A/N: I have been *dying* to write angst. So let's all thank the hats for the following chapter!
Angst, second person – Will, superstition
Sitting in your dressing room preparing for the Friday evening performance, you still have a hard time believing that you're part of the main cast in a hit Broadway musical. When you'd come to New York five years ago, chasing your dream, you never imagined you'd actually see your name in lights. Now here you are, in your own private dressing room back stage, your name splashed across the front of the playbill and lit up like the fourth of July on the sign out front.
The make-up team has come and gone and you have a hard time recognizing yourself in the mirror, so heavily caked with stage makeup as you are. You slide into your costume with fifteen minutes to go until curtain and a flash of red hair in your mirror makes you spin around. Quickly you step into the hall to see Stephanie, the prop master, frantically searching for some misplaced prop in the dark recesses of backstage. Her auburn hair flares wildly around her face, having escaped its French braid as she flits from one side of the stage to another, making sure everything is perfect.
It surprises you that red hair still causes you to respond so strongly. It has been five years since you last saw Emma Pillsbury in your rearview mirror as you left for New York but there is an unconscious part of you that remains tied to her. Your goodbye had been bittersweet. At the time, you had anticipated returning to Lima after a summer in New York, but then you got your first part and you were hooked. Nothing could drag you away from the blood, sweat and tears you poured into this play, not even the woman you thought was the love of your life. At first you tried the long distance thing, talking on the phone and video chatting online but it had been too difficult with your erratic schedule. The breakup had been mutual, with equal heartbreak on both sides.
You had heard from friends that Emma had begun dating a little over a year after the two of you had broken up and after that you had stopped asking about her. It was too painful to hear how well she was coping without you, how easily she was moving on, while you threw yourself into your work and went home to an empty, hole-in-the-wall apartment each night.
The five minute call goes out and on your way out the door you rub the belly of the Buddha statue on the makeup counter. He was a gift and it has become your little ritual to rub his belly before you go onstage for luck. Emma gave him to you before you left for New York and you had rubbed his belly the first time before you auditioned for this musical. The ritual had stuck; a silly Broadway superstition. You take a moment to check your makeup one more time and straighten your costume before assuming your position for the curtain. You try to wipe the melancholy off your face and you fail. It's a good thing you're in a drama and not a comedy.
Standing on your mark, waiting for the first cue, your heart flutters like always. No matter how many times you stand and wait for that curtain to rise, you will always feel that rush of adrenaline that makes your heart pound. The music for the opening number begins, rattling your bones, and you fall deftly into character.
The first song goes off without a hitch. You barely notice the audience anymore, what little of them you can see with the bright glare of the stage lights in your eyes. They are just one more prop for you to manipulate. Tonight, however, something makes you cast your eyes out over the orchestra section, the only place you can actually see faces, and you feel your blood run hot then icy cold.
She is sitting about five rows back, a secretive smile on her face. Emma Pillsbury. You think your heart might stop beating, or it might beat right out of your chest, it's a tough call which way it will go. You are certain you stop breathing you are so caught off guard by her presence. The smile disappears and those big hazel eyes cloud with concern, worry lines marring her forehead. It is then you realize everyone is staring at you. You have completely missed your cue and are absolutely lost. Shoshana, your co-star, gracefully covers for you and repeats her line to recue you. You shake yourself out of your stupor and mechanically deliver the appropriate line. Shoshana subtly raises an eyebrow at you and you know you'll have to answer to her at intermission.
Shoshana ambushes you in your dressing room seconds after the curtains fall for intermission,
"What the hell?" she asks you.
"I'm sorry Sho," you apologize, "I don't know what happened."
"You've never completely missed a cue before Will. I mean, we all flub lines but to miss a cue in the middle of a conversation? Is everything okay? You kind of look like you'd seen a ghost out there." Shoshana pulls a face, ever the superstitious Broadway veteran she hates every mention of ghosts on set. Your eyes flick to the Buddha and you say,
"I guess I kind of did."
Your glance at the statue gives you away. Shoshana has heard the story a thousand times before. She was the one you spent hours on end with after your breakup, running and rerunning lines until they were perfect, avoiding the painful reality of your life.
"She's here?" she asks and you nod. Shoshana opens her mouth to say something and then seems to change her mind. Finally she says, "Pretend she's not," before she disappears from your doorway.
Pretend she's not. You wonder if that's even possible. Even now, five years later, you can pick that red hair out of a crowd in a heartbeat. It seems too soon when you are called for the second act and you decide to try it Shoshana's way and you spend the remaining half of the play looking anywhere but at Emma.
The soft knock at your dressing room door as you finish removing your makeup after the final bow makes your heart beat a little faster. You are certain it's Emma. You can't decide if you are relieved or disappointed when you open the door to find Shoshana waiting there.
"Want to grab a drink?" she offers.
"Thanks, but I think I just need to go home," you tell her. Shoshana shrugs and saunters off to join a small group of cast members for a post-work drink. With a sigh, you push the door mostly shut and move around the room, gathering up the last of your things.
"You kept him," she whispers from the door and your heart leaps into your throat, cutting off your air supply. You turn slowly, not entirely trusting your ears. But there she is, Emma Pillsbury, standing in the doorway of your dressing room. She moves into the room uninvited, running her fingers over the surface of the jade statue. You push your heart back into your chest and find your voice,
"Emma. It's…it's good to see you," you stutter.
"It's good to see you too Will. You were incredible tonight."
"Thank you," you say and then you blurt out, "What are you doing here?"
"Oh I'm just here with some girlfriends for a few days," she tells you, "Julia picked the musical. I don't think she realized you were in it."
You're not sure how it happens but you're standing close behind her, your hands on her shoulders as she continues to stroke the statue, seemingly mesmerized by the smooth jade surface. Without thinking you press your lips against her neck. When you realize what you've done you pull away. She isn't yours anymore, not like this. Much to your surprise Emma turns in your arms and kisses you full on the mouth. Her kisses are different than you remember, more insistent, but she tastes the same. You boost her up onto the counter and she wraps her long legs around you, pulling you close.
You are unused to this demanding, sexual version of Emma but there are so many thoughts in your brain that you're having trouble sorting out what is important and what isn't. Your ability for coherent thought goes out the window when Emma shimmies her hips against you and her hands slide under your shirt. Clothing disappears in a flurry of motion and you are buried deep inside her before you realize how far she intends to take things. There is no hesitation in Emma as she moves against you, encouraging you to follow her lead. Of all the times you imagined making love to Emma you had never imagined her to be the one in charge. Her nails rake down your back and her hips thrust forwards but you find yourself too stunned to move. Emma's lips move against your ear and she whispers,
"Please," and then she kisses you hard. Giving in you begin to thrust and Emma's head falls back, baring her neck to you. You can see her pulse racing beneath her skin and you close your lips over it, sucking gently. It seems like hours that you are together and she climaxes three times before you do, and you feel proud. It's only in the afterglow that you realize she probably wasn't a virgin, that her sexual confidence must have some source you don't know anything about.
Half clothed you watch as she gathers her things, tugging her skirt straight and tucking in her blouse.
"We should get dinner," you say and she looks at you startled, as though she'd forgotten you were there. She slips her feet into her shoes before she presses her lips to yours again,
"I can't stay," she tells you, her left hand cupping your face. You reach up to grab her hand as she turns to leave and the shock of the rings on her finger is almost physically painful.
"You're married?" you whisper, horrified.
"Two years this June," she tells you, looking guilty. "I'm sorry Will. I never meant for this to happen. I honestly just wanted to say hello. To tell you you're amazing on stage."
You are speechless. Married. Almost two years. You feel nauseous. She turns as she reaches the threshold,
"I hope you're happy Will," she says. And with that she disappears into the darkness. You hear the stage door slam shut behind her and you sink into a chair. It is nearly three in the morning before you manage to drag yourself out of the theatre and on the subway home you need to switch cars when a girl in a green coat with tumbling red curls gets in yours. When you reach your apartment you realize have a white-knuckle grip on the Buddha statue. You don't even remember picking it up. You climb out your bedroom window onto the fire escape, fifteen stories above an alley. As you lean over the edge you feel the statue slip from your fingers and you watch as it shatters on the concrete below. Time to find a new superstition.
A/N: That was so much fun. For any Broadway fans, yes I was thinking of Shoshana Bean as Will's co-star :) And I even managed to sneak in a modified line from Wicked. And from a country song. This chapter had a lot of influences. I hope you all enjoyed it!
Up next: humour, 1st person – Will, evidence (Ahh more humour!)