Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
“You can’t come, sugar plum. It’s your big night. Stay with your friends. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.”
With that, she kisses my cheek, enters the taxi, and drives off. I’m left on the curb, watching as the taillights of the cab disappear. The thought that something could happen to her on the plane occurs to me, but I squash it as soon as it floats into my head. Nope. Not going there. I have more issues than Harper’s, and there is absolutely no reason to develop a crippling fear of flying on top of everything else.
I don’t want to go back to the party. Now that the adrenaline of the show has worn off, I’m not in the mood to pretend to be jolly. Usually, Paul was the one to pull me through moments like this. He was my crutch.
But bailing without saying goodbye is rude. Reluctantly, I drag myself back inside. I see Lucas’s trilby hat in the distance. He’s bobbing his head, talking animatedly to a few Broadway-type people. Moving toward him, I feel fingers wrap around my wrist. I stop, looking up to find Arsène’s dark, hooded eyes on mine. His lips are drawn in a shrewd smile.
“Bumpkin. Was that your mother?”
Remembering he brought a date, I shake out of his touch with a scowl. “What’s it to you?”
“She’s an impressive woman.” He ignores my attitude, his charm jacked up to the max. “Which is very good news to future sixtysomething you.”
“Why, twentysomething me wants you to take a hike. How about you try being a gentleman and cater to me once?”
The cad kissed me and didn’t even address the subject.
“Now, Winnifred, don’t be a sourpuss. It’s your big night.”
“It’s diminishing, now that we’re talking,” I murmur.
He tips his head back and laughs.
“Here. Have you met Gwendolyn?” He motions to his date with his beer bottle. She steps forward and smiles at me, offering her hand for a shake. “Gwen, this is Winnifred. She plays Nina, as you’ve gathered from the play.”
So he did come to see it.
With a date, Winnie.
I shake Gwen’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I hope you enjoyed the show?”
“It was fantastic. You and Trigorin knocked it out of the park.” Gwen looks delighted and genuinely impressed. “And I’ve seen a lot of versions of The Seagull, if I may add.”
She is striking, intelligent, and eloquent. There is nothing I can dislike about her, other than her existence. For some reason, it suited me better to think Arsène would never move on from Grace, just like I’m stuck on Paul.
“That’s kind of you.” I dip my head down, blushing. “Well, I don’t want to keep you two. I should go and say my goodbyes—”
“Leaving so soon?” Arsène gives me a faux-wounded look. “The evening’s just begun.”
“For you, maybe. I’m calling it a night.”
“Before the cake’s been cut and speeches are made. My, my, you’re not even trying, are you?” Arsène steps between me and the door’s direction, an easy, albeit intentional, buffer. “Especially when the future of Calypso Hall is hanging by a thread. You do know, Winnifred, I’m not a big fan of theaters, and even less of slacker employees.”
“Yes, I’m aware.” I cross my arms over my chest. Gwen grins privately, amused by our exchange. “I’ll take my chances. Any parting words?”
“You seem preoccupied. What’s on that simple mind of yours?” He tilts his head sideways, entertained more than worried.
“None of your business.” I bypass him and head straight to the door, goodbyes be damned. I can barely handle him on a good day, much less on one when I’m reminded of my health issues.
I’m almost at the wooden door when something occurs to me. I stop, softly curse myself, then turn around sharply and head straight back to where he’s standing. Which is exactly where I left him. There’s a cocky smirk on his face. He leans against the wooden bar nonchalantly. The jerk knew I’d make a U-turn. It’s written all over his face.
“One more thing.” I raise a finger between us.
“Hit me with it.”
“The billboard.”
His eyes turn from mocking to alert, but he says nothing.
“Why did you do it?” I ask. “You didn’t have to. We never finished that billiard game.”
“Chivalry, of course.” He opens up his hands theatrically. “You told me to start somewhere, didn’t you?”
Yeah, but that was a second ago.
“I doubt you can spell the word, let alone practice it.”
He laughs, pleased. “You’re right. I did it for purely selfish reasons. I wanted to ensure a good return on my investment, and The Seagull looked like it might actually make a few bucks.”
“That can’t be it either.” My fists ball beside my body. I’m losing my patience. I’m tired of being mocked by him. Of being pushed out of my comfort zone. “There are many ways to advertise a play that don’t include stroking my ego.”