Acting Lessons

by Adele Buck

  Freddie nodded. Seeing the city through his eyes was peeling away the way she would take New York for granted, the same way the prospect of guests could make her see that a rug needed vacuuming. Familiarity may not have bred contempt, but it had given her a cynicism that the city might or might not deserve. She glanced again at the park and inadvertently made eye contact with a woman strolling through the trees, holding hands with another woman. A small smile passed between them before Freddie remembered the cardinal rule of New York: Thou Shalt Not Make Eye Contact With Strangers, and jerked her eyes forward.

  “I thought we were window shopping,” she said.

  “Windows, lions, parks. Whatever works.”

  The next morning, the alarm on Freddie’s phone shrilled on her nightstand and she groaned, rolling over and sitting up before tapping the phone to silence it.

  The last thing she wanted to do was sleep through her alarm and be late for her first day on the new job. That would be… just one hell of a bad idea.

  Grabbing her robe off the hook on the back of her bedroom door, she put it on and shuffled, bleary-eyed, to the kitchen, mindful of Miranda trying to wind herself around Freddie’s ankles as she walked.

  “Homicidal feline. Who’ll feed you if you murder me?.” She pulled half a can of wet food out of the fridge and scooped it into a bowl, stooping to refill the kibble, and finally switching on the coffee maker. Rubbing her eyes, she made her way back to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

  Emerging clean and dressed from her bedroom, hair still wet, she poured a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal. Michael had sent over Carolyn’s script via a messenger service and she took it and her breakfast to the little table in the corner to go over it one more time. Carolyn’s handwriting wasn’t particularly easy to read, but once Freddie got used to it, her notes were clear enough. She didn’t use any obscure abbreviations or unusual ways of noting stage directions. Freddie could see the scenes pretty clearly in her mind, though she was sure there would be some hiccups in the days ahead as she caught up.

  But with Susan on stage, she needed to be on top of her game. The actress was a one-woman Venus flytrap for hiccups or mistakes. One slip and she would capitalize on it, seizing attention for herself and undermining Freddie.

  Finishing her breakfast, Freddie tucked the script into her messenger bag. She checked to make sure she had her phone and said a quick goodbye to Miranda before she grabbed her keys off the hook and swung out of the apartment. The cat had already settled into the center of the loveseat and didn’t twitch an ear.

  “Get a cat, they said. They’re such great company, they said,” Freddie muttered to herself as she ran down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk, moving briskly for the subway. On the platform, a violinist was playing a very decent version of Bach’s “Ode to Joy.” Freddie dropped a dollar in the woman’s case, sighing internally at the number of talented artists who weren’t going to get the chance to go to work the way she was.

  And here’s Susan Vernon, who still gets to work, even though there are actresses as talented as she is out there who aren’t complete nightmares to work with.

  Life really wasn’t fair sometimes.

  A skinny, pale production assistant with an iPad and a headset met James at the location of the shoot, showed him to his trailer, handed him a paper schedule for the day and pointed out the location of the costume and makeup trailers. “Not like you need the hair trailer,” the man said, glancing at James’s shaved scalp.

  James rubbed his palm over the top of his head as the guy walked off, self-conscious over the other man’s comment. First day nerves, he assured himself. Turning back to his trailer, he poked around it, examining its amenities. It was the biggest trailer he had been given to date. He was due at the costume trailer in a half hour, but until then he was at a loose end. In fact, most of his day was made up of loose ends. Ah, the glamor of television.

  He wondered how Freddie’s first day was going.

  Enough of that. Keep your mind on your job, not Freddie’s job.

  A tap on his trailer door sounded and he crossed the room to open it. A blond woman in skinny jeans and a figure-skimming top stood on the steps, smiling brightly.

  “James,” she said, sticking a hand out to shake. “Hi. I’m Clarice? With publicity? This is Tracey Gooding from Hollywood So Fine.” She gestured to another young woman, dressed similarly. James wondered if they were issued a uniform in some sort of journalist/publicist training camp. “Tracey just needs about twenty minutes of your time? She’s doing a piece on the show?”

  James blinked, bemused. “This is a little lastminute. I’m due in wardrobe in half an hour.”

  Clarice waved a careless hand. “Really, all she needs is twenty minutes. So no worries then? Great.” Turning her back, she trotted down the stairs, shooting a breezy, “All yours,” to the other woman as she passed.

  Teeth gritting with annoyance at being simultaneously blindsided and railroaded, James stepped back into the trailer and gestured for Tracey to come in. Seating himself in one of the armchairs, he waved his hand at the other. “Have a seat.”

  Seeming to sense his irritation, Tracey glanced at his face then around the spartan interior as she seated herself and pulled out a recorder. “I’ll just set this up here,” she said, setting it on the coffee table in front of him and turning it on. She asked him a few innocuous questions about the show and his character and James relaxed.

  Consulting her notes, she said, “So what about your personal life? Did you leave someone behind in Los Angeles?”

  James stiffened. He wasn’t much used to interviews. The low level of success he had had in the past didn’t lend itself to much media attention, and certainly nobody had cared about anything other than work. “Um. I’d prefer to keep my personal life personal.”

  “Something to hide?” The question was posed jokingly, but the journalist’s pale blue eyes narrowed.

  James shifted in his chair. Feeling guilty was ridiculous. The question was ridiculous. He knew actors got asked personal questions all the time in interviews. Most seemed to answer them, but some didn’t. Why should he have to?

  “Nothing to hide. But I have boundaries.”

  “Hm. Well, that will give some hope to the fangirls and fanboys out there. James Martin may be single.” She made a note.

  Wait, what? “Who are you talking about?”

  Tracey shot him an incredulous look. “You can’t tell me you’re unaware of the reaction to the production’s media campaign. There are at least five Facebook groups about you. Half of Instagram seems to be annoyed that the last post you made is about a month old. There are even a bunch of new tumblr sites.”

  James rubbed his eyes, not sure if he had stumbled into an alternate reality. “I’ve been busy with the move and trying to find a new place. I haven’t paid much attention to anything but a few of my mentions on Twitter.”

  “Yeah, and the few that you’ve responded to are objects of jealousy for a lot of the other fans.”

  I have that many fans? When did this happen? He checked his watch. “Look. I have a costume fitting in fifteen minutes. As I said, I’m going to keep my private life private. Can we keep the rest of this to the show?” He couldn’t imagine Freddie’s response to having their relationship splashed all over tabloids and gossip websites. Her innate reserve, her horror of cameras…

  Yeah. That wouldn’t be good.

  Tracey asked a few more questions about the show, gathered up her things, and left the trailer. James thought about pulling out his tablet to try to verify what the woman had said and decided against it.

  That sounded like a possible time-suck and he had work to do.

  Freddie inhaled deeply, held the breath for a beat and expelled it in a whoosh.

  Showtime.

  Tugging the theater door open, she walked into the little lobby. The Hatbox was well named. Tiny, intimate, and decorated in bright, primary colors. Walking to the doorway to the house, s
he paused at the top of the aisle to consider the set, such as it was. The show was a series of street scenes in different parts of New York, with a variety of painted flats flown in and out at the back of the stage to represent those places. A Fifth Avenue scene was the one currently on view, and she grinned at the memories of the night before that it conjured. Bryant Park, the lions from the Public Library, the marquee of Radio City Music Hall, and the ice rink at Rockefeller Center all met her eyes at once.

  “It’s not exactly photorealistic, what with things from blocks apart jammed into one scene, but it’s evocative.” Michael’s voice behind her made her start, and she turned to greet her new boss.

  “I like it. I was just walking down Fifth Avenue last night. It works.”

  “Doing the tourist thing, Frederica? I wouldn’t think it of you.”

  “Please. Freddie is fine. Frederica makes me think I’m in trouble with my mom,” she said. “I have… an old friend. He’s back in town after being in Los Angeles for two years. He wanted to visit the lions.”

  “An ‘old friend.’” Michael’s fingers stitched the air quotes and his eyes twinkled.

  Freddie bit her lip. “Yeah.”

  “I see. Anyway, we have a production table set up.” Michael nodded at a long table set a few rows back from the stage. “We’re going to do a complete run-through of the first act today for the first time. So you’re really diving into the deep end. Feeling ready for it?”

  “Better to dive in at the deep end if you’re going to dive,” Freddie said. “Fewer head injuries than you get at the shallow end.”

  Michael’s smile broadened and he wagged a finger at her. “Funny. We’re going to get along just fine.”

  “So how are rehearsals going? How is the cast?”

  Michael’s open palm tilted to one side and he shrugged slightly. “They’re a talented group. There’s been some tension, but we’re getting through it.”

  “Tension?” Susan.

  Michael’s mouth flattened and he looked at the stage as if he was assessing the quality of the set. “I usually say that musical theater gets an undeservedly bad rap for diva behavior, but I admit there’s some stuff going on with this cast.”

  Freddie wished she knew Michael better and could be frank with him. Or just ask him outright if Susan was causing problems. It was clear to her that he was holding back to protect his cast, to be discreet.

  “Um… Is there anything specific I should know?”

  Michael’s hands settled on his hips and he turned to look squarely at Freddie. “I don’t know why I’m being coy about it. You’re going to see it in action soon enough.”

  Freddie braced herself for a tale of Susan’s usual shenanigans.

  “Candace Cooperfield, our ingenue, is being a raging diva.”

  Surprised, Freddie blurted, “Wow. I thought you were going to tell me that Susan Vernon was being an issue.” Slapping her hand over her mouth, her face flared with heat as her indiscretion hit her.

  Michael didn’t seem bothered. “Yeah, I had all sorts of people tell me not to hire Susan. Frankly, she does have a history of being a pain in the ass. You worked with her on The Catalyst, right? You were Cath’s assistant?”

  Freddie nodded, lowering her hand from her mouth, but her heart still beat uncomfortably hard. Kicking off her first day of the job with loose lips wasn’t exactly her finest moment, even though Michael seemed unfazed by it.

  “Word on the street was Susan was enough of a problem when the show previewed in Connecticut that Paul Mainwaring recast her part when you guys transferred to New York.”

  “It wasn’t a preview,” Freddie said. “When we mounted that production, it was straight regional theater. We didn’t know we were going to get a New York run.” The show had been the making of Paul and Cath’s careers, and even her minor role in the production was a prime credit on Freddie’s resumé.

  Michael’s eyes twinkled, seeming to acknowledge her demurral of his implicit question. “Yes, well. At any rate, Susan is a bit of a spent force in the tantrum department, but Candace has picked up the torch.”

  Freddie made a face. “That’s too bad. Well, at least there aren’t two of them creating havoc.”

  Michael turned amused eyes on Freddie. “Oh, but that’s the interesting thing. Candace’s favorite target is Susan.”

  “That’s a wrap for the day, then.” The second unit director nodded at James. “Good work today. Thanks for everything.”

  James forced himself to smile and nod. If the guy thought today’s efforts represented good work… well, James guessed he would knock the guys socks off later. Frankly, he was frustrated. Which wasn’t a great start to the job.

  Tomorrow is another day and all that happy horseshit.

  Striding back to his trailer, he let himself in and changed into his street clothes. Stepping into the bathroom, he washed his face. The makeup that wouldn’t register to viewers even on high-definition television screens seemed all too obvious to him when he looked in the mirror. After toweling off, he grabbed his backpack and headed to the subway. He had some apartments to look at.

  His realtor had texted him the address to meet her at. He hadn’t really registered where it was before, but now he realized it was only a few blocks away from where Freddie lived. A slight smile curved his lips as he wondered how well he could resist her if he was that close to her.

  Well, if his plan worked, he wouldn’t have to resist her in the long term. He just had to worry about the short term until they got to know one another again.

  Stepping onto the subway car, he flipped through the pictures of the first apartment on his phone. It looked promising in the photos, but then again, real estate photographs always did. Wide-angle lenses made cramped rooms look spacious. Lighting made it seem like the windows were bigger than they really were and promised endless sunny days. Carefully chosen accessories, angles…

  It was almost like working in television.

  Continuing to flip through the photos, he realized there were two people standing a little too close to him for your average half-empty Manhattan subway car. He looked up and saw two girls, probably in their late teens. When he met the eyes of one of them she giggled and looked at the floor. Her friend poked her and she looked up again, saying in a rush, “Are you really James Martin?”

  Nonplussed, James nodded.

  “Ohmygod,” the other girl said. “Can we get a selfie with you?

  Please tell me this day isn’t going to get any weirder.

  “Um. Sure.” He slid down so the girls could sit to either side of him and smiled as they each held up their phones in turn, continuing to giggle as they snapped. They seemed reluctant to let him go, and James was grateful that the train was fast arriving at his stop.

  “I’ve gotta go. Nice to meet you,” he said, realizing he hadn’t met them at all. He had no idea who they were.

  One of them pouted extravagantly while the other smiled and waved her phone at him. “Thanks!” she chirped.

  As James stepped onto the platform, doors sliding shut behind him, the two girls put their heads together over their phones, flipping through the photos with evident excitement. They’re just eager kids, he reminded himself.

  He wished he knew why the episode had unsettled him so much.

  “Okay, let’s take it from the top,” Michael called out and the company reset themselves on the stage, ready to begin the opening number for the third act. The rehearsal accompanist struck the first few chords of the song and the stage erupted into synchronized motion. Susan and Candace, playing a pair of sisters trying to make it in New York, were buffeted among the chorus dancers, showing how a simple journey downtown could turn into a saga for baffled newcomers.

  While the number progressed, Susan and Candace seemed like a great team, in step with one another, their characters relying on each other as they combatted Manhattan together. But when Michael called a halt to the number to adjust some of the choreography, a palpable tens
ion vibrated between them. Susan’s back was stiff and her jaw was clamped tight. She asked a question of Michael and Candace rolled her eyes, murmuring something that was inaudible except for one word:

  “Old.”

  Susan’s amber eyes snapped with fury and her lips folded into her mouth. With exaggerated politeness, she said, “I’m sorry, Michael. Could you repeat that? My aged ears couldn’t catch what you were saying over Candace’s comments.”

  Glancing a warning at Candace, Michael repeated his instructions while the younger woman retied her shoes. Rather than crouching to reach her footwear, she chose to bend at the waist, displaying both an extreme degree of flexibility and her tight, round butt to the rest of the company. Amused, Freddie looked at the cluster of male chorus dancers. None of them reacted in the way Freddie presumed Candace wanted them to. In fact, one of them turned to his neighbor and arched a sarcastic eyebrow, mouthing a silent, “Girl, please.”

  Freddie made notes as she observed this byplay. Susan probably never banked on her life turning into a remake of All About Eve, but Freddie thought that, in hindsight at least, it was probably inevitable.

  Susan had darted a look at her when Michael introduced Freddie to the cast at the beginning of the rehearsal, but otherwise had shown no sign that she recognized or remembered her. Freddie didn’t know whether this was a good sign or a bad one, but shoved the issue aside, keeping her mind on her work. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice.

  Trying to get up to speed on the production was as challenging as she had guessed it would be. The music and dancing portion of it actually wasn’t as daunting as she had feared, but she was pretty sure that the real test was going to come when they were actually running the show. She would be responsible for calling all the technical cues, making sure that lights, sound, and all the other things that weren’t done by the actors were carried out flawlessly.