I’m tempted. But it’s humiliating enough to talk about my issues with my therapist. I can’t imagine discussing them with Caroline. “I’m just sad. Brandon was a great guy, but I always suspected he had feelings for his ex. Turns out I was right.” My lies will surely land me in hell, yet I tell them anyway. “But now it’s behind me and the work I’m doing has given me a purpose, which is making me a different kind of happy.”
“But it’s not fun. To get a full college experience you need to have fun.”
I shake my head and chuckle. “Some days I swear Southern has hired you as a student ambassador.”
“I care about you. When did that become a crime?”
“Caroline, you were throwing the full college experience line at me before you and Reed even started dating.”
She laughs. “So I want you have fun. Humor me just this once.”
“Okay,” I give in with a grin. “If anyone goes out tonight, I’ll go too.”
Her face lights up. “Great. Promise?”
“Fine, I promise.” She never specified how long I had to stay. I take a big bite of my pasta to put a stop to the conversation.
An hour later, things are progressing well behind stage at the theater. The director and the stage crew manager have everything under control. There are some opening-night jitters, but everyone seems upbeat and ready. Promptly at seven, I walk out in front of the curtain to address the audience. Even though ticket sales have been brisk, I’m surprised to see a mostly full theater. Granted, the Hillsdale Theater isn’t huge, but there are at least three hundred seats. At ten dollars a ticket, we’re bound to make even more money than expected. And we still have a performance tomorrow night.
“Hi, my name is Lexi Pendergraft and I’m a student at Southern University.” I pause, flashing a smile. “I also work with the Middle Tennessee Children’s Charity. As most of you know, the charity has provided a multitude of invaluable services to children in need in the Middle Tennessee area, from after-school tutoring and assistance with clothing and school supplies to the popular summer program for elementary-aged children. Middle-school-aged children tend to slip through the cracks—they’re too old for daycare but too young to leave unsupervised for eight to ten hours a day. With that in mind, we’ve decided to enhance the summer program by adding activities for these children. After the play tonight, cast members will be in the lobby with buckets. We are so grateful that you’ve already contributed to our work by purchasing a ticket, but if you could be generous enough to make an additional donation, it would very much appreciated. Also, if you own a business or know of any business owners who might be willing to sponsor the program, please stop by and see me after tonight’s production of The Eternal Bachelor.”
The audience applauds and I walk offstage as the house lights fade and the show begins. Even though my short scene isn’t until the second act, Caroline helps me with my makeup and stuffs the long black wig on my head.
I stare at my reflection, unnerved by the sight without being entirely sure why. It’s me. I can see that, but there’s something different in the face of the woman in the mirror, something I can’t place. And then I realize what it is.
She doesn’t look broken.
Caroline stands behind me, leaning over my shoulder. “You’re stunning.”
I don’t say anything. I look exactly like I did last night, so I’m not sure why something about tonight is different.
“I’m going to find Reed. Break a leg, Lex.”
“Thanks.”
She leaves me sitting in front of the mirror, and I finally realize what has happened. Playing a part is all about trying on someone else’s skin, and my character in the play is a woman who’s confident in her sexuality. Maybe this is what I needed to do all along.
Only I’m not naïve enough to think it’s that simple, that you can make something happen just by wishing it were so.
I give my head a sharp shake. How ridiculous. The woman in the mirror is me.
I feel narcissistic staring at my reflection so long, and I look around to see if anyone has caught me. Everyone is hanging out, waiting to perform their various roles. I push my chair back and get up. I need to make sure everything is still going well.
The cast and crew are psyched at intermission. Tonight’s performance has gone even better than any of the rehearsals. The second act is shorter than the first and soon it’s time for me to walk onstage and deliver my line. I’m surprised to find myself nervous. I’ve played a role in my mother’s philanthropy projects for as long as I can remember, so I’m used to standing in front of large crowds and delivering speeches. One line should be nothing.
Thankfully, I deliver my line flawlessly. But as I wait for the play to wrap up, I realize there’s a major downside to wearing a wig for my appearance in the play. My hair is pinned up and under the wig, so I won’t be able to take it off before I meet and greet people.
Rob, the guy who struts on stage when I deliver my one line, takes one look at me and walks over. “What’s wrong?”
I blink up at him in confusion.
“Your face is an open book, Lexi. You’re worried about something.” He puts his hands on my arms and rubs briskly. “Relax. It’s our best run yet.”
“It’s my wig.” I reach up to touch it, feeling stupid and superficial. “I need to meet people after the play. I can’t take this off because my hair will be a disaster, but I suspect no one will know who I am if I have a different hair color. I’m liable to miss out on some networking opportunities.”