“No, no.” I attempt to appear disinterested by staring at the floor, but it’s too late. Nigel calls out to Zeppelin. Crap.
He makes his way to our side.
“Zepp. This is Jerzie Jhames. She’s the standby for Cinny. Jerzie, this is Zeppelin Reid. A Montague.”
Zeppelin shakes my hand like we’re meeting for the first time. His skin is so warm, but I still feel chilled, as if his hand were a solid block of ice.
“Hey, Zepp!” Robbie calls out.
“Welcome to the cast, Jerzie Jhames,” Zeppelin says, then turns and heads toward Robbie.
“Sign.”
“Huh?” I look at Nigel.
“The nondisclosure agreement. Sign please.”
The scent of Nigel’s peppermint gum burns my throat as he thrusts a pen at me. I try to read a few more lines, but I can’t really discern contract speech. Liquidated damages. Does that have to do with water? Besides, all I can concentrate on is the fact that the hand Zeppelin touched is somehow, magically, simultaneously hot and cold. I scribble something illegible at the bottom of the page.
“Thanks, kiddo.” Nigel scurries off.
My gaze shifts back to Zeppelin and Cinny as I move to the back of the room, set my backpack at my feet, and slide onto one of the folding chairs. Wait, Cinny? I didn’t even notice she’d returned. She’s leaning her head on Zeppelin’s shoulder and holding on to his tatted arm like she never wants to let it go as they both chat with Robbie. They definitely have chemisty together.
Two additional cast members push through the door. A girl with sculpted legs that seem to stretch on infinitely and fire-red coils of hair piled on top of her head, and a boy with brown skin like mine. He looks familiar. In fact, it feels like I know him. Do I?
“Let’s run it,” Alan says. “From the top. ‘I Think I Remember You.’”
“What’s all that?” Cinny points.
I turn to see what’s caught her attention. There are two small cameras on tripods set up in the back.
“What’s with the cameras?” she asks.
Her voice. She’s got the sexy raspy voice that I’ve always wanted. Though Judas says Cinny sounds like a chain-smoking old-lady hag. Anyway, it’s surreal to see and hear her this up close and personal. It’s like I’ve got an exclusive, all-access pass to her concert at Madison Square Garden and am watching the mic check from the front row. Her skin is all glowy, like she got an expensive body shine on the way to the studios, and even though she’s wearing very little makeup, she’s still so striking. She is the embodiment of celebrity. It’s in her slightest move. The way her long lashes almost rest on her cheeks when she blinks. The way her ruby-red, perfectly manicured nails gleam and glisten.
I look down at my own nails. They’re each painted a different color. Yellow, green, pink, purple, white—I look like human confetti. I sigh.
“Don’t mind the cameras, Cinny,” Alan says. “We’re thinking of completely changing the number is all. The team needs to watch together to decide on a new direction.”
“Thank God.” Cinny yawns. “Hate this choreography. It’s the worst.”
The guy in the spandex shorts and heels rolls his eyes and says, “Tell me how do you really feel, Cinny?”
He’s got a thick French accent, and it suddenly dawns on me who he is. It’s Elias Aubert. Broadway choreographer extraordinaire. He’s only twenty-five and is already so successful, along with his longtime partner, Nikolai. Together, they’ve won Outer Critics Circle Awards, Lucille Lortel Awards, and Tonys. The choreography must really be bad if Cinny is openly criticizing Elias Aubert.
“Don’t be mad at me,” Cinny states unapologetically. “Clearly I’m not the only person not feelin’ it. Or we wouldn’t be changin’ it.”
“We’re not changing it because we don’t like it though,” Robbie cuts in. “It’s changing because—”
“Uh-uh. Blah. Stop.” Cinny shakes her head. “I’m so not the one. Not about to be arguin’ with y’all. It’s changing. Good. Movin’ on.”
Whoa. In all the interviews I’ve seen of Cinny, she seemed nice and gentle. Always talking about her spirituality and how Yoga keeps her super zen. Was it all an act? Or maybe she’s just not a morning person.
It’s now deathly quiet in the room. Though the muffled rumble of Times Square below can’t be tamed, so maybe “deathly quiet” is an overstatement. In fact, either I’m hearing voices in my head, or there really is a choir of high-pitched screams coming from below.
“Do you guys hear that?” Cinny gushes.
Oh, good. She hears it, too. She rushes to the window, her mood completely flipped to cheery.
“Stop it. How cuuuuute!” She squeals. “A bunch of my fans are makin’ a scene, y’all. Come see this.”
Elias and Robbie exchange looks, but neither says a word in reply nor moves a muscle. The brown-skinned boy who looks familiar and the girl with the fiery red hair sigh dramatically. I also note that Zeppelin is staring at his phone as if Cinny’s screeching fans are of little interest to him.
Alan only claps his hands and states, “From the top. Everyone. Places, please.”
Cinny sort of smacks her lips but does move into position.
“I Think I Remember You” is one of the songs I’ve learned in my private rehearsals. It’s when Roman and Jewel meet for the first time. I scoot to the edge of my seat as Cinny moves front and center. I’m sort of staring at her knees to avoid eye contact. It’s weird. Truly. But my peripheral vision keeps all of her in clear view. And sure, I might be cross-eyed when this is all said and done, but at least I’ll be in accordance with the NDA. Anyway. Cinny does have presence. She stands there so sure of herself. So poised, so confident.
Similar to Shakespeare’s original play, the two meet for the first time at a party at Jewel’s house. A campaign party. It starts off like a typical meet-cute. They see one another from across the room and are drawn together, almost trancelike. Then their meeting morphs into a fantasy sequence. It’s a big company number. They sing a duet on the moving walkway, as time and all their past lives pass by them. In the song, they’re trying to figure out why they seem so familiar to one another. Of course neither is aware (yet) that they are the reincarnations of Romeo and Juliet, meeting for the first time in hundreds of years.
Zeppelin and Cinny slowly make their way across the room to connect at the center as the pianist bangs out the complicated melody. Zeppelin wraps his arm around Cinny’s tiny waist, lowers his head into the nape of her neck, and Cinny spins out of his grasp.