“It seems like it. Although, who wouldn’t catch feelings for this perfect boy?”
“Good point,” I agree.
She and Ollie promptly begin their cuddle-fest, and I slip into the hallway, locking the door behind me and switching into bloodhound mode, hoping I can sniff out the nearest grocery store in record time.
Later that night, after having watched a riveting performance ofKing Lear, Roshni and I mill around the lobby with Juliette walking a few steps ahead of us.
“That was sensational,” Roshni gushes, sounding a little breathless. “Do you go to shows like this with Juliette all the time?”
“Not all the time, but often enough. Once a month, maybe.”
“You are so lucky. When the lead actor gave his monologue, it felt like he was speaking directly to me. I was depressed to my core in the best way possible.”
“He really was great,” I agree. “Anytime I had to perform a monologue in college, I always dissected it a million ways after. I’d wish I had adjusted my voice or taken a breath in a different place. That’s why so many film actors never want to watch themselves in movies, because they can’t go back and change anything.”
“I can get that.”
“And that’s part of what makes stage acting so freeing. If you don’t like how you delivered a line or tackled a scene, you can try something new in the next performance. Theater is this living, breathing thing that’s always evolving and moving and shaking and...” I trail off then, well aware of how often I get carried away when talking about the theater without stopping to gauge my audience. I look at Roshni and find her enthralled, her eyes bright. No need to pump the brakes here.
“I have a book of monologues with me, if you want to borrow it. It concentrates more on contemporary pieces, but I still think you’d like it.”
“I’d love that,” Roshni replies without missing a beat. I have to smile at her enthusiasm. I know the acting bug when I see it. Just then, Juliette floats to our side, having successfully evaded whoever she was just talking to.
“How are we on time?” she asks, shifting her stance to form a mini-circle with me and Roshni.
I look at my phone and see that it’s 10:40 p.m. I tell her we need to stay for twenty minutes, or until she can talk to the theater company’s PR person. Juliette groans and turns around so we’re now standing in more of a U shape.
“So, Roshni, what did you think of the performance?”
“Oh, I thought it was amazing. It’s crazy how the stage was so huge and there were so many people in the audience, but I still felt so connected. Like I was somehow part of it even from a distance.”
Juliette looks over at me with a shrewd grin, also recognizing a fellow theater addict. “And another one bites the dust.” A second later, her smile falls when her eyes lock on something—or someone—across the room. My sight line follows hers until I see a striking woman in a tasteful rose-gold wrap dress making her way towards us, weaving effortlessly through the glittering crowd.
Juliette squares her shoulders and stands up straight. “Here comes her highness, herself.”
“Here’s who now?” Roshni asks, scooting over to take a look.
“That would be my sister, Isabelle. The charity board member extraordinaire.”
My eyes dart back and forth between the two women, trying and failing to find some similarity between them. Their hair, their style, the way they carry themselves are all so starkly opposite. It’s only when Isabelle is directly in front of us that I finally see their one striking resemblance. They have the same chestnut eyes.
“Juliette,” she says, her voice as light and soft as her elegant silk dress.
“Isabelle,” Juliette replies with feigned enthusiasm.
Isabelle is the first to move, placing her hand on Juliette’s shoulder and prompting a double air-kiss. “It’s so wonderful to see you. Every time you come to London, we seem to miss each other.”
“Yes, I know, bad luck that. I’m just so busy. Lots of obligations and, obviously, I’m always writing.”
“You’re nothing if not dedicated.” Isabelle pauses then, waiting for Juliette to respond. She doesn’t. “You haven’t returned any of my calls.”
“Haven’t I? Must have been technical difficulties. My phone’s been on the fritz of late.”
Of course, I know that this isn’t true, since she would tell me in a heartbeat if she was having problems with her phone. I finally convinced her to upgrade a few months ago, and she’s now addicted to FaceTime and verbally dictating her text messages.
“We should get lunch while you’re here,” Isabelle then says. “We’ve gone too long without seeing each other.”
“Absolutely, we’ll have to get something in the books. Winnie can see what my availability looks like, but it might be hard with all the upcoming rehearsals.” She blasts me a plastered-on smile before turning back to Isabelle, wordlessly telling me that she has zero availability whatsoever.
