The flicker of security and hope I feel lasts only until I have to make my appearance at the theater to watch Caspian’s final performance. Once again, I’m dolled up with CiCi’s help and wearing more of her fancy clothes.
She went with a meticulously applied cat eye tonight. I worried liquid liner would be a much more dangerous smudging risk if the night ends with tears, as it seems to take exactly nothing to set me off these days. But CiCi assured me this is waterproof liner, and I was so grateful for her foresight, I hugged her until she nearly broke.
I’m sitting in nearly the same seat I was the other night, but the experience is in a whole separate universe than the last time. When the few people who spot me try to sneakily take photos, I hide behind my program. This is not a night I want photographic evidence of. Not in any capacity.
The lights go down, and the show begins. When Caspian finally appears, it’s like a punch in the face. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since the verbal shoot-out in his hotel room, and it’s physically painful to watch him move across the stage.
Everything he does is just as brilliant as it was the other night, but I sense a slight edge to his performance that wasn’t there before, and I feel responsible for that. The good news, if there is any, is that the role works well with that edge.
But it shouldn’t be there. I know it shouldn’t. And I couldn’t stop it from forming.
Every perfectly delivered line, every nailed beat of comedic timing—it’s all as magnificent as it was before, but I sit here, watching it all and remembering what it led to only nights ago. Knowing what it will drag me into tonight is almost more than I can stand.
The news over the past few days has been a nonstop loop of every newscaster and their dog analyzing every letter of the Cranson papers. Delightedly discussing every aspect of Senator Crum’s life as it crumbles in real time.
For the first twenty-four hours, his wife stood beside him as he tried to denounce the “unfounded” allegations, but as the evidence proved too concrete to ignore, he issued a new statement, confessing his “sins” and announcing he was going into a treatment facility to deal with his past indiscretions.
A few hours later, his wife, whom he was married to during those indiscretions, issued her own statement to the press that she was separating from her husband.
His political party has also called for his resignation. They seemed less bothered by the fact that he frequented sex workers than they were that about half of those sex workers were male. Which makes me all the more disgusted by that party as a whole.
It also makes me feel genuinely sorry for Senator Crum. I’ve always considered him to be a garbage fire of a human being, since he’s made a career out of demeaning women for political gain, but I can’t help pitying a man who felt he had to hide his true sexual orientation to have a shot at a career.
Then again, he spent the last fifteen years buoying up that political machine, ensuring it would be just as crushing to anyone else battling the same struggles. And he did it while simultaneously blaming women for being sexually assaulted and submitting bill after bill to restrict nearly anything a uterus has a need for.
So, I guess while I feel genuine pain for his internal turmoil, I would also take the opportunity to punch him in the throat should the chance arise.
I think back to the moments CiCi and I laughed at the thought of watching some vile politician go down at our hands by finding details about them in the Cranson unit. It’s all a hell of a lot less hilarious watching it happen now, in real time, even if we didn’t have anything to do with it.
As the performance continues, everyone in the theater laughs heartily when Caspian nails his marks, and he never misses a beat. I’m grateful for the darkened setting, so no one can see me sitting here, quiet and struggling, as opposed to playing the part of the charmed girlfriend.
Still, even with the horror surrounding all things Caspian, I watch him move across that stage in awe. Our massive fallout hasn’t changed my opinion of his skills in the slightest, even if it has stolen my ability to watch him without feeling devastated.
The show ends, and the theater erupts with seemingly never-ending cheers and whistles. When the actors come out for their curtain call, the man who plays Puck takes a special moment to single out Caspian specifically.
“This man,” the elfin actor declares, “has made this one of the best experiences I—or any of us, for that matter—have had on stage. And it’s a damn shame he’s leaving us to go back to being a big-deal movie star.” Caspian laughs genuinely with the others, while also managing to look endearingly embarrassed. The other actor continues, “We all want to say a huge ‘thank you’ to you, Caspian. You’ve not only made ticket prices twice what we could have charged otherwise—” there’s more laughter from everyone in the building “—but you’ve also made us all better at our jobs, and for that, we thank you, friend.”
Two stagehands come out with an absolutely mammoth floral arrangement and hand it to Caspian as the entire theater rumbles with joyful screams and applause. The standing ovation goes on and on, and gives Caspian more than enough time to accept a hug from everyone he shared the stage with.
Eventually, he raises a hand and gives a heartfelt smile and wave to the audience, and the curtain begins to close, the applause never waning.
Finally, the theater begins to empty, and I head off to follow the rest of my instructions for the night.
Slowly, I make my way through the mass of people around to the stage door, where a considerably larger number of friends and family of the cast are lined up. At the end of the alley where Caspian’s car met us the other night, there are cabs lined up to whisk us off to the cast party.
I want nothing more than to run back to Tom’s and hide with my shame away from Caspian’s hate-filled eyes. Instead, I’m crammed into the back seat of a cab with two others—I can’t tell which actor they’re associated with. Thankfully, they couldn’t care less about who I am or why I’m there. If anything, they seem mildly annoyed that I’m invading their space.
I appreciate the opportunity for personal silence.
We arrive at the venue, and my car-mates jump out without a second thought for me, which I’m grateful for. There are photographers lined up on either side of the roped-off entrance. I try to tuck myself in behind my fellow riders and go unnoticed as we head inside.
Inside, there’s music playing and food and an open bar. My plan was to stick to a corner and not touch anything, as I’m not at all who these accoutrements were set out for, but the longer I stand here, watching people file up to the bar, the more I realize I may have to consider having a glass of wine or two if I’m going to make it through this evening in one piece.
Somehow I don’t think my sulking around looking lifeless is what Caspian intended when he demanded I make a good showing in his name tonight. So I make small talk with several folks in line for drinks, and I do my best to play the role of glowing and proud girlfriend when they begin gushing about Oberon’s performance.
When the actors start to arrive, Caspian is naturally nowhere to be found. I imagine him back in the alley, signing and posing for fan after fan. Picturing the small, blond-haired girl from the other night, I start to feel queasy, and carefully hand the last half of my second glass of wine to a passing waiter clearing tables.
I smile and chitchat with people who are in the highest of spirits. For anyone I recognize from the stage, I make sure to compliment their performances and gush appropriately.
After what feels like hours, Caspian enters the party. I only notice at first because everyone breaks into applause and cheers for their treasured King of the Fairies.
I honestly don’t know what I’m supposed to do here. Do I run to him, pretending to be the smitten girlfriend? Nothing about that feels right, so I hang back to the side and watch as he makes his way through the crush of people all vying for his attention. He’s obviously the man of the hour in a room full of people being honored.
The show will continue on without him, with the same cast, if I recall correctly, but with others stepping into his newly vacant role. His fellow cast members seem sincerely delighted by his presence, and equally heartbroken to say goodbye.
Eventually, he spots me against the wall. It’s only a flicker of recognition, and I doubt anyone else noticed, but I did. I saw the way his face went from genuine lightheartedness to a flash of darkness before he turned back to the people whose existence doesn’t disgust him.
Eventually, he breaks away, excusing himself politely, and makes his way over to me. Most of the other partygoers are several cocktails in and don’t notice our immediate mutual discomfort in our little darkened corner.
“You were really great again tonight,” I say by way of greeting, hoping to lessen the tension even slightly.
He looks down at me, the set of his eyes stony, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he looks tired. But only, it seems, because he’s in my presence.
“I don’t want you here,” he says finally. Quietly.
“What?”
“I want you to go,” he says, looking past me at the wall. Off to the side. At the floor. Anywhere that isn’t my face. “These people are important to me, and I want to enjoy my last night with them, not thinking about you.”
While I’m grateful for the excuse to leave, it doesn’t make his words hurt any less. “I understand. I can see myself out.”
He raises his hand and attracts the attention of one of the waitstaff. The young woman quickly comes trotting over. “Can I get something for you, sir?” she asks.
“Yes,” he says, all authentic kindness for the stranger. “Clara, here, isn’t feeling well. I was wondering if you’d be able to have one of the cars take her home, please.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says to me, and turns back to him. “Yes, sir, I’ll take care of that.”
“Thank you,” he says, quickly glancing at her name tag. “Melanie, I appreciate that.” Turning back to me, he adds, “I hope you feel better, Clara. We have a big day tomorrow. I’ll see you to your car.”
To the waitress, it probably seems like chivalry.
I take it as a threat.
“That’s okay,” I say, thankful for my new part as the ill companion. It allows me to embrace the deadness I actually feel instead of trying to force an adoring smile. “I wouldn’t want to take you away from your party. I’m in good hands with Melanie, here.” I give her a grateful look as she holds her arm up, preparing to guide me out. I turn back before I follow her and say, quietly, “Good night, Caspian.”
At least this time, my tears have the good sense to wait until I’m back in a cab before they make their appearance.