Winter's Spell, page 31
Still, Tessa was disappointed. She’d wanted to do something really over-the-top, and it was clearly not happening.
She met with Joy and her two assistant directors, her stage manager, her lighting designer, her sound board technician, and her head of crew, and they’d brainstormed for two hours, but the best they could come up with was some version of the blank stage concept.
The afternoon was eaten up with a long conference call to the grants committee who had been more than fair in extending their sympathies to her for the situation, but who had been equally committed to shuttering the entire production. They had no confidence that Tessa would be able to do more than a staged reading at this point, which wasn’t what the grant was for.
Tessa and Joy worked their asses off in that meeting to convince them that she was working on a new concept, and that everyone was on board, and rehearsals were going swimmingly.
At least the last part was true. The entire cast, except for maybe two people, was off book at this point, which had to be some kind of record for any production. The blocking for the play was also done. Everything had been going according to schedule until the destruction of their costumes and sets that weekend.
Tessa’s heart was pounding by the end of her pitch, and she thought she was going to puke while waiting for the committee chair to get back to her. The chair called her a half hour after the meeting ended to say that the committee was willing to give them one more chance as long as she could submit a new concept to them for the play by the end of the week.
Great, thought Tessa, all she needed was a brand-new concept and theme for the play, to be completely re-imagined and written up in two days, when the original concept had taken her six months to perfect—and even longer to research.
Luckily, rehearsals distracted her until dinner time. Roxy had already put in an order for some takeout, and they picked it up on the way to Tessa’s apartment.
They stuffed their faces in near-silence, both of them ravenous. Finally, Tessa felt full and she stopped stuffing pasta and garlic bread in her mouth.
She grinned at Roxy, “I guess we were both pretty hungry, huh?”
Roxy was using a finger to get the very last bit of vodka sauce out of her takeout container. She looked up at Tessa, “Hmm?”
Tessa laughed. “I said, we were both starving, huh?”
Roxy licked the sauce off her fingers and sighed with pleasure. “Indeed, my lady.” She blew a kiss with her greasy-fingered hand and then waved lasciviously at her.
Tessa giggled. How good it was to laugh with Roxy. It was a relief to feel so comfortable with her after a long and frustrating day.
Roxy had attended part of the rehearsals, but she’d been with Chayo the whole time. They’d been sitting a few rows behind Tessa and Joy, whispering occasionally, but Tessa hadn’t been able to hear what they were saying.
“So, what was all that whispering about with Chayo at rehearsal?” Tessa got up and poured them both a generous glass of some pinot noir, her red wine of choice.
Roxy took a swig of the wine and set it down again. She looked pleased as punch.
“Chayo and I have been talking about the concept for the play,” said Roxy. She lifted her eyebrows hopefully. “Wanna hear it?”
Tessa was intrigued. “I want nothing more than to hear this concept.”
Roxy paused for drama before throwing open her arms. “Mermaids, baby!”
“Mermaids?”
“Yes,” said Roxy. “Think about it. You could set the action right here on Cape Cod and all the ye old whaling days stuff from the museum in town. That little museum is chockablock full of dioramas and stuff that could be props. And if you did a Cape Code maritime theme, there’s probably other museums or historical societies that might have other stuff you could just borrow—”
“And local theaters, too,” added Tessa, warming up to the idea. Why hadn’t she thought of it herself? The idea was right there in front of her. Her grant was all about making Shakespeare accessible to as many people as possible, and what could possibly be more accessible than setting the play right in people’s backyards? “Roxy, you’re a genius!”
Roxy blushed with pleasure.
They spent the next hour brainstorming ideas and adding to the list that Roxy and Chayo had already started in their conversation earlier. The more they talked about it, the more enthusiastic Tessa felt about it. It was a great idea—much better than anything she’d come up with, and fairly inexpensive as long as they got some locals to help.
“That is a brilliant idea. But do you think Rhoda will want to help us?” said Tessa finally. “She seems a bit…cold. Prickly, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh yeah,” said Roxy, waving Tessa’s concerns away with her hand. “I thought that too. But she’s a real peach. She’s just got that ice-cold vibe. Not unlike someone else we know around here.”
Tessa laughed. “Yeah, Lisa is like that.”
“Ice queen extraordinaire,” said Roxy. “Is that what you like? Cuz you know I’m not like that.”
“First of all, my dear Roxana,” said Tessa with a smile, feeling a bit of a buzz now from the wine that she was drinking just a touch too quickly, “I like you. I love you. I love the whole package. I don’t need an ice queen in my life right now. Or ever.”
She leaned over and kissed Roxy on the lips before sitting back in her chair and sipping some more wine.
“And second?”
“And second,” she continued, “Lisa isn’t always like that. What I liked about her was when that ice queen outside cracked wide-open and she showed me she could be funny. Vulnerable. Definitely a weird sense of humor.”
“Is that what that is?” said Roxy. “Because I wasn’t sure when she suggested I should actually be in a production of a Shakespeare play. On stage. Cuz that is not my vibe.”
Roxy said the words like it was a big joke, but Tessa couldn’t help feeling hurt.
“It’s my vibe, though,” she said. “Maybe Lisa was joking, but I think it’s a great idea.”
Roxy, who had been rocking on the back two legs of the chair, sat forward now, all four chair legs on the floor with a thud. She leaned toward Tessa, elbows on the table, holding her wine glass and taking a sip before speaking again.
“Honey, I know you think I’m great at a lot of things—which I don’t deny—but acting is not one of them.” Again, Roxy was trying to make light of things, but it didn’t sit right with Tessa.
“Roxy, you are great at a lot of things, and I think you could be great at Perdita, too,” she said, trying not to sound too bossy or whiny. “Plus, you’d really be helping out the play. And me,” she added, trying to keep her tone light like Roxy’s.
But Roxy’s brows knitted at those words, and she set down her wine glass. She sat back in her chair, arms folded over her chest.
“Tessa, please, listen to me.” Roxy sighed. “I don’t like being on stage. I tried it in high school, and I didn’t like it. I…I don’t have an easy time reading plays. Or memorizing stuff.”
“That’s okay,” said Tessa brightly. “We can work on it together. And Perdita’s part is small, you’ll see.” Tessa didn’t understand why Roxy was making such a big deal about it. Didn’t she want to help Tessa? She’d come up with a really great concept for the play, so she’d read the play and knew what it was about. She’d been to lots of rehearsals. And beyond that, hadn’t she told Tessa about how she worked as a tour guide in Salem? Roxy had lots of public speaking experience. “Being on stage isn’t that different from doing your tours,” she added encouragingly.
Roxy’s expression grew cloudier. “It’s not the same at all. Why are you pushing me on this? I don’t want to do it.”
“Why are you being this way?” The words popped out of Tessa’s mouth before she could stop them. “I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t understand—”
“Exactly,” said Roxy, her eyes bright with tears now. “You don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like to…to…to be dyslexic and be dating a Shakespeare expert.” She was crying now, and Tessa’s heart was exploding in her chest.
How could she have been so insensitive, so clueless?
“Roxy, I’m sorry,” she said, but it was too late.
“It’s just like with the brewery job. You think you know what I want better than I do,” said Roxy, the words cutting Tessa to the core.
Before Tessa could react, Roxy was already up and putting on her coat. “I’ve gotta go,” she said. “And no, I haven’t read the play, so don’t ask me to be in it. I can’t do that.”
Just like that, Roxy was gone, and Tessa was left alone in the apartment, the quiet jazz medley playing on her little Bluetooth speaker as if everything were fine and dandy. She turned off the music. She couldn’t listen to it, tinkling away all smooth and sexy while she ugly-cried and threw away the remains of dinner.
Finally, Tessa let herself flop onto the couch and have a good cry. She sobbed into a pillow until her mascara ran and she remembered these weren’t actually her pillows—they were the pillows of a rented apartment for a play that was a hair’s breadth away from being a disaster.
She was exhausted and overwhelmed. The events of the last four days were simply too much. How could any one human being deal with so much in so little time? Even without the drama at the theater, there was her relationship with Roxy, or what was left of it. They’d gone from dating to sleeping together to fighting magical monsters together to fighting each other in less than a week.
Tessa wanted nothing more than to blame Roxy, but she knew deep down that this was a problem of her own making. She’s been carrying a torch for Roxy for nine long years, and it was hard not to build her up in her mind as this perfect person, capable of doing anything.
And they’d talked about this. Roxy had told her she was dyslexic, but had Tessa really stopped to consider what that meant for Roxy? No. Clearly, she hadn’t taken Roxy’s confession completely seriously—that maybe it wasn’t possible for Roxy to enjoy reading the play that meant everything to her.
Tessa felt like a class-A jerk, especially after Roxy had come up with an amazing idea to save the production and help her out.
They would find someone else to play Perdita, even if Tessa had to play her herself—or use a blow-up doll like she’d seen used for Bianca once in an off-off-Broadway production of The Taming of the Shrew. The thought made her smile.
There would always be another solution. She checked her phone and there was nothing there from Roxy. Her heart hurt all over again. She wanted Roxy—needed Roxy in her arms. She needed to know she was forgiven. But she didn’t want to cross any more lines that night.
Before bed, she sent Roxy the briefest and most heartfelt message she could manage, and then went to sleep. Exhaustion hit her like a truck, and she was out immediately, her last thought of Roxy, hoping she would forgive her.
Chapter Thirty-three—Roxy
Roxy woke up the next morning feeling rumpled and sweaty. She hadn’t even had that much wine to drink, but there was something about red wine that always gave her a headache.
She blinked in the sunlight and her sleep-addled brain wondered, briefly, why the curtains were pulled aside. She liked to sleep in total darkness and never opened the curtains next to the bed.
Memories of the night before filtered into her consciousness, and she groaned. She’d acted like a complete baby.
In the logical light of day, Roxy knew that Tessa had not meant anything insidious or mean by her comments. She was enthusiastic and dedicated to her work, and she wanted Roxy to be a part of it. This was her way of including Roxy in her passion project, and Roxy, instead of calmly explaining to her that reading and learning a part in a Shakespeare play was not possible for her due to her disability, she’d completely lost her shit.
And walked out on her.
Who did that?
Immature kids, that’s who. It was dawning on her that maybe she hadn’t had any serious relationships in the past because she wasn’t being serious about those relationships. To be honest, she’d enjoyed flitting from one relationship to another because it never meant having to make up after a fight; it never meant considering how the other person might be feeling or what they might need or want; and it definitely never meant really talking about her dyslexia or any of her insecurities to another person—insecurities that had, if she was honest, kept her from returning to school or pursuing better-paying jobs. Casual relationships were casual because they didn’t go deep.
But she wanted to go deep with Tessa. And if Tessa didn’t know things about her that were important, then whose fault was that?
Roxy’s.
She stretched in bed and rubbed her face. These were Big Thoughts to be having so early in the morning.
She glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it was after nine. She’d been asleep for nearly twelve hours. It was not “early in the morning” by nearly any standard.
“Oh my God” she mumbled. She picked up her phone and saw a message from Tessa flashing on the preview screen from around eleven the night before. She was probably thinking Roxy was ignoring her again and being even more immature.
Before Roxy could unlock the screen and respond to the message, she heard the clatter of dishes or pots and pans—something like that—in the kitchen.
She froze.
Someone was in her apartment.
All sorts of crazy scenarios filled her head—someone had broken in and was searching her kitchen for the best pot to kill her with. Wait, who killed someone with a pot? No, maybe it was an animal. She’d left a window open and an animal had gotten in. Crap.
Just as Roxy was starting to think she could use the bedside lamp as a weapon, a familiar face appeared in the doorway of the bedroom.
“Hello, friend!”
Mo!
“Oh my God, you’re back!” Roxy hooted with joy and jumped out of bed, where she’d been sleeping in nothing but her underwear and undershirt, and threw herself onto Mo.
Mo hugged her fiercely and even lifted her feet off the floor an inch. “Of course, I’m back, you silly git.”
“Put me down, you loveable weirdo,” said Roxy. Mo obediently set her on the floor and Roxy took a step back, eyebrow cocked. “Why do you have a British accent?”
“Do I?” Mo looked genuinely surprised.
“Yes,” said Roxy. “You most definitely do.”
Mo shrugged. “I popped over to the Thames for a bit to visit my sister and decided I’d like to see London for a day. Must’ve picked it up over there.” She cleared her throat and spoke again, this time sounding exactly like she’d sounded like before. “There. Is that better?”
Roxy nodded. “You sound like your old self,” she said. Mermaid magic was something else.
“Ahhh! I can’t believe you’re actually here. I missed you so much,” said Roxy.
Over breakfast, Roxy filled Mo in on everything that’d happened while she was gone, finishing with her concept for the play and her fight with Tessa about why she couldn’t play Perdita. Mo didn’t really understand what dyslexia was, but she listened with sympathy to her story.
“You will make it up with Tessa,” said Mo. “Of course you will.”
“I hope so,” said Roxy.
“I like your idea for the play very much,” said Mo. “And I have an idea of my own for Perdita, too.”
She paused and gave Roxy a meaningful look, her eyebrows knitting together in consternation. “But why are you here, Roxy? By yourself? Where is Tessa?”
“I, uh…well, I might have walked out on her last night.”
“Roxy!”
Roxy summarized for Mo what had happened between her and Tessa the night before. Mo sighed when she’d finished.
“Oh, Roxy. Why are you still here? You must go and find Tessa and kiss and make up. And I will do the same with Lisa. She must be very sad that her assistant has been gone all this time.”
Roxy nodded, reflecting that in fact Lisa had been out of sorts for the last week, more irritable…honestly, more like the Lisa Collins who had shown up unannounced at Pride of Ptown at the start of January than the Lisa Roxy had gotten used to seeing around the theater, humming to herself or laughing while running lines with Mo in the greenroom. That was cute. Lisa and Mo were friends.
They left the apartment together, separating after a few blocks. Mo headed to the theater and Roxy walked briskly to Tessa’s apartment, hoping to catch Tessa at home still.
She was in luck, as the door to Tessa’s apartment swung open mere seconds after she knocked.
“Oh, Roxy, I’m so sorry.”
“Tessa, I’m a jerk.”
They spoke at the same time, and in no time at all, they were in one another’s arms, kissing and hugging and apologizing.
Eventually, they found themselves in Tessa’s warm little kitchen, enjoying hot tea, which was starting to grow on Roxy. She was especially partial to a tropical green tea Tessa had introduced her to.
“I should have told you sooner that I was never going to read the play. I guess I thought you’d figured that out the night I fell asleep trying to watch it,” said Roxy. She still felt embarrassed about how she’d acted. “I don’t like talking about being dyslexic. It reminds me too much of bad grades in school and college. But I want us to be open with one another. About everything.”
