by Adele Buck
Acting Lessons
Book 3 in the Center Stage series
Adele Buck
Quiet Confidence Press
Copyright © 2021 by Jill A. Smith
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Ornamental scene break: New York by Gab Bandala from the Noun Project.
Edited by Liz Lincoln.
Cover design by Marika Bailey.
For Lisa Lin, who has been there from the beginning.
Contents
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
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Enjoyed Acting Lessons?
Chapter 1 of Fast Acting
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter 1
Ever since that summer in Connecticut, Freddie Alves promised herself she’d never work with Susan Vernon again.
“I know how you feel.” Cath’s low voice was hard to hear over the buzz of conversation and the hiss of the machines in the coffee shop and Freddie pressed the phone to her ear so hard it hurt. “Susan is a world-class problem and Michael was an idiot to hire her.”
“Right. So you’re saying I need to say no.” Relief washed through her. A perverse sort of relief, considering how badly she needed the job.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. This is a really big opportunity. I wouldn’t blame you if you eventually said no, but you need to at least talk to Michael first. He’s a good guy and a great director.”
Freddie squeezed her eyes shut. “Susan aside, it’s a musical. I’ve never stage managed a musical. I only ever assisted on one, and that was in college.”
“Yeah, it’s daunting. But you can do it. Didn’t you tell me you danced as a kid? It’s not like you have no sense of timing or rhythm and that’s really what you need. Nobody’s going to ask you to get up and sing and dance yourself.”
“Yeah. I did dance and gymnastics in school,” Freddie said, opening her eyes and staring at nothing.
“Well, then you will be great.” Cath’s voice sounded bracing and confident. “Meet with Michael. See if you click. I think you’ll work well with him. He’s very experienced and used to dealing with volatile musical theater types. He should handle Susan just fine.”
“Easy for you to say,” Freddie grumbled. “You’re not the one looking at her treating you like a piece of furniture. At best. Again.”
“Just talk to Michael.” Cath’s voice held that commanding tone she had sometimes used back in the days when Freddie had worked for her as her assistant stage manager. When Cath had been in charge. Which sounded…kind of nice right now, not having to make decisions. “Don’t decide before you have more information.”
“Fine.” Freddie sighed. “If you’re going to be reasonable about it. I’ll give him a call and set up a time to talk.”
“Good.” Cath was out of “compelling” mode and back into “bracing.” “This could be a great career move for you. I’m glad you’re considering it.”
After hanging up, Freddie sat for a few minutes, sipping her coffee until the moment where the drink went from “cool but still acceptable” to “utterly disgusting.” Putting the cup down, she tapped her fingernails on the screen of her phone, not picking it up off the table.
She almost laughed when she remembered the youthful crush she had had on Susan Vernon. Susan had once been her number one lust object. Freddie had seen the actress play Maggie the Cat in a revival of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof when Freddie was still in college, and the thought of Susan prowling around in a satin slip for the better part of two hours was still hot.
But then, a few years later, Freddie had actually worked with Susan.
Her infatuation with the woman behind the actress had been killed within days by Susan’s selfish, predatory behavior.
But that wasn’t the only reason why Freddie was procrastinating now.
Susan was always going to make her think of James.
James Martin stepped into the baggage claim area of Kennedy airport and heard the click of a shutter almost immediately. His jaw tightened and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes, even though they were hidden behind his mirrored aviators. Striding out a little more quickly and tightening his grip on the strap of his leather duffel, he didn’t look to the left or the right, keeping his eyes on the door as he walked. He heard another few clicks and saw light glint off the lens of the camera out of the corner of his eye.
Slow day for the paps, I guess.
He hadn’t seen anybody more recognizable on the flight out from Los Angeles, so he guessed he was this poor bozo’s consolation prize. Getty or one of the other photo wires might buy a picture or two of him on the strength of his new gig, he supposed. But it wasn’t like his last two years in L.A. had been a roaring success.
His career had started in television, then moved to theater and then television had called again, luring him out to Hollywood. He had kept his career puttering along out there, but never seemed to get anything more sustained than a three-episode guest spot on an established show. Even worse, the roles were almost inevitably “Black stereotype” of one sort or another. Finding himself longing for something more stable and less insulting, he had started to fantasize about getting back on stage. About going back to New York. Fantasies turned to plans as the months went on and the one- and two-episode guest roles trickled through, just enough to keep him going.
And then, just as he was getting ready to kiss off television forever and try for Broadway, television went and handed him a supporting role in a new superhero series. A last-minute replacement for the original actor in the pilot. Best of all? It was shooting in New York.
An all-expenses paid ticket out of Los Angeles? Yes please and thank you.
He sold his car, sublet his apartment, had a crew pack his belongings into a truck, and practically sprinted for the airport. Los Angeles hadn’t been terrible, but it had never felt like home the way cities on the East Coast did. And now he was back. He could almost taste the bodega coffee.
Stepping up to the line for a taxi, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and rubbed the screen with his thumb, thinking. He hadn’t talked to Freddie in months and wondered if she’d be thrilled or peeved at his sudden, unannounced arrival in New York.
He also wondered if she was single.
Michael Balducci’s handshake was strong and sure as he welcomed Freddie into his tiny office in the Hatbox Theater in TriBeCa.
“Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice. Cath can’t say enough good things about you. Says she wanted to keep you as her assistant stage manager forever, but I know she’s too fair to hamper your career like that.” Michael’s warm smile made lines fan out from his deep-set brown eyes. “And I value her opinion. I even tried to lure her away from Paul once to do a show with me. But that was shortly before they got engaged, so I suppose that was a vain hope.”
Freddie nodded. She had worked for C
ath that summer. The summer of Susan. The summer of James.
“Cath was a great mentor to me,” Freddie said. “She taught me a lot.”
“I don’t doubt it. And you have that same calm, competent demeanor that she has. It’s part of what makes me hope you’ll consider taking this job.”
Freddie leaned back in her chair, trying to relax her tight, upright posture a little bit. She wasn’t used to being offered things on a platter like this. Her gaze roamed over Michael’s desk. Two framed pictures had pride of place. One showed Michael and another man, Freddie supposed this was his husband, both suntanned and standing with their arms around each other and their backs to the ocean. The other was of a snaggletoothed, shaggy little mutt who looked as if it existed in a permanent state of bafflement.
“What happened to your original stage manager?” Freddie asked, her eyes flicking back to Michael’s face. The production was halfway through rehearsals. “Losing a stage manager at this point in rehearsals…”
“Must be either a misfortune or carelessness?” Michael asked, paraphrasing Oscar Wilde, and Freddie suppressed a smile. Cath and her husband Paul were forever quoting plays at each other, playing a game of “name the source material.” She wondered if she would eventually pick up the habit as well. “Neither, I’m afraid. Carolyn Tanner’s mother became gravely ill. Carolyn is an only child and was, unfortunately, the only person available to step in and take care of her.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” Freddie reflected on her large, chaotic family. At least she would never be on her own like that if something happened to her parents. She had once been the one everyone counted on, the go-to girl in the midst of her four brothers. But the rest of them still lived in the former fishing town where her parents did, where her Portuguese ancestors had made their livelihoods on the sea. Whereas, she had made the decision to leave. While she would always help out where she could, she knew she could count on her brothers to figure things out.
“So, what do you say?” Michael’s voice broke in on her irrelevant thoughts and his heavy brow made his intent expression even more compelling. “Can you bail us out?”
Freddie thought about her bank account. And then about Susan. She considered the resumé credit this project would represent.
And then she considered Susan.
She took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before answering. “Can you give me a day or two to think about it?”
Michael leaned back in his chair, considering. “I can give you twenty-four hours. Honestly, I shouldn’t even do that. I’m hoping you’ll say yes, but I’ll continue to get the word out. I need someone and I really need them yesterday, Freddie.”
“That’s fair,” Freddie said, rising. “I just have a few things to iron out. Thanks for being flexible.”
Shaking hands again with Michael, she headed for the theater door. Her phone chimed in her bag just as she reached the sidewalk. Pulling it out, she stared dumbly at the text message on the screen. A text from James.
Hey. Back in NYC. Drink?
Speak of the devil.
James fidgeted, checking Twitter on his phone, glancing at the door, swiveling on his bar stool.
You know Freddie better than this. She’s always punctual.
And James had shown up twenty minutes early. He was always too eager with Freddie, it seemed. He’d asked her to move to Los Angeles with him, but she had panicked at the thought. She had been too young, too intent on building her own career. She couldn’t imagine what she might do on the West Coast except be James Martin’s girlfriend, and she had wanted more than that.
Your own fault you have to wait, he thought. James decided to answer a few tweets while he waited. The new show had raised his profile and activity in his mentions had picked up. He scrolled through the feed. Compliment: reply with thanks. Troll: block. Request for birthday wish…
“When you’re done with your adoring fans, can an old friend get a hello?”
James dropped the phone on the bar, his head whipping around to trace the sound of Freddie’s voice. The sight of her was a physical blow, a soft whump to his solar plexus.
“Hey stranger.” The husky voice that James had gotten used to hearing on the phone was even sexier paired with her face. Freddie hated cameras, which pretty much left out video chatting, so their infrequent, sometimes lengthy conversations, after they had gotten past the hurt of the breakup and stitched their friendship back together, had been voice-only. James had appreciated the intimacy of just that voice in the dark, but looking at her now, he remembered how much he had been missing.
Her eyes still dominated her face: huge, dark brown, and tip-tilted, she was a Disney princess come to life. That pointed chin still advertised her stubborn nature. Her hair was longer now, grown out from the short curls that had clustered around her face. Now it waved past her shoulders, and James’s fingers itched to tug at the dark brown silk.
“Hey.” His own voice flaked with rust and he cleared his throat. “How’re you doing, Fred?” he asked as she clambered to the stool next to him, making a face as she boosted herself onto the barstool, her short, shapely legs dangling and her skirt riding up distractingly when she seated herself. He coughed again. “Sorry. I should have picked a table, not the bar. We can move if you want.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m short, I’m not incapable.” Her glance flickered from James to the bartender and he tried to gather himself as she ordered a drink, winking audaciously as the man mixed her a gin and tonic.
Accepting her glass from the bartender with thanks, she took a sip as she gave James a long, assessing glance. She placed the drink down, centering it carefully on a little cardboard coaster. “So. You get a supporting role in a hot new tv show and you only call when you actually arrive? What’s that about?”
James’s throat went dry and he took a sip of beer. When he was offered the role, his first thought had been of her. But he had panicked, been afraid that she would be with someone or just not want to see him. And now those big eyes had him transfixed, unable to offer explanation or apology.
Over two years before, he had taken the lead in their relationship. Now, it appeared he was following.
Shifting uncomfortably on the barstool, Freddie sipped her drink and continued to look at James. He was… Oh, crap. He was even more attractive than he had been two years ago.
Nothing to do but brazen it out. “Well?”
James shrugged, an unusually awkward, one-shouldered motion. “I honestly don’t know. I was definitely thinking about you. It’s just… I don’t know,” he said again.
She decided to let him off the hook. For now. “You shaved your head,” she said.
“Yeah.” He rubbed the dark brown skin of his scalp with an open palm. It looked smooth and inviting. Freddie’s fingers itched to stroke him. “‘Keepin’ it real,’ right?”
Freddie laughed, the nervous clenching of her stomach pushing it toward a giggle. “You remember that?”
“I’m going to forget you forcing me to watch Clueless fourteen times in the course of a single summer?”
“Once. I made you watch it once. And you laughed your face off.” Freddie sipped her drink and tried to look challenging. She was all too aware that she probably looked about as intimidating as a chipmunk.
James’ beautiful mouth stretched in a reluctant smile, exposing perfect, white teeth. Freddie melted a little.
It’s just not fair.
“Yeah. It was funny,” he said. “I admit it.”
Freddie’s eyebrows lifted. “You do, huh?”
“I do. In fact, my masculinity is strong enough to also tell you that it was on cable last month and I watched it again. Is it still one of your favorites?”
Gulping a sustaining mouthful of gin and tonic, Freddie nodded. “Yup. I used to watch it with my mom all the time when I was a teenager and what’s not to love? It’s probably the best modern-day Austen adaptation out there.”
“Well, all right
then. Not going to argue with the classics.”
An awkward silence stretched between them. James spun his beer bottle on its coaster and Freddie fidgeted with the tie of her blouse. She had no idea how to ask the question she really wanted the answer to.
“So…” James said, tension drawing his jaw tight. “You seeing anyone just now?”
Or he could ask me, I guess.
Heart thudding, James took a sip of his beer. He hadn’t intended to get so personal so quickly. He had planned to get to know her again slowly, see if the attraction that they had shared two years before could be reignited.
Well, it had been abundantly clear from the moment he saw her again that he was still drawn to Freddie. Whether or not she still felt anything for him was another question.
Speaking of which, she hadn’t yet answered his question. James’s throat and chest tightened.
“No.” Her eyes flicked up to meet his. “No, not seeing anyone just now. You?”
James coughed. Her response eased the band around his chest, but his throat still felt clogged. “No,” he said hoarsely. “Haven’t for some time.”
“Me neither.” Her eyelashes fanned across her cheek as she looked down. Impulsively, he cupped her face with one hand and she jumped.
“Sorry,” he said, realizing his fingers were freezing from toying with his beer bottle.
“It’s okay.” One of her hands flew up to clutch his, holding it to the curve of her cheek, which flushed pink as he watched her.
“Your face is hot,” he said, his own relaxing into a smile as she glared at him. “I mean it,” he said more softly as he let his fingers caress the soft skin, his hand soaking up the heat. “Your face is hot. And pretty. And sexy.” He traced the plump curve of her lower lip with his thumb. “Always did love your mouth.”
