Pulling the blanket over my shoulder, I close my eyes. “I hope it works out for you.”
I really do.
She picks up the book again and takes her seat at my bedside. As my eyes close, the danger of life in this place presses on my mind. The days are counting down until I return to the spotlight, the freshest face in the Pussycat Angels lineup, and once I’m there, it’ll be my turn to see what happens. Will Gavin keep his promise? Will he give me a pass from the sex trade in return for the increase in revenue from my performances? Will the demands of the bidders grow too loud? Will their offer of money exceed my earnings?
A long time passes before I drift into an anxious sleep, and when I open my eyes again much later Evie is gone. Molly is curled up beside me. Her head is beside mine on the pillow, and I curl with my arms around her. She whispers words in her sleep, and my eyes go to the enormous bouquet of red roses on my dresser.
I made the bargain to be here. I have no money, no family, nowhere to go. My fall might have bought me more time, but it’s only borrowed time.
I can’t escape why I’m here. I can only find an insurance policy in case I fail.
6
“Where there’s authenticity, there’s escape.”
Lara
My fall dominates the morning chatter. I walk slowly to the coffee, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. I don’t feel like talking.
“She’s alive!” Roland calls as he crosses the stage to where I stand. I don’t meet his eyes. “Feeling better?”
I nod, focusing on my cup.
“This came for you last night. Mr. Lovel, I presume.” He hands me a small box with a card, and I take it quickly. “We can work on the new songs whenever you’re ready.”
My eyes land on Mark standing nearby. The hero. I need to thank him, but Vanessa has him cornered. She’s wearing a low-cut jog bra, and her ample bosom presses against his arm as she describes some problem in her dressing room with dramatic sweeping gestures. He listens to her, but his eyes keep drifting to mine. Every time they meet, I feel a prickle of warmth under my skin, and even with last night’s residual anxiety, it makes me smile.
“What do you have?” Molly’s face is annoyed as she watches Mark and Vanessa.
I place the box on the table and open the card. “A gift from Freddie.”
Molly sweeps it out of my hand and jumps up. “Dear Lara,” she reads with a loud, fake-French accent as she saunters around the table. Everyone, including Mark, looks her way, and I’m trying to figure out what the fuck she’s doing with my card. “I wish I could tell you how miserable I am to be so far away while you’re in pain.”
“Molly,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Seeing you fall crushed me, and leaving before I could speak to you was possibly the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Do you mind?” I say louder.
My eyes are fixed on her, so I don’t notice Mark walking up behind her until he slips my note out of her hand.
He holds it at his shoulder, which is out of her reach. She squeals, but I can tell her stunt is going better than she expected.
She jumps and tries to grab the paper, throwing her body against his. He towers over her with his broad shoulders, and his blue eyes sparkle. He’s more handsome than I remember.
“Is this keep away?” He blocks her with his hand, and comes to where I’m sitting. “This belongs to you.”
I can’t miss the bandages wrapped around his shredded palms, and gratitude tightens my throat. I place my hand on the back of his. “I need to thank you—”
“Don’t.” He cuts me off. “There’s no way I would’ve let you fall.”
“But your hands—”
“Will be fine in a few days.” He takes a knee beside my chair, and my breath stutters.
When he’s this close I can’t ignore his blue eyes or the memory of how they darkened when he saw me in my costume. His eyes traced every inch of my body, but it wasn’t crude or creepy. It was wonder and awe. My skin tingled as if his gaze were the lightest touch. My nipples hardened…
In that quiet space high above the stage, we shared something so intimate, and remembering it now sends smoldering heat between my thighs.
Then he saved my life.
I clear my throat, hoping my face isn’t red. “It was pretty brave.”
His voice is gentle. “I’m just glad to see you moving around.”
“I need to move around. I only have a few days off to recover.”
“What will you do?”
With a shrug, I realize I’ve never really had time off before. I’m always helping Rosa or rehearsing or taking care of Molly or running stupid errands. “I’ll probably just go to the library.”
“What?” He surprises me with a laugh. “You’re in New Orleans, and you want to go to the library?”
“They have computers there.” I can look for another job… which sitting here with this gorgeous man smiling at me makes me feel sort of miserable.
“Go out with me. We can walk around the square, go to the French Market, eat fresh beignets…”
“I don’t know.” Going out with Mark feels like asking for trouble.
“We’ll take it slow.” His eyes flicker to the letter in my hand. “If you start to feel bad, we can sit and watch the tourists.”
He rises and takes a few steps back, studying my face. I blink up at him, and the light in his eyes makes me smile in spite of it all. It’s just the encouragement he needs.
“I’ll be finished after lunch. Meet me in front of the cathedral.”
“Okay,” I say softly, and he smiles, straight white teeth and a dimple in his cheek. Where did you come from, Mark Fitzhugh?
He disappears in the wings, off to do whatever he does for Darby. I look down at Freddie’s letter, finishing his words. I hope this small token will lift your spirits. Until I see you again. Yours devotedly, Frederick Lovel.
Standing gingerly, I walk toward the piano. Roland is scribbling on the stack of sheet music, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Dust floats in the sunlight streaming in from above us, and I’m amazed by how quickly things can change…
Small feet scamper up behind me across the rosin-covered stage. Molly is at my side again, and she moves in close as Roland sits and begins playing his newest composition.
“I thought you didn’t approve of Mark.” Her voice is worried.
“He’s in the set crew, which means he’s about as bad off as we are.” I allow the ache in my waist to sharpen my tone. The reminder is more for me than her.
“You’re not being very nice. He saved your life,” she scolds, immediately turning swoony. “I think he’s gorgeous.”
“What?”
“He’s so… big, and his eyes are so blue.”
I don’t want to think about Mark’s eyes. I don’t want to think about his broad shoulders and strong hands reaching out and grabbing a speeding rope to save my life. I can’t think of him as my hero, no matter what the girls call him, and I can’t swoon about the way he said he wouldn’t ever let me fall.
The last thing I need is to think of him as anything more than a stage hand, a drifter. A guy who happened to do the right thing for whatever reason. Nothing more.