Everyone on Broadway loved Medda.
Perhaps not the higher-ups, the salty ones who'd been in the business for decades…and certainly not the men who sneered at her likeability and honest candor.
But crews, stage hands, casts from all over Broadway, Off-Broadway, and the entire theater scene of New York, adored her.
They knew the sound of her heels as she walked backstage, through the offices, down the aisles as she greeted everyone with a big "Hey kids!" They knew the sound of her laughter and the pitch her voice rose to when she was excited. They could spot her red curls from a mile away, piled on top of her head and held together by a pencil as she helped in rehearsals and auditions. She made the nervous girls laugh before they lined up for call backs, showed the dancers helpful stretches, and loved to watch the stage from above with the tech crew, making them laugh and fall in love with her effortlessly. "Best seats in the house," she said as she winked and gave them loving nudges.
Everyone loved Medda. Or, as they called her, Camille.
"Camille, which fabric do you like better for Dolly's hat?"
"Camille, which headshot do you think is better…?"
"Camille, did you see what they chose for next season? Which ones are you producing?"
"Miss C! Did you hear about the Phantom rehearsal yesterday? They actually lost control of the chandelier!"
"Camille, come out with us tonight!"
"Drinks on us, we're celebrating opening night!"
"Please say you will!"
They took selfies with her, posted their love and admiration on social media, and her assistant took candid photos of her leading rehearsals and call backs. She always had company at lunch and in her office (open door policy, unless the guys were visiting), and signed endless playbills as she waited to hail a cab.
Those who had better things to do than mingle with casts and crew after hours mocked and gossiped about her willingness to do whatever was necessary. But she paid them no mind; the casts and crew texted her about work, about life, and she went the extra mile to help an aspiring actor, someone who needed another understudy, another producer who needed advice.
She was constantly on the move between theaters, to dinner reservations, to award ceremonies and opening/ closing nights. On opening nights, there were always flowers waiting for her in the private boxes she used, with cards signed by the cast and crew.
She loved when schools came for field trips, and the teachers loved her for answering kids' questions and giving them the grand tour, treating them as special as founders and donors.
When there were technical difficulties or delays of any kind during a show, the stage hands would pull the curtain and she would entertain the audience all by herself. They'd love her so much, they forgot they were waiting to see a show. Some producers looked down on her for being 'childish' and 'silly' or 'unprofessional'. But most of them admired her love of theater and her work ethic, never losing touch with the part of her that was a true entertainer.
When any of her 'kids' won Tonys, she cheered the loudest. When she won, they almost brought down the dust in the rafters at Radio City Music Hall as they applauded her.
She was Broadway's Sweetheart, Camille Larkson.
But as she watched her assistant, Joe, lead Jack and a young woman backstage, she felt her heart rise to her throat. She hadn't felt this nervous in years.
She was wearing a wig, but Medda could recognize her face anywhere…the face she saw smiling in her dreams, the face she remembered when they brought her home from The Underground. Medda watched her dance videos over and over, amazed and proud of her accomplishments and confidence at such a young age...and because she missed her terribly. Her friend.
Medda stepped behind a thin rose colored partition, one they used to change the hues of backdrops. Joe left the young couple and they walked around on the empty stage, Jack relaxed with his hands in his pockets. He said something to her and she laughed, her hand moving comfortably to Jack's stomach, whispering something to him. His eyes glinted on her face as if nothing else existed. His body moved when hers did, his eyes followed her.
He does have it bad, Medda thought with a pleased smirk.
Jack went to the ropes and pulleys, pulling on one that was stationary. Medda covered her mouth to stifle her giggle – he remembered his stage training.
The young woman laughed, "Trying to get us thrown out?"
Jack laughed at her, "Nah, I grew up in a theater, this one's safe. See the blue tag?"
She rolled her eyes, trying to hide her smile. His smirk grew.
"Your friend's theater?"
"Yeah."
Jack's face changed. The girl didn't see it, but Medda knew what he must be thinking about, because she was imagining it too… Ira, dancing on stage.
"Ya ever think 'bout dancing in shows again?"
The young woman turned to him from center stage, the lights casting a beautiful halo around her. She was stunning, and the smile she gave Jack broke Medda's heart.
"All the time…beats choreographing dance routines for music videos and award shows…"
"Impressive," Jack purred.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, though it was too short to stay. A habitual move she did when she blushed. It was strange to see her nervous like that, like a schoolgirl. She moved so differently, her voice without its accent sounded so strange...but she was captivating. To see her so taken with Jack was surprising.
Then again, Jack had that effect on women. And he didn't even know it.
Medda snorted lovingly, shaking her head. Still a sweet, cocky Newsie.
The young woman shrugged. "I'm open to doing anything…But I've thought about doing what my mother did, and run the academy back in San Fransisco…or, go into the movies, like my father."
"You can do all of it," Jack said warmly, confidently.
Oh, he's in love. Medda wiped a tear from her eye, inhaling deeply to compose herself.
The girl ducked her head, smiling and blushing again. Her voice sounded far away, "I can't wait to leave the city…But then I come to a place like this," she turned to the empty seats. "...And I miss it all over again."
Jack leaned on the rigging, watching the girl as she mapped out steps on the stage, her eyes admiring the place.
Medda stepped out from behind the partition. "Something tells me the city would miss you, too."
Jack's head whipped around, smiling easily at the sight of Medda.
Tiffany wheeled on the spot and her expression dropped as her eyes widened in surprise.
"Camille Larkson?" Tiffany looked at Jack, "Your friend is Camille Larkson?"
Jack laughed and Medda shook her head, "he's known me his whole life…" Medda ignored the tugging at her heart as she approached the beautiful young woman. She had to remind herself she wasn't dreaming. "Hi, Tiffany…I've heard so much about you."
Tiffany grasped her hand, still in disbelief. "Ms Larkson, it's an honor –"
Medda held up her hand, laughing. "Please…call me Camille."
Jack's head dropped. Medda could sense his disappointment.
"Come," she said loudly. "I'll give you the tour. Did you like the box?"
Tiffany looked at Jack, and his cheeks blushed furiously.
Medda smirked. "Good."
Tiffany walked by her side through the backstage and dressing rooms where performers were preparing for the next show, and Medda talked easily and made her laugh, despite her hands shaking. Her eyes were still as blue and as penetrating, her face strong like a model's or a queen's. What Medda would give to have her as a leading lady…
Jack walked behind them, quiet and observing.
"Did you start your career in New York?" Tiffany asked, thoroughly engrossed in everything Medda had to say.
"Oh yes, I've never lived anywhere else – I started off Broadway and worked my ass off –"
"She still does!" Joe said from a group of performers – they were still in make-up, wearing robes as they huddled around a box of fruits and Camille-approved snacks. They laughed and Medda waved his comment off, smiling.
"Oh my gosh, Tiffany!"
Tiffany gasped, "Marie!"
The dancers crowded around her, hugging and talking instantly – they asked her about her classes, when she will graduate, if she was student teaching. Medda wasn't surprised that they recognized her; she was top talent in the city, despite being a student.
"I thought you were a fashion model Camille knew!" They laughed.
"Your performance for the Midsummer Review was impeccable –"
"Where are you going once you graduate?"
"You should teach here in the summer!"
As they talked fast and laughed, Jack appeared at Medda's elbow.
"How does it feel to be with a celebrity?" she asked with a grin.
He gave her a sideways glance and she laughed. They watched the girls take photos with each other.
"'s like trying to hold fire in my hands," he murmured.
She hummed in agreement. "Such a strong one…but she cools for you, Cowboy."
Jack reddened and Medda laughed harder.
"She's torn between here and the West Coast."
"I wonder why," Medda teased. "Has she asked you to go with her yet?"
Medda's heart felt flustered at the thought…excited and broken at the same time.
Jack scoffed. "She has more to think about than me."
"Oh, darling," Medda squeezed his shoulder. "Trust me…she'll ask you."
Jack shook his head. "I hope she leaves this place."
Medda saw the worry in his eyes. It almost seemed permanent. But she saw he meant what he said.
"I hope you have the good sense to join her."
Jack looked down, meeting Medda's sad, smiling gaze.
"It's like I told you and the guys…if you need anything, anything at all, just say the word. Medda's got you."
Jack looked away but his arm came up behind her, bringing her to his chest in a hug. She patted him before joining the girls who were calling her over for a photo.
The sun had already set by the time they reached the front of the theater center. Tiffany hugged Medda, thanking her for everything, and Medda felt her eyes prick as she held her.
Tiffany looked at Jack and he leaned down to kiss her cheek. But she took his face in her hands and kissed him passionately, turning and leaving him stunned on the front steps.
They watched her from the front doors as she went to Boots' taxi. Boots waved to them, and Tiffany got in the back without a backwards glance.
Medda sighed heavily, the ache in her chest clawing at her. "Oh, Jack."
"I know."
Medda looked up to his face, his eyes on the taxi as it drove away.
"I thought somethin' would happen, once she saw ya."
Medda crossed her arms as the wind blew over them. "I thought so too…but –"
"I'm glad it didn't," he finished for her, looking down at her.
She put her arm through his, squeezing him tightly.
"C'mon, I texted Spot and Kat to bring the guys over. We're having dinner at my place."
"I'm buyin'," he said with a wicked smirk. "Boots won the bet."
He looked at her, seeing her wiping a tear away.
"Well, almost."
She shoved him as she turned to go back inside and he followed, laughing behind her.
Kat gave Jack a big bear hug as she stepped off the elevator at Medda's. They ordered take-out and they pegged Jack and Medda with questions –
"How was your date?" Kat crooned, elbowing Jack next to her on the couch. They laughed and shouted at the redness in his cheeks, much to his annoyance. They drank beer and gave him space and what privacy they could afford him before he lost his good mood, and instead directed their attention to Kat. They had missed her.
"Just preparing to leave in the Spring," she said, making a nervous face. "Medda, thank you for buying all those pieces…you've paid for my trip and then some."
"You paid for your trip, my darling," Medda said with a proud smile as she filled Kat's wine glass. "Our very own fine artist. I cannot wait to see what Paris holds for you."
Kat smiled and welcomed their love and praise…but her eyes twinkled sadly…
Jack squeezed her knee, their eyes meeting briefly.
"Any word?" she asked hesitantly as the others carried on with conversations and laughter.
Jack shook his head. "She doesn't talk about him or the club much."
"I don't blame her," Kat murmured, her hands playing around her glass. "I just hope…" she sighed.
Spot handed her a joint, his face understanding.
Medda sent them home with the rest of the beers and take-out, hugging each of them tightly as they boarded the elevator.
"Dinner again next week, fellas!"
"You got it, Medda," they said in unison, waving as the doors shut. She blew Jack a kiss.
Jack sprung off the couch the moment he got her text – it was 1:42 a.m.
"Jesus, where's the fire?" Spot grumbled as he rubbed his eyes and rolled over on the couch. Then he sat up, "Oh shit, she's here –"
"'Oh Rapunzel Rapunzel, let down your hair!'" Snoddy teased – he, Bumlets, Mush and Racetrack were playing video games. Spot threw a pillow at them and they laughed as they paused and put down the controllers. The smell of sugar and cake wafted from the kitchen where Mush was baking, a joint hanging from his lips. Specs was washing dishes.
"Mmm, she's gonna love this!" Mush said as Jack opened the window and stepped out onto the fire escape.
He saw her figure below and he lowered himself onto the next landing, trying to be as quiet as possible on the cold metal.
She climbed the ladder and he reached for her hand, pulling her up to the landing he crouched on. She wore a chunky black sweater over black leggings, her long hair pulled up and a backpack over her shoulder. The strap of a dress poked out from the zipper and he was glad he couldn't see what it looked like.
She looked relieved and happy to see him. And tired.
"It's officially your birthday," he said as he took her bag.
She pressed against him for a moment, kissing his neck. "And I'm exactly where I want to be."
She had the rose he'd given her in her hair.
"Happy birthday, Tiff!" Mush shouted as Tiffany climbed through the window.
"'ey beautiful!"
"Happy birthday!"
Tiffany looked up and gasped, seeing Mush holding a beautiful chocolate cake with candles on it. The guys gathered behind him and laughed warmly at her surprised expression, pleased with themselves.
"Oh my gosh, you guys," she smiled so big, Jack smiled too as he watched her. She blew out the candles and they shouted, hugging her from all angles. "You baked me a cake, Mush?"
"Of course, gorgeous," he kissed her cheek as he handed the cake to Spot. "So you know it's gonna be good."
She laughed and Spot rolled his eyes as he set it on the kitchen counter.
Jack didn't expect to feel so carefree as they handed out slices of cake and gave her the TV remote to choose a movie. She sat in front of the TV like a kid, her cake plate balanced on her knee.
"Oooo the Die Hard movies!" Bumlets said through his mouthful.
"So good," Specs agreed.
"Why thank you," Mush said triumphantly, smiling at his cake. Specs threw a pillow at him, the guys laughing.
"I love Bruce," Tiffany said as she flipped through the action movies. "He's hilarious."
"...you've met Bruce Willis?" Snoddy asked, completely forgetting about the bite of cake on his fork.
Tiffany giggled. "He loved my father's parties."
The guys glanced at each other and she laughed at them.
"I see you've been watching Bond movies –"
"Only the Connery," Racetrack said adamantly.
"You haven't seen the newer ones?" She asked, wheeling on the lot of them. "Daniel Craig is superb!"
"Change our minds then, Miss Hollywood," Spot challenged, winking at her.
She chose Spectre and sat between Spot and Jack.
"I dunno, he looks too pretty," Racetrack grumbled.
"Duh," Tiffany said as she took a big bite.
Jack eyed her and she laughed, shoving his shoulder. The guys gave each other looks – they noticed how comfortable they were with each other, how she let her guard down even more, the way their hands reached for each other. Jack glared at them as they snickered. Tiffany smiled at him, not missing a thing.
They loved the movie, and ate every bit of cake. They played cards until Tiffany's yawns outnumbered her laughs.
"Hit the hay, kid, 's what I'm doin'," Spot said as he laid out on the couch.
"Ya can't walk your ass next door to your own bed?" Racetrack said as he hit Spot's foot.
"An' miss out on your snorin'? Helps me sleep." Spot winked at Tiffany again, her head on the couch as she sat on the floor. She smiled at him.
Jack caught Spot's eye and an understanding passed between them; Spot was look-out in case anything should happen while she was here.
They guys said goodnight and she flopped onto Jack's bed. He laughed at her softly as he took off his shirt and climbed over her, ducking his head to hers before falling next to her.
Her hands roamed over him, his skin reacting to her touch as memories from earlier came back to him…he'd been replying it over and over in his head. But he could tell she was fading as her head sunk into his pillow. He laughed softly, "you're exhausted."
"You're exhausted," she accused sleepily, her lips smiling at the sound of his laugh.
"Sleep, Tiff. You've got practice in three hours."
Her brows knitted. "It's my birthday; time doesn't exist on birthdays. An' Jazzi said we could skip..."
He chuckled, "bullshit she said that."
She laughed and he squeezed his arms around her as she brought herself closer to his chest.
"Where's David?"
Jack stared at the wall. "Probably still at work."
"You miss him."
He shifted, not yet comfortable with her reading him so well. "I'm sure I'll see his mug in the morning."
"I hope so…" her voice faded. "I like them, the guys…your family."
He swallowed, emotion tightening his throat. "They like you, too."
Her breathing deepened, and he held her against him.
She left the next morning before the sun had brightened the sky and before David had come home, only sleeping for two hours. But she felt energized as she kissed Jack good morning and goodbye, knowing she'd see him again tonight. She laughed at her own struggle to leave him, his warm body as inviting as it had been in the private theater box…
"Tonight," he said huskily, his tongue grazing her lip as he kissed her once more on the fire escape. Boots waited for her below.
"Where to, my lady?" Boots asked as he pulled into the street.
Tiffany's brows furrowed at her phone, reading a text from Jazzi...
"Campus…Jazzi said she couldn't be there this morning, but now wants to meet there." She shrugged, "She's right, I need to practice every day."
"Bit of a ball-buster, huh?"
Tiffany laughed darkly, "totally. But one of us has to be."
Boots waved as he drove off, the campus still empty save for the students heading to the common areas for breakfast or to the library to study. Tiffany went to the dance hall, and decided to retrieve her bags from her locker while she waited for Jazzi…
In the dark locker room, she turned the corner and froze.
Dressed in black, he blended into the shadows. Cage smiled slowly at her, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.
Her heartbeat picked up and doubled.
"Happy birthday, angel," he said smoothly as he approached her, his steps echoing throughout the locker room. As much as she hated to admit it, his tone scared her.
He stopped in front of her and leaned forward, kissing her cheek. She watched him carefully as he smirked next to her face. Her eyes darted to the space behind him, sensing someone else was there with them.
"He won't come out if you behave," Cage murmured in her ear. The grin on his lips told her he enjoyed the fear in her eyes. She glared at him.
He sighed as he stepped back. "Either you think I'm the biggest idiot in New York, or you're really this stupid."
She waited. He reached into his coat and threw a stack of photos on the floor at her feet. Pictures of her and Jack in Washington Square, in Boots' taxi, standing outside the Lincoln Center...
Fuck.
"Louis, John, Jack, Billy Bob, whatever the fuck his name is – I'm tired of him. And I'm tired of seeing him with you."
She did her best to hide her emotions, but her palms began to sweat.
Cage leaned towards her, tilting his head to the side to see her face.
"Looks like Jazzi failed to deliver Mr. Wilks' warning. So, I'm done asking nicely. We're going to go for a little drive."
He walked by her without another word and she followed stiffly, his goon close on her heels as he clutched the photographs in his hand.
Outside the dance hall, Tiffany forgot how to breathe – Boots' cab was there, with a goon in the passenger seat and Jazzi in the back. She watched them with a cool emotionless gaze. Boots sat motionless in the driver's seat, his hands tense on the wheel.
Cage opened the door and Tiffany slid inside to the middle, Cage pressing against her side as he closed the door. The other bodyguard got into the black Escalade behind them.
Tiffany glanced at Jazzi. But she was looking out the window.
Boots' glanced carefully over his shoulder.
"Drive," Cage barked. "Central Park."
Boots commanded without a word. Tiffany's heart pounded in her chest.
"Cage, please –"
"Ah, ah, ah!" Cage turned on her, his hand lashing out to grip her face roughly. She closed her eyes in fear, his cold fingers hard on her. Jazzi's hand flinched on her thigh.
"You've missed your chance to beg for anyone. Do as we say, and you have nothing to fear, got it?"
He released her face and they rode in silence through the streets. Passers-by were laughing and enjoying the Christmas decorations, tourists snapped photos, people rushed to and from work. How many times did cars drive by with dark intent? Mobs, cartels, crime right before their eyes...in broad daylight.
Tiffany wondered what Boots was thinking, knowing that he had known Cage...she felt ashamed.
Tiffany could barely swallow, but she tried to calm herself as Boots meandered through Central Park. She felt grossly responsible, and felt Jazzi's anger bristling next to her.
"Stop," Cage commanded.
Boots parked under a bridge, the Escalade close behind them. This area of the park was empty of tourists and locals. Jazzi kept her stare focused on the window as the bodyguard behind them got out of the Escalade and stood outside Cage's door.
Tiffany inhaled sharply as the goon in the passenger seat pulled out a black 9mm and pointed it at Boots' side. Boots stayed calm, kept his hands on the wheel, his eyes peeled on the gun.
Cage turned to Tiffany.
"I'm going to make this crystal clear," he said slowly. "No room for misunderstanding. Mmm?"
Jazzi finally looked away from the window as Cage reached up and tucked a strand of Tiffany's hair behind her ear. She barely flinched.
Tiffany could hear her heartbeat in her ears. She looked at Cage evenly. She hoped her eyes hid the rising resentment she felt.
Cage's voice was light. "What freedom you had is now nonexistent. You don't move without my permission. And if you so much as think about contacting lover boy, I will have any one of them shot and dumped in the river. Lover boy, his friends...your friends..."
Jazzi tensed beside her.
Cage removed his sunglasses, his cold blue eyes sharp on them both. His pupils were dilated.
"Do not make the mistake of thinking I'm bluffing. No one will find them. No one will miss them. And it will be all your fault."
He turned his gaze to Boots. "I trust that you will deliver the message. Unless I need to carve it into your head."
Boots said nothing. He looked at Cage through his rearview mirror and his gaze was pure contempt. Cage laughed.
"Something tells me you've been at gunpoint before. Good lad." He turned back to Tiffany. "Aw, my sweet angel don't fret: I have a birthday present for you… Five of them, to be exact."
Tiffany looked at him. She felt cold all over.
Cage motioned at the window and the bodyguard outside opened the door. Cage held his hand out to Tiffany.
"Your phone."
Tiffany reached into her coat pocket. She placed her iPhone in his hand.
Cage put his sunglasses back on and handed the phone to the bodyguard as he stepped out of the cab, buttoning his suit jacket. His bodyguard threw the phone on the ground and curb-stomped it.
Cage leaned on the door, a cool smile on his lips as he held his hand out to Tiffany.
"I trust we understand each other a little better now."
Tiffany kept her gaze downcast as she took his hand and stepped out.
"Good. Now let's go, we don't want to keep your presents waiting."
Tiffany didn't dare to look at Boots as they drove away and left him – but she knew he'd wait until they were out of sight before removing his hands from the wheel.
Jazzi never left Tiffany's side as they were escorted to the club. In the car, Cage explained the amendments to Tiffany's position at the Black Diamond: she was now walking talking advertisement for their new call service – high end call girls for the rich and famous of New York City. She was to escort five different men to dinners, balls and events, all of whom would bid on her before the end of the month.
"I have a feeling which one will out bid the rest," Cage said with a smirk, his eyes glued to his phone. "He's been quite taken with you ever since Mr Wilks showed him your picture. And he happens to be in the family. You're a lucky girl, angel."
She glared at him and he took off his sunglasses to look her in the eye.
"Play nice, and those pricks keep their pathetic lives. Simple as that."
"You give me your word?" she asked evenly. The goon in the driver's seat tilted his head as he glanced at them in the mirror.
"Of course, angel," Cage said dully as he put his sunglasses back on, his attention moving back to his phone.
She was to be kept in a hotel room below the club, only permitted to leave for school, and escorted to and from campus. Jazzi was instructed to never leave her alone.
Once in the hotel room, Jazzi shut the door and the breath Tiffany had been holding escaped her loudly like a sob. The room spun, she felt weak at the knees, she lunged for the sparkling bathroom to retch in the toilet. This can't be happening.
She splashed her face in the sink, hoping to wake up in Jack's bed. The thought of him broke her, and she sobbed over the sink, covering her face with her hands. How could she do this to him? To the guys? She saw their faces in her memory, tears flooding her vision. How could she trust Cage to leave them alone?
What if she never saw him again…
Her heart broke: as long as she stayed away, he was safe. She had no choice but to trust the scumbag.
After fifteen minutes, Tiffany came out of the bathroom, seeing Jazzi at the window looking over the city. She turned as Tiffany crossed the room. The clean white linens and expensive furniture sickened her.
"Jazzi, what –"
Jazzi quickly held up her hand, stopping her. She held a finger to her lips, and Tiffany's brow furrowed.
"Sorry you had to miss practice this morning," Jazzi said evenly. "Tomorrow we'll practice the triple like we planned... I really think it will be the winning move for the showcase…"
While she spoke, she moved to the desk by the bed. She scribbled on a notepad.
"But I think we need to cut the splits. It doesn't quite fit the routine –"
She pointed to the note. Tiffany read it over her shoulder:
The room is bugged but so am I – Agent Martin is with us.
Tiffany exhaled shakily as sweet relief washed over her, but tried to compose herself quickly as Jazzi motioned for her to talk.
"I – I think we should scrap it too," Tiffany sniffed, meeting Jazzi's eyes and trying not to cry harder.
Jazzi held her at arm's length, her eyes sharp as she gauged her.
"You're going to be wonderful," Jazzi said, her hands reassuring as she squeezed her. "Why don't you shower…They're expecting you for dinner at six o'clock. Okay?"
Tiffany nodded and they hugged each other tightly. Jazzi burned the note in the bathroom with a lighter, washing the ashes down the sink drain as Tiffany washed, the echo of water on the tiles stifling Tiffany's sobs.
