“It’s okay. I’m in the show.” Zara stepped out from behind him. “David said we could stay behind and rehearse. I tripped when we were dancing and we fell onto the rock.”
It was a good story. Zara was always quick on her feet. Still, the dude didn’t look convinced.
“I don’t think I should let you go without talking to someone . . .” He pulled out his phone.
“You want me to throw him out?” Jay tipped his neck from side to side, making it crack. He didn’t tolerate threats, especially when they were directed at someone under his protection.
“Um. No.” She gave his forearm a warning squeeze. “But I do think we should go. He’s probably here to rehearse for a different production.”
Jay considered doing it anyway, just to wipe the supercilious sneer off the dude’s face. But Zara was already off the stage and walking to the door. He shoulder-bumped the guy on his way past, just to let him know he’d been in the wrong and because he’d ruined what would have been his first chance to have sex onstage.
“I’ve seen all these musicals.” Zara spun around when they reached the lobby, gesturing at the framed posters on the walls. “My dad always took me to the theater on our weekends together. I even saw a few of them on Broadway when I visited New York.”
“What about your mom? Is she a fan, too?”
Zara rarely talked about her mother and he was curious to know more about her. He wanted to know everything about Zara and what made her tick.
She turned away, stared at the poster in front of her. “She can’t stand musicals and she doesn’t care for the theater. I’m seeing her this week for her birthday dinner and I have to remember not to talk about my extracurricular activities. Her life is all about her work, and she takes a dim view of things she considers frivolous.”
“This isn’t frivolous.” He swept her hair over her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her nape. “Not if so many people enjoy it.”
“Exactly.” She looked over her shoulder, and the smile that spread across her face took his breath away. “Musicals capture emotion and make it bigger than life.” She pointed to each framed poster in turn. “？‘I’ll Cover You’ from Rent? Destroyed me. ‘Memory’ from Cats? Focus on the pain and it will ruin you. ‘Last Night of the World’ from Miss Saigon? It’s a love song, but oh my God . . .”
“So, they’re all sad,” he said. “No wonder your mother doesn’t like them.”
“Are you kidding? That’s only one side of the coin.” She twirled around the lobby. “You can’t get much happier than ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ or ‘I Could Have Danced All Night’ or ‘Ding-Dong! The Witch Is Dead.’？”
Jay didn’t think he could get much happier than watching Zara dance around the lobby humming the tunes from the musicals she loved so much. When he was with her, he almost believed she could light up his darkness and set him free.
“If this is your dream, why didn’t you pursue it?” He leaned against the wooden wainscoting beneath a framed poster of Hairspray.
“My family expected me to have a profession—even my dad. I took psychology at college because it was a science, which made them happy, and I thought it would help me become a better performer. At college I got a chance to work with a law professor who brought creatives to campus. I realized I could put my dreams and a professional career together as an entertainment lawyer helping diverse artists in the industry.”
“It sounds perfect.”
“I thought so and my mom agreed.” She ran her hand along the dusty edge of a picture frame. “She helped me get a start at a big-city firm with an entertainment practice, but it didn’t work out. After two jobs and the interview with Lucia, I realized I could never be happy working at a place that stifled my creativity. I still love the world of entertainment. I scream when I see my favorite celebrities. I ask them for autographs. I’m on an alumni committee that promotes diverse artists, and one day I hope we’ll see greater representation in the industry. But I love my new job. I love helping people who have been hurt and can’t advocate for themselves. Dreams can change and it’s not a bad thing. They can be what you make them, or you can live them a different way.”
“My dream is to be successful.” He folded his arms across his chest, watching the dust motes dance on the sunbeams shining through the window. “I want financial security so my mom and I never have to worry about having enough to eat or where we’re going to sleep at night.” His hand tightened into a fist, words he had never shared spilling from the dark secret part of him in a harsh, bitter tone. “Part of me also dreams about sticking it to my old man, who left when I was a baby. If he ever comes looking for me, I want him to see that I made it to the top. That I didn’t need him. I want him to regret that he walked away.”