Chapter Four

Walking down the broken steps and into a tiny theatre in the basement of the church near Eighth Avenue, Trevor grabbed his nose. “Uh, Jenna? What is that smell?”

“What smell?”

She threw her pert nose into the air and sniffed. Trevor smiled.

“They cook dinner for the homeless upstairs. I think it’s…” She repeated the action. “Sauerkraut.” She sniffed again. “Yup, sauerkraut.”

“Oh, I hate sauerkraut.” Trevor covered his nose with his hand.

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “Well, now that I know that, I know what to pack for lunch tomorrow,” she said in a fun flirty tone as she skipped ahead down a narrow aisle of the audience.

Trevor’s mouth turned up into a lopsided grin. This was the first time she ever joked around with him, and he liked it.

She turned back to him. “I rehearsed a show here once. Actually performed it, too.”

“How many seats?” Trevor looked around the theatre, taking in the tattered blue cloth seats perched on flimsy risers pushed tight to marred walls which were painted in flat black. The floor was that same flat black, as was the tiny stage before him. Old ripped, black curtains, mended with silver duct tape, lined the stage on three sides. He stubbed his toe against a chair in the audience. “Ow.” He rubbed his foot.

“You okay?”

He nodded. “Fine. Thanks. Seats?”

“Ninety-nine. It’s a black box.”

“Is it Equity code?”

“Yes.” She plopped her hands on her hips and tilted her head. “We were all Equity actors performing here. You fancy steady-paycheck-money-making actors don’t hold a monopoly on unions you know.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Trevor’s gaze happily followed Jenna as she waltzed around the empty stage. He smiled. She was unquestionably gorgeous but there was more. She was smart and talented but her exuberance and her complete love and respect for the theatre was exciting. He knew that feeling once, but ten years as Caspian Locke killed that enthusiasm. Now, acting was a well-paying craft—not an art. And taking off his shirt was his medium. It was all rather…sad.

“Okay.” She smiled, taking him on a tour. “Obviously, you see the audience. The stage area has good wing space. Come on.”

Jenna held aside a curtain, and Trevor followed her backstage. He felt an odd warmth around her. The show needed more soul and he was lost as to how to do it but somehow this smart odd young woman seemed to have the answers. She was so happy in the dilapidated theatre, he was beginning to get caught up in her contagious enthusiasm. Stepping backstage, Trevor stopped short. Never, in his life had he seen working conditions so deplorable. “What is this place?”

“Isn’t it great?” Jenna walked across a wide plank that served as a bridge over puddles of water that had collected backstage.

Trevor stared at the puddles. Was she joking? Was he being set up? Would she go so far as to purposely waste his time like this because she disliked him? The sparkle in her eyes told him she was for real.

Jenna looked down beneath her feet. “Oh, the water’s just because it rained. It’s not always this deep.”

“This deep?”

“Yeah. And over here’s the dressing area.” Jenna pointed to two chairs perched near two broken mirrors. “There’s a piano over there.” Jenna hopped from board to board, plinking on the piano when she arrived. She sat on a wobbly stool and played a slow sad song.

Trevor watched her, mesmerized. “I didn’t know you could play.”

She turned back to him. “Yup. My dad taught me.”

This was the first time Jenna had given him any insight into her life and he wanted to know more. Trevor balanced himself on one of the boards and walked across, so he could be nearer to Jenna. “Your dad?”

“Yup.”

“A musician, huh?”

“Among other things.” Jenna popped up and walked across another board. She held her arms out to the sides, flying them up and down like an airplane.

“What other things?”

“Just things. I don’t really talk about it.” Jenna’s expression clouded over.

“Oh. Uh, okay.” Trevor stiffened. Why the hell was he hurt she didn’t want to share with him? What did he care?

Jenna smiled a small smile at Trevor, as if she understood. “It’s not you, Trevor. I just prefer not to talk about certain things.”

Trevor nodded, fighting the impulse to go to her and cradle her in his arms—a feeling he had never before experienced. It was an odd sensation, one that made him stand up taller, his muscles tightening. At the very least, he wanted to invite her for coffee. All of a sudden, he fantasized about sitting with Jenna at some small, deserted coffee shop and talking to her late into the night. He wanted to ride a caffeine buzz as they dissected their scripts. And mostly, he wanted to know about her—why she became an actress…uh, actor. Where she lived. What she liked to eat. If she had a pet; if she wanted one. If she was afraid of spiders. If she had any tattoos…and what she would think of his. Everything about this skinny black-haired fireball made him nostalgic and intrigued him, all at once. The most pressing question now, was, why?

“Trevor?”

“Huh?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Trevor shook his head, trying to focus on his surroundings.

“So what do you think? Incredible, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Incredible.”

“I made a call before we left the theatre, and I found out it’s available.” Jenna bounced up and down on her toes, giddy with excitement.

“It’s available? Imagine that.” He didn’t mean to be sarcastic; he genuinely liked the feel of the old theatre.

Jenna’s face fell and he was immediately sorry for his tone.

“You hate it.” She dropped her arms down to her sides, defeated.

Trevor tried to backpedal. “No. I don’t hate it. I just—”

“You hate it.” Jenna stuck her hands on her hips, tapping her foot. “Look. We only have five weeks left.”

Trevor shuffled uneasily, realizing in just over a month the show would open, and it had to be a success. There was no room for failure so he’d need to step up his game.

Jenna continued. “We need some grit and dirt and reality and this place—”

“Is perfect.”

“What?”

“I think it’s perfect.” Trevor flashed a tentative smile.

“Really?” Jenna’s stance softened. She turned her head, eyeing him, waiting for the catch.

Trevor’s gaze fell over the ancient stage, torn curtains, and peeling plaster walls. He inhaled the smell of mildew and dampness and his heart raced with possibility for the first time in a very long time. If his usual swank working conditions were nothing more than a façade, well then, this place was a soul. An old, perhaps damaged soul, but definitely a soul. “Really.”

Jenna’s eyes lit up like she was a little kid asking Santa for a pony.

Trevor saw the vulnerability in her eyes and for a moment, all he wanted to do was to protect her and preserve her enthusiasm. “Yes. I’ll cancel the theatre tomorrow and sign the contract on this place.”

“Honestly?” Jenna’s voice dropped to a sultry tone, and she suddenly didn’t seem a hot-headed kid anymore. Right now, in her jeans and t-shirt, she was all woman.

“Yes.” Trevor cleared his throat.

“Thank you, Trevor.”

Her words were filled with so much sincerity, Trevor looked away. He grappled with his conscience; he wanted to touch her so much, but he knew better.

“Should we go?” Jenna nodded toward the stage area.

He followed her, caught up in the graceful ease of her small body, moving. When they were nearly at the door, Jenna held up her hand to stop him.

“Oh, almost forgot. That’s the bathroom. There’s only one and there’s no sink, so we need to keep a lot of hand sanitizer around.”

“What?” Trevor narrowed his eyes. Was she joking? Had she lost her mind?

“But don’t worry, the toilet works—most of the time.” Jenna flashed Trevor the biggest smile he had ever seen, before disappearing out the theatre door.

On the street, they stood quietly. She pulled on oversized hand-crocheted mittens and a soft, powder-blue hat. He smiled.

“What?”

“Your hat.”

“I know. Goofy, right? But it’s warm.”

“No, not goofy. It’s uh, pretty perfect, actually.”

Jenna’s large hazel eyes widened. “Um, okay then.” She turned away and stopped for a moment then looked back at Trevor. “Uh, see you tomorrow—right here.” She gazed up at the theatre lovingly.

Trevor raised his hand to wave goodbye and she walked away, leaving him alone on the street corner. His gaze followed her until she turned the corner, out of view. His body tensed, and he had to keep himself from bolting after her to walk her home. He didn’t like her disappearing. He didn’t like her being unsafe. Walking the streets of Manhattan was difficult for any woman, and for someone who looked so young and attractive…

Trevor dropped his head, grasping the back of his neck with his hand. What the hell was he thinking? She wasn’t his responsibility. So he was attracted; it didn’t mean anything. He was attracted to his barista too and she was closer to his age and much more his type. And if he avoided sleeping with his obviously interested barista just because he didn’t want to risk his morning coffee order, well, he sure as hell wouldn’t risk a quickie with his co-star.

Trevor looked down the empty street, after Jenna. This attraction for her was nothing. These feelings he was experiencing were what Hamlet felt for Ophelia, spilling over into real life. That’s all. These confusing emotions were the very reason so many theatre romances died before opening night. And he sure as hell couldn’t afford any distractions. Sexual tension needed to stay alive onstage…it had no place in real life.

The thing was, it wasn’t sexual tension he was fighting. Yes, she looked awesome in her jeans, and her hat was just plain adorable but he was also concerned for her, a feeling he had never felt in all his time with Maggie. Maggie could, and would, take care of herself. But this girl…Trevor looked up at the theatre and then back after Jenna, wondering what, exactly, he’d gotten himself into.

A vibration shook his body; he needed to talk. Not to Maggie, no, he needed a connection to…someone real. He glanced at the time on his phone. Nine-forty. Surely his nephew Toby would be asleep, but maybe his sister Amanda would still be up. He would never burden her with his frivolous thoughts—God knows she had been through enough, monitoring Toby’s health alone because her husband took off before Toby’s first open heart surgery—but he needed to know Toby was okay since his second open heart surgery a couple of months ago. That would calm his raging thoughts and put everything into some much needed perspective.

His hand shook as he pressed their number on his cell.

“Hello?” Her voice was sleepy.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Hey, Trevor. Of course not.” She paused for a moment. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Of course. Fine. Why?”

“It’s just that it’s late.” She chuckled. “Well, for me, anyway.” She yawned. “Sorry, Toby’s asleep. He’ll be upset he missed you.”

“I’ll call him in the morning. How are you?” It was such a loaded question, his throat ached as he spoke.

“We’re okay.” She was much more alert now. “I mean, I’m always nervous. But you know Toby, he’s a trooper.”

“Yeah.” Trevor fought back an ache in his gut. “How’s the breathlessness?”

“Comes and goes.”

“I’ll come visit just as soon as I can.”

“Trevor, we’re okay. I know you’re on a break from the show, but this play has to be—”

“Amanda, I will be there.”

“I know.”

Her voice was frail. The last thing he wanted was for her to worry about him, too.

“Do you need anything?”

“No, Trevor. What more could you possibly do for us? We’re okay.”

“I don’t do anything.” His voice was soft.

“No? We live in a fully paid-off house you bought for us and you pay all of Toby’s exorbitant medical bills because your slacker of a sister can’t even afford the co-pays on the medical insurance you got us.”

“Hey.” Anger riled in his gut. “Don’t ever call yourself a slacker. You’re in an impossible situation. You banked on the wrong guy.”

“But I’m thirty-four. I should be able to take care of myself and my son.”

“You work as much as you can so you can be with Toby. We’ve talked about this, Amanda.”

“But Trevor, you’re my brother, not my husband.”

Damn. He really didn’t mean to upset her. “Amanda. I love Toby. You two are the only family I have. I make a lot of money on my show. It makes me happy to help. I promise.”

“Speaking of the show, how’s Maggie?”

He sighed.

“Things are that good, huh?”

“We have our challenges.”

“Trevor. You know I don’t butt in on your personal life but you never sound happy anymore. Why do you stay with her?”

He wracked his brain for any possible answer except the truth.

“Unless…it doesn’t have anything to do with us, does it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can’t believe I never thought of it before but her dad’s the producer. Are you afraid to lose your job if you leave her?”

“Of course not.” Trevor forced the lie out his teeth. “My contract is iron-clad.”

“If you’re doing something you don’t want to do to support us, I can’t let you do that. We’ll find another way.” The pitch of her voice rose with her angst.

Trevor unclenched his jaw. There was no other way. Even with the best health insurance Trevor could get for them, all in, the out-of-pocket for Toby’s care ran hundreds of thousands of dollars. Bare-chested Caspian Locke was the only reason Toby had the help he needed.

“Trevor…you do love your show, right? I mean, you’re still having a blast playing Caspian?”

“Of course.” He nearly choked on his words.

“Okay. Because if you’re not, you need to make a change. And we’ll figure something out.”

“I know, Amanda.”

“Really, Trevor. We’ll come up with another way to get the money.”

“I know that.” What he knew was this was a conversation she needed every few months, when the guilt of being supported by her younger brother became too much. She was quiet. Too quiet. “Amanda. If I ever get tired of playing Caspian, I’ll change. And yes, we’ll find another way to come up with the money.”

“Okay, Trevor. Thank you.” She yawned again.

He smiled. “Go back to sleep. Kiss Toby for me, and I’ll call him in the morning.”

“Thanks, Trevor. ’Night.”

Trevor clicked off his phone and sucked in a huge swallow of the icy cold New York air. Fuck.