The Critic Read online

  Copyright © 2015 by Joanne Schwehm

  **All Rights Reserved**

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, including photocopying, recording or by information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-10: 0990552632

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9905526-3-5

  Credits:

  Cover Model: Erik Fellows, Actor

  Cover Art: Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative Covers

  Cover Photographer: ©Otilia Villar Baker (About Time Photography)

  Editor: Cassie Cox

  Proofreader: Devon Burke

  Interior Designer: Integrity Formatting

  This book is dedicated to all the dreamers in the world.

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  Preview: Unexpected Chance

  Stay in Touch

  Stunning. Absolutely drop dead gorgeous, make-me-hard-as-a-rock beautiful, and familiar as hell. When I saw Andrea Jordan’s picture in the Playbill, I knew I’d seen her face before. When it hit me, my lips curled into a smile. Two days ago, I had been grabbing a paper at the corner store, and standing next to me was a beautiful woman buying a magazine.

  As she exchanged pleasantries with the cashier, her melodious giggle made my breath falter. Her hair fell forward when she lowered her head to put her change away. Damn, she was beautiful. She must have sensed my stare because she glanced at me from the corner of her eye. I grinned, almost caught in the act of taking in her slight curves and her fine ass nestled in a pair of dark jeans. The woman was close to perfect.

  A shiny penny slipped and fell at my feet. I couldn’t help the smile that crept across my lips as I looked at Lincoln’s head. I crouched down to get it and once I had it between my thumb and forefinger, I held it up and smirked. “Must be my lucky day.” Not the most original line, but it fit the current scenario. I was hoping to hear her voice or a witty comment.

  Instead, she just waved me off. “Then keep it. I wouldn’t want to be the source of your bad luck.”

  She hardly looked at me when she spoke, but I noticed her flowing brown hair, beautiful eyes, and a smile that could stop traffic in a New York minute. But before I could get her name, she was gone.

  Now, a mere forty-eight hours later, I was looking at a picture of the dark-haired beauty with a smile that could bring me to my knees. Picturing her on her knees was what made my heart rate spike though. The thought of looking down into the pools of her pale blue eyes while she sucked me off made my cock twitch with anticipation. I couldn’t wait to see her in action. Our previous encounter had lasted less than ninety seconds, but if I had anything to say about it, our next one would be longer.

  When I graduated top of my class with a journalism degree and entered the workforce, I’d expected to be reviewing prestigious performances. I’d been hired by a trade journal, Spotlight, which was a subsidiary of the Edge. Although the journal was based in New York City, I was sitting next to my new boss and mentor in the Garden State, about to critique my first off-Broadway play, Love Entirely, in a small theater. Even if it wasn’t the Big Apple, everyone had to start somewhere, so I sucked it up. This was my job, regardless of location, and I planned on writing the best goddamn review I could. I hoped it would get me to where I wanted to be, leading the way in my field and making a name for myself. Word on the street was the lead actress, Andrea Jordan, would be the next big thing, so at least I’d found something encouraging about being there.

  Scott, my boss, nudged me. “Remember, when the curtain goes up, you must focus. The dramatics the actors portray should transport you into the story, but keep the stage design, costumes, and lighting in your thoughts as well. Take good notes, and don’t pay too much attention to any one actor; this isn’t a one-woman or one-man show. It’s a collection of artists coming together to bring life to characters.” He sounded as if I were going to witness a life-changing event.

  Nodding, I smiled while knowing my eyes would be trained on Andrea. However, I knew he was right. If I wanted to excel and leave my mark on the theater world, I’d be wise to listen to him.

  A few minutes after the house lights dimmed, the curtain rose. Regardless of the instructions Scott had just given me, she became my sole focus. She was breathtaking. My internal temperature rose, and all I could focus on was her as my dick came to life. The pull I had toward this stranger was odd.

  As her co-star and the secondary actors spoke, she began to fade away. Not physically but internally. Her voice grew softer, she appeared smaller, and the heat I felt when I first saw her slowly cooled off. It was as if I could see her mercury declining.

  I jotted down scattered notes, trying not to lose focus on Ms. Jordan. I willed her to do better, to come out of the shell encompassing her. My elbows rested on my knees as I leaned forward, waiting for brilliance. I fixated on her lips as she spoke. I wondered what my name would sound like when she said it because if I had anything to say about it, she’d be mine someday. Not only would she say my name, she’d scream it in pure ecstasy. But I needed to get back to the task at hand. I continued scribbling words in my notebook.

  During the intermission, Scott leaned in and said, “She’s pretty, but I don’t see her as the next big thing.”

  For some reason, his remark felt personal. His opinion of Ms. Jordan shouldn’t have affected me, but my urge to tell him off was strong. I had to remind myself that he was my boss and I needed to reel it in or I’d never work with him at the Edge.

  I wasn’t sure what it was, but something about her called to me. My chest rose and fell with each word she spoke, and I found myself begging her to let go of whatever held her back. Her presence was bigger than the platform she stood on, but the stage engulfed her like a small fish in a giant wave. It curled around her and pulled her under until she was drowning. The more I watched, the more disappointed I became. I was borderline irritated that she wasn’t capitalizing on this opportunity. Maybe she thought she was, but she wasn’t.

  At the end of the show, the house lights brightened, and people rose to their feet with thunderous applause. The cast came out in order of importance, and as Ms. Jordan received a boisterous show of appreciation, I looked around the theater. I found it comical to watch people who believed they were witnessing the “next big thing” jump on the bandwagon to be one of the first supporters. Oh, how I wished I was on that wagon, but I trailed far behind it.

  Scott and I left the theater and grabbed a cab to the train station. While seeing a show was entertaining, my night was far from over. I needed to write a review that would most likely piss people off, especially a certain Ms. Andrea Jordan.

  When my review was submitted, I wondered if the proofreader would question my abrasiveness. I knew Scott wouldn’t. I figured he’d be happy I hadn’t titled my review, “Andrea Jordan Looked Totally Fuckable.” Scott had told me to write with my brain and not my dick, so I did. All I could do was write the truth.

  “Love Entirely Wasn’t Entirely Loved” ended up being my title, and what sucked was that I knew once Andrea Jordan had read the review, she’d hate me. That wasn’t exactly the way I’d wanted to start my career or make my first impression on her, but being an honest critic was important.

  Over time, that review, and several others that were referred to as “spot-on,” won me critical acclaim, and thus the critic was born. I was no longer just Bentley Chambers, theater critic for the Edge. I was the one producers, actors, and theater patrons looked to. To me, my words were just an opinion, but to them, my opinion was so much more. Some hated me, while others praised me, but through it all, I wanted to see one person flourish and succeed: the woman who often starred in my dreams, both awake and asleep—Andrea Jordan. All I could do was hope that I’d witness it and be able to write about it.

  Five Years Later

  I stood center stage and stared at the empty theater. The burgundy seats, which would soon be filled with theater-goers, made my heart race. The Xs and lines for blocking and positioning were laid down on the shiny wood floor, and everything was ready for tonight’s preview show. But was I? Being front and center as a lead was all I’d dreamt of, and the time had come for that dream to become reality. My nerves spiked, and my palms grew sweaty as I walked from spot to spot, practicing my lines in my head.

  If my prayers were answered, this small production would turn into the biggest chance of my life. I hadn’t had an opportunity this big in half a decade thanks to the scathing reviews I’d received. Thankfully, not all my reviews had been horrible, but I had the lead now, and I wouldn’t fuck it up. Nope, no way would I blow it. When I’d auditioned, our director, Mack, told me I’d only edged out my understudy by a few lines. I needed to be as good as I could be. No, I needed to
be spectacular, or funding would be pulled.

  As my lines swirled through my brain and my feet traveled from mark to mark, I swung my right hand and hit a muscular chest. I looked up to see Seth, one of my closest friends and our set designer.

  “Sorry, Andi. I didn’t know you were rehearsing. I hope I didn’t interrupt. Mack wanted me to check the sets.” Seth’s calm voice soothed me.

  “I’m just taking it all in, ya know? You guys did an amazing job. If I didn’t know we were in Jersey, I’d believe we were on North Michigan Avenue in Chicago.” I nudged Seth with my shoulder.

  “Thanks, that means a lot to me. I’ll say this crew is top notch. They really outdid themselves.” A prideful smile grew across his handsome face.

  “Yes, they did, but they had you to lead them. That says a lot too.”

  He blushed, which made me laugh. Seth was about my age and very easy on the eyes. His deep brown eyes lit up at my compliment even though he should have been used to them by now. I was his biggest fan.

  “You look nervous. Are you okay?” His voice was laden with concern.

  I stopped fidgeting with the hem of my shirt and half-smiled. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  His brows rose.

  “Really, I am,” I said.

  Seth put his hands on my shoulders. “You’re a wonderful actress. I don’t know what it’s like being in the spotlight, but I’ve watched you there before, and you make it look effortless and believable. Don’t doubt your talent. I love ya, and you got this.” He kissed my cheek.

  I was comforted knowing that he’d be in the wings as I was center stage. “Thank you. That means the world to me. It’s just this show depends on us being spot-on. If the reviews aren’t good, we won’t get the backing to leave Jersey. I need this . . . we all do.” My heart constricted with the pressure riding on me. The thought of a show progressing to Broadway or not solely because of my work weighed on me, but I knew I could do it. I was a good actress, and I needed to remember that. If my confidence wavered, it would show.

  “I have faith in you, and remember, you aren’t the only one on the stage. Don’t put all the stress on your shoulders,” he said. “But if I don’t check all these props, the Sears Tower may fall, and that wouldn’t be good for the show, now would it?” He winked and walked off the stage.

  I took one last look around at the empty seats, wondering where the critics would be. In a way, it was good I didn’t know, because I didn’t want to direct anything toward them. Once I was comfortable, I went to my dressing room to get ready for one of the biggest nights of my life.

  Applause continued as we took our final bow, and the curtain lowered. I let out a deep breath that I was unaware I’d been holding. My fellow cast members hugged each other, and the cheers seeping through the thick blue velvet curtain were palpable. I stood stock-still, staring at the stage floor, wondering if I’d finally have my break. Could I make it to Broadway? Was I closer to having my dream come true? I saw Seth high-fiving his team, and he gave me a thumbs-up. I nodded and closed my eyes. I thought of bright lights and my name in theater programs, and a sense of joy enveloped me.

  My best friend’s shriek brought me out of my fantasy. “Andi, you were fantastic.”

  I smiled wide. The adrenaline of being on the big stage still coursed through my veins

  “Do you really think so?”

  She swatted my arm. “The audience loved you! Couldn’t you hear them? That standing ovation should be a clue that you nailed it. You need to enjoy this. I’ll meet ya outside. I’m so excited for you!”

  Gina’s enthusiasm was contagious, and I loved her for it. She wasn’t a stranger to the business. Although she was a makeup artist, she got critiqued in reviews as well.

  “I’ll be just a few minutes. I need to scrape off this pancake batter you artists paint our faces with.”

  “Can’t blame me for this one.” Gina rolled her eyes and smiled.

  I returned her smile, but I was still uneasy about the show. Deep down, I knew I’d performed well, but art, no matter what form, was always subjective. There was one critic who needed to love it. He had made and ruined careers with his printed words, and that was Bentley Chambers. He wrote critiques for the Edge, a critically acclaimed newspaper that was like the Bible to the theater world.

  Mr. Chambers had critiqued a couple shows I’d performed in, and his reviews weren’t glowing. He’d once written that he “didn’t connect with Andrea Jordan’s performance.” He wrote as if I’d done something personal to him. You need thick skin to be an actress, and although I felt as if mine should have the density of rawhide after all the shit reviews I’d received, it still bruised easily.

  Thankfully, with this performance just being a preview, the only critics in attendance had been drama students from the local university, a few critics from local papers, and patrons with deep pockets. Our true opening night was over a week away. That was when I’d really worry about what Mr. Chambers would write—if he showed.

  Mack waited for us offstage. He pulled my co-star, Justin, and me aside. His voice was as deep as the wrinkles on his forehead. “Great performance, you two. Let’s hope it was enough.”

  He seemed to direct the last part of that comment toward me. I was probably just being paranoid, but it didn’t resonate well.

  “I’m sure they loved it.” Justin rubbed my back.

  “What’s wrong, Mack? Don’t you think they liked it?” I asked when I saw the worried look on my director’s face. I could practically hear the gears turning in his skull. My heart raced, and I suddenly felt ill.

  Mack swallowed hard and ran his hand back and forth over his shaved head as if a genie would emerge from his ears. “There was a critic from the city in the audience. I didn’t see him, but one of the stagehands heard he was in attendance.”

  My eyes closed, and I wrapped my arms around my stomach. “Who?” My voice trembled.

  “The one who matters: Bentley Chambers.” Mack’s voice was laced with uneasiness, which didn’t help my current state.

  “Oh my God, you have got to be kidding me.” I’d have sworn that man was following me around just to destroy me. My voice became louder as I grew more irritated. “He hardly ever attends shows in Jersey!” If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought that asshole had it in for me. I stared at Mack, trying to get some sense of reassurance that the show was good enough, but his tense smile spoke volumes.

  “Like I said, I thought you both did fine, so let’s assume he did as well,” Mack said before he walked away.

  Fine? We did fine? That word made my nausea worse. I needed to get out of there. Justin was new to the scene and four years my junior. Age in our industry was different for women. I knew that if something didn’t happen for me soon, my time would dissipate. I looked as though I was in my early twenties, but I wasn’t, and my resume said so. Why the hell would Mr. Chambers review our show? It was nothing in comparison to the ones in the city.

  My heart thundered as I wondered what he’d thought about it. Could he finally like a show I was in? I needed to calm down and hope for the best.

  Justin and I walked toward our dressing rooms. Gina was waiting for me out front, so I wanted to hurry and get cleaned up. The costumes were heavy, and my body was craving my jeans and T-shirt.

  “So this Bentley guy sounds like a douche.” Justin had an easy way about him, but he didn’t seem very pleased by the news either.

  “I think douche is too much of a compliment. He’s horrid, wretched, and I hope that whoever saw him was wrong and he wasn’t here.” I pushed open my dressing room door as I turned to Justin. “I’m sure he loved your performance, so don’t worry.” As the door clicked shut behind me, I was greeted by my mirror. My reflection stated, “You’re fucked. Pack your shit up now because you’re done.”

  I wanted to find Seth to see who on his crew knew who the asshole was, but they were in a post-production meeting. I wanted to stick around to talk to him, but Gina was waiting for me. Due to the fact that Bentley Chambers spent a large amount of time ruining careers and trashing lives, his picture had never been attached to his reviews. I’d never seen the image of the man who seemed to have it in for me.