Bad Romeo

  The applause seems to go on forever, but eventually the stage manager lowers the curtain, and the entire cast gives a huge cheer of self- congratulation. Everything’s a blur of embraces, kisses, and excited chatter, and I don’t want this feeling to ever end.

  I turn around and see Holt, happy and laughing. He’s hugging guys, kissing girls, and slapping people on the back. So normal and unguarded.

  A warmth blooms in my chest as I watch him, then he turns to face me. Without a moment’s hesitation, he strides over and wraps his arms around me.

  “You were fucking astonishing out there tonight,” he whispers against my ear. “Astonishing.”

  I wind my arms around his neck. “So were you. Just incredible.”

  We pull back to look at each other, and it’s like everything around us fades to black. It’s just his face, his eyes, the feel of our bodies pressed together, the magnetic pull of his lips, so close.

  “Hey, guys! You were average tonight. Must suck to be so talentless. Coming to the party?”

  We both receive claps to our backs and turn to see Jack’s smiling face. Holt scowls at him, and Jack’s smile only grows wider.

  “We’ll be there,” I say.

  “You driving?” Jack asks Holt. “Or do you want to ride with me and Connor?”

  Holt looks at me. “Uh … Taylor, do you need a ride? I don’t have my car.”

  “Because you jogged in today.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I remember.” The image of him in his jogging outfit is burned into a very horny part of my brain. “No problem. I told Ruby I’d go with her and your sister.”

  “Great!” Jack says and claps us on the shoulders again. “We’re going to have a blast. Woohoo!”

  Jack heads off to harass other partygoers.

  “Miss Taylor! Mr. Holt!”

  I turn to see Erika walking toward us, accompanied by a man I’ve never seen before. He’s wearing a dark red velour jacket and a purple cravat. He could have stepped right off the set of Pygmalion.

  “Cassie, Ethan,” Erika says as she stops in front of us. “I’d like you to meet Marco Fiori. Marco’s a very dear friend of mine and one of Broadway’s finest directors. His recent production of Death of a Salesman just won the Outer Critic’s Circle Award for Best Revival.”

  The man holds his hand out to me, and I shake it with trembling fingers.

  A real Broadway director. This is surreal.

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Taylor,” he says warmly as he covers my hand in both of his. “That performance tonight was … well, let me say that if I need a Juliet in the near future, I know who I’ll be calling. You were remarkable, my dear. Truly.”

  A blast of heat hits my cheeks, and I don’t think my smile could be wider without surgical assistance.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Fiori,” I say, trying to talk around the huge lump in my throat. “I’m … wow … I’m honored.”

  “And Mr. Holt,” he says as he releases my hand and turns to Ethan. “You’ve managed to do the impossible. To portray a Romeo I didn’t want to beat with my umbrella. Bravo. You’re a very talented young man.”

  Apparently Holt isn’t above blushing, either, because the tops of his ears go bright red as he shakes the older man’s hand.

  “Uh … thanks,” he says with a self-conscious smile. “I’m glad you don’t want to beat me. Now if you could only convince Taylor not to, that’d be great.”

  Marco turns to me and raises his eyebrows. “You beat your leading man, Miss Taylor?”

  I shrug. “Only when he deserves it.”

  Marco laughs and claps. “Oh, you two have some interesting chemistry, don’t you? Directing them must have been delightful, Erika.”

  Erika shakes her head and smiles. “That’s one word for it. The experience was certainly never boring. Still, the results speak for themselves.”

  Erika smiles at us proudly. I feel like my chest is going to explode from happiness.

  Marco points to Holt and me. “Yes, I have to say, you two onstage together is a rare and special phenomenon. Quite remarkable. I haven’t witnessed chemistry this powerful since I saw Liza Minnelli cradling a triple Scotch at the opening night of The Boy from Oz. I predict big futures for the both of you. Especially if you continue working together. I’d certainly love to direct you one day.”

  Holt and I glance at each other. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Judging from his expression, neither can he.

  “Well, you two had better go get changed,” Erika says as she takes Marco’s arm. “I believe you have a party to attend, and you’ve certainly earned a night of celebration.”

  Holt and I say our good-byes before we head toward our dressing rooms. He walks beside me on the stairs and grazes his hand down the small of my back. We’re silent, but I can tell his head is reeling just as much as mine.

  “That was a Broadway director,” he says in awe.

  “Yep.”

  “He complimented our performances.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “He actually implied he’d hire us. You and me. For a Broadway show.”

  “So I didn’t just imagine that part, then?”

  “No.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. Wow.”

  When we reach his dressing room, he takes my hand and pulls me inside. The room’s empty, and he shuts the door behind us. He turns to face me, his expression intense as he moves forward, urging me back against the door.

  “I’m sorry,” he says as he leans down, “but what just happened has officially blown my mind. I need to do this.”

  He presses against me and kisses me. It’s long, slow, and deep, and although I’ve kissed him a lot onstage tonight, this is different. We may be still wearing our costumes, but this has nothing to do with our characters.

  When he pulls back, his breathing is fast, his face flushed, and his eyes are bright with lust.

  “Come and meet my parents.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  “Uh … okay.”

  “I feel like you’re my good luck charm tonight. Maybe being with you will make talking to my old man bearable.”

  I smile. “I don’t mean to freak you out, but you just said something nice to me. On purpose.”

  “Yeah, I did,” he says and screws up his face. “It felt weird.”

  “It sounded weird.”

  “But nice?”

  I stand on my toes and kiss him softly. Although he tenses, he lets me. He even kisses me back.

  I pull back and sigh. “Very nice. Thank you.”

  He wraps his arms around me and grazes his nose along my neck.

  I shiver as his lips brush against my throat when he whispers, “You’re welcome.”

  Ten minutes and one more knee-buckling kiss later, we reach the stage, dressed for the party. Elissa is there, waiting.

  When she sees us, she stops in her tracks and looks between us.

  “Oh my God. Did you two just have sex?”

  “Jesus, Elissa, no,” Holt says, frowning at his sister.

  “Well, it looks like you have,” Elissa says as she wipes some lipstick off Holt’s neck and smoothes down my hair. “Now let’s move it. You guys are the last ones out. Mom and Dad will think we’ve forgotten about them.”

  “Wouldn’t want that,” Holt mumbles as we head toward the door.

  We push through into the foyer, and it’s packed with friends, family, and fellow students. I have another pang that my parents couldn’t be here.

  There’s a slight rumble of recognition and a smattering of applause as Holt and I emerge, and people say nice things as we pass. Holt seems to take it in stride, but he’s more experienced with this kind of thing. Still, I acknowledge as many people as I can and try to smile.

  We push through the crowd until Elissa yells, “Mom! Dad!” before dashing toward an attractive middle-aged couple. The man is almost as tall as Holt but with sandy brown hair, and the lady is sho
rt like Elissa, and nearly as blond. I can definitely see shades of Elissa in her mom, but I struggle to see Ethan in either of his parents.

  Elissa hugs her mother first, then her father wraps his arms around her. Ethan leans in to give his mother a kiss. He looks at his father and shuffles nervously. There are several awkward seconds before his father reaches his hand out, and Ethan shakes it.

  Elissa ushers me forward. “Mom, Dad, this is Cassie Taylor, our amazing Juliet. Cassie, our parents, Charles and Maggie Holt.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Holt,” I say as I nervously shake their hands. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

  Pleaselikeme, pleaselikeme, pleaselikeme.

  “Cassie, you were a wonderful Juliet,” Maggie says, smiling. “So much better than the girl who played her in the Shakespeare Festival last year. What was her name, Ethan?”

  “Uh … Olivia,” he says, looking uncomfortable.

  Oh. Now her crack about me being his new Juliet makes more sense.

  “Yes, Olivia,” says Maggie. “Nice girl, but she couldn’t hold a candle to your performance tonight. But I’m not surprised. You were playing opposite my amazing son.”

  She pulls Holt down so she can kiss him on the cheek. He blushes. Hard.

  “Well, Ethan made the whole process very easy,” I say, and shoot him a knowing look.

  Holt leans over and whispers, “Such a liar,” and I have to laugh.

  “I loved Ethan as Mercutio,” Maggie says. “But this? Oh … this was something special. You two have so much chemistry.”

  I catch Maggie giving her son a pointed look.

  Holt sighs and shakes his head, and I have a feeling he’s used to his mother giving him a hard time. It makes me smile.

  “Cassie,” his father whispers as he leans over. “I believe what my wife is implying is that she thinks Ethan should ask you out on a date.”

  “Jesus!” Holt says as he runs his hand through his hair. “Can everyone in this family please stop talking now?”

  Everyone is silent for a moment, then Charles whispers a little softer. “I also think he should date you. You seem nice, and it’s been a while since he’s let us meet one of his many—”

  “Dad!” Holt says firmly, frustration and embarrassment creeping into his voice. “Stop. Please.”

  Charles laughs and holds up his hands in resignation. I wonder why Holt has such an issue with the man. So far, he seems kind of cool.

  Elissa turns to her father. “So, Dad, did you enjoy the show?”

  Charles rubs the back of his neck and glances at his son. “Well, Shakespeare isn’t really my thing, but … it was well done, I suppose. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing. And Cassie, I agree with my wife. You were very good.”

  He gives Ethan a tight smile before turning to pull Elissa into a hug. “And of course,” he whispers, then kisses her cheek, “the lighting was genius.”

  I feel Holt tense beside me, and when I look around, his jaw is tight. Obviously I’m not the only one who thinks it’s strange his dad didn’t say anything nice about his performance.

  Is the man deaf, dumb, and blind? Did he not see what everyone else saw?

  “And Ethan was also amazing, right?” Elissa says, as her brother exhales and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Wasn’t this the best thing you’ve ever seen him in?”

  Mr. Holt sighs. “Elissa, your brother is always very competent in his acting. He doesn’t need my approval to validate him.”

  Ethan lets out a short laugh. “Just as well.”

  Competent? What the hell? He was freaking spectacular.

  “But Dad,” Elissa says, holding his hand, “can’t you at least appreciate that the performances Ethan and Cassie gave tonight were remarkable? I mean, you just don’t see stuff like that every day.”

  Mr. Holt looks at her patiently. “Sweetheart, I appreciate that acting takes a certain amount of dedication, but I’d hardly call it remarkable. Curing cancer? That’s remarkable.”

  “Here we go,” Holt mutters.

  “Healing broken bones? That’s remarkable. Saving someone’s life on a daily basis? That’s remarkable. Actors may think that what they’re doing is important, but really, what difference would it make if we didn’t have them? Suddenly there are no gossip magazines and the rehab centers are empty? No great loss as far as I can tell.”

  Holt scowls, and his mother puts a hand on her husband’s arm.

  “Charles, please.”

  “It’s okay, Mom,” Holt says. “As if I care what he thinks anyway.”

  “Ethan,” she says in an admonishing tone.

  “You think actors aren’t important?” he says. “What about artists, Dad? Musicians? Might as well lump us all together in a useless pile, huh? Do you really want to live in a world with no color? No music? No entertainment? You realize the human race would implode if that happened, right? Every culture on earth has art. Every … single … one. Without it, humans would be a bunch of primitive psychos whose only compulsions would be eating, fucking, and killing. But art’s not important, right?”

  Mr. Holt looks at his son sternly, and I get the feeling his father is holding back because I’m here.

  “As usual, son,” Charles says, “you misunderstand me. I’m merely comparing the importance of acting to other essential roles within our society. I hardly think you can place actors in the same category as doctors, for example.”

  “Okay, you two,” Maggie warns. “That’s enough.”

  Mr. Holt ignores her. “Ethan, with your intellect, you have the opportunity to do something truly great with your life. Instead you choose to do something that has very little chance of being anything more than a frivolous hobby. I just don’t understand how you can have no ambition—”

  “I do have ambition,” Holt says. “I’ve worked my ass off for three years to get into this place. I came back time and again, even when they kept telling me no, because I want to be the best that I can be, doing something I love to do. That’s ambition, Dad. It’s just different from yours. What a fucking crime, huh? Oh, and thanks for shitting on my chosen profession. And Cassie’s, too. Way to be an unsupportive prick.”

  Before his mother can admonish him again, he turns to her. “Sorry, Mom. I can’t deal with him tonight. I’ll talk to you later.”

  He pushes roughly through the crowd as we all watch him in awkward silence. My face is hot with anger and embarrassment. How dare Mr. Holt speak to his son like that?

  Charles drops his head as his wife whispers, “When are you going to stop? This is what he’s chosen to do. Accept it.”

  He looks over at me and winces. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Cassie. I just …” He shakes his head. “For the past few years, Ethan and I haven’t exactly seen eye-to-eye. It’s hard to witness your brilliant son choose a career that’s so …”

  “Frivolous?” I offer sarcastically.

  He gives me a guilty look. “I was going to say different from what I’d expected. I think every parent wants their child to change the world. I’m no different. I didn’t mean to put down your chosen profession.”

  “But if your child finds something they’re truly passionate about,” I say, “who are you to tell them that they’re wrong?”

  He studies me for a second. “So, your parents are happy you chose acting as your career?”

  That stops me dead in my tracks. “Well, not exactly happy. But I can guarantee that if they were here tonight, they would have told me I did well and were proud of me. I know that much for sure.”

  I watch Mr. Holt’s expression carefully, knowing I probably just offended him, but he doesn’t seem angry. If anything, he seems sad.

  “I guess I saw a different path for Ethan. Ever since he was eight years old, all he ever talked about was being a doctor. Then in his junior year of high school, someone convinced him to join the drama club, and suddenly medicine took a backseat to plays and student films. I honestly thought he’d grow out of it.”

&
nbsp; “The thing is, Mr. Holt,” I say, “people never outgrow their passion.”

  On one hand, I can totally understand why Holt has so much animosity toward his father. But on the other, I know that it’s hard for parents to let go of their expectations and trust their children to find their own way, no matter how much they love them.

  “You’d better go after him,” Elissa says, gesturing toward the doors. “He won’t talk to any of us when he gets like this, but you might stand a chance.”

  Ethan’s parents look at me expectantly. “Well, it was nice meeting you both,” I say and quickly head off to find Holt.

  I push through the doors and run as fast as my shoes will allow, click-clacking on the pavement stones. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see his familiar frame striding toward the Hub.

  “Ethan! Wait up!”

  He turns and looks as me, and for a moment he lets me see how tired he is. How completely beaten down by whatever it is that makes him act the way he does.

  “That bastard,” he says as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “He couldn’t say it, could he? Couldn’t just fucking pat me on the back for once and say, ‘Well done, son, I’m proud of you.’ Asshole.”

  I touch his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “That theater was full of people who thought I was good. Who fucking loved me. Complete strangers who have more faith in me than my so-called father.”

  “It’s not that he doesn’t have faith in you, it’s just that he—”

  The words die in my throat when I see the look on his face. “Are you actually defending him?”

  “No, I just think that … God, he’s a parent. The uncertainty of a career in acting is scary for someone who doesn’t understand that’s it’s something we’re compelled to do, even if the pay is lousy.”

  He stares at me for a moment before dropping his head and shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “He didn’t offer me one kind word about my performance, Cassie,” he says, lowering his voice to a bitter whisper. “Not. Fucking. One. He complimented Elissa, and even you. But me? I get the lecture on how I’m wasting my life.”

  The hurt in his voice makes my throat tight. I take his hand, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

  “Do you know the last time he said he loved me?” he says to the pavement. “September seventh, two years ago. I remember it clearly, because it doesn’t happen that often. He was drunk. Nice to know that he needs liquid courage to tell his son how he feels.”