Waiting on the Words: Red Curtain Romance, #2

By Dani Bannister

In the world of theater, the script is everything.

 

Jessie Cruz was no playwright. However, when her roommate, Zoe, dies suddenly leaving her life's work unfinished, Jessie decides to make it her mission to complete it.

 

Unfortunately, Jessie has turned into a bit of a hermit. She's stuck. Literally and emotionally. And she's also about to get evicted from her apartment unless she finds a roommate, STAT.

 

Enter Ivan Christansen. The mysterious hottie friend of her overhelpful neighbor who needs a place to crash for a few months. Having no choice but to accept the cash, Jessie lets him stay.

 

But once she finds out who Ivan really is: a world-famous actor… that's when the curtain comes down on her reality.

 

Was everything they went through together an act too?

 

Waiting on the Words is the second stand-alone book in the Red Curtain Romance series. Told in dual POVs this sweet, contemporary romance, filled with a hidden identity evolves into a story of redemption that will have you believing love can happen off the page, too.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dani Bannister
• Release date: Nov 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223439967

Book preview

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to the dreamers, the creators, and the makers of art. Doubt will consume you if you let it. Dream it, believe it, do it. And screw the naysayers who say you can’t.

ACT ONE

JESSIE

CHAPTER 1

"Hello-Goodbye . A play in two acts, by Z.J. Jones." Jessie read the words aloud in the silence of her apartment with a mix of pride and utter frustration. Scanning down the screen, her eyes hovered over the first lines of the script for the millionth time. Letting out a breath, she dragged her mouse to the end of the play. Her nemesis.

Ninety-five percent of the play was done. It was this one last scene that tormented her. She knew why she was stuck. That wasn’t a mystery. This play wasn’t hers. It was Zoe’s. Jessie was only revising the manuscript. Fixing grammatical errors, or filling in missing parts she could discern from the copious notes Zoe left on how each scene should play out. All except this last scene. There were no notes on it. No explanations. No map to explain how all the pieces fit together. Just what Zoe had written before...

Jessie scanned through the skeletal scene again, as though searching for some clue.

ACT TWO, SCENE FIVE: Lights come up on a bridge. Dark and ominous. DAVE is overlooking the edge. MARY walks up to him, cautiously.

MARY: Hello?

DAVE: Goodbye.

The cursor blinked, impatiently waiting for a different line from Dave other than ‘Goodbye’ to spring to her mind or, at the very least, a call for stage directions for Mary’s character to pull Dave off the bridge. Except no one was moving. Not the characters. Not her muse. Not even the blinking cursor.

Ugh! Jessie grunted at the screen. Come on, Mary, what do you say to Dave? He’s on the bridge literally ready to jump to his death. How do you convince him not to do it? Jessie threw her words at her screen, willing them to come up with something. Anything other than this incessant blank page.

The cursor just winked at her.

I hate you, Dave. Jessie shut her laptop in frustration. Well, it wasn’t her laptop. It was Zoe’s. It was her most coveted item ever. Zoe was the writer, not Jessie. At least not yet. Jessie didn’t have the level of talent Zoe had. Maybe one day she’d be brave enough to pen a script, but for now, this was as close to writing as she’d allow herself to get.

This should be you at the computer, I hissed at the laptop. Why did you do it, Zoe? You were the most talented woman I’d ever met.

She sat back on the couch and let out a heavy sigh. Ever since that day, almost six months ago, Jessie had made it her mission to finish the play Zoe had started. A weekend project turned into three weeks, then six. Months ticked by. Jessie became obsessed with finishing it. Once she did, maybe then she’d be able to finally mourn the loss of a friend. It was one scene to finish. Surely, Jessie could write that one scene for her. Fulfill her best friend’s final opus?

The only problem was that she was not at the same level as a writer like Zoe. Jessie worked primarily as a voice actor. Her talent was in reading words that had already been created by someone far more skilled than she was.

Nearly six months later, she was no further ahead than when she had begun. Sure, she’d gone through the draft and flushed out a few grammatical things or fixed a typo here or there. Details were never Zoe’s strength, but as an audio performer, Jessie knew the importance of each phrase and punctuation mark. Cleaning it up for Zoe was the least she could do.

Jessie frowned at the laptop as it sat on the table seeming to mock her failure.

I know, Zoe. I was a moron for attempting this. Jessie sighed. Her voice echoed in the bare apartment. Gone were the lush fabric wall coverings that hid the pock-marked drywall that Zoe had put up when they had first become roommates. All the colorful paintings done by artist friends of Zoe had been taken down. Her jacket from the coat rack, her shoes by the door... All of Zoe’s belongings had lovingly been moved, folded, vacuumed-sealed, and put into plastic containers in Zoe’s bedroom to give to her family, should they ever bother to collect her belongings. So far, they hadn’t so much as acknowledged their daughter had passed away, too hung up on the fact that their daughter had loved the wrong sex. They wouldn’t even take Jessie’s calls. Falsely assuming they were girlfriends.

Jessie often thought if she were a lesbian, her life would be easier. Men seemed to be more trouble than they were worth. So she kept to herself. Closed herself off from the world. It was safer there.

Jessie glanced down the hall to the closed door that held Zoe’s stuff. It had been months since she’d stepped foot inside that bedroom. She was in no rush to open that well of emotion. As far as Jessie was concerned, that door could stay shut forever.

Zoe was gone. Not just from the walls, but from the energy in the apartment. Once-lush houseplants that overtook every windowsill thanks to Zoe’s ability to make anything grow. That was Zoe’s gift. Not hers. Now the once lush greenery sat in the sun, dried up, brown, and decaying. Just like her memories of Zoe. With each day, she felt like she was forgetting more and more about her friend.

Zoe’s play...her stupid play was the one thing anchoring her to the life force that was her roommate. While she longed to finish it, she also had no idea what she’d do with herself once she had. The words of Zoe’s play had consumed her for half a year.

Pushing out of her couch, Jessie felt her stomach rumble with hunger. She knew even before she went into the kitchen that adjoined her small living room, that there would be little to choose from in the way of sustenance. Kicking discarded take-out containers on the floor out of her way, Jessie went to the refrigerator. There would be nothing but condiments and a swig of milk that should have been tossed days ago inside it, but still, she opened the door, hoping against hope that the food fairies had done the shopping for her.

A dim light and a sour smell were all that greeted her. The cupboards weren’t in much better shape. She’d eaten through all of the good stuff months ago and had been forcing herself to eat the stale crackers and generic-labeled cans of veggies and beans. A grocery run was well past due, but the thought of going out, potentially running into friends, and having to pretend Zoe’s death hadn’t utterly shattered her, was something she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do.

She wasn’t proud about becoming a shut-in. A total opposite of the sort of woman she had been before that night. Jessie used to be a social butterfly. Dinners and drinks out each weekend without fail.  The perfect match to the quiet introvert Zoe was. Or she was until her anxiety took over.

Back then, before life fell apart, Jessie had made connections with all of Zoe’s theater-world friends over the years, so venturing out into the city meant she’d run into someone. Eventually. Jessie wasn’t ready for that—wasn’t ready to exist in a world that Zoe didn’t.

Opening the last cupboard, she groaned. The only thing inside was a single can of Spam.

I know, I know, Zoe, Jessie said to the empty cupboard. I said if it came down to Spam or shopping, I’d go shopping.

Tugging on the edge of her pajama bottoms, she noted that she’d shed a few pounds. She wasn’t sure if it was the lack of food or appetite that had shaved off at least twenty pounds. She’d never seen her stomach so flat. And to think, she’d wasted so much time running, trying to achieve the same thing. Apparently, all you needed to do was lose a best friend and spiral into despair.

Jessie closed the cupboard and leaned against the counter, which was littered with dirty dishes and trash. It mirrored the rest of her apartment these days. It hadn’t always been this trashed. Jessie had prided herself as a bit of a neat freak. Always after Zoe to clean up the wake of debris she left behind her wherever she went. But after her death, Jessie found it harder and harder to care about whether or not the spoon ended up in the sink or not. Then, gradually, a sea of clutter overtook her, and all hope of ever feeling normal again went with it.

At first, she’d convinced herself that the withdrawal from society was normal. Expected. Her roommate and best friend had died of an overdose. Of course, that would affect her. It would throw anyone for a loop. It was natural to mourn the loss. Normal to have survivor’s guilt. It was only when the days rolled into weeks of seclusion that she noticed her friends had stopped calling to see if she wanted to come out.

It was so strange. Once chained to her phone and the constant barrage of notifications and messages, she was now utterly and completely detached from society. She didn’t watch the news, read magazines, or even surf the web anymore. A full withdrawal from society had become her reality. She just couldn’t bring herself to care about news cycles, let alone pop culture. A world without Zoe in it was a world she didn’t understand.

Damn. Maybe she couldn’t handle going outside after all.

Just then, there was a knock on her door. Jessie froze. The only person to ever show up these days was her landlord. She was three months overdue with rent, so she knew it was a matter of time before he’d demand payment. Payment she knew she didn’t have. And she couldn’t agree to the barter he’d come up with again. She just couldn’t.

Jessica, honey? Are you all right in there?

She let out a breath. It was her neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins. A nice, older lady she used to talk with quite often when Zoe was alive but she hadn’t uttered a word to in months.

Jessie opened the door a crack so she wouldn’t see the filth inside.

I’m fine, Mrs. Jenkins.

Mrs. Jenkins crinkled her nose. Okay. Just wanted to check. Something smelled like it was rotting, and I haven’t seen you in a few weeks... Mrs. Jenkins gave her a worried look.

I’m not dead. It’s just my trash. I’ve been down with a cold, so it’s piled up a bit, Jessie fibbed.

Oh, you poor thing. Can I get you anything? Jessie could see the concern crinkling into the woman’s forehead. The last thing she wanted was her constantly checking in on her.

No. I’m fine. Thank you. I’ll be sure and get that trash out today. Thanks. Jessie closed the door before she could offer to bring her some chicken noodle soup or something. Not that Jessie would turn her nose up at that, but she didn’t want anyone to see the life she was currently living.

When she heard Mrs. Jenkins’s apartment door shut, Jessie took a big sniff of her apartment, trying to smell whatever foul thing that was so offensive. She’d lived with the stench so long she’d gotten used to it. Still, she knew she’d have to take the trash out now. Mrs. Jenkins wouldn’t rat her out to the landlord, but others in her building certainly would.

After taking several bags of trash down to the dumpster, Jessie made it back up the five flights of stairs and deadbolted her door. All that exertion had made her stomach protest violently.

Fine, I’ll go to the corner store. Just then she caught a whiff of herself. Maybe it hadn’t been the trash that had smelled. She tried to remember the last time she’d showered. Sighing, she headed for the bathroom.

After hacking away at the forest on her legs with a dull razor, Jessie made a mental note to buy more blades. It was odd; before Zoe’s death, Jessie had never gone more than a day without showering and shaving, moisturizing, and applying makeup. Now, she went days without even getting dressed. Still, she was not so far removed mentally as not to remember her mother’s words to her before her passing. Don’t ever leave the house without a good scrub down. You never know when you’ll end up in the hospital like me and wish you had.

Jessie’s mom never left the hospital after that day. She’d fallen down the stairs and broken her hip. It was only after the multiple scans in the emergency room that they found the cancer that was, unbeknownst to anyone, eating her alive. She had passed seven years ago but Jessie couldn’t help but wonder why she hadn’t spiraled downward like this when her mother had died.

Because Mom’s death wasn’t your fault, Jessie muttered to her shoes as she tugged them on reluctant feet.

With her hair still wet, Jessie pulled on a large puffy winter jacket to help disguise herself from the world. The furry hood and sunglasses had been her armor throughout the last few months of winter on the few instances she was forced outside. She tried not to think about what might happen in the spring when she wouldn’t be able to hide so easily. Surely she’d be in a better place before then. She couldn’t imagine being in a worse one.

Armed with a prepaid Visa card her dad had sent her for New Year’s, she made a mental list of things she could buy for a meager twenty-five bucks. Her mom would have given her more. She would have shown up at her door with a basket of gifts to celebrate the birth of a new year. They would have gone out for a night on the town and rung in the new year together. It had been her favorite holiday. Blessed with new beginnings.

Now, it was just a painful reminder of something else she didn’t have.

Unfortunately for Jessie, her dad did not have the same zest for gift-giving as her mother had. Normally, that wouldn’t bother her, but this year, with money being so scarce, she found herself longing for the days when aunts and uncles used to send a fun five her way when she was a kid. At thirty-one, she shouldn’t need those gifts. She should have her life together by now. Up until Zoe’s death, she thought she might have been on the fast track to adulthood. She had a decent-paying job, made her own hours, and had a healthy social life...but now... Everything seemed to be getting darker, and she wasn’t sure how to stop it.

The play. That was her lifeboat. It was the one thing keeping her sanity afloat.

If she could just finish the play Zoe started, she knew she’d have her closure. When the play was done, she could get out of this rut. At least, that was what she’d convinced herself of.

The script, however, couldn’t be finished if she died of starvation first, so Jessie let out a breath and stepped outside of her apartment for the second time in as many months.

She’d gotten no farther than five feet down the hall when Mrs. Jenkins opened her door, a potted flower in one hand, a gigantic purse in the other.

Oh, well, hello again, Jessica, Mrs. Jenkins said. Her voice was jovial and her expression just as warm. Jessie lowered her eyes, not feeling deserving of such a kind tone.

Please, call me Jessie. Only my mom called me Jessica.

Mrs. Jenkin’s expression softened. Jessie it is. Good to see you. And without trash in your hands. She laughed.

Yeah. Getting an appetite back, so it’s time to forage for some food, Jessie said, wondering how long she could keep up with the small talk. This used to be a skill set she excelled at. Happily carrying on conversations to loosen people up. Now, she found herself at the opposite end of the spectrum and didn’t know how to behave. People now exhausted her.

Looks like you’ve had enough energy to shower, too. Mrs. Jenkin’s tone indicated that Jessie had been fooling no one by pretending to have merely