Brothers are a pain in the ass.
Okay, that may not be true for all brothers, but it's certainly true for mine.
Since we were kids, my big brother Ethan has tested my last nerve. Like the time when I was eleven and he was thirteen, and I got home from camp to discover he'd stripped all of my Barbie dolls and placed them in lewd lesbian poses. Or the time when I had my first date when I was sixteen, and he opened the door dressed as Freddy Krueger. Or when he put a personal ad on Craigslist when I was eighteen that read, Short, Annoying, Ball-breaking Sister for sale to the first person who shows up at our door with a bottle of Jack Daniels and an X-box.
That last one almost made our dad's head explode with rage. Partly because it was a crappy thing to do, but mostly because three guys actually showed up. Man, there are some sickos in this world. My brother included.
The thing is, I love my brother, even when he's being an ass, (which is most of the time), but he's nothing if not high maintenance. Even if he wasn't an actor and I wasn't his stage manager, I'd have that opinion. For the past two years I've worked on every show he's done, and I've quickly discovered that where Ethan goes, drama never fails to follow.
"Elissa!" My assistant stage manager and best friend, Josh, rushes toward me, and the look on his face speaks volumes. "What the hell is wrong with your brother?"
I shake my head. "I've been asking him that question for years. He usually flips me the bird and refuses to answer."
Josh frowns. This is his first experience in dealing with Ethan in a professional capacity.
Welcome to my hell, buddy.
"He's done something to Olivia," he says. "She's locked herself in the dressing room. It's forty-five minutes 'til curtain, and our leading lady is sobbing and cursing his name. What are we going to do?"
It's the opening night of Romeo and Juliet for the Tribeca Shakespeare Festival. Olivia is playing Juliet, and Ethan is Mercutio. We have reviewers from all over the tri-state area coming, and it's rumored Robert De Niro may show up. I really don't need this crap tonight.
I hand Josh my keys and five bucks. "Head to the green room. Buy chocolate. Then use my keys to open the door to Olivia's dressing room. Give her the chocolate and a hug to calm her down. Tell her my brother is a douchebag and all men are bastards."
"Not all men," he says.
"Yes, sweetheart, not you of course, because you're one of the few rare creatures not ruled by his penis." This isn't true. Josh just pretends to not be ruled by his penis. I know for a fact he got into theater specifically for the hot women. Still, he plays the nice guy role well, so I let it go.
"Just calm her down, okay? You know what to do."
Josh nods. "I know the drill. Stroke her ego. Agree with everything she says. Offer to beat up your brother after the show if necessary."
I almost laugh. The thought of wiry Josh taking on my six-foot-two ex-varsity track champion brother is more than a little hilarious. Ethan would demolish him without breaking a sweat.
Sure," I say. "If violence against Ethan is what she needs to hear, offer to do it. Whatever it takes to get her calm, in costume, and on that stage."
Josh salutes then heads to the dressing rooms. I rub my eyes. The season hasn't even opened yet and my brother is giving me a migraine. Fabulous.
From the first day of rehearsal, it was clear Olivia had it bad for Ethan. That totally boggled my mind because the guy playing Romeo is soooo much more attractive. So attractive he ruins my usually rock-solid composure at every opportunity, but that's another story.
For whatever reason, my moody, broody brother was more Olivia's type, and I've been watching her throw herself at him throughout rehearsals. I should have known Ethan didn't have enough self-control to keep it in his pants.
Ever since his high school sweetheart chewed up his heart and spat it out two years ago, he's used women for distraction, but that's it. He never actually dates. I think he's forgotten how. I just wish he'd listen to me when I beg him to stay away from the girls he works with. It never ends well. Ever. And not just for him. As his stage manager, I'm always the chump who has to clean up the woman-shaped wreckage he leaves behind. It totally blows.
I click the button on my headset and say, "Going off comms," before I extricate myself from my desk side stage and head off to Ethan's dressing room.
When I get there, I see someone has pinned one of my brother's headshots to the door, but not before defacing it with devil horns, blackened teeth, and a Sharpie goatee that looks vaguely like a penis. I pull the photo free as I knock on the door.
"Come in."
I swing the door open to find my brother in costume leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the bench, reading a book.
I hold out the picture. "Olivia's handiwork?"
He looks briefly at the photo before he shrugs. "Maybe. She did seem pissed when I saw her earlier."
"What did you do?"
"Nothing." I shoot him a look. He holds up his hands. "Seriously, nothing. I've barely spoken to her since last week."
I roll my eyes. I don't know whether my brother is actually this clueless about women, or whether he just acts the part to annoy me.
"You don't think ignoring her might have pissed her off? How many times did she call you over the weekend?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. Five? Ten? What's the big deal?"
I walk over and shove his feet off the counter. They hit the floor with a thud, and he glares at me.
"Ethan, you know Olivia has is bad for you and that she thinks you're dating. Why on earth would you think she'd be okay with you freezing her out?"
"I've never given her the impression we're dating."
"Apart from sleeping with her."
"That's not dating."
"For some girls it is."
He stands up and shoves a bookmark into his book. "What do you want me to do, Elissa? Get them to sign a disclaimer before we have sex? This is a relationship-free zone. Orgasm at your own risk."
"That could work." He scoffs, but I ignore him. "Fine, but what I'd really like is for you to not act surprised when, after you fuck every girl in the cast, they get pissed with you. Oh, and also? Please don't fuck every girl in the cast."
Ethan sits on the couch and runs his hands through his hair. "It was one girl, Elissa, and now it's over. So, problem solved, right?"
"No, not problem solved. You couldn't wait until the show closed before breaking up with her? It's opening night, goddammit, and she's freaking out over you instead of concentrating on her role. If you don't care about hurting her, you should at least care about the show."
He flops back against the couch and rubs his eyes. "Fine. Whatever. I'll go talk to her."
"Thank you. And be nice about it."
"When am I not nice?" I give him my bitch brow. "Okay, fine. I'll try to be nice. No promises, though."
I shake my head. "I have zero clue what these girls see in you."
"Tall. Talented. Great taste in music."
I lean against the door jamb. "A soul blacker than the deepest pit of Hades."
"A lot of girls dig that."
"Clearly. Weirdos." I'm about to leave, when I hear him say, "Elissa?"
I turn back to him. "What?"
He looks at me for a few seconds before dropping his gaze to his hands. "Have you heard anything from The Grove, yet?"
The Grove is America's most prestigious performing arts college. Ethan and I both applied this year, him for acting and me for stage management. We had our final interviews two weeks ago. I'm optimistic I did enough to get in, but the audition requirements for the acting program are brutal, and Ethan has been rejected twice before. If he doesn't get in this time, they won't let him reapply. To say he's been a basket case while waiting to hear his results is an understatement.
"Ethan, you know we probably won't hear anything for at least another week or so. Are you worried you won't get in?"
He laughs. "This time, I'm worried I will."
"What? Why?"
He waves his hand. "Never mind. Joke."
"Bullshit. Your jokes aren't that funny." He flips me the bird. "Was there good talent this year?"
"There's good talent every year. That's why it's so fucking hard to get accepted."
"But you nailed the mirror exercise this time, right?"
The mirror exercise is something Ethan sucks at. It requires a real, powerful connection with another performer, and that's something he struggles with. He's an amazing actor, but emotional vulnerability spooks him, big time. I blame his bitch-monster of an ex-girlfriend. I know he had trust issues before she came along, but her epic betrayal exploded them into a full-blown phobia.
"Yeah, the mirror exercise was fine," he says.
"Well, great. That used to be a major stumbling block for you. What made it easier this year?"
A look passes across my brother's face. I have no idea what he's thinking about, but I've never seen that expression before. He looks ... well, okay, the only way I can describe it is 'constipated with joy'. It's as if some part of him is trying really hard to be happy but is being stifled by his natural propensity for moody fuckuppery.
A realization hits me. "Ethan, who did the mirror exercise with you this year?"
His painful/wistful expression vanishes, and he's back to his ever-present frown. "I don't know. Some girl. Why?"
He immediately averts his eyes and pretends to tie his already perfect shoelaces.
I narrow my eyes. "Pretty?"
He shrugs. "I suppose."
"Talented?"
He stops. "Why the third degree?"
"I just find it interesting that you were able to do the exercise with this girl when you've sucked at it before. Sounds like she was the Ethan Whisperer. What was she like?"
"She was ..." He gets that wistful look again for a moment before frowning. "Annoying."
"Annoying, how?"
He shakes his head. "Do you ever see someone who's trying to be something they're not, and want to just shake the hell out of them?"
"Ethan, I work in theater. I see people like that every day."
"Yeah, well. This girl ... I don't know. Offstage, she's a freaking sheep who will do anything just to fit in, but onstage ..." He stares at the floor for a few moments. "Onstage, she's ... fearless. Like she doesn't give a shit how she looks as long as what she's doing feels right. But the kicker is, she has no fucking clue how good she is. Totally oblivious. It's infuriating."
"Infuriating, huh?"
"Very."
I feel myself smile. "Sounds as though you like this girl, big brother."
He rolls his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Well, you just told me you think she's pretty, talented, and infuriating. You two are clearly made for each other."
He stands and heads over to the mirror. "Okay. Conversation over. Goodbye, little sister."
I laugh. "Now everything makes sense. Why you've been a basket case waiting for your results, and why you're being weird with Olivia. You like this girl you met at the auditions."
He sits and fiddles with his hair. "See what I'm doing now? I'm ignoring you. That's the hint to stop talking and get the fuck out."
Excitement bubbles inside me. Even though he's being an asshole, I haven't seen my brother interested in a girl since Vanessa, and it gives me hope that he won't continue being the Black Cloud of Suckage that has been his persona for the past couple of years. Being interested in someone means he's finally getting over Vanessa and what she did to him. It means his heart might actually be waking up again.
At least, I hope so. It could just mean he's about to crash into some poor girl's life like a clumsy relationship dinosaur, crushing everything and everyone in his path. An emotional Godzilla.
I really hope it's not that second thing.
"Okay, fine," I say, "don't tell me. But fix things with Olivia before the curtain rises tonight, please. I really can't have a Juliet who wants to bone Mercutio instead of Romeo. Shakespeare would come back to life and kill us all in a zombie rage, and I have zero time to be dead until after the holidays."
He nods. "Got it. Don't get sister murdered until the New Year. I'll do my best."
When I walk over and put my hands on his shoulders, he looks at me in the mirror. He tries to smile, but his face is developing the same pinched quality it always gets on opening nights.
Nerves.
It won't be too long before he heads to the bathroom for his pre-show ralph.
Poor baby.
I give him a reassuring squeeze. "Break a leg tonight, okay? You're going to be awesome."
He nods. "Thanks. So are you. Just don't fuck up any lighting cues. Especially not mine."
I squeeze his neck. "Don't tempt me. What a pity it would be if Mercutio's epic death scene happened in a blackout."
He drops his head and chuckles, and although I really want to give him a hug, I pat him on the arm instead. My brother doesn't do hugs any more. Another thing for which I can blame butt-fungus Vanessa. I really hope his interest in this new mystery girl is going to help him get over his aversion to simple affection.
Lord knows if anyone needs someone to break down his walls, it's my brother.
I wish him luck once more before I leave.
On my way out of the dressing room, I run face-first into a very muscular, very naked chest.
"Shit! Sorry."
I pull back to see our Romeo, Liam, smirking down at me. He's wearing black jeans and boots, and apart from the headphones he constantly wears when he's not onstage, that's it.
Dear God, are those abs for real? He looks like a walking special effect.
I have to avert my gaze from his ridiculous physique. There's too much on my plate to get distracted by a man who makes the Men's Health cover models look like Elmer Fudd on a bad day.
"Don't be sorry, Liss," he says as he pulls off his headphones and rubs his pecs in the most sensual way possible. "I enjoy very few things more than you pressing your body against mine. Have I not made that clear?"
My face flushes. It always happens around him. Considering I pride myself on being a woman who's immune to blushing and The Swoon, this is not cool with me. Apparently I've never met anyone with as much primal appeal as Liam before. He's like a sexual lightning rod, and all my sparks gravitate toward him.
"So," he says while I stare shamelessly at his lips. "Ready for opening night?"
His lips are mesmerizing, and I'm suddenly bombarded by images of him kissing Juliet. The way he holds her face. Wraps his arms around her. Makes those little grunting sounds in the back of his throat.
Dear God.
It reminds me of the night he kissed me. Oh, how he kissed. I'm fairly certain Liam Quinn is the most accomplished kisser on the planet, although, I'd need a more thorough examination of his mind-blowing technique before I could make a fully informed opinion.
Unfortunately, one night of lust and public making out was all I got with Liam before he became an actor in this show, and therefore completely off-limits. The problem is, I want him. And he wants me. And whenever we're within three feet of each other, that's the only thing that exists in the world.
It's inconvenient as hell.
"Elissa?" Liam frowns, then runs his hand down my arm. My pulse immediately triples. "You still with me?"
Man, his eyes are gorgeous. Blue-green. More soulful than a Marvin Gaye album.
Oh, for the love of --
I step away from him and take a breath. "Yeah. Okay, then. Got stuff to do. "
Damn you, Liam Quinn. You're swooning me ten ways from Sunday. Please stop.
I've always prided myself on being cool, calm, and collected on the job. If I want to maintain my reputation, I should never, ever work with this man again.
He's still staring at me, and I feel all the ways he wants to touch me in the heat of his gaze.
"Okay, then," he says, and swallows hard. "I guess a kiss for good luck is out of the question."
I take a breath and stare at his chest, because I've learned that looking into his eyes is a recipe for disaster. "You don't need luck, Liam. You're going to slay them in the aisles. Trust me on this."
His chest comes closer. Just a little. Enough that I can feel his breath on my forehead when he whispers, "Fine, then. Screw good luck. Kiss me because you want to."
I let out a short laugh and shake my head. "You said you'd keep things professional between us."
"And I am. What I'm suggesting is a purely professional kiss."
"There's no such thing."
"Then we should invent it. Very little tongue. Body groping optional."
I look up at him, and even though there's a hint of a smile in his expression, there's also more than a touch of desperation.
"Dammit, Liss," he says softly, as his eyes roam across my face. "I had no idea how difficult it would be to work with you every day and not be able to touch you. It's hell. And now, it's opening night, and all I want to do it drag you into my dressing room and beg you to do things to me that will distract me from my nerves."
"Liam --"
"You don't have to say it. I know we can't. But that doesn't stop me wanting it."
I risk my sanity and put my hand on his arm. The contact makes us both draw in a shallow breath. "Don't be nervous. You'll be amazing tonight. And I'll be side stage if you need me."
With that, I give him a smile that I hope looks encouraging rather than horny-as-hell. Then I push my hair out of my face, and squeeze past him to go back to my desk. Unfortunately, the corridor is tight and when my boobs graze against his chest, we both make sounds that would be at home in a porn film.
I hear him hiss, "Fuck me," under his breath as he heads to his dressing room. I echo the sentiment. My whole body is throbbing as I push out a breath and go in the opposite direction.
Jesus, take the wheel.
I do not have time to deal with my extreme feelings for this man. Do. Freaking. Not.
Yes, I want him. And hell yes, I'm more attracted to him than should be humanly possible. But Liam is an actor, and therefore, exactly the type of man I need to avoid.
If only my poor, desperate body could understand that. All I can do is try to avoid and ignore.
Hear that, Liam? I'm ignoring both you and that muscular V which disappears into your pants.
Yep. Ignoring it, hard.
I internally curse that I can still feel his body heat lighting up my breasts as I stalk through the backstage area.
When I get back to my desk, I fan myself with my emergency evacuation plan (appropriate), before I pull on my headset and open my script. The technical cues in this show are fast and complicated, and I'm going to need to get my head in the game and forget about Green-Eyes McHotbody if I want everything to go smoothly.
After a few deep breaths, I check my watch then click the button on the microphone in front of me.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the Romeo and Juliet company, this is your half-hour call. Thirty minutes until places for act one. Thank you."
It's only when I click off that I realize how stupidly breathy my voice just sounded.
Great.
One brief backstage brush with Liam Quinn has turned me into a phone sex operator.
I feel a presence at my elbow and turn to see Josh. "Diva report?"
He sighs. "Olivia's okay, but I don't know how long that's going to last. Ethan's in there with her now."
"Did he apologize?"
"No. He just kind of lounged in the doorway and smiled at her. Olivia pretty much pushed me out as she pulled him inside and closed the door. Then I heard Ethan talking, then a sound like Olivia slapping him, and then there was definite ... groaning. Now it's quiet."
I rub my forehead. Okay, well, it could be worse.
I've barely finished the thought when Ethan comes striding over to us, face smeared with lipstick, posture tense. He grabs Josh by the front of his shirt and nearly pulls him off his feet.
"You offered to beat me up?" he says. "You seriously think you have what it takes to pound on me, Kane?"
Josh's face crumples in confusion. "Dude! Calm your damn farm. I just –"
"Come on then. Hit me. Take your shot. I won't stop you."
"Ethan, back the fuck off. I'm not against hitting you if that's what you want, but only if you promise not to hit me back. 'Cause that would suck."
Ethan leans down so his face is right in front of Josh's. "You ever been in a fight?"
"Does whipping your sister's ass in fake rock-and-roll wrestling count?"
Ethan frowns. "How much can you know about yourself if you've never been in a fight? I don't wanna die without any scars. So come on. Hit me before I lose my nerve."
I suppress a smile and shake my head. "Okay, Ethan, that's enough. Stop."
Josh nods. "You should listen to your sister, man. We don't need to do this. Seriously. I don't want to mess up that pretty face of yours."
"Come on, Josh!" Ethan says as he grabs Josh's hand and presses it into a fist. "Go crazy! Let 'er rip! Who gives a shit? No one's watching. What do you care? Hit me!"
Josh looks at me, and I don't think I've ever seen him seem more confused.
"Can I?" he asks sheepishly. "I mean, I've wanted to smack your brother in the head for years, and now he's practically begging for it. Please, Mom?"
I laugh and push them apart. "No, you may not. He's just being a dick and quoting Fight Club to mess with you."
When Josh turns to Ethan in disbelief, my brother cracks the first genuine smile I've seen for weeks. "Dude, your face was priceless. When Olivia told me you'd offered to beat me up for her, I couldn't resist."
Josh gives him a death-stare and mutters, "Motherfucker," under his breath.
"Ethan," I say. "Get the hell back to your dressing room and stop terrorizing my bestie. And for God's sake, wipe Olivia's lipstick off your face. You look like a demented clown."
Ethan wipes his face, then slaps Josh on the shoulder. "Fine. Have a good show, you guys. See you at the finish line."
With that, Ethan strides off into the backstage shadows.
Josh looks at me and blinks. "Your brother is a fucking dick. You know that, right?"
I nod. "I'm aware."
I sigh and give the crew their fifteen-minute call. Beside me, Josh is still muttering obscenities, and formulating some form of epic payback against Ethan.
I've said it before and I'll say it again – brothers are a pain in the ass.
That may not be true of all brothers, but it's certainly true of mine.
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