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I wanted to throw my arms around his neck and kiss him, and I even lifted my arms to do so but awkwardly put them back down, smiling. “I don’t want to crease your suit.”
He leaned down slowly and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “You’re worth a helluva lot more than a creased suit, Bella. See you tonight.”
My hands touched where his lips had been, and the ripple of pleasure from it remained long after he left the room.
The spa and a hair appointment took most of the afternoon. I returned with my wavy hair flat-ironed, and immediately prepared to go, and be seen. We weren’t invisible in New YorkCity, and with the Marini succession and The Age of Sin still receiving much acclaim and attention, I had to expect the press.
I took extra time dressing, settling on an embellished laced strapless mini with tied sandals. My makeup I put on was light, some liner on my brows and gloss on my lips.
Rocco returned while I was still getting ready, and I found him in the foyer talking to Rick when I went downstairs. I wanted to stare at his gorgeous profile but took his outstretched hand. “You look stunning.”
I grinned. “So do you.” He looked fashionable in his Herringbone-striped dark suit and blue-black shirt.
He shrugged. “I clean up all right.”
I laughed easily with him.
“So, are you excited?”
I bounced in my heels, “Yes.”
We all climbed inside the elevator.
Rocco kept hold of my hand, and that charge that sparked whenever we touched came to life.
“Is this your first show?” he asked, and I loved that he never assumed anything with me.
I beamed at him. “Yes, it’s my first. But I’ve seen the 1950s film.”
He nodded. “Noir. A classic.”
The elevator opened, and we left for the car. Rick opened a Bentley but stopped to photograph us with his phone.
“Thank you, Rick,” I said as I eyed Rocco, curious about it.
“Keepsakes,” he said and kissed the back of my hand.
I smiled and squeezed his arm as we took more selfies with our phones. I loved how normal it felt.
We settled in the Bentley and rode out into the night to Times Square. We could see the bright lights from the billboards long before we arrived. It had that magic that always made me think of living at full speed. I dreamed of running away to become aNew York City artist. And in a way, I was. With the millions of people flowing from shops to shows. That was the thing about being an American. Everyone believed they could be the lotto winner or the next big thing.
We walked down the avenue to Saint James Theater where a marquee displayed the Sunset Blvd show. There were also patrons milling around the front. Some passing tourists took out their phones to film us, curious to see if we were noteworthy people. There were also paparazzi there, and they photographed us, but Rocco didn’t stop to speak to anyone. He took us straight to security outside. His confidence and assuredness had the person opening the door without asking for identification. But that was his life and privilege. He was his own star, and the world revolved around it. I was just as captivated still.
The security escorted us to seats on the balcony box, and we took our seats in the front. We had an uninterrupted view of the movie screen, which took up most of the stage. The show’s name, Sunset Blvd, was projected on it. The lights flashed, and he took my hand, kissing the back of it.
I squeezed his back, and the show started.
Smoke filled the theatre, setting the ambiance as the show unfolded as a film in real-time. The acting was so absorbing, and the singing was phenomenal. But I didn’t want to miss seeing Rocco’s expression and watching as the story unfolded.
It was a show about his world, the world of movies. It followed the up-and-coming and the faded actors, writers, and stars. He sat utterly riveted; his eyes shining, and he barely blinked. It was as if he didn’t want to miss a minute. That was passion. As the show progressed, I found myself drawn into the story, feeling the same emotions as the characters on stage.
The protagonist, Norma Desmond, enthralled me. Her extremes at which she fought to maintain the illusion she was still a Hollywood lead. It was a tale of getting older, too. The waythe public discarded actors, forgetting all the blood, sweat, and tears that moved us from their performance. I could sympathize with feeling lost once you tasted something unique. It was hard to fall and lose everything. As with most things, Norma finally came to a point where she couldn’t even keep up her illusions. The actress sang out, “As If We Never Said Goodbye.” The song was so passionately raw, as was too human reality. Her yearning to be that vital, beloved star again. I connected to that deep pain of wanting to matter to someone. Tears stung my eyes, and I could barely catch my breath.
Rocco placed his arm around me and pulled me into his arms, and I rested my head against his chest. In that moment, I felt a deep connection with him, a warmth I missed. I’d built walls around me to protect myself just as much as Norma. But I felt deep in my soul that I didn’t want to be lonely or unloved.
I got myself together, and the show ended. We stood and gave a ten-minute standing ovation to the company, a testament to the impact of the performance. Then it was time to go, but the show’s emotional resonance remained. “What did you think about the show?”
“A complete triumph!” he enthused. “I’m in love with this production. It’s everything I adore about the movies. But I’m worried about you. Are you okay?”