The Critic (8 page)

We said our good-byes, and I told her I’d call her in the morning. I stared at my purse, knowing his number was in there. I shook my head and took my wine to my bedroom. I set the glass on the nightstand and looked at the picture of a marquee on Broadway. It read, “Starring Andrea Jordan.” Gina had had it made for me when I was in my first off-Broadway play six years earlier. I’d made it to the big stage once when I landed a small part in a low-budget comedy, but the funding was cut, and the show never came to fruition. I padded to my bathroom and stared at my reflection. I really needed to get this part right, or no one would ever cast me in a role that was worth having. I put my long brown hair in a ponytail and got ready for bed.

I slept later than I had in a long time, but I didn’t have any place to be since the show was shut down for two weeks. I stretched and rolled off my very comfortable mattress. I briefly considered staying in bed, but I had work to do.

I turned on the shower and brushed my teeth while the water warmed up. Once inside the steamy enclosure, I relished the streams from the shower head. I stared at the beige tiled wall then looked at my beige shower curtain. I was starting to see a pattern. Maybe I was just bland and blah when I needed to be red and fiery.
That’s it. Decision made.
I hopped out of the shower, dried my hair, carefully applied some makeup, and grabbed my purse.

Coffee. That was what I needed—strong coffee. I tossed my purse on the couch and made my way to the kitchen. While I leaned against the counter, waiting for it to brew, I stared at my leather bag. The need to call him hadn’t escaped me, but the courage did. Just giving him the satisfaction was making me feel ill, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. I ran into my room to get my phone. Then in one quick motion, I snatched the business card from my purse and flipped the card over. I dialed before I lost my nerve or came to my senses.

One ring . . . two rings . . .

“Chambers.” His voice was deep and raspy.

Shit.
I may have woken him.
Oh well, too bad.
After a calming breath, my voice emerged. “Mr. Chambers, it’s Andrea Jordan.” I closed my eyes and prayed for him not to be an ass.

“Ahhh . . . good morning, Ms. Jordan. I had a feeling I’d be hearing from you . . . and so soon too.” He chuckled. “Please call me Bentley. All my friends do.”

Yup . . . an ass. My heart raced when he said his name, and I smiled when he said mine. What the hell was wrong with me? “Good morning. I wanted to discuss your offer.”

The beep on my coffee maker alerted me that caffeine was ready to be consumed. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee was one of my favorites, so I decided I needed some stat!

“By offer, I assume you’d like to run your lines with me?” His arrogance seeped through the phone, making me second-guess my decision.

With a fresh cup of coffee in hand, I sat at the kitchen table. “I know my lines”—
dickhead—
“but yes.” Just admitting that made me cringe.

“You’re a smart woman and beautiful too.”

The grin that grew across my face was completely involuntary. “Well, thank you, but compliments will get you nowhere. This is business. When are you available?”

“My schedule is free all week, as I assume yours is. There’s no time like the present. Would you like me to come to you, or would you like to come here?”

I glanced around the room and decided here would be the wiser choice. “My apartment will be fine. I’ll text you the address, but I have rehearsal now. I’ll be available after two.”

“See you then, Ms. Jordan.”

My phone beeped a few times, indicating our call had ended. I sipped my coffee and relished the warmth as I thought about what would happen when he arrived. I decided to clean up my apartment, even though it was spotless. Then I went to the theater to work on the role that could change my life.

Lucy and Greg, the two understudies, were there as well. My heart raced when I saw them, but apparently they were going to be rehearsing as well. It made sense that she would be preparing for the audition too, but it unnerved me.

She wasn’t a bad actress. Actually, she was pretty good, and she’d improved since the last show she’d played in. I tried not to let that bother me. I knew I was a fine actress—I just needed to be better.

Once rehearsal was over, I headed home. Bentley would be at my place within the hour.

The buzzer on my apartment door rang.

“Yes?” I said.

“It’s Bentley.”

“Come on up.” I unlocked the deadbolt and ran to the bathroom to check myself. I didn’t look half bad. My hair was naturally wavy, and my makeup was understated yet covered any dark circles.

A knock on the door made my heart stop. How was I going to handle seeing him? After I stopped fidgeting, I opened the door and my eyes went wide. Just gorgeous. The man was perfection from head to toe.

“Hi.” I stepped aside and opened the door wider.

“Hello, Ms. Jordan.” Bentley breezed past me as if he’d been there a dozen times. He was carrying an umbrella and a black backpack.

I wondered what his bag held.
I hope he hadn’t plan on spending the night.
He wore light-colored jeans and his worn leather jacket, which he removed. His navy Henley made his eyes stand out and my legs clench. His hair looked as though he had just run his hands through it.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” I may as well have been gracious, and Lord knew I needed a few more cups.

“No, thank you. I had some earlier.” He walked around the couch and sat down. “Nice place you have here.”

I nodded and grabbed my cup from the kitchen. “Thank you.”

The script was lying on the coffee table. He picked it up. “May I?”

“Sure. I went through a few scenes with my girlfriend Gina last night.”

His eyebrows rose high as he looked at me. “You have a girlfriend? Are you . . . ?” He lowered his head, apparently waiting for me to confirm I was a lesbian.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “She’s my best friend, not my lover. Not that I have a lover. I mean . . .”
Holy shit, what am I doing?
I sat next to him and took the script. “So I know according to you I failed miserably on Saturday night, but was there a particular scene that made you throw me to the dogs?” This play was full of love scenes, and I couldn’t imagine which one he’d hated, since I thought they were all good.

“No, there isn’t a particular scene, just your overall performance. I didn’t throw you to the dogs, as you so eloquently put it. I just didn’t connect with it. If I could have the script back, we can go through it in its entirety.”

“Its entirety?” Just then I realized my breath must smell like coffee. I reached into my purse and grabbed a mint. I offered him one.

He smirked and popped it in his mouth. “I have all week. Before we get down to business, I want to know a little about you.” He tossed his arm on the back of the couch, making himself at home.

That threw me off guard. “Why?” My life was so boring. There really wasn’t much to tell.

“It will help me understand you.” He leaned back and raised his brows, waiting for me to begin.

I blew out a breath that made my bangs fly up. Why he needed to know about my life was beyond me, but if telling him about myself would move along what was sure to be a grueling process, I’d tell him my fucking life story.

“Fine. I’ve wanted to star in a Broadway production since I can remember. I was in every school play, and I enrolled in every workshop I could find. I used to buy old scripts just to study them and act out the parts.” Talking about the frayed, crinkled papers I loved made my face light up. “I’ve studied theater history, Shakespeare. I’ve had countless drama and acting classes. I even studied improv. I’ve been busting my ass trying to perfect my craft.”

I heard my voice turn more boisterous with a touch of sarcasm. “Then a critic from New York City reviewed a play I was in and blasted me in his paper, stating that I lacked . . .” My hand went to my chin and my eyes to the ceiling. “Let’s see, what did he say?” I threw my hand in the air to get the light bulb that just popped up. “Ah yes . . . I lacked ‘the ability to connect with a character to make it so believable that the audience gets lost in the performance.’ So I continued to bust my ass and then . . . and then . . . finally . . .”My arms flailed a mile a minute while my pulse raced. “I finally landed the part of Katie.” My heart was pounding so hard, I was sure it was going to escape through my shirt and land at his feet for him to stomp on. “This was my breakout role. Everyone told me this would be
the one,
that I was meant to play this character, as if it had been written with me in mind.”

I stood and looked at him, ignoring his deep blue eyes and the slight flare of his nostrils. “So there it was in my hands and my soul. My chance was here, right? I could taste it, mouthwatering and delicious, and then you happened. Again!” My face tingled as my chin quivered and tears began to form. I walked into the kitchen.

My hands rested on the countertop in front of the sink, and I took a deep, shaky breath. The sound of his footsteps as he came up behind me put me on full alert, so I grabbed a glass out of the dish drainer and filled it with water. I took a sip and set down the glass. I couldn’t do this, not with him.

“Andrea. . . .” His hands landed on my shoulders, which I rolled to get them off me.

I went into the family room and sat on the sofa, and he followed. My apartment felt the size of a shoebox.

“I can’t apologize for my reviews. You know that right?” he said. “I can’t write a great review when I don’t witness a great performance. I know you have it in you. Why do you think I came all this way to see you? I anticipated being astonished. I’d heard all about you and this role, and yes, it was slated to be your true breakout role. I’m not saying it won’t be, but that didn’t happen on Saturday. I wanted it too, maybe for my own selfish reasons, but—”

“Really, Mr. Chambers? You wanted it to?” I didn’t want to take in his beautiful eyes glaring at me, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Look, it’s my job to leave critiques of the plays I attend. I have to write with honesty, or my reviews won’t be worth the paper they’re printed on. Understand?” His brows furrowed.

I turned away to avoid him because even though I was upset, he still affected me. “Yes, of course I understand, and you keep reminding me what a horrible actress I am, so why are you here exactly? Maybe you just shouldn’t go to the shows I’m in.” I spun around and saw his expression turn grim as he lowered his head. “I’m serious, Bentley. If I’m that bad of an actress, then why torture yourself? You came to Jersey, for Christ’s sake, to see a way, way, way off-Broadway play, and for what? So you can write another negative review? Does it make you feel better doing that?” I shook my head. “This was a bad idea. I don’t feel like running lines anymore. Please leave.”

He placed his hand on mine. “Andrea—”

I stood and went to the door. The hand he’d just touched sent a shiver through me as I turned the handle. I opened the door and waited for him to get up, which he did. He faced me, and I tried to keep my composure. As much as I hated to admit it, he made me feel things I’d never felt before, and it wasn’t all anger. But at the moment, I was sad and completely embarrassed, and he needed to go.

“Good-bye.” I swung my hand toward the hallway.

Instead of leaving, he brought his hand to my cheek and ran the backside of his knuckles from the top of my cheekbone to my chin. “I come to see your shows because I know you have it in you to be fabulous, and you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. There’s something about you. I can feel it, and to be quite honest, I’d hoped that we’d meet someday and you’d feel it too. When you came to the restaurant, I was surprised and thrilled.” He stared at me as I tried not to flinch. “Call me if you change your mind.”

He walked out and left me wanting more. I closed the door and leaned my right shoulder against it, chastising myself for being weak around him.

My couch cushion greeted me as I rested my head on the rolled cotton arm. Something caught my eye—Bentley’s backpack. Dammit. My fingers itched to unzip it, but I didn’t. I stared at my ceiling and wondered if he was right and I wasn’t as good as I thought. What I didn’t understand was why I’d be cast in roles if I didn’t deserve them. I shook my head and closed my eyes. This was getting me nowhere except frustrated.

I drifted off and thought of Bentley and his piercing, gentle eyes. The feel of his hand in my hair, pulling me to him. Our lips colliding and our tongues dancing while his scruff grazed my face. Hearing him moan with pleasure and grinding against me.

The sound of my phone startled me—I’d forgotten where I was. When I realized I was home alone, I felt a pang of disappointment. Those thoughts needed to stop. I hit the answer button. “Hello.”

“Andrea, this is Bentley. I’m sorry to bother you, and I’m sure I’m the last person you want to hear from, but I left my backpack at your place. My hotel key is in there, along with my wallet. Can I please come back over and pick it up? I promise I won’t stay.”