Joe Buquet, the stage manager, mouths the unlit cigarette between his lips. “Sure, boss.” Unhurried, he saunters off backstage.
I don’t like him. He never shows any of the forethought or urgency that a guy in his position should demonstrate. I need somebody capable, proactive, and quick-thinking, but in this, as with almost everything, I had no choice. Buquet worked with Richards on the renovations for the New Orpheum, particularly the residential section, and Richards wants him to keep him employed, apparently. So I have to make do.
But I’m pissed enough to mutter while he ambles away, “No rush, of course. Nothing urgent, just our star almost getting squashed.”
Christine smothers a giggle.
Carlotta’s head whips toward her, eyes narrowing. She gives Christine a death glare for a couple seconds before turning back to me.
“So how was it?” Carlotta asks. “Before I almost died? What did you think of the way I moved my hands during the second verse?”
“Oh…” Fuck, I was watching Christine. Thinking about Christine. My eyes dart toward Christine for a moment before I say, “It was good. But we should run through it again once Joe checks everything out and we’re sure it’s safe.”
Carlotta’s gaze sears into mine. “You weren’t watching me. You were watchingher.” She jerks her head toward Christine. “You’re always watching her. Are you two fucking or something?”
“What? No, I would never— I mean,no,” I splutter, giving the bridge of my glasses a nervous poke.
Christine hooks an eyebrow as if to say,You would never?
“We’re rehearsing,” Carlotta says with vicious emphasis. “You’re supposed to be listening to me and looking atme. Not that I need your input, because I’m fucking amazing, but the least you can do is show a little interest in the star who is carrying your whole shitty musical on her back! I don’t have to deal with this, you know. I can get another role likethat.” She snaps her fingers.
“I’m sure you could,” I say.
“Damn straight. Do you know how many directors would suck dick to have me in their show? And you take me for granted.” She gives a dramatic sniff and fans herself hastily. “Somebody get me a tissue.”
One of the dancers hurries to comply, and Carlotta dabs the tissue delicately beneath her eyes.
Firmin Richards and Gil Leveque hurry onstage at that moment. Richards is sweating anxiously, and Gil looks unusually red in the face when he says, “Raoul, what was that goddamned crash? Sounded like the place was coming down around our ears.”
I point to the chunk of metal and glass on the stage. “That fell.”
“‘That fell’?” mimics Carlotta with an incredulous laugh. “That’s all you can say? It almost fell on top of me, Gil. While I was singing. I could have beenkilled. And Raoul can’t be bothered to even look at me. Someone bring me my phone. I need to film a video about thisright now. My followers need to know how I’m being treated.”
“Oh, now, now, let’s not be hasty,” drawls Gil, coming forward. “You’ve had a scare, no doubt about it. The important thing is that we’re gonna make sure nothing like that happens again, okay? You’re our beautiful star, darlin’, and we’d be nowhere without you. Everyone knows that. Ain’t that so, Raoul?”
“Of course.” I force a smile.
“Ofcourse. Can I give you a li’l ol’ side hug?” When Carlotta nods, Gil wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Honey, you have every right to be angry, but trust me, we got you. Everyone is here to back you up and support you. Right, Rune?”
He shoots a look at our male lead, Rune Donaldson, who’s handsome in a mediocre thirst-trap sort of way. To be honest, I keep forgetting about him when he’s not actively singing. He has a good voice and a decent stage presence, but he’s a bit vacuous, not as charismatic as he seemed during his audition.
When Gil speaks to him, Rune blinks and says, “Yeah, no doubt, man. All the support, bro.”
“See? We’ve all got your back,” says Gil. “Now show me that beautiful smile. Can you do that for me?”
Carlotta sniffs. “Don’t tell me to smile.”
“Of course not, darlin’. Only if you want to.”
She nods with a haughty flutter of her lashes, then gives him a dazzling, tearful smile.
“Gorgeous,” purrs Gil, squeezing her shoulders. “And here’s the truth, from me to you—you’re the most beautiful woman on this stage and the most talented, too. Ain’t that right, Raoul?”
The lie hovers on my tongue. But I can’t speak it, not with Christine standing right there, looking like a goddess in dancewear, hiding that exquisite voice.
My eyes flick to her for a mere second. And I’m done for, because Carlotta sees. Everyone sees.
Anger floods Carlotta’s gaze again. She throws off Gil’s arm. “That’s it! I’m done. You can find someone else to sing your precious Eugenie.” She stalks away backstage.
