Page 56 of Come to Me

I log back onto my computer and pull open a travel website. "I'll have tickets in less than five minutes."

"That's going to cost a fortune."

"I'm not worrying about money if Alyssa needs me."

"Ugh! You're too sweet. It's sickening." She huffs out a breath. "This is the last time I get involved in your business. The absolute last time."

Leave Sunday, return Tuesday. I'll have to move around a few appointments, but that's fine.

"Thanks, Laurie."

"Yeah. You're welcome. I guess."

She can be as grudging in her words as she wants. I know she cares.

We hang up, and I read over Alyssa's texts.

Worry gnaws at me. But at least I know exactly how soon I'm going to see her now.

* * *

Curtain is eight o'clock,but I arrive at the theater as soon as the doors open--7:30.

My mother didn't take me to plays often--there weren't a ton of opportunities in San Diego--but when she did, she always arrived early to marvel at the inside of the theater.

And this place is a marvel. Gold walls, red chairs, soft yellow light everywhere. I drink a glass of wine, barely able to contain my anticipation. This is the first time I'll see Alyssa on stage.

She's going to be fucking amazing.

I take my seat, fiddling with the flowers I brought for her. They're roses, vibrant red roses. It's an obvious choice, I know, but they remind me of her. Strong and delicate, with a stray thorn that might prick me if I don't approach carefully.

Not tonight. Not this weekend. This weekend will be perfect.

The theater fills. It's the official opening week of the play, and it's a packed house. Alyssa is probably a nervous wreck about it. I'm tempted to call her and wish her luck, but I'm sure she's "in the zone;" the way she gets when she locks herself in her room to memorize her lines.

I don't want to mess up her zen right before she goes on.

The lights go down and the play begins. There's a short scene--the two male leads shooting the shit--then Alyssa steps on stage. She stares into the blindingly bright lights coming from the balcony. Her eyes pass over the audience.

They stop at me. Her mouth drops open, and her face shifts.

Shit. Maybe I should have given her warning.

For a split second, it's not Blanche, it's Alyssa, and she's shocked to see me. But she shakes it off almost immediately, slipping back into character like a pro.

Her posture changes. It's longer, sultrier, more confident and more insecure at the same time.

She's fucking amazing.

I almost can't believe she spent so much time tearing her hair out, stressing over how to play to the back of the room. Because she's nailing everything. She's easily as good as the seasoned actors she's sharing the stage with.

I forget my plans for the rest of the weekend. I forget everything except watching her on stage, moving and speaking and living with effortless grace.

Intermission comes and goes quickly, and I'm back in my seat, drawn into the world of the play. It's as gripping and beautiful and tragic as Alyssa claimed, and when it ends, I'm on my feet applauding.

She's so ridiculously good.

An usher taps me on the shoulder as people filter out of the theater. "Miss Summers has requested you come backstage." I grin and follow him, feeling kind of like a cheap groupie at a rock concert.