Inner Diva (20 page)

Just one event, but so much had changed.

She slipped out of her car. Now that she was
here, she couldn’t bear to face him. She couldn’t take the chance
that he’d talk her into changing her mind. But most of all, she
couldn’t afford to get into an emotionally draining confrontation
with him. Not today, of all days. Tonight she’d go onstage and give
her first performance as leading lady. She needed to save her
strength.

Monica walked through the building to the
floor where they admitted Carlos overnight. She went to the nursing
station and found a nurse immersed in paperwork. “Hi. Is Carlos
Garcia still here?”

The woman focused on the medical records a
few seconds more, before tearing her gaze away. She checked a
whiteboard hanging behind her. “Yes, room 313.”

She handed her envelope to the nurse. “Could
you make sure he gets this, please?”

She stared at the envelope, furrowing her
brows. “You can go on back there. It’s visiting hours.”

“No.” It came out firm and loud. She cleared
her throat. “That’s all right. Just promise me you’ll give this to
him and ask him to read it today, please.”

The nurse shrugged and took the envelope. She
turned back to the paperwork.

“Promise me.”

She turned to her. “Yeah, okay.”

“Thank you.” She left the hospital.

Monica pulled up to the theater, hours before
curtain time. The hustle and bustle of Opening Night never failed
to reach out and grab her. Hours before curtain time, excitement
and terror competed in their race through her veins. However,
Opening Night for the leading lady was an entirely different matter
than Opening Night for the props mistress.

Could she do this tonight of all nights?

She was back to the prospect of opening night
without a single soul in the audience to send her positive vibes.
She was sure that after Carlos read her letter today, he not only
wouldn’t want to come to her play, he wouldn’t want to see her
again at all.

This morning, she’d placed a call to Mrs.
Garcia’s house, and after inquiring how they had made it through
the night, she asked to speak with Luisa.

“How did you sleep?”

“Fine.”

“No nightmares, sweetie?”

“Nope.”

Good. Monica had sheltered the little girl as
best she could from the stabbing. But she knew Luisa had a vivid
imagination, capable of creating scenes worse than reality.

“Honey, there’s one other thing I have to
tell you. There’s been a change of plans about the play
tonight.”

“I can’t wait to see you on stage!”

“Well, as it turns out Carlos won’t be able
to come to the play. I still want you to come though, so I’ll get
you a ticket one night when you and my mom can come together. Is
that all right?”

A little pause told her Luisa battled with
disappointment over not being able to come tonight and the need to
be considerate of Carlos. Of course, she assumed it was because of
his injury. And that was well and good. She didn’t need to know the
real reason.

Luisa had sighed. “Okay.”

Now, Monica trudged to the back door of the
theater. She had to get a grip on her nerves so she could remember
her lines and blocking. And to look like a real actress up there,
like she’d always dreamed.

She sighed and pulled open the door. A single
pair of hands clapped in the dim light of backstage. She shook her
head and blinked. The applause came closer until she saw it was
Steve, stepping toward her.

Of course, Steve. He was her support system –
her best friend with her every step of the way in her transition
from backstage to center stage. She ran to him and flung herself
into him. Surprised, he wrapped his arms around her.

“What the --?”

She couldn’t help it – tears jumped into her
eyes and she sniffed against his shirt.

“Ah, buddy, what’s up? What’s this all
about?”

She shook her head, pulled back from him. She
rubbed her eyes. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m a mess.”

He took her hands and squeezed them. “All
worked up about Opening Night?”

She nodded. “That, and …” Her voice hitched
and she cleared her throat. “I broke up with Carlos today.”

His mouth dropped open and he stared at her.
“Today? What were you thinking? Why?”

She shook her head. “We’re just too far
apart, Steve. Different worlds. No way.” And she realized the more
she talked about it, the less chance she’d have of composing
herself. She waved both hands frantically. “Can’t talk about
it.”

He pulled her into another hug. “Ah, sweetie.
I don’t get you sometimes.”

“Huh?” Sure, her ears were muffled against
his chest.

“I don’t get you. You’ve been happier than
you’ve ever been. You’re dating a guy you’re crazy about, doing new
things, out from under the thumb of your family. Your dream is
coming true tonight; you need all the support and love you can
muster today, and you … oh yeah, makes sense: break up with the
guy?” He shook his head. “Don’t get it at all.”

She sighed. “It makes sense if I explain it
to you, but I’m not in shape to get into it. I need to get ready
for tonight.”

He studied her. “Okay. Let me just ask, did
he cheat on you?”

She shook her head.

“Abuse you in any way?”

“Of course not.”

“Break the law?”

Monica blew out an exasperated breath.
“Steve…”

Steve held up both palms. “Okay, okay, we
won’t talk about it. But once tonight is over, you and I have a
chat, capisce?”

He took her by the shoulders and guided her
to Hair and Makeup, where she was immersed in a cacophony of well
wishes from her cast mates.

She was no longer Monica. She was
Victoria.

She shouldn’t be admiring the fabulous job
she did selecting the set and props. She should be taking in the
mountain ski lodge she and her husband had picked for a winter
getaway, marveling at the beauty of their vacation spot.

She was an actress now. Maybe if she kept
reminding herself, it would sink in.

Monica stood backstage, gasping and trying to
get her pulse under control. Her blood tripped fanatically through
her veins; she felt light headed. All she needed to mark her debut
was to faint. She concentrated on breathing in, then out. Slowly,
under control. She could do this.

Steve had deserted her; well, he had to go to
the lighting booth in the back of the theater, so she was alone.
Entirely, completely alone, facing her dream of acting on stage.
This should be the best day of her life.

Under the circumstances, it wasn’t.

She knew what Victoria was supposed to say
and where Victoria was supposed to move. Now, she simply had to do
it. Be professional. Put it on automatic pilot. Ignore all the
people in the audience staring at her, wondering why she was there
instead of Trina.

The curtain raised, a hush settled over the
theater. Monica and Brad entered the stage, Monica walking slightly
ahead of Brad, who was laden with heavy suitcases.

“Oh my! This isn’t quite as the travel agent
described it, do you think, Ralph?” Monica looked around
haughtily.

Brad, struggling with the bags, dropped
several and heaved a deep breath. “No, dear, it’s fine. Just fine.
We’ll have a good time here.”

Monica pointed at the dropped suitcase. “Be
careful with those. They’re Louis Vuitton and cost more than you
make in a month.”

Brad rolled his eyes, picked up the bags and
toddled after Monica as she strolled to the front desk.

A few minutes later, Monica and Brad vacated
the stage and waited behind the curtain for their next entrance.
“You’re doing well,” Brad whispered.

Monica scanned his face. “You really think
so?”

He nodded. “Just try to loosen up. You’re
doing everything right – you haven’t missed a line or a movement.
Just, you know, relax. Have fun with it.”

Monica nodded. Simple advice. The question
was … how? Brad wandered off to where he’d stowed a water
bottle.

The night went on. Each time Monica went
onstage she delivered her lines, she moved just right, she smiled
as she’d rehearsed and she threw fits right on cue. She was nothing
if not hard-working. She’d memorized this play front to back and
could recite the lines of any of the characters. But was this what
it was like to be an actress? Just push a button somewhere in your
brain and you recite memorized lines by rote, doing the same thing
night after night?

She didn’t think so. There was more to it
than this. But she wasn’t quite getting it. She was missing
something.

The curtain dropped on the first act and the
applause from the audience was gratifying. She heard the shuffling
of the crowd as they rose from their seats to stretch for
intermission. She had twenty minutes to relax before the play
resumed. She headed for the actors’ dressing room.

Dave ran into her in the hallway. “Monica,
open up a little more.”

Monica nodded, staring him down in
concentration. “Open up, right.”

“More emotion. Become the part. Leave
yourself behind. Got it?”

She could tell he was in a big rush so she
nodded and gave him a confident thumbs up. “Got it, Dave.
Thanks.”

She reached the dressing room, closed the
door behind her, sank into the vanity seat and stared at her
reflection. What was wrong with her? She should be reveling in this
realization of her fondest dream. Instead, she was counting the
minutes till it was over.

She sighed. There was a knock at the door and
she turned to it. “Come in.” It wasn’t a private dressing room – it
was a shared space among several actors; she just happened to be
the only one in here at the moment.

The door swung open and in walked … a huge
bouquet of red roses. As if by magic, the gorgeous mass of flowers
floated in the room a few feet off the floor, a short set of legs
visible beneath them. Monica chuckled at the sight. The legs walked
toward her and stopped inches away.

Monica reached out and retrieved the glass
vase. When she moved the heavy load to the vanity table, a now
flowerless Luisa was revealed.

“Oh!” Monica gasped and knelt down to be
closer to the little girl. “What are you doing here?”

Luisa beamed and shrieked, “Break a leg!” She
giggled and said, “That’s right, right? You say break a leg to an
actress?”

“Yes, yes, that’s right.”

“I don’t really want you to break a leg, but
that’s what you say.” Luisa flung herself into Monica’s arms.
Monica hugged her and breathed in the lovely scent of her shampoo.
Then she pushed her gently away so she could get to the bottom of
this mystery.

“Luisa, how did you get here? Who brought
you?”

Luisa smiled, then stepped back, holding her
arm out with a flourish like a master of ceremonies in the center
ring of a circus. Monica shook her head in confusion, but followed
the direction of her motion.

There in the doorway stood Carlos.

Chapter Twelve

Monica stared, her heart pounding and eyes
wide. Carlos approached and reached for her hands. “You look
beautiful.”

She turned away, unable to face him. He
looked way too handsome, like he’d taken care this evening to look
his best for her. His lean, muscular frame, clothed in a tight
sweater and new jeans, was enough to take her breath away. She’d
never be able to carry through her intentions if she had to
actually … look at him. She wouldn’t have the strength. “Didn’t you
get my letter?”

But he wouldn’t have her cowardice. He
gripped her shoulders and swung her around. “Letter?”

Her heart sank. He hadn’t read it and now
she’d have to face the confrontation she so desperately wanted to
avoid. “You didn’t …?”

“Luisa,
venga aqui
.” He dug in his
pocket and gave his sister some coins. “Here, go to the lobby. Get
a soda. Wait for me there. Got it?”

She nodded, her eyes clouded. “Don’t be late
…”

He bent down and kissed her cheek. “I’m with
the leading lady, aren’t I? The show won’t start without her.”

Luisa’s expression cleared with a happy
smile. She nodded and skipped through the doorway. Her
patent-leather soles echoed through the hallway.

When he turned back to her, Monica took a
deep breath. “Carlos, there’s been a mistake …”

“A mistake? Yes, there’s been a huge mistake
if you think I’m going to miss your opening night.” He gripped her
shoulders and pulled her close. “It’s a mistake to think you can
keep me away from watching you achieve your dream.” He squeezed her
arms tighter, his voice became lower and deeper and his face came
closer. “I want this just as much as you do.”

Monica’s heart pounded, whether with fear or
desire, she wasn’t sure. He leaned forward the remaining inch
separating them and claimed her lips with his. The roughness of the
kiss they shared terrified, yet exhilarated her. She’d never
experienced a kiss like this before – on the border between lust
and anger.

He ripped his lips away and kept his face a
breath’s distance from hers. He pointed to something behind her.
“Now, sit right there and let me tell you just where your mistake
started.”

She turned and looked nervously at the chair,
then shook her head. “I can’t. Intermission is only a few minutes
long. I can’t take the time…”

He took hold of her shoulders and pressed her
backwards into the chair. Monica gasped. He came so close he was
almost on top of her, then he knelt in front of her, his parted
legs straddling hers. She shivered, his scent reaching her
nostrils. The last time he was this close to her and she smelled
his unique manly scent, he had made love to her. At the thought,
her eyes filled with tears at what would never be again.