Breaking Character

by Lee Winter

  “She makes you hum.” Jean-Claude seemed to be turning that over.

  “And she also has spirit. She fights for what is right.”

  “Summer? Sweet Summer?”

  “Not so sweet when she sees an injustice she thinks needs correcting. I’ve seen it. How can I not admire someone who puts what’s right ahead of everything? Even themselves?”

  Guilt slammed into her at what she’d done—deeply hurt a woman who’d hurled herself on a grenade at work to protect Elizabeth. Until now, Elizabeth had only really considered Summer’s anger, not her sense of betrayal. She’d been too focused, too…self-involved to think about anyone else. Shame pricked at her.

  What am I becoming?

  Shaking her head, Delvine walked over. “Well, Bess, after that little speech, I can see why you’re taken with her.”

  Elizabeth only just resisted an eye-roll. Her manager came across as cynical even when she was attempting to sound genuine.

  Jean-Claude, mercifully, ignored her. “Kindness and goodness, it is an aphrodisiac to many. It’s why I appreciate my Marcus. So, I think I see why you are together.”

  Oh thank God.

  Elizabeth’s relief was only matched by her acute need for alcohol. A nice gin on the rocks should do it. Preferably a double. She wondered if it’d be rude to rush off and make her own.

  Summer joined Marcus in the kitchen, where a soufflé was rising in the oven and he was partway through slicing and dicing a cheese platter. The room smelled like heaven.

  She looked around for the “something special” Marcus had alluded to.

  “From my grand-père’s vineyard.” He pointed at half a dozen bottles of white wine on the counter. “There’s nothing finer than his ’98 vintage. It’s magical.”

  Wine? Oh no. “Last night,” Summer began, hating how idiotic this would sound, “I sort of went out with some colleagues and got…” Blind drunk? Completely plastered? “A little tipsy. And I have the headache to match. I’m sorry, but I can’t face alcohol right now. I’d love to try your grandfather’s wine any other time.”

  He gave a solemn tsk. “I’ll give you and Elizabeth a bottle or two to take home. You can have it with a romantic meal.” He looked pleased at the idea.

  Summer really liked Marcus. He was as cuddly and round as Jean-Claude was tall and angular. The couple had met on a set in Montreal, when the catering company Marcus worked for supplied craft services to a Jean-Claude film. The two men just seemed to fit together.

  “We’d love to have a bottle! Thanks.”

  “Excellent.” Marcus pulled out four wine glasses and began to pour. Tilting his head toward the fridge, he added, “There’s ice water and juice in there for those of us who cannot handle their alcohol.” He winked.

  She laughed. “Thanks. So how are things, anyway? Did Alice’s surgery go well?”

  “Oh oui, she is fine. A little grumpy, but she’ll live. Old bones and fidgety mothers, not so good a mix.”

  “No,” Summer agreed. “But from what I saw of her at our Christmas party, she’ll never let something like a broken hip slow her down. She kept telling the caterers fifty ways to fix their food!”

  He slapped a hand over his eyes. “That was so her. Ah! That reminds me.” He tapped a black leather folder on the counter with Menu embossed on it. “I’m in charge of lunch today, of course. I wanted to check whether I should order something to go with my dishes. If you or Elizabeth have any allergies, I can get room service too.”

  Allergies? Summer’s mind spun. This was like a test. Girlfriends should absolutely know this about each other. “Um, well, she can’t eat onions, of course,” she said confidently. Why the hell did I say that? “And no chocolate. Or cheese. Or…” Who has just a chocolate and cheese allergy? She brightened and rushed on. “Because she can’t have any dairy, really. So milk’s out too. Sadly. A shame.”

  There. That sounds like girlfriend-level inside info. Her brain suddenly caught up with a shriek. What are you doing? This isn’t something to improv! Get it wrong and people DIE! Her horrified mind began picturing Elizabeth turning blue from some random allergy that Summer could have prevented. Or bloating up like a puffer fish.

  “Hold that thought!” she said, then grabbed a wine glass that Marcus had just poured. “Elizabeth was thirsty. I’ll get her fixed up and be right back.”

  She rushed out, but slowed when she caught the fascinated looks on Delvine and Jean-Claude’s faces. What were they were discussing?

  “How can I not admire someone who puts what’s right ahead of everything? Even themselves?” Elizabeth’s back was to Summer, but her voice sounded so admiring, so unlike the cold woman Summer knew at work.

  Her heart did a traitorous clench of joy. It was just a good act, a perfectly executed lie, she reminded herself. That much was obvious. When you like someone, you don’t kick them aside.

  “Well, Bess, after that little speech, I can see why you’re taken with her.” Delvine’s wry words had the sincerity of a politician at a baby shower. She’d never be an actress.

  Jean-Claude’s eyes were fixed on Elizabeth. Oh. It was his idea look. He was making a decision. “Kindness and goodness, it is an aphrodisiac to many people. It’s why I appreciate my Marcus. So, I think I see why you are together.”

  An interesting answer, and it boded well for Elizabeth getting her role, but it was unlikely what he’d really been thinking.

  Summer came around the side of the couch to Elizabeth. “Sorry to interrupt,” she gave Jean-Claude an apologetic look, “but I didn’t want Elizabeth to get too parched. Everyone else’s drinks are coming in a minute.”

  Handing the wine to Elizabeth, who looked startled to see her, Summer leaned forward and whispered, “Any allergies? Marcus needs to know whether to order something extra from room service.”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Histamine. Suffocation is one especially fun side effect.”

  “Yikes. What contains that?”

  Elizabeth gave her glass a wry look. “Wine.”

  Lunch comprised a French onion soup starter, a cheese soufflé main course—with Marcus’s grandfather’s wine of course—followed by a cheese platter, more wine, and an oozing chocolate lava pudding. Except for the wine, which Summer swapped for water, she enjoyed lunch a great deal.

  Elizabeth clearly did not. Summer had the good grace to feel guilty.

  In deference to Elizabeth’s “allergies”, she’d been served a small French salad. No dressing, as it contained traces of onion. A small, pink, hotel-cooked salmon dish that had looked far more appetizing in the menu photo. One bread roll. Sans butter. No dessert. Elizabeth also had to ignore the full wine glass. Marcus did not look happy about that.

  Elizabeth had not taken the news of her “allergies” well, either, based on the glower she leveled at Summer for most of the meal. Delvine, on the other hand, looked about three seconds away from snorting with laughter.

  Oh yeah, hilarious. Because Delvine didn’t have Elizabeth’s death-stare in her face. But, really, what were the odds the French liked dairy so much? Who knew?

  Apparently it was common knowledge, according to Elizabeth, who hissed that little factoid at Summer on their way to the bathroom. Hauling Summer along to “freshen up”, Elizabeth’s long fingers held Summer’s wrist in a pincer grip.

  Jean-Claude and Marcus had exchanged knowing looks, clearly assuming they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Summer, with bruises likely forming, wished rather a lot that Elizabeth would keep her hands off.

  The moment the door shut on the enormous marble bathroom suite, Summer twisted free. “Do you mind? Jesus.”

  “I love cheese and dairy and chocolate,” Elizabeth said, voice tight. “What possessed you?”

  “You sure don’t look like you do.” Seriously, the woman looked like no food group with more than two p
ercent fat content had ever squeezed past her lips.

  “That’s what my home gym and Pilates instructor are for—so I can indulge on occasion. And your overactive imagination has robbed me of that.”

  “Hey! I panicked, okay? And you’re not much better! Who the hell loves cactuses?”

  “It’s cacti, for the love of God.” Elizabeth’s eyes flashed. It was irritatingly sexy. “And any self-proclaimed succulent lover would know that. I thought you’d blown it right then.”

  “As if he’d know that. Besides, I think it can be cactuses sometimes. And, hey, at least my amusing foible for you was plausible.”

  “What? You chasing after spiders for me while I cower under my bed? That sounds likely?”

  Okay, shit, that was funny. A bubble of laughter escaped.

  “Not amusing,” Elizabeth warned. “Any more than my love of zombie houses is.”

  Summer burst out laughing at that. “The look on your face,” she wheezed, “when I told them you loved it. And I had to take…” wheeze “photos from…” wheeze “every damned angle.”

  Elizabeth’s lips began to twitch.

  “And then you agreed.” Summer wiped her eyes and laughed harder. “Oh my God! You went with it.”

  The lip twitching increased until it was almost a smile. “You left me little choice.”

  Summer elbowed her ribs. “Come on, girlfriend, it was hilarious, and you know it.” She smiled from ear to ear.

  A tiny laugh escaped Elizabeth and she shook her head. “You and your awful ad-libs.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. And I concede I owe you a really good three-course French meal.”

  “I’ll settle just for the pudding. Was it as divine as it looked?” Elizabeth’s expression was wistful.

  “Better,” Summer sighed. “Bliss. I’m really sorry about the no-dairy thing. Wish I could sneak you some cheese cubes or something. The brie is phenomenal too.” Summer snorted again, picturing that furtive mission.

  “If it’s brie, then you’d be smuggling me oozing cheese puddles.” Elizabeth’s eyes crinkled. “And I don’t think you’re giving this the gravity it’s due.”

  “Probably not.”

  Amusement danced between them.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get your calls last night,” Summer said, becoming serious. “Or that I didn’t work with you in the car to get our stories straight today. I was in such a pissy mood.”

  “You hid it well,” Elizabeth deadpanned. “Look, I want to say I’m very sorry for how I treated you before all this. It was a terrible plan to solve any gossip by just avoiding you. It was wrong I didn’t fight it.”

  “I’m sorry too. I missed you.” Well, that just slipped out. “And it really hurt.” Christ. Do I think anything I don’t say?

  Elizabeth inhaled. A troubled expression crossed her face. “Well… I… I know it flies in the face of my reputation, but I didn’t entirely enjoy it much when you weren’t around. Not just for the tea, either.”

  “I’m not sure that was a compliment,” Summer said, “but I think I’ll take it.”

  “You should.” Elizabeth smiled. “I’m so rarely nice.”

  “Liar. Damn. You’re also hard to stay mad at.”

  “Just wait.” Elizabeth glanced at her watch. “You should get the urge again pretty soon.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I am the British Bitch.” She shrugged. “It’s a thing.”

  Summer sat on the closed toilet seat and gave her a thoughtful look. “Where did that rumor start? Who did it?”

  “What makes you so sure it’s not based on fact?”

  “It’s not. You’re a complete professional on set. So come on. Spill.”

  “Lenton.”

  “Our showrunner? What happened?”

  “I objected—strongly—to a terrible storyline involving Hunt. It never happened in the end. But they set out to destroy her character in retaliation. Quite a lesson in who runs the show. And for added fun, rumors suddenly appeared on gossip sites about what a diva I am.”

  “Assholes.”

  “Mmm.” Elizabeth glanced around. “I won’t have to put up with it much longer. If I can get this part, it’ll be something to focus on. A fresh direction.”

  “Well, let’s get you that part then.” Summer stood and kinked her neck left and right, as though preparing for a boxing bout.

  “By the way, who’s Chloe?” Elizabeth asked.

  “She lives with me.”

  Hesitating, Elizabeth asked, “A…pet?”

  With a laugh, Summer said, “Can I quote you? Nah, she’s my roommate and best friend.”

  “I see. And what’s the Shakespeare thing you have?”

  Summer blushed. “Ah, it’s a bit dorky.”

  “How can Shakespeare ever be a bad thing? Do you watch a lot of plays or study it or…?”

  “Yes to all that. But I also have a party trick.”

  “Don’t tell me it’s Shakespeare in Klingon?”

  “Nope. It’s just… I remember every bit of Shakespeare trivia I’ve ever heard. It’s rare anyone can beat me.”

  An intrigued look crossed Elizabeth’s face.

  “What’s that look for?” Summer asked. “You have an up-to-no-good expression right now.”

  “Nothing.” Elizabeth brushed her pants and moved to the door. She paused. “Have we got our stories straight now?”

  “Not really, but no one’s actually asked me anything about you beyond your food allergies.”

  “And look how well that turned out.” At least she seemed more amused than enraged now.

  “Sorry again,” Summer said with a small smile. “The good news is that Jean-Claude looks like he’s run out of steam grilling you on the personal stuff. Must be time for the professional by now?”

  “If he offers me the role.”

  “He will.” Summer had no doubt. “You passed his test.”

  “How do you know?”

  Summer shrugged. “He gets a look when he’s made up his mind on something. He got it already. You’re in. I mean, as long as we don’t mess this up on the home stretch.”

  “Then let’s make sure of it.”

  “Yeah.” Summer rubbed her still smarting arm as she followed Elizabeth out. “Got quite a grip there, lady.”

  “I need my strength up to flee spiders. Speed is simply not enough.”

  Summer chuckled. “Okay, I’ll accept that as an apology, only because I made you out to be a wimp.”

  “Excellent.” Elizabeth’s smile was magnificent as she made her way back to the table.

  Summer told herself she did not care in the least.

  Elizabeth was a little surprised by how good it felt to have Summer back to her normal self.

  “Welcome back, Bess,” Delvine said as they rejoined the table. “I trust all’s well.”

  And just like that, the air shifted. Jean-Claude’s expression changed from genial to hard. Elizabeth sensed the danger but for the life of her couldn’t work out what had just happened.

  Jean-Claude scrutinized Summer as she resumed her seat. “Why do you call your girlfriend Elizabeth?”

  Summer frowned. “That’s her name.”

  “When I first talked to Elizabeth’s agent, Rachel kept saying ‘Bess this’, ‘Bess that’. I asked, ‘Did I misunderstand? Is your client actually Bess?’ And she replied that Elizabeth is only Bess to the people close to her. Just now Delvine called her Bess. But not you. I hadn’t realized what had been biting at me like a flea all lunch until this minute.”

  Summer’s face went completely still. “I call her Bess some days, but always Elizabeth on set.” Her brows knitted together. “Sometimes I forget we’re not at work.”

  “You have not once called her Bess today,” Jean-Claude�
��s eyes were edged with suspicion.

  Oh no. No! Not now, not when she was so close.

  “Um, darling,” Delvine jumped in, “shall we discuss your masterpiece? I did so love the script.”

  “Non.” Jean-Claude waggled his finger between Summer and Elizabeth. “What is this? You are lying to me?” His brown eyes burned with anger.

  Elizabeth’s throat went dry.

  “Jean-Claude?” Marcus asked. “What is it?”

  “Something else has bothered me. New couples in love—what do they all have in common? Eyes—never taken off the other. Hands—always reaching, touching. Voices—softer when they refer to the other. It is universal, oui? These two? They do none of these things.”

  Marcus turned to Summer with a look of betrayal. “This is not real?”

  Summer shook her head. “Of course it is.” Her vehemence didn’t change either man’s expression.

  Perspiration began to trickle down Elizabeth’s neck. She tried, desperately, to think of something to say to fix this, but nothing came to mind. It was true. They hadn’t done any of the things a couple in love would.

  “We have been trying to keep us secret,” Elizabeth said quietly. “We thought it would be obvious Summer cares for me if she started calling me a personal name at work. So she calls me Elizabeth.”

  “She cares for you.” Jean-Claude gave her a disbelieving look. “This grand love you share, and I just can’t feel it. This is not right. I’m starting to think that—”

  Suddenly Summer straightened, a look of resolve on her face. “Did I ever tell you how I met Elizabeth?”

  Waving his hand dismissively, Jean-Claude said, “On set. Oui, she told me.”

  “No, that’s just when she met me.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth parted a little. Where was Summer going with this?