The frantic drumming in her ears slowed gradually as Loretta watched the kind, shockingly assertive Charles stumbling out of his own surprised stupor. She didn't even want to think about going on the stage with Ben in a few minutes.
The fight call, the purpose of which was to make sure the actors felt safe around each other on the stage, had had the exact opposite effect. Like the nanny, who was saved from crashing onto the rocky shore underneath the lighthouse stairs merely by the detective's enraged grip around the wrist he had wrung behind her back, Loretta had remained on the landing thanks to her own hand being tangled, according to Oliver's direction, in Ben's coat lapel when the actor had tried to push her towards the stairs. She was certain that Ben would play the scene according to direction, but she would not feel comfortable around him tonight.
"Are you all right?" Charles asked, climbing the stairs to where she was sitting.
Loretta patted her racing heart. "Yeah," she reassured him, sniffling. She was convinced that it wasn't her shove that had put an end to her and Ben's confrontation. If Charles hadn't arrived, he might have still been pestering her. But her gratitude had not yet taken form enough to be put into words.
"You didn't have to do that," she said softly, peering at the spot where Charles had punched their colleague. "What if he can't go on now?" Admittedly, Loretta was less concerned about Ben's well-being in this moment than about Oliver's show going on as planned.
Shrugging off his precious protective instincts, Charles attempted to lighten the mood. "I'm sure I didn't punch him that hard. I haven't punched anyone in decades!"
"Come on," with a warm smile he offered her a hand, which Loretta took gratefully, getting up from the lighthouse stairs.
"Thanks." Loretta made a mental note to properly thank Charles after the show for standing up for her, even though she abhorred violence. She didn't know the socially awkward but optimistic man very well, even though they had been working together for months and he was a pal of Oliver's. As far as she knew he didn't have any bone to pick with Ben, which was why it was all the more astounding that he should take this kind of drastic action.
Covering the intense blush of mortification on her face, Loretta slipped past him. "I'd better go and fix my face again. Not much time left."
"Yeah. Sure," Charles agreed tactfully, staying behind on the stage. "You do that."
Oliver rapped briskly on the door and slipped in as soon as he was invited. On his way to check on his leading man, he was allowed one delightful detour.
Tonight was a special night for them all, but for some even more than others. Loretta wasn't the only one embarking on her debut tonight, but hers was certainly the most deserved and the longest overdue. Oliver, who had lived through numerous opening nights but never one quite so significant, almost couldn't wait to see her step into the spotlight. It was a gift the two of them could give each other – the opportunity and the talent, and he wanted to let Loretta know how highly he valued her participation and how much he truly, wholeheartedly hoped for their show to be a hit – for the two of them, most of all.
Loretta was sitting at her dressing room mirror and tinkering with a lipstick tube when he entered. She looked sublime. If he had had to describe her the way she looked in her smart costume and lustrous stage make-up, words would have failed him.
"Just checking if you're all set," Oliver mentioned, side-stepping his stammering admiration and assuming the level-headed role of the director he was obliged to play for just a few more minutes, until the curtain went up.
Loretta smiled a sparkling smile at his reflection in the mirror, straightening up eagerly and pushing the lipstick away. She had taken off her coat, which left her in the sheer white blouse of the nanny, which was meant to be very light so that she wouldn't get too hot during the play. It had another particular feature; namely, leaving her arms visible in the right kind of light, which the light bulbs around her dressing room mirror provided. Oliver frowned with crippling concern as his eyes fixed with instant unease on the long dark red marks on Loretta's upper arms.
"What's that?" he asked, more sharply than he had meant to.
Loretta's eyes flashed with alarm as she followed his gaze down to her sleeves to a sight she couldn't have witnessed from that angle but what she must have known was there. "Oh, it's nothing." She was quick to perform a weak shrug, but she chose to hide her betraying earnest eyes from him. "I… I stumbled into a bookshelf."
Thoroughly unconvinced, Oliver quickly crossed the room to where she was sitting, reaching out but not quite bold enough to touch her. He fought back the urge to guide her towards him and to coax out an explanation; Loretta appeared to have been manhandled enough. "But this doesn't look like a bookshelf," he mentioned carefully. Unable to catch her gaze, he undisguisedly squinted at the glaring evidence of his star's exquisite fragility. "This looks like… Like you've been assaulted."
At this Loretta jumped around to face him, dazzling him with the loud elegance of her stage look. "It's nothing, really," she promised him quickly, putting on a notable display of nonchalance. "I bruise easily."
"So you've told me," Oliver muttered severely, having heard that explanation before and now seeing it proven true with urgent accumulating concern.
Loretta rolled her eyes helplessly at Oliver's persistence. "I was mugged that day," she repeated her mantra, wringing her hands. For someone who could convince him from the first moment on of her tragic, possessive love towards make-believe children, she was a poor liar in their intensely sincere privacy. "They pinned me against a street light."
Oliver winced at the unwelcome mental image. "I'm not saying you're a bad actress," he said, dismissing Loretta's elaborate story. "I just want to help you."
Loretta's troubled features calmed into an adoring smile. At least, Oliver wanted to think that's what she thought of him and not that she found him ridiculous for fussing over her when he was truly so worried about her. Oliver had thought many times of rewriting the ending of the play on account of how he couldn't stand to watch her shuffling around so vehemently on that death trap of a platform they called the Pickwick lighthouse.
"You're already working on making New York a safer place with your podcast," Loretta quipped. "And you can't make me less clumsy than I am."
Oliver's stern comment was cut short by KT hollering, "Ten minutes to curtain!" as she marched down the backstage corridor.
Oliver paused, and the pressing reality of the moment caught up with him. As the responsible director's side of him took over again, he was forced to put off all of his questions until after the show. At his party he would make sure to find a moment, or with any luck longer, to have a close conversation with Loretta and make sure she was safe.
Reassured by this plan, he lightly touched her arms, gaining Loretta's full trusting attention. "Are you going to be all right tonight?"
Her eyes sparkling once again with passionate, eager enthusiasm, Loretta nodded. "Yeah, sure."
His heart swelling suddenly with enormous fulfilment at her imminent Broadway debut, Oliver wanted urgently to tell Loretta how proud he was of her, but doubted the time announced by KT would be enough for that. So leaving that, too, until after the show, he gave her hands an excited, although carefully gentle squeeze and wished her well with all his heart, "Well then. Break a leg."
Still reeling from the shock and still wearing the old-fashioned heavy raincoat, the out-of-work nanny watched as the equally out-of-work manager stumbled back from the horrid sight on the stretcher. His hand over his mouth and his eyes full of tears, Dickie left the medics to bustle around his brother's body in the rapidly emptying theatre hall.
Peering warily at the flashes of terrified eyes and a bloodied mouth that were visible to her from between the medics, Loretta crossed over to Dickie's side and gently ran her fingers down his arm. She wanted so desperately to say something to make his pain easier to bear, but could only wince at her own nagging guilt and unshakable shame of ending things with Ben on an angry note.
Dickie recognized who was standing beside him belatedly and he turned to her with a tearful, hopeless attempt at a smile. As soon as Loretta opened her arms, he crashed into her offered embrace, his whole body rocking with grief. Loretta found disgusting joy in this opportunity as Dickie clung to her.
Cradling her precious boy, she thought of how horrible tonight must have been for Dickie, how confusing it must have been to lose someone who had been next to him for his whole life, and how lonely he would be from now on.
She didn't feel nearly as lonely as she had used to. It was partly because of the show and constantly being in a group of people, partly – and she wanted to think it was mostly – because of getting to see Dickie, but she couldn't deny, not to herself, not secretly, that it was also and most importantly because she could see Oliver every day at work. She couldn't bear to think that all of that could be over now.
It was only when the medics started moving the stretcher off the stage that Dickie let go of Loretta and explained timidly, "Look, I've gotta go with them to the hospital."
Loretta nodded her understanding bravely, already regretting the loss of his nearness but aware that her feelings could certainly wait until after Dickie had come to grips with his brother's death.
"Be strong," she whispered after him when Dickie turned to follow the medics. Loretta herself swept away to her dressing room to get changed and, hopefully, escape this mess of a night.
She had barely gotten in the door when Howard arrived, informing her of the most peculiar of news – Oliver's opening night party was still on.
Loretta was late to the party. She had done her best to change out of her costume quickly and to get a cab at a time of night where they were all crammed with clients. She had not trusted herself to take the subway and make it to the right place tonight even though Oliver had texted everyone the address. And then, seeing as there was only one elevator working, she had stood back to let other people, probably residents or guests who were in a bigger hurry than her, to go first until there was no longer anyone to wait for.
She entered the apartment timidly, after some people who, thankfully, took it upon themselves to knock and get invited in by Howard. Overcome by a bout of insecurity as she hovered listlessly in the foyer of quite possibly the saddest opening night party in history, Loretta decided she would rather look around than mingle.
She wouldn't call it snooping as she peeked into the large set-like living room and instead took the other route through the place. Keeping out of sight, she furtively took in the apartment that was so incredibly Oliver Putnam that it was thoroughly unimaginable that someone other than Oliver could live here – although she had heard that he'd been married. Having never been there before, Loretta lingered fondly in the empty hallway, marvelling at how everything in there was so exactly reminiscent of its owner.
In the kitchen she ran into a bulldog lounging lazily in her bed. The dog looked old and friendly, and when Loretta approached her, her backside started wiggling and she raised her head eagerly against Loretta's hand. Although she was feeling a little bit like a thief while petting someone's dog without asking them, the dog's fond reaction made Loretta furtively feel a little better. After all, if his keen attentiveness towards her was any indication, Oliver would probably give her permission to do nearly anything if she asked.
Loretta risked an unconcealed smile at the thought of her director, getting lost in a memory of him confidently holding her hand as he guided her around the freshly finished set for the first time, until a relievedly spirited, "Oh! You're here!" startled her up from the floor beside the happy bulldog.
"Yeah," she stammered, explaining her tardiness as she tugged distractedly at one of her unravelling braids. "I just- had to change and… you know."
"Yeah," Oliver was quick to accept it all with a comprehensive nod. "I'm so glad you decided to come." His initial sincere delight dimmed into serious gratitude as he looked deeply into her eyes. "Really."
Cautiously Loretta averted her gaze, but gave an appreciative hum. She was afraid of looking into Oliver's eyes for too long. After all, he had said no dating the cast. She remembered his declaration from their first rehearsal day very well.
"Now, I want everyone to pay attention!" he had said. "I'm going to lay out some ground rules that I'd like everyone to follow, so that we can have a nice collaboration on this show. Okay? The first rule of show business! – that I have set for myself and do recommend to you – no dating the cast. It always raises unpleasant tensions and we can't work if everyone is not a hundred percent in the game. Now, dating is not permissible, but I will mock you, exhaustively, so I want you to think about that very carefully before you take any steps. All right? Great. Now, next order of business! – arriving on time." He had taken a moment between explaining stage directions and rehearsal schedules to reassure an awfully worried-looking Howard that he would not be breaking up anyone already dating before production began.
On top of that it made Loretta miserable to see him so downcast. This was supposed to be his big night, their big night. They were supposed to be having champagne and not hiding out in the kitchen – at least not hiding out for this reason. Champagne would taste bitter now with what had happened throughout the last hour.
Oliver shifted a little closer, apparently determined not to let even a speck of uncomfortable tension slither between them tonight. "That's Winnie," he generously introduced the bulldog, and Loretta gave a small smile. "She's a little shy, so she's hiding out over here. Doesn't really feel like having a party either."
Loretta had a creeping but convinced feeling he was no longer talking about the dog.
"Are you gonna join the others?" he asked, avoiding calling the unusual gathering a wake.
Loretta took a shuddering, calming breath to control the deep painful timidity in her voice before she replied, "In a minute."
Oliver nodded silently, and an expressive, resonant silence stretched between them as he studied Loretta's distressed features. He seemed to be in no hurry to tear himself away from her and to return to his other guests. Instead he reached over and gently touched her arms, the way he so often did, disarming her and shattering her carefully built composure.
"Are you okay?"
Loretta gave in to his well-meaning interrogation in a thin tone, which soon ventured out of her control and into hyperventilation. "I was waiting in the wings, you know. And I- I saw him fall. And, I mean, I've never seen anyone die before. It was- uh- it was- 'twas so- so horrible."
"Yeah. I know." Grimly but with calmness that surprised even himself Oliver was somehow able in her presence to keep a clear mind and his stoical serenity. He watched Loretta's panicky face twitch and tinge with embarrassment about her own anxious vulnerability, and he stepped against her, offering his support in a hug.
Loretta reciprocated immediately, throwing her arms around his shoulders and clinging to him quite like her son had clung to her an hour earlier. Finally, she didn't have to be strong any more. She released a strained breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding but still struggled determinedly to control the tears of stress and disappointment that threatened to overcome her.
It had always been so easy to hug Oliver, even before she had started deliberately seeking his closeness – as much as she could get away with without embarrassing either of them. It was a great help that Oliver always seemed to want to wrap his arms around her, too, and not just when she was in need of comforting, which Oliver took upon himself with eager devotion, but also when she was happy. And he didn't do it to shush her giddy joy but instead to bask in it together, to multiply it.
As soon as Loretta laid eyes upon the grand piano in the middle of the living room, she was completely entranced by it and by the dream of a home filled with music. Without even glancing around to see if anyone would mind, she slid naturally onto the bench and lifted the lid. She caressed the keys with open fondness, imagining how Oliver must play them, and let an old love song take flight from the hooded chest of miracles.
The next few minutes passed in an unbelievable haze of blissful hope. She took a daring leap of faith and thought she saw Oliver smile – not with a sneer but with incredulous delight.
And then the dream was shattered.
A delicate web of stinging disappointment strew across her body and Loretta felt as if she was going to break into sharp hardened shards of disenchantment. Her tender suggestion justifiably forgotten, Oliver turned from her to welcome the bane of her last four months back into the troupe.
As Ben made his way through the cast and crew, with each approaching step the ghost of the dead man became more real and more menacing. When he turned towards her, Loretta struggled to stand up, crippled by the ludicrous dread of somehow being hurt by this man who had come back from the dead in front of all of these people.
After Ben hissed at her, she was sure that Oliver would guess the answer to his burning question that Loretta had managed to avoid. But seeing that the director failed to comment on even poor protective Charles's evasiveness, she had to concede that he was too preoccupied with restoring his show, his dream, to take notice of anything else. Loretta had to remind herself that it was also her dream to perform on Broadway, even if it meant going back to Oliver's show rule.
Clasping her bitter torn dream and feeling trapped once again, Loretta stomped out of the roller-coaster of a party, and berated herself for wondering, even for a moment, if Dickie was experiencing a similar kind of disappointment.