave her a wry smile. “I wonder sometimes.”

Our way was clear, so we went ahead and did what the usher told us.

We didn’t need an usher to show us the way, because a crowd of girls pressed around a small door at the corner of the large space. Luckily it was on our side but it took us a while to work our way to the front, and if Cindy hadn’t held my hand, we’d have lost each other.

We were about to show our bands to the man standing in front of the door, the one that looked as if he was a WWE wrestler crammed into a monkey suit, when the door was opened and Troy stepped out, followed by two huge bodyguards.

The girls went wild.

The original guard grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him. Of necessity, Cindy came with me and we ended crammed next to Troy, who was smiling for selfies and signing programs. He turned and saw me, and held out his hand.

This was it. We were going public, even more than in the museum. I had a moment of panic before I did the only thing I could—I took his hand. I hadn’t imagined the bleakness in his eyes. There it was. I was surprised nobody else saw it. He tugged me to his side and stared down at me, his lips quirking at the corners. One of the bodyguards drew Cindy from the crowd and tucked her behind me. She squeaked, but whether from loss of breath or being close to Troy I didn’t know.

“Do you want to do this?” he said. He bent and murmured in my ear. “Or you can be my cousin.”

What did he mean? In a flash I understood. He was giving me the choice. He expected me to disown him. Well fuck that, I thought viciously. “I want to do this.”

He kissed me.

The crowd fell silent for an instant of recognition. Although Troy only gave me a closed-mouth kiss of greeting, he was sending them a message. Flashes went off and I had to blink when I stared back at the girls, all glaring at me with hatred, because they wanted to be here.

Then the frenzy started again. Troy smiled, signed, posed, and all the time he had that look, the despair ringing his eyes and putting a furrow between his brows. I caught my breath. He needed me. He didn’t want me here because he was sharing the glory. He knew there was something wrong, and he needed help. Had his costar pissed him off? What had happened?