Page 110 of Keep Me Close

If it goes well, everything changes. If it doesn’t, I already know what’s waiting for me. LA and the show. A version of my life I’m desperate to outrun.

Unable to concentrate, I shift and scan the room again. The more I look, the sicker I start to feel. I recognize a few faces. Not from TV but the stage. From actual productions in New York, Chicago, and London.

One of the women by the sign-in table was in the last Broadway revival I saw with my sister. Another guy was part of a touring company last year. They’re discussing callbacks and directors like this is just another Tuesday for them.

Meanwhile, my palms are sweating like I’m about to take a final I didn’t study for.

Do I really belong here?

The thought slips in before I can stop it, and my chest tightens painfully.

What the hell had I been thinking?

No, seriously.

These people have training. Credits to their name. Real experiences. While I have a reality show and a couple of concerts. My fingers curl tighter around the strap of my bag. There’s no doubt about it. This was a mistake. I should have stayed in LA and stuck with what I know. What I do best. I should have⁠—

“Cheyenne?”

My head jerks up, and I immediately regret it.

Lisa Grant.

We did a workshop together a couple years ago, back before the show took over my life. She’s standing near the table with an audition packet in hand, her brows lifted as if confused by my presence.

“Oh,” she says in surprise. “Wow. Hi. It is you.”

I force a smile as everything inside me nosedives. “Hey.”

She steps closer, giving me that quick, assessing once-over performers do without realizing it. “I had no idea you were auditioning for this production.”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound casual. “I thought I’d give it a shot.”

Judgment flickers across her face. It’s not mean, exactly. But it’s more than enough to sting.

“Oh,” she says again. “I didn’t realize they were seeing, um, outside people for this.”

Outside people.

The words are like a slap. I feel it everywhere all at once as heat rushes to my face. My spine stiffens as my grip tightens around my purse until my fingers ache.

“I mean,” she adds quickly when I remain silent, “it’s just… this is a pretty serious production. You know?”

My smile tightens. “Yeah, I do.”

That’s the worst part. I realize exactly how serious this is. And I understand what it would mean if I got the part.

She nods, still looking thrown by my presence. “Well. Good luck.” There’s an awkward pause. “Break a leg.”

“You too.”

As soon as she walks away, turning toward the other actors, my confidence crumbles.

Outside people.

Reality star.

The words stack in my head until my chest feels too tight to pull in air.