It was absolutely amazing that I'd made it through these last two weeks and I was still alive. That was my thought as I stepped past security and through the back door of the Fox Theatre. Even though every day brought new drama, I was sticking it out and holding it down. That extra five thousand dollars that Maury had extorted from Gwen for my trouble with Latrice helped. Even after having the agent's fee deducted, I was able to dash over to Lennox Mall and pick up a new designer purse for my pain and suffering. The three thousand dollar price tag didn't concern me at all since this was really a bonus.
Inside the hallway, I paused for a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, then took a couple of steps and wished I could have gone the other way.
There stood Camille, arms folded, eyes glaring, the way it always was with her. She never said a word. Just stared and glared.
Most of the time I turned the other way, but since I had to go past her to head to my dressing room, I marched right up to her and said, "Do you have a problem?"
She responded with, "Only you."
For a second, I paused. She'd spoken only two words, but she'd said them with an accent, a distinct Southern drawl that I'd heard before. I studied her, then shook my head. "What does that mean?"
Her only answer was a smirk, a turn, and then a strut going the other way. As I watched her, I decided that chick was certifiable. For two weeks, she did nothing but look at me as if I'd stolen something from her Mama. But I was the only one she treated that way. She was always all over Donovan, all the time. Now yes, she was his (other) love interest, the woman he was leaving me for, but she was playing her part like she wasn't acting. Even when she wasn't rehearsing a scene, she was drooling over him with a, "Oh, Donovan," here and a "Oh, Donovan," there. She was playing it like she had really stolen my man.
As if.
And then, I thought about the woman who had stolen my man.
For real.
I shook my head. I could make it through this. We were finally moving from rehearsals to the actual play, which would open tomorrow to a sold-out crowd. Then, I could turn my focus back to the career I was meant to have.
Maury was so close to closing the deal with Diana Delaney. She'd told him that she was glad I was doing the play because I'd come to her movie with momentum. That was a good thing, I guess, but it didn't stop me from feeling like being in this play was me doing penance for some crime my ancestors had committed. Because beyond Camille and her issues, beyond Randy and his issues, beyond Latrice and her issues - there was Donovan and he was my issue.
The hardest thing I'd ever done in my life was share this space with him. He made my head hurt and my heart ache. I hated him!
And that was my issue.
Because I knew the opposite of love wasn't hate - the opposite of love was indifference. And I was a long, long ways from impassivity. Even in my hate, Donovan was able to reach out and touch the deepest parts of me.
Whether he was apologizing for his needed-to-be-committed wife: I'm so sorry, Tammie. Is there anything that I can do to make it up to you or whether he was consoling me after Gwen had gone off just because I'd suggested a little costume change in that wedding scene: She was wrong for talking to you like that, Tammie. Doesn't she get that you're that star - his presence made me weak, made me want. And I hated him for that.
I shifted my new oversized hobo onto my other shoulder and moved through the corridor of the Fabulous Fox, as those in the industry called this historic theatre.
Turning the corner for the hallway with the dressing rooms, I bumped right into Donovan, standing in front of mine. He stood, like he'd been there for a while, like he'd been waiting for me.
"Excuse me," I said, then I maneuvered to the left, trying to pass him in the confined space.
But he made no moves to move. He just stood there and grinned, blocking my path. "So, you ready for the show tomorrow?" Then, he folded his arms and leaned against the wall, like we were old friends, chatting.
I glared, then snarled, "Look, you low-life liar. If I've told you once, I've told you every day of these miserable two weeks. I'm a professional, so I'm gonna do my job. But outside of that, I don't have anything to say to you, I don't want you to say anything to me, and I don't think your wife would appreciate it - or have you forgotten about her the way you forgot about me?"
He let out a short snort that I guess was supposed to be a chuckle. "I won't ever get over it."
My eyes narrowed. "Get over what?"
"The fire in you when you get mad at me."
It was his cocky smile more than his words that pissed me off even more. "Go work that bull on somebody else because I'm not buying it. I'm not buying anything that you're selling." I tried to step past him once again, but he pushed off the wall and now, he was all in my personal space.
What I should have done was back up, but I figured, why should I be the one to do that? We were standing in front of my dressing room and I wasn't scared of Donovan.
But maybe I should have been. Because with his eyes fixed to mine, he raised his hand...slowly.
I gulped in air, but I didn't move.
The tips of his fingers brushed my skin.
I gasped, but I didn't move.
"That little vein. Right there." He stroked my neck. "It pops up." His voice was low, filled with lust. "It's always been so sexy to me."
I gave in to too many moments of resting in that familiar space. But then, my good sense came over me and I slapped his hand away. "Fool, don't touch me."
He laughed and gave me a reprieve when he took a single step back. "I still get under your skin, I see." He paused, studied my face for a reaction. "That means, you still feel me like I feel you."
I thought about the opposite of love. And I said, "You are a non-muthafu-" Before I could finish cursing him, his mother, his father, and everyone else who shared his DNA, Donovan snatched me, pulled me, pressed against me. I didn't have time to blink or breathe before his lips were on mine. Gentle, at first, until he used his tongue to part my lips, and against every standard and sense in me, I welcomed him in.
Really, I wanted to protest. I wanted to jerk away and give him one of those slaps that I'd had the pleasure of giving him over and over again in the play. But my freaking hormones! And my freakin' heart! My mind was calling Donovan everything but a child of God, but my body, all the parts that made me a woman, was screaming, 'Oh, God!'
I did (kinda) try, though. I did (kinda) try to push away, but when I pushed, he pulled and though it seemed impossible, we were closer, our hearts pressed together like our lips. It was like...we were almost one. The way we used to be.
As my tongue waltzed with his, I became dizzy, but it was from more than just his kiss. I was in a daze, floating between the memories and this reality. Remembering how he'd always kissed me like this, how he'd always left me breathless and spent. Sometimes, even in tears, crying just because I'd been loved so good.
And now, I could feel tears once again as I fell, fell, fell into those memories.
Then...a flash.
Next...a voice.
"Hey!" Gwen's voice.
Donovan and I jumped, leaping what felt like miles away from each other.
Then, another flash. Instinct made me and Donovan turn toward the flash. Toward the man. Toward the camera.
A third, a fourth, a fifth flash.
And I blinked, and blinked, and blinked.
It was happening so fast, but time moved so slow.
"What are you doing?" Gwen called out.
I ducked behind Donovan as Gwen ran toward the photographer, but with a final click, he scurried down the hall.
"Come back here!" Gwen yelled after him, as he shot out of our sight.
Gwen's screams echoed through the hallway as she followed the photographer, but I had no hope.
"Oh, my God!" I shrieked. I pressed my hand against my chest to make sure my heart was still beating.
"What the hell?" Donovan shouted.
He paced in front of me, but I couldn't move. My thoughts kept me stuck in place.
That kiss.
The photographer.
That kiss.
The pictures.
That kiss.
This would be all over the blogs and the magazines and maybe even on TV.
That kiss.
Gwen rushed back into the hallway where Donovan and I stood. "I am so sorry." She huffed and puffed as if she'd ran a mile.
"What the hell?" Donovan repeated, this time straight at Gwen. "What was that? And what was he doing here?"
Gwen trembled as she shook her head. "I have no idea. I have no idea how he even got in. I'm so sorry."
"How did he get backstage?" Donovan snapped.
"I told you, I don't know." She held up her hands in frustration. "And I also told you I'm sorry. I don't know what else you want me to do."
"Well, if you kept your crew under control, they wouldn't have let the damn paparazzi back here!" I growled at her.
I could actually see a little hump in her back rise. "Hold on a minute," Gwen said, her tone and stance filled with attitude. And when she raised her chin, she looked just like an African Queen in that dress and head wrap. "I don't know who you're mad at or why you're directing this all at me. But just remember, I'm not the one who gave that photographer something to capture. I'm not the one who was lip-locked with a man I claim to hate."
I took a step toward her, but Donovan jumped in front of me. "You know what, Gwen?" He held up his hand and motioned for her to back up. "Can you just make sure no more press...or paparazzi gets backstage? That was more than a little messed up."
Gwen stood glaring at me and I gave it right back to her. Who was she to be mad? It was our privacy that had been violated.
After a few seconds of what I guess was supposed to be a New York stare, she hissed, "I'll take care of it. And like I already said to both of you...I'm sorry." Her expression matched her words when she looked at Donovan, but when she turned to me, she stared me down as if I was the culprit in all of this.
Donovan held my hand as if he knew I wanted to go off. Then, he squeezed our fingers together when Gwen finally spun around and turned away.
As she walked from us, Donovan whispered, "Chill, Tammie-Poo."
I snatched my hand away from him. "Don't call me that. And don't try to fight my battles for me. This is all your fault."
"Really?" he said, stepping into my space, getting in my face. "I wasn't the only one in that kiss." Then, he gave me that smile. That smile that I used to love only second to his kisses. "So, now that it's just the two of us again," he leaned in, "can we get back to what we were doing?" His lips were milli-inches from mine when he said, "Because I've missed you so much!"
Then, right before his lips met mine, I leaned back and socked him the way I'd been wanting to for the thirteen days we'd been rehearsing.
He yelped and I grabbed my bag and walked into my dressing room, the place where I'd been headed before I was interrupted. I left Donovan in that hallway still shrieking like a girl.