The Final Act (28 page)

“Oh, God, baby, now!” he groaned, reaching the edge of bliss and tumbling over. His eyes closed, and he rose above his body, floating in a rapturous haze while his cock pulsed and released.

Tom’s hand pumped his cock fast and hard then he arched back into Denny with a hoarse cry as he came.

Denny collapsed on Tom’s hot, sweaty back, breathing hard against his shoulder. “I’m going to keep you like this,” he whispered. “Trapped beneath me. I’ll never let you go.”

“Fine by me.” Tom grunted, lifting his ass against Denny’s softening cock.

They clung together like winded runners, panting while their heartbeats steadied.

“Two for two.” Tom’s chuckle was as warm and rich as coffee.

Denny smiled, happy as hell to feel the rumble of mirth in Tom’s chest. “Maybe we can make it a triple play before the night’s over.”

After a time locked in their sticky embrace, Denny broke free, picked his T-shirt up off the bedroom floor for them to clean up with, and padded to the bathroom for a glass of water to slake their thirst. Then he returned to bed and spooned around Tom’s back.

Wrapped in drowsy comfort, they didn’t talk as time slipped away, but Denny wasn’t sleepy. Everything seemed good between them, healed and normal, but was it? The incident with Paul—God, he didn’t even know the guy’s last name—still haunted him, would probably always haunt both of them. They hadn’t spoken about it. Tom seemed to want to put it firmly in the past, which was fine with Denny, yet fear gnawed at him.

“Tom, are we all right?” He dropped the words like pebbles into a still pool, hoping the ripples wouldn’t change the surface of the water beyond recognition.

Tom shifted in his arms and looked over his shoulder. His eyes were dark and deep. “It’s not forgotten, but, yeah, we’re okay. We’ll be fine.”

Denny bit his lower lip to keep it steady. He nodded.

Tom turned away, and Denny hugged him even tighter, vowing he’d never take this precious gift of forgiveness lightly. The rest of their life together he’d spend rebuilding the wall of trust, brick by brick.

Scene Sixteen: Final Curtain

“Cut!” Rawlings called.

Elena exhaled and shook the tension from her body. She rubbed her cheek, stinging from the fifth slap she’d received that morning.

“Sorry. I really nailed you that time,” Jillian said.

“It’s okay. You were in the moment.” Elena smiled at the actress who played her older sister in
Ragged Quality
. Jillian was supposed to pull her punch, but the choreographed hit had connected more often than not.

The make-up woman came over to cover the red mark on her cheek before the next take. Elena held still and submitted patiently. All around her, the crew worked, re-setting the scene, placing the props and strewn furniture from the sisters’ fight back in place for the next shoot.

Wash, rinse and repeat.
Elena sighed at the tedium of the repetition, more than ready to have this scene wrapped.

“Looks great, ladies,” Rawlings called from behind the monitor. “I think we’ve got something. You’re done for the day.”

“Thank God. My voice is about gone. I don’t think I could shout anymore,” Jillian said.

Elena was relieved, too. With an early morning shoot of a pretty short scene, she’d been sure she could catch her afternoon flight to Detroit. But often there were snags and a shoot took longer than expected.

Detroit was the closest the
Transitions
tour came to Toronto and she couldn’t resist going to see it. Again she reminded herself she’d made the right choice in leaving the show. The movie role was definitely an advancement of her career, offering better money and future opportunities, so why did she feel melancholy whenever she thought of
Transitions
?

“What time’s your flight?” Jillian sipped from the water bottle a grip had handed her.

“Not until four thirty.” Elena accepted a bottle, dripping with condensation, and unscrewed the cap. She swallowed deeply, replacing the fluids she’d sweated out under the hot lights.

“Couldn’t resist seeing your replacement?” Jillian teased. “You miss theater work, don’t you?”

“I miss connecting with an audience,” Elena admitted, “and the cast was kind of like family.”

Her smile widened. “Maybe there’s somebody in particular you miss?”

“No. Not really.”

Did Michael lie in bed at night and think of her the way she thought of him? Did he ever start to dial her number? She fought the urge to call him almost every day. Time and distance were supposed to put things into perspective, but it hadn’t worked that way. Instead, as weeks then months passed, she craved him more than ever. Knowing she’d see him tonight had her pulse fluttering and stomach jumping.

“Are you sure?” Jillian raised her perfectly arched eyebrow even higher. “Then why do you look all heartsick and moody when I ask questions about the tour?”

“It was nothing. Just a brief…thing, a silly backstage fling.”
Which I can’t put out of my mind.

“That
thing
has got you tied in knots. Well, have a safe flight, and enjoy the show tonight. And do something about that
thing
.” Jillian winked at Elena before walking away toward her dressing room.

It felt strange sitting in the audience instead of being onstage. Elena leafed through her program, looking at Nichole Marks’ name where hers used to be in the cast list. She read her bio. Nichole had quite an impressive resume, and was a graduate of both the New York School for the Performing Arts and Brown University.

The lights dimmed and the overture began. Elena closed her program and settled back to watch as if she was any other audience member and hadn’t spent more than six months of her life waiting breathlessly through this overture for the spotlight to hit her.

The cast was illuminated one by one, singing their solos. It was surreal watching Nichole, like those sci-fi movies in which an evil doppelganger takes the protagonist’s place. She wanted to rip the mask off the imposter. But Elena had to admit Nichole was good. Her clear soprano would make a nice contrast with Michael’s rough tenor during the duets.

Elena watched, entranced, as each of her friends told his or her part of the story. Then the light hit Michael. She sucked in a breath and her heart pounded. Although she’d expected him, she hadn’t counted on her body’s immediate and intense response to seeing him again after so long apart. She’d forgotten how hot he looked slouching in his jeans and ripped T-shirt, brimming with raw magnetism, exuding so much sex her stomach clenched and her panties grew damp.

Turning from the mock window, he sang toward the audience. Elena’s eyes half-closed as his growl skimmed up and down her spine like an electric current. God, what his voice alone could do to her! Her nipples peaked in response.

Despite countless times hearing “We Are All”, the song sent chills through her. As the voices reached the powerful crescendo, her heart swelled and she applauded enthusiastically.

Nichole’s acting was fine, but it was hard for Elena to remain objective when it came to the romantic scenes. A hot lick of annoyance shot through her when Michael and Nichole kissed desperately and he carried her to the bed.

It was only acting, as Michael had often said about his easily manufactured tears. “We get paid to pretend. I don’t search the depths of my soul or ‘become’ the character like Denny.”

Trying to make him admit to emotion was like a cat sharpening its claws on a marble column; she’d break a nail before marring the smooth surface of his composure.

At intermission, Elena considered going backstage, but decided to wait. She hadn’t told anyone she was coming. She told herself it might throw them off to know she was out there watching, but it was really because she was nervous about facing Michael. What would happen when he saw her? Would it be extremely awkward or would his indifference let her know he hadn’t missed her at all?

In the lobby, she eavesdropped on the conversations around her. Most of the audience seemed impressed by the performance, but Elena heard one woman say, “Well, I saw the show in Chicago and it was better. They’ve had some cast changes since then.” She couldn’t suppress a smile or deny the satisfaction the comment gave her.

As the second act continued, Elena tried to stop judging and simply enjoy the rest of the play for what it was, a sometimes corny, but mostly wonderful piece of theater. At final curtain, she rose with the rest of the audience to give the performers a well-deserved standing ovation.

She picked up her purse and brushed the wrinkles from her skirt before heading backstage, her heart beating steadily and her palms perspiring. Would Michael act as if she was a casual friend? Would he hug her and kiss her cheek or do his best to ignore her?

The theater employee at the backstage door didn’t know who Elena was, but Austen passed by just then and vouched for her. He escorted her through the hive of activity behind the stage.

“So, how is it working with Don Rawlings?”

“Pretty amazing.” Elena didn’t feel like talking. Her fingers clenched at her sides as she focused on what she’d say to Michael.

She stopped by the women’s dressing room first. Renée rushed toward her, greeting her like a long-lost sister instead of a barely tolerated ex-roommate. “Elena!” She air-kissed her cheeks.

The other women quickly crowded around, hugging her and all talking at once. “I can’t believe you’re here! What did you think of the show tonight? How’s the movie going? Is Mark Grayson as hot as he looks onscreen? How’s Rawlings as a director? Do you like being on location? We miss you!”

It was like being welcomed by family. Even Renée didn’t seem so bad, but rather like the least favorite cousin everyone had to put up with.

Elena’s eyes welled with tears, and she swallowed past a lump in her throat. “You were all great tonight.” She smiled at Nichole Marks over near the make-up mirrors. “I’d forgotten what a fantastic show it is to watch.”

“We’re counting the days ’til the end of the run, like waiting for school to let out,” Cara said. “I know I’ll miss all this later, but right now I just want it to be over.”

The others chattered a little longer before drifting off to finish changing.

Elena turned to Gretchen. “How are you doing?”

“Really good.” Her smile was as bright as sunshine. She looked every bit the confident girl Elena remembered from the first week of rehearsals in Chicago, but with an aura of maturity she hadn’t possessed before.

“That’s great. How’s everyone else?” Elena asked.

“Tom’s still cancer-free, so Denny’s much happier. He’ll be so glad to see you.” She paused. “Michael will be, too.”

Simply hearing Gretchen say his name tied her stomach in knots. Why had she thought she could come here and just watch the show without emotional baggage crashing down on her?

“I know he’s missed you. He’s…quieter than he used to be,” Gretchen said. “You go catch him before he leaves the building. Trust me. He’ll be happy to see you.”

“Thanks.” Elena smiled and squeezed her hand. “Thought I’d be over this by now, but…”

“I know. It’s not easy.”

Elena left the noisy chatter of the women’s dressing room and headed for the men’s just as Denny and Logan emerged from it, talking and laughing. Logan caught sight of her first and swept her into a hug that lifted her off the floor. “Prodigal daughter, you’re back!”

“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” Denny hugged her, too. The two-sided embrace was hot and sweaty and smelled like home.

“So good to see you guys!” Elena choked.

Finally Logan broke the group clinch. “So, tell us how it feels to be a big Hollywood star?”

She snorted.

Denny wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Sweetie, we’ve missed you so much. Nichole’s nice. At least she’s no bossy diva like Renée, but she’s not you.”

“I’ve missed you, too, and all of this.” Elena looked around at the stored backdrops and flats, the scrims, ropes and pulleys, and all the hidden workings of the stage. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for film. Take one, take two, take seventy-three; it’s so repetitive.”

“And this isn’t?” Logan raised a brow. “Tonight was performance two thousand seventy-two, but we’re still fresh.” He gave a big, cheesy smile.

Elena glanced past Logan, expecting to see Michael come from the dressing room at any moment.

Denny caught her look. “Oh, honey, you should have warned us you were going to be here. Michael left a few minutes ago. He whisked in and out of the changing room double time.”

“Oh.” Her disappointment was so strong she could barely speak let alone manage a casual smile. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I came to see all of you. The show was great, by the way. I’d forgotten what fun it is to watch.”

Logan glanced at his watch. “Hey, I’ve gotta go. I’m meeting somebody at the bar, but I’ll see you guys over there. Medallion. You know where it is, right?”

“Yes. You already told me. Several times,” Denny said.

Logan bent Elena over his arm and gave her a dramatic kiss, before setting her back on her feet.

“See ya soon.” He waved goodbye and left.

Denny shook his head. “Logan. How would we manage to eat or drink without him to tell us where to go?” He turned back to Elena. “So, how are you, really? Happy?”

“I guess so. It’s…” Elena shrugged and left the sentence incomplete. “How about you? Gretchen said Tom’s going to be all right.”

Denny’s smile lit up his eyes. “Yeah. He goes for checkups periodically. When I get home, I’m never setting foot out of New York again in my life.”

“What? You don’t like living in crappy motel rooms, spending hours of your life on a bus, and never seeing your boyfriend? What’s the matter with you?” She took his hand as they walked past the canopy from the wedding scene.

He laughed. “It’s been an interesting year. I learned what’s most important to me, and this isn’t it. From now on I only pick acting jobs that keep me close to home.” He swung her hand. “How about you? Have you found what you wanted?”

It was useless to try to fool Denny. He knew her too well. “I honestly don’t know.” Elena shrugged, staring at the frayed edge of the canvas backdrop.