The wall of approaching whispers snapped me out of my daze. In my peripheral, I noted a group of teens. Eyes starstruck, phones flung in the air, they looked harmless, but my gut told me to run. So I did. I charged for the door and hid away from the wannabe paparazzi in the lobby.
Isabella and her team arrived later in the afternoon. She had two back-to-back interviews at two and three fifteen, a soundcheck at four thirty, then makeup and hair. The doors were scheduled to open at six, the screening itself was set for seven. After that, a thirty-minute live set and a Q&A session with the producers and artists would take place. I was part of the panel and the idea of other people, specifically the press, asking questions unsettled me.
By five, the crowd outside the theater had grown to apocalyptic proportions. The Jay Brodie PR team was going for a kill with this campaign, but I never would’ve imagined that this many would actually show up.
I watched bits and pieces of the soundcheck from the lobby while trying to verify last-minute additions to the guest list with Linda.
“You need to take a break,” she whispered, her palm covering the screen of my iPad. “Did you have lunch?”
“Yes.” I reached for the clipboard she was holding. An iced coffee and a handful of almonds isn’t going to cut it, girlfriend, my stomach bellowed. When she gripped it tight, I asked, “Can I see that again?”
Linda didn’t budge. “I know this film is your baby and you want to make sure tonight is perfect, but you need to relax.” She jerked the clipboard away. “Please go upstairs and take a break. We have a long night ahead of us. My girls will handle the red carpet attendees and all the press check-ins. It’s not your job. You’re the producer. Your job is done. Now you get to sit back and watch.”
Producer. The word hung in the air between us, exotic and glamorous.
“If someone had told me eight months ago that I was going to give birth to a nonprofit documentary, I would’ve laughed in that person’s face.”
“Oh, dear.” A cunning smile touched Linda’s lips. “Life tends to throw us all sorts of opportunities. I danced ballet for six years until one day, a new door opened. I took a leap of faith and never looked back. There’s nothing else I’d rather do than what I’m doing right now.” She motioned at the people behind the glass doors.
Linda’s confession shocked me. She was wearing a knee-length pencil skirt and a suit jacket, not exactly artsy attire.
“Ballet? Really?” I tried to imagine L.A.’s biggest PR shark in a tutu, doing pliés and pirouettes. The image was downright disturbing. “You never told me.”
“I prefer to keep that part of my life to myself.” She laughed.
The music stopped. Sparse claps rang out from the auditorium. The soundcheck was over, and anxious voices along with some of the newly arrived VIPs moved to the lobby.
Then my heart stuttered and began a slow descent to the floor. Across the way, I spotted Janet’s silver hair among the cluster of bodies. Craning my neck in the direction of the group to make sure my sight wasn’t playing tricks on me, I reached for the clipboard Linda was holding. “Let me see that?”
“Cassy, I told you that you should take a little break,” she protested.
I skimmed through the names of the guests, unsure of whom I was actually searching for. “How come you didn’t tell me Frank’s parents were going to be here?”
“It was a last minute thing.” Linda gave me a tight-lipped smile.
I turned around and noted Billy’s bright colored ruffle shirt. He looked like a watered-down version of Alice Cooper. The only thing missing was the cane and a top hat. The man was obviously a great showmanship role model.
Isabella was in the center of the gathering. A few phone cameras flashed, then everyone started to slowly disperse. I saw her then—the woman from the photo that someone who wished to remain anonymous had emailed me a few weeks ago. She stood next to Janet. Baggy pants and short hair. It couldn’t have been a coincidence.
A blend of panic and disappointment rammed up my throat. I swallowed past the tightness and took a deep breath. As if on cue, Janet separated from the crowd and ushered the woman over to me.
I was a ball of nerves when they approached us.
“Such a wonderful theater,” Janet started in a sweet, breathy voice, her gaze bouncing between me, Linda, and the coffered ceiling.
“Thank you. I didn’t know you were coming.”
She dodged my statement. “I don’t think you’ve met Alisha.”
“No.” I willed myself to smile at the woman. Up close she looked much older than in the photo. Although the quality of the image wasn’t the best. I couldn’t even tell where it’d been taken. The two were sitting somewhere. On a bench? A couch maybe? “I don’t believe so.”
A hand was extended to me. “Very nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot of great things about you,” the woman spoke, her tone soft.
“Really? You have?” Taken aback, I slid my palm against hers and shook it. My mother raised me to be a polite person, even during questionable moments. Like the one right now.
The madness unfolding both outside and inside the theater was unfathomable. The noise, the cameras, the staff running around, the fans pushing against the barricade. I couldn’t wrap my head around the chaos or around the fact that a woman who’d apparently been spending time with my ex-boyfriend was here. The question of why danced on the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t get a
