“You seem agitated.”
“I’m always agitated.”
Glancing away, I tuck my hair behind my ears. “Well, maybe this will be a good scene to practice. Your character is in a state of despair after all.” Makes sense that Mr. Hamlin wanted to pivot.
Lex doesn’t respond.
We take our places when Mr. Hamlin returns. The strobes beam hot pink for a moment, the lighting techs still working out the kinks, but then they shift to dark red and moody. There’s another character in this bit—the duke, played by my friend Jameson. He’s the antagonist in the show, the jagged wedge between Christian and Satine.
The song begins as half the background dancers sweep across the stage with flashy footwork, and Lex morphs into his role with ease.
Passion.
Pain.
Jealousy.
Jameson charges toward me with a predatory gait, a possessive power play. His movements are forceful, his grip firm, as we perform a combative tango, and I showcase my reluctance with well-timed pullbacks. Lex watches from the other side of the stage, his energy a toxic mix of heat and envy before beginning his heartrending solo of “Roxanne.”
He watches us dance, pacing the stage with frenzied steps, falling to his knees, pulling his hair in agony. My eyes are on him, never on Jameson, as I’m dipped and twirled and torn in two. Lex shouts my name in two tortured syllables as the music crescendos, severing the volatile dance between me and Jameson.
The song transitions, an interplay of soft chords and melancholy notes. I watch the light move, illuminating Lex as I break away from Jameson’s grasp and rush toward my counterpart, my heart tap-dancing in my chest, my feet caressing the stage with the grace of a ballerina. Our backdrop fades as a single spotlight isolates us from the danger and chaos.
I stop in front of him.
Lex’s eyes glow with crystalline pain, his body trembling as he reaches out for me. We stand there, inches apart, the air thickening, oxygen whooshing from my lungs.
This is usually the part where Mr. Hamlin yells “Cut!”
But he doesn’t, not today. He allows the moment to unfold to completion as Lex cups my face with both palms, a desperate, gentle touch. The melody is a cocoon, his hands on my cheeks a blanket. My breath catches as I stare into his eyes, and he stares back, and the moment stretches like a fragile thread of suspended time.
He leans in.
My legs shake.
I grip his biceps to keep myself from buckling. My lashes flutter, eyelids close. I feel his warm breath skim across my face as I wait for the moment I’ve been both dreading and dreaming of at the same time.
Lex presses a quick, close-lipped kiss to my mouth.
And then he pulls back.
A chill sweeps through me the second he’s gone, and my eyes shoot open. My body wavers with no anchor now that he’s standing nearly three feet away.
That was it?
I don’t know why I was expecting more. He didn’t break the script.
But I guess…part of me wanted him to.
“That wasexceptional,” Mr. Hamlin calls out, looking newly giddy as the brassy lights flicker back on and the music tapers off. He skips toward us, but it’s more than a skip. It’s a frolic.
I clear my throat as I pull my hair over both shoulders in an attempt to hide the heatstroke inhabiting my cheeks. When I glance at Lex, he’s not looking at me. He’s positively engrossed in his fingernails.
I feel rattled from head to toe as I take a few steps back, nearing the edge of the stage. And I guess I take one too many steps, because that’s when my worst nightmare explodes to life.
It all happens so fast.
My equilibrium is compromised, my knees wobbling as I inch back, back, back.
