Page 77 of Play Room Actor

Not then, and certainly not now.

He’d bleached his brown hair so light it was nearly white, with a yellowish tint that was hard to miss. In the dim theater lighting, it wasn’t as obvious, but I’d caught a glimpse of it earlier when I stepped out of the control room and saw Theo greeting him in the lobby.

Not long ago, I found out that Alex knew this guy as well. That fact he vehemently refused to say anything about him had always struck me as odd. But Alex had worked for the same newspaper this guy wrote for, so he probably saw it as gossiping if he spilled any details.

Either way, I thought it was wise to steer clear of him.

“Tim,” I said into the walkie-talkie. “Can you check if Spotlight 57 is okay?”

“On it,” Tim replied.

On stage, the actors were rehearsing the fight between Hamlet and Laertes. Dominic looked great. He was already wearing the navy coat that our costume designer had picked out for him.

I wondered how much people had picked up on our behavior at the wedding. After all, Dominic and I had barely been able to keep our hands off each other.

“Spotlight 57 is broken,” Tim reported back over the walkie-talkie. “I’ll take it down later and bring it to Kurt in the workshop.”

“Thanks.”

Just then, Laertes struck, killing Hamlet. Dominic died a tragic stage death, and everyone in the hall held their breath—even that journalist behind me. When I saw the spotlight lingering on Laertes, I hissed into the walkie-talkie. “Goddammit, Bruno, light on Hamlet!”

The spotlight swung back to Dominic, who was taking his final breath and lay motionless.

There was no applause, but the actors seemed to count a few seconds before getting up and discussing the scene. Laertes wanted to run through the fight again, and Sebastian made a few adjustments to the set design.

“I’d like to have a quick word with Hamlet,” I heard the journalist say behind me. “Would that be possible?”

“Of course,” Theo replied, standing up. “Dominic! Can you come here for a minute?” he called over me, motioning for Dominic to meet him at the right edge of the stage. However, Theo sat back down and focused on his notes while the journalist thanked him and made his way forward.

Dominic stepped off the stage, clearly hesitating when he recognized the journalist. His body language said it all as he buried his thumbs in his back pockets—like he often did—before realizing he was wearing the tailcoat. He awkwardly shook the journalist’s hand, rubbed his forearm, and forced a smile—though just moments ago, he’d been so confident as he “died” on stage.

Do they know each other?

I didn’t like that.

Especially not with this journalist.

The bleached-blond guy, however, seemed delighted to have run into Dominic here, gesturing wildly as he spoke.

Dominic’s tension gradually disappeared. His smile no longer looked forced, and he appeared more relaxed. The awkwardness vanished, and it almost seemed like two old friends had reunited.

I liked that even less.

The two of them spoke longer than I was comfortable with, and I felt a tightness in my chest.

When the guy even reached out and brushed Dominic’s arm affectionately, I stood up, grabbed the walkie-talkie—I had to have some excuse—and made my way toward the stage.

“I’ve been trying to reach you,” I heard the journalist say. “But you don’t seem to be getting my messages.”

“Yeah … no … I have a new number,” Dominic said, brushing his hand across his mouth.

“I can give you mine, if you want. There’s something going down tomorrow night. You can just stop by if you feel like it.”

When I finally reached them, Dominic was in the middle of giving him the final digits of his phone number.

“Hey,” I said nonchalantly, though I was boiling inside.

Why the hell is he giving that slimeball his number?