“Having problems, Forrest?” Lulabel asked sweetly, bringing a whole rump roast for Mortimer out of her purse.
“What areyoubeefing about? Your son is now the star of the production.”
“Yes, very nice. You know I always thought you didn’t give him nearly the industry help your children with that horrible Phee got.”
“He never wanted it,” I said irritably. “From the age of 7 he wanted to be an Episocopalian Bishop. So enjoy the damn production.”
“Don’t fuck this up, Forrest,” she warned. “Otherwise, Birdie will never speak to you again and how sad for you. But good for me, because since she’s into old farts like you I have some friends I could introduce her to.”
“You and I the same age,” I said irritably, scanning the stage for Birdie.
And, there she was. Cool as a cucumber, already helping Percy start vocal warmups, and my heart swelled with pride. She was so incredibly talented. If she wanted to direct, she was already a natural.
“Yes, but I have youthful vibrant energy and you are looking like a corpse these days,” Lulabel said. “How’s our album doing?”
“I’m only looking like a corpse because Birdie won’t forgive me.”
It was true.
I was perpetually covered in flop sweat these days. I worked like a dog from dawn until dusk to make Lulabel and Percy’s album sell, while Birdie’s indie-produced album had shot easily up the rankings, fueled by her raw talent and the songs she’d spent years singing around my grand piano at home.
That bastard Jerry.
But also I had been an asshole.
I was filled with bitter regret for my many mistakes.
Now my angel’s voice was being managed and produced byJerry, of all the betraying bastards in the world.
And I had no idea if Birdie would ever relent toward me. It was an exquisite torture being around her all day but never allowed to touch her. She was running me ragged trying to keep other men away from her. I was desperate to pleasure her, or even get a soft look or touch, but she hadn’t allowed me near her since the night of my failed proposal.
My throat was hoarse from begging and I was filled all day with a grim and hopeless despair.
And I hadnot yet found what would change Birdie’s mind. What would make her believe that I regretted my idiocy and loved her like hell?
Chapter seventeen
Birdie
By the time the curtain rose, most of the cast was a nervous wreck. Hieronymus and Paige were chain-smoking cigarettes two at a time every thirty minutes, while I’d never seen Forrest look so much like a nervous wreck. Even Lulabel was anxious and as for Mortimer? He was in hysterics.
Only Percy was unflappable.
I avoided Forrest before the show started. I didn’t want to see him. Did not want to see the expression on his face. Absolutely did not want to see any pride or love.
He was my past, right? Because all the money and diamonds and offers of beach houses in the world weren’t going to convince me that hereallyloved me.How could I ever trust him again after what had happened? Even if he loved me now, wouldn’t Phee always be the true love of his life?
And before I knew it I was in costume and on the stage, laced up into my corset with curls cascading down my back and packets of fake blood up my sleeves.
I opened my mouth for the first note, lights bright on the stage, and it was everything I wanted and alsonothingthat I everwanted to do again, when, for the second time, Phee Vanderhart interrupted my big moment.
She was dressed exactly like me, all in silver and gold as Christine, her dark hair also immaculate, woven through with tiny little diamonds.
But this time she was holding one of the prop swords out at me and it was liberally covered in fake blood.
“How dare you think you could compete with me for the role of Christine Daae? Forrest wrote that role for me. It’smyrole. And he’ll always lovemethe best.”
But I wasn’t afraid as she stalked dramatically toward me, the audience frozen in horror.
