13. Genevieve

13

GENEVIEVE

G enevieve's footsteps echoed almost ominously through the empty theatre as she strode down the aisle the next morning. The familiar scent of dust and old velvet enveloped her, usually comforting, but today only heightening her unease. She glanced at her watch - 7:30 AM. The tech run wasn't due to start for another two and a half hours, but Genevieve’s insides roiled with an unfamiliar anxiety.

She climbed the steps to the stage, her keen eyes sweeping over the set. Everything seemed to be in order, but something felt off. It took her a moment to realize what it was. The space felt incomplete without Eden standing resplendent at its heart.

The weight of last night’s disastrous finale felt like a pounding pressure on Genevieve’s skull. She took a seat in the same chair she’d watched from as Eden had mastered each of her scenes down to the finest detail. Massaging her fingers into her temples, Genevieve groaned. She could only hope that her discomfort would pass when Eden arrived. They just needed to have a calm conversation, to put emotions aside for the sake of their work. Now was no time for everything to go off the rails just for the sake of some hurt feelings.

Eden will see sense. It was just a post-orgasmic lapse in judgement. I’m not what she wants.

Even as she tried to reassure herself over and over, Genevieve’s stomach twisted and clenched. For someone usually so pragmatic, she was struggling an awful lot to convince herself that she would be relieved when Eden inevitably showed up and gently rescinded her declaration.

Except, as the clock ticked closer and closer to the start of the usual workday, Eden didn’t show up.

Genevieve frowned, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as she realised she’d been somewhat paralysed as she’d stared into space and waited to hear the doors open. Eden had been arriving early for weeks now, eager to run lines or discuss character motivations before the rest of the cast arrived. Her absence was . . . unsettling.

Pulling out her phone, Genevieve dialled Eden's number. It rang once, twice, three times before going to voicemail. Genevieve's frown deepened as she listened to Eden's cheery recorded greeting.

"Eden, it's Genevieve. Just checking you’re going to be on time for the tech run today. It starts at 10 AM sharp. I expect you'll be here by 9:30 to warm up. See you soon."

She ended the call, her thumb hovering over Eden's name on the screen. Should she call again? No, that would seem desperate. Eden was probably just running late. She'd be here soon.

Genevieve busied herself with last-minute preparations, but she couldn't shake the gnawing worry in the pit of her stomach. As the minutes ticked by, she found herself checking her phone with increasing frequency.

At 9:30, the rest of the cast began to filter in. Genevieve stood at the edge of the stage, greeting them with nods and terse smiles. Her eyes kept darting to the theatre entrance, searching for a flash of golden hair.

"Has anyone heard from Eden?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.

The cast exchanged glances, shaking their heads. Whispers began to circulate, growing louder as the start time edged closer and Eden failed to appear.

At 9:45, Genevieve couldn't wait any longer. She retreated to a quiet corner backstage and dialled Eden's number again. This time, it went straight to voicemail.

"Eden, where are you? The tech run starts in 15 minutes. This is unacceptable. Call me back immediately."

She made sure her notifications were set to loud and shoved her phone back into her pocket, her hands shaking slightly as she smoothed down her trousers. This wasn't like Eden. Something must be wrong. Maybe she was sick, or there had been an accident . . .

Genevieve pushed those thoughts aside. She needed to focus. No more catastrophising. The tech run was crucial, and they couldn't afford any delays. She'd have to make do with Eden's understudy for now.

As she turned to head back to the stage, she nearly collided with Sammy.

"Ah, Genevieve!" he exclaimed, his jovial tone at odds with the tension in the air. "Where's our star? I was hoping to have a word with her before we begin."

Genevieve's stomach dropped. She'd forgotten that Sammy would be here today, along with the President of the Theatre Board. This was supposed to be their chance to show off the production, to prove that their gamble on new material was paying off.

"She's . . . running late," Genevieve managed, forcing a smile. "I'm sure she'll be here any moment."

Sammy's eyes narrowed. "Running late? On tech day? That doesn't sound like the dedicated actress you've been raving about."

Genevieve opened her mouth to defend Eden, but at that moment, the President appeared behind Sammy.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, his tone sharp.

Genevieve straightened her spine, years of facing down haughty personalities coming to her aid. "Not at all, Mr. Harrington. We're just making some last-minute adjustments. If you'll excuse me, I need to speak with the cast."

She brushed past them, her insides well and truly doing backflips now. Where the hell was Eden? She pulled out her phone once more, her jaw clenched so tight it was starting to ache.

"Eden, it's Genevieve again. Please, call me back. Whatever's going on, we can work it out. Just . . . please be okay."

She hung up the phone once again, blinking back the stinging threat of tears. This was ridiculous. She’d handled plenty of disasters in her time, she didn't fall apart over tardy actresses. Whatever was getting her so worked up needed to pipe the fuck down. Immediately.

But as she looked out at the assembled cast, at Sammy and Mr. Harrington taking their seats in the front row, Genevieve couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a case of unprofessional behaviour. Eden wasn’t here for a reason, and that reason was almost undoubtedly her cowardly director.

The image of Eden's face after her confession flashed through Genevieve's mind. The hope, the vulnerability, the subsequent devastation when Genevieve had fled. She'd told herself that it was for the best. That she was protecting both of them from the complications of a relationship. But now, faced with the possibility that Eden was so hurt that she couldn’t even face her, Genevieve wondered if she'd made a terrible mistake.

" All right, everyone," she called out, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "Let's get started. Mara, you'll be standing in for Eden today."

As Mara, Eden's understudy, took her place on stage, Genevieve caught Sammy's disapproving pout. She knew she'd have to answer for this later, knew that the success of the entire production - and possibly her career - hung in the balance.

But in that moment, as the lights dimmed and the tech run began, all Genevieve could think about was Eden. Where she was, whether or not she was okay, and whether Genevieve would ever get the chance to tell Eden how she really felt.

The tech run stumbled forward, each clumsy scene feeling like an eternity to Genevieve. She stood at the edge of the stage, her eyes darting between the struggling understudy and her silent phone. Mara was doing her best, but her performance lacked the confident fire and the raw emotion that Eden brought to the role. It was like watching a pale imitation, a charcoal sketch where there should have been a vibrant oil painting.

Genevieve's gaze flicked to the front row, where Mr. Harrington sat with an increasingly sour expression, deep creases running down either side of his thin mouth and into his jowls. Beside him, Sammy alternated between scribbling furious notes and shooting concerned glances her way. She could practically feel their disappointment radiating toward her in noxious waves.

"Take five for the intermission, everyone," Genevieve called out, barely masking her choked panic at how this day was turning out. As the cast reset, she retreated to the wings, pulling out her phone once more.

No messages. No missed calls. Nothing.

She exhaled a pained sigh, closing her eyes for a moment to compose herself before striding back into the open. When she turned, she found Sammy standing before her, his expression a mix of worry and fury.

"Gen, a word?" he asked, though his tone made it clear it wasn't a request.

With a curt nod to the stage manager to continue, Genevieve followed Sammy into the relative privacy of the hallway.

"What the hell is going on?" Sammy demanded as soon as they were out of earshot. "Where is Eden? And don't tell me she's just running late. It's been hours."

Genevieve ran a hand through her hair, a rare display of uncertainty. "I don't know, Sammy. I've been trying to reach her, but she's not answering her phone."

"This is unacceptable," Sammy hissed. "Do you have any idea how this looks? Mr. Harrington is ready to pull the plug on the whole production. I took a huge risk with this show, Genevieve. I let you be when I got the sense you were off your game somehow, trusted you to have it handled. And now our lead actress has vanished into thin air on tech day?"

"I know, I know," Genevieve said, struggling to draw breath around the lump in her throat. "But Eden wouldn't just disappear without a reason. Something must have happened."

Sammy blinked a few times, digesting her words as if he could hardly believe what he was hearing. Genevieve Howard has never been heard making excuses for other people’s failures. "Something like what? What aren't you telling me, Genevieve? No bullshit."

For a moment, Genevieve considered confessing everything to this exuberant man she knew thought of her as a friend. The secret hookups, Eden's declaration of love, her own conflicted feelings. But the words stuck in her throat. How could she explain something she barely understood herself? How could she admit that it was all her fault it had gone sideways?

"Nothing," she said finally. "There's nothing to tell. Eden is dedicated to this role. To this production. Whatever's keeping her away, it must be serious."

Sammy studied her face for a long while, clearly unconvinced. "Fix this," he said finally. "Whatever it takes. We can't afford any more setbacks."

As he turned to head back into the theatre, Genevieve leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted. She pulled out her phone again, staring at the still-blank screen.

"Where are you?" she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

Just then, she heard voices approaching from around the corner. She straightened up, ready to put on her professional mask once more. But as the words became clearer, she froze.

"I reckon she’s had a meltdown," one voice said, low and conspiratorial. "You’ve seen the way Genevieve criticizes her when she’s not absolutely perfect. The pressure must’ve gotten to the poor girl."

"No way," another voice replied. "Eden? She always seemed so put together. She’s a pro."

"Well, you know what they say about mixing business and pleasure," the first voice continued. "I always thought there was something going on between those two."

Genevieve’s hand flew to her mouth to smother her gasp. How had they found out? Had Eden said something? Or had they simply been less discreet than they'd thought?

"Shh," a third voice hissed. "Don’t let anyone hear you say that. No one wants to work with a gossip."

Genevieve quickly composed herself as a group of stagehands rounded the corner. They nodded to her nervously before hurrying past, their gossip session silenced by her presence.

As their footsteps faded, Genevieve leaned back against the wall, her mind spinning like a cyclone hurling debris in vicious circles. How many of them were thinking the same? That she and Eden had had some sort of lovers' quarrel? The irony of it nearly made her laugh. If only they knew the truth - that it wasn't a fight that had driven Eden away, but a moment of pure, intimate bliss. And Genevieve's own cowardice.

She thought back to that moment on the stage, to the look in Eden's eyes as she'd whispered those three fateful words. "I love you." So simple, so honest. And what had Genevieve done? She'd run away, too scared to face her own feelings, too set in her ways to imagine a future where love and career could coexist.

And now Eden was gone, and the production - her shot at proving herself and securing funding for her student program - was dangling from the most frayed of threads.

Today was a lost cause. A monumental disaster. But they’d get through it and then Genevieve would come up with a plan. She had to find Eden, had to make things right. Not just for the sake of the play, but for her own heart.

With renewed determination, Genevieve strode back into the theatre. The tech run was still crawling toward its conclusion, with Mara's lacklustre delivery a stark reminder

of Eden's absence. Genevieve climbed onto the stage, holding up a hand to stop the proceedings.

"Everyone, take five," she announced. "Mara, come with me. We need to work on your delivery."

As the cast and crew dispersed, Genevieve led Mara to a quiet corner. But instead of offering notes, she fixed the understudy with an intense gaze.

"Mara," she said softly, "Did Eden tell you she’d need you to fill in today? Has she contacted you at all? Said anything about where she might be?"

Mara's eyes widened in surprise. "N-no, Ms. Howard. I haven't heard from her. Is . . . is everything okay?"

Genevieve forced a smile to mask her crippling concern. It was unlike Eden to not even give her understudy a heads up that she wasn’t coming in. They’d struck up something of a friendship as stewards of the integral role. "Everything's fine. I just need to speak with her about some last-minute changes. If you hear from her, let me know immediately. Understood?"

Mara nodded, clearly confused but unwilling to question her director further.

As Mara walked away, Genevieve pulled out her phone once more. The lump of metal and glass was starting to look as useful to her as a stale slice of bread. Before she could decide whether or not to try calling Eden for the umpteenth time, Genevieve heard someone clear their throat rather pointedly behind her. She turned to find Mr. Harrington, his sallow face now turning a worrying shade of puce.

"It seems you and I need to have a little chat, Ms. Howard," he snapped, a fleck of spittle landing on Genevieve’s face while she threw all her energy into not flinching. She nodded silently, following him to a quiet corner of the theatre. She could feel the eyes of the cast and crew on her back, their whispers floating through the air like accusatory phantoms.

"Am I missing some great joke?" Mr. Harrington began, flailing his hands in the air with all the gusto befitting a custodian of the theatrical arts. "Where the hell is your lead? And how have you managed to throw together such a pitiful band of monkeys that the whole production should come crumbling down without her?"

Genevieve took a deep breath. He was right. For all her self-doubt, Eden might be somewhat comforted by the fact that every member in this company seemed to thrive off her energy as their lead. "Mr. Harrington, I understand your concern. But I assure you, Eden's absence is totally unlike her. She's dedicated, passionate about this role-"

"Passionate enough to disappear without a word?" Mr. Harrington cut her off. "Do you hear yourself? Your judgment is in question here, Ms. Howard. Not just in your casting choices, but in your entire approach to this production. Your tunnel vision is proving to be your downfall."

The words stung, but Genevieve refused to let it show in her stoic expression. "Eden is the perfect Beatrice," she insisted. "She embodies everything this character represents - the fire, the wit, the complexity. What you saw today with the understudy . . . that's not our show. Eden will be here for the performance, I guarantee it."

Mr. Harrington scoffed. "You seem to have an awful lot of faith in this vanished girl, Ms. Howard. One might wonder why you think she deserves special treatment."

Genevieve felt her heart skip a beat. Did he know? Had he heard the rumours those stagehands were gossiping about? She pushed the thought aside. That’s just paranoia talking.

"I have faith in her because she's earned it. You know very well that I don’t award my approval to just anyone," Genevieve replied curtly. "Eden has poured her heart and soul into this role. Whatever's keeping her away today, it must have a perfectly valid explanation. She wouldn't jeopardize this opportunity otherwise."

"For your sake, I hope you're right," Mr. Harrington said through gritted teeth. "Because if this show fails, Ms. Howard, it won't just be Eden's career on the line. The board is watching closely. The future of experimental productions at TBTC hangs in the balance. As does your position here."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Genevieve alone with the weight of his words threatening to crack her ribs.

As the day drew to a close, Genevieve retreated to her office, tail between her legs. She sank into her chair, staring at the silent phone on her desk. She'd lost count of how many times she'd called Eden today, each unanswered ring another twist of the knife in her heart.

As if compulsively going through the motions of some sort of masochistic ritual, Genevieve swiped at the screen again until she’d brought up Eden’s contact. As the phone rang, she closed her eyes, silently pleading for her to answer, though there wasn’t one fibre of her being left that still held out hope.

"You've reached Eden Rowley. I can't come to the phone right now, but leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!"

"Eden, it's me. Um . . . again," Genevieve murmured, letting her raw emotions seep into the hushed words. "I . . . I don't know if you're listening to these messages. I hope you are. I hope you're okay. God, Eden, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for running away last night. I'm sorry for not being brave enough to face what's between us. I was scared, Eden. Scared of how you make me feel, of how much I . . ."

She trailed off, the confession lodging in her throat like a creature with claws, refusing to be dragged out into the light. Even now, alone in her office, she couldn't bring herself to say how she really felt.

"Please come back," she continued, weakly clearing her throat. "Not just for the show, although God knows we need you. But for me. I need you, Eden. I need your light, your passion, your . . . everything. We can figure this out together, I promise. Just . . . come back to me."

Genevieve hung up for what she decided was her last attempt. Her behaviour was verging on creepy-desperate. Eden was a grown woman. If she wanted to talk, she’d call.

But the phone remained silent, and Genevieve was left alone with her thoughts.

As she gathered her things to leave, Genevieve found herself drawn back to the stage. The theatre was empty now, the hustle and bustle of the day replaced by an eerie stillness. She walked to centre stage, her tired eyes roving over the unlit set, the silent wings, and vacant stalls.

This was her domain. Her empire. And yet, for the very first time, she felt powerless. Uninspired. Her muse so out of reach that the vision had gone blank.

"I love you too," Genevieve whispered into the cavernous space, the words she'd been too afraid to say finally set free in the darkness. "I'm sorry I couldn't say it. I'm sorry I ran away. I hope you can forgive me."