by Gigi Blume
I hitched the corner of my mouth in a sly grin.
“I’m looking forward to it.” I laughed. “Do your worst.”
1
Talk Like A Pirate Day
Jaxson
My mobile phone buzzed on my home office desk. It was Pinky Bates, the line producer for my movie musical, Field of Hearts. Everything in me screamed to ignore the call. There was no such thing as a short call with Pinky. And I had tickets for Pirates of Penzance. But I knew Pinky. She’d just keep calling until I picked up. She was relentless like that.
“Houston, we have a problem,” she said without preamble.
“What kind of problem?” I asked tentatively.
“Jennifer Fairfax broke her leg.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Is this a joke?”
Pinky had worked as a unit manager on some of the studio films I’d directed and was good with numbers, so the job fit. But she wanted to dip her toe in, so I decided to give her a chance while still maintaining a lot of the responsibility myself. She was a bit unorthodox in her methods. Okay, she was an odd bird. But she was reliable, and she seemed to know everyone in showbiz, which was a plus for overseeing the casting. Jennifer Fairfax was Pinky’s first choice to play the part of Isabelle, the scorned fiancée in Field of Hearts. The part had very little screen time, but it was in many ways one of my favourites.
I heard Pinky sigh heavily on her end of the line. “Poor girl fell while skiing in Canada. It’s so devastating. Devastating. Oh, lemons on toast. What are we going to do?”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Slow down. How bad is it?”
“How am I supposed to know?” she cried. “I got a call from Bill Campbell to tell me Jennifer broke her leg and can’t do the movie.”
Bill was Jennifer’s manager and a few roos loose in the top paddock. I’d never met him, but he insisted on a conference call when Jennifer was hired. I knew back then he would cause trouble. Now my brain was going five hundred kilometres an hour. Almost as fast as Pinky could talk. But I reasoned there had to be a solution.
“Can she sing?” I asked. “We’re only workshopping. Her leg will heal in a few weeks.”
“No, no, no, no, no!” Pinky said emphatically. “I already made that suggestion. Of course you know I would; I’m resourceful like that. You do know I’m resourceful, don’t you? Of course you do. Bill was adamant she could absolutely positively not do the movie.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Tell me about it,” she cried. There was a wobble in her voice.
There was a pause of several long moments, and then she sniffled. Yep. She was crying. Really, the poor woman became too attached to her dream cast. In this condition, she was practically useless. That was one of Pinky’s quirks. When she was on, she was on fire. When something (like a broken leg) threw her off, she was a puddle of Jello. We were in damage control mode now.
“Don’t cry, Pinky. She’ll be apples.”
“She’ll be ankles? She broke her leg.”
“No… it’s an Aussie expression. Never mind. What I mean is, I’ll figure it out. Everything will be fine.”
She sniffed through laboured breaths. “It will?”
“Sure,” I said. “I got this. I need you to get things ready for Monday’s read-through and make sure Randall can bring me the concept art next week. Okay?”
She took a minute to respond, sniffling and swallowing the tears. “O-okay.”
“I’m going to hang up now.”
“Okay. Thank you, Mr Knightly.”
“Please. Call me Jaxson.”
Silence. How many years had I known this woman and still she called me Mr Knightly? I groaned and checked my smart watch. I didn’t want to keep Emma waiting. Emma; my best mate and Hollywood’s sweetheart who just happened to be the star in my next film. It was Preview Night at her Aunt Stella’s theatre and we were both expected to make an appearance.
“Bye now, Pinky.” I tapped the end call button before she could respond again.
I felt guilty as soon as the line was silent. I sent her a quick text littered with sickeningly cute emojis. I wasn’t an emoji kind of guy. But Pinky loved them. She also loved gifs of kittens and puppies. I sent her one of those for good measure. It was probably a mistake on my part because she responded with glittery animations every ten minutes for the next few hours.
I had to put my phone in airplane mode once Emma and I arrived at the theatre. She didn’t seem to notice my distraction, too busy with the tiny plastic cups and a bottle of rum she carried in her purse.
“What are you doing?” I whispered during the overture. The long length of her elegant back bent over as she fiddled with the contraband by her feet. The gentleman to her right offered a scowl in our direction.
Emma flashed me her million-dollar smile behind a curtain of hair draped over her knee and added a mischievous wink. I caught a glimpse of the bottle of Pyrate Rum she’d snuck into the theatre as she covertly poured two shots into the plastic cups.
“Aye, pouring the pirate grog, matey.” She handed me my portion. “It’ll put the wind in yer mainsails.”
I frowned at my cup. I was more of a scotch man, and Emma was the lightest of lightweights; she rarely drank anything harder than wine spritzers. But her penchant for theatrics turned the corners of my mouth into a wistful smile, and I humoured her by giving the liquid a sniff. Pyrate Rum to sip during a performance of Pirates of Penzance. No doubt we’d be drinking tea with jam and bread if the show was The Sound of Music. She was adorably geeky that way. I was so busy examining the contents of my cup, wondering how much longer the orchestra would play before the lights dimmed completely, that I didn’t notice Emma passing more plastic ramekins down the aisle.
“Ahoy, there,” she said to the two elderly ladies a few seats down. “Drink up, me hearties.” The ladies gratefully accepted the shots and toasted to Emma’s good fortune and health. The scowling man next to her wasn’t even paying any attention to the stage by this point. His disapproval was evident by his constant throat clearing, which wasn’t at all lost on Emma who offered him a shot of his own. If I’d attempted anything of the sort, we’d have been shown the door. But Emma’s charm won the man over, and he eventually accepted a shot of rum, or maybe five.
“What if the show had been Sweeney Todd?” I asked in a hush as the house lights dimmed. “What would you have brought then?”
A huge grin spread across her beautiful face, and I could almost discern a devilish twinkle in her eye.
“The worst pies in London.”
We enjoyed the first act, comfortably sitting together sharing the same armrest. Every now and then, I glanced her way to watch her profile, the way she smiled the entire show, the way her lips moved as though she wanted to sing along to the Major General song. For my money, she was more entertaining than the action on stage, but then again, I was partial.
She was the best actress I knew. I wasn’t ashamed to admit I chose films to direct with her in mind.
Did it help that she was gorgeous? Maybe. Did I do it because I preferred her company to anyone else? Most definitely. Directors did it all the time. Quentin Tarantino had Uma Thurman. Tim Burton had Johnny Depp. I had Emma Woods.
Our upcoming project was the film I’d dreamed about my entire career. A movie musical. It was like a soul mate who I knew I’d recognize at first sight. The story spoke to me. Made a connection in my spirit. And then I met Morris Tomlinson and Elton Wardlow, the Tony Award-winning composers of the Broadway sensation Lived Overseen. They were the geniuses destined to write the music for my film and, boy, did they deliver.
There was one other reason I was nervous about this project. I was to play the lead role. It would be my first time in front of the camera, so when I said I threw myself into my work, I meant it. I’d always had a love for acting. My background was in musical theatre. It just so happened screenwriting and directing were how I made a name for myself. But in my heart of hearts, acting,
singing, and dancing were what I longed for. It was never a question of what or how, but when. Now that question was answered. This was my time.
Also, it meant I could play Emma’s love interest. Shameless, I know. But after all the times I had to call action and watch countless takes of love scenes of her with other actors, finally, I could be the one to take her in my arms. I could be the one to press my lips to hers. I could be the one to declare my affection to her through scripted dialogue. So what if it was only make believe? So what if we were only playing for the camera? I would have those moments forever imprinted on film instead of only my fantasies. Was I pulling a swiftie in my own film? I certainly wasn’t above it.
Producing a movie musical was a risky investment and, even after weeks of workshopping, there was no guarantee we’d be picked up by a studio. Everybody warned me they didn’t sell. Several people tried to dissuade me. Not Emma. She was the one person I could count on for encouragement. She was always the one person I could turn to. After all, she was the best part of me. If only I could tell her that.
By the time the interval came around, our entire row of theatre patrons was sloshed. Emma laughed while some of the ladies said something I couldn’t hear. They were clucking like a group of old chooks. In fact, I was certain they’d all gone to the loo together while I stayed in my seat to check my messages. Emma must have passed more of her pirate grog down the aisle while the show was on because these ladies were already tanked.
I furrowed my brow as I scrolled through Pinky’s texts. She went from glittery unicorn gifs to crisis mode and back again on a loop. When Emma returned from whatever party went down in the ladies room, she threw her legs over my lap, blocking my mobile.
“Goodness gracious. It’s chock-a-block in the lobby,” she said.
I caught my mobile just before it fell to the floor and grimaced at her high-heeled shoes. “Oi. Watch those weapons.”
“I got you something.” She tossed me a bag of chips.
“Where did you get these?”
“In my aunt’s office,” she declared flippantly. “I know where she keeps her stash.”
“You can’t bring food—or booze—in here,” I scolded. “Even if your aunt owns the theatre.”
Tearing open her own package, she popped a chip in her mouth then another and spoke while chewing. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on with your mobile? It was pinging the whole car ride here.”
She was paying attention to me after all.
She took another bite with a loud chomp and tossed her shoes to the floor using her toes. “Ah, that’s better.”
“Are you going to use me as a footrest the entire second act?” I took a deep breath. Because… legs.
“Well, I can’t very well ask Bob.” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder toward the elderly gentleman to her right. “We’ve only just met.”
“My legs are going to fall asleep, you know.”
“Just give me another minute. Tell your story first.” Another chip, another loud munch.
I shook my head and sighed heavily, then gave her the briefest update on the dilemma Pinky presented to me earlier. She listened, munching away, and polished off the entire bag. When I had finished by showing her the plethora of texts from Pinky, she kindly removed her legs, slid her shoes back on, and said, “Who do you want to take over the role, then?”
“I have a few people in mind, but I haven’t had a chance to make any phone calls.”
“Hmmm.” Emma raised a brow at me. “What about Becky?”
“Who’s Becky?”
“Helloooo. She was just on stage. The girl Aunt Stella won’t shut up about. We met her the other day, Jax.”
“Beth. For heaven’s sake. Her name is Beth.”
“Right. Beth. Haven’t you been paying attention to the show? She’s cracking me up.”
I was in fact paying attention to the show, and all the performances were more than entertaining. But the role I needed to cast wasn’t a comedic one.
“I don’t know about that—”
“You said you wanted an unknown,” she pressed, “and if you were keen to what I know, you’d pay closer attention to that actress. Are you gonna eat that?” She stole my chips and tore open the bag. Crunch.
“What do you know that I don’t?” I asked with a shade of scepticism.
“Let’s just say my Aunt Stella’s predictions are never wrong.”
I pursed my lips. Dame Stella Gardiner was a pillar in the entertainment industry. She was a highly respected, award-winning actress and producer. I couldn’t help but wonder, however, if lately, she spent far too much of her energy meddling into other people’s love lives. What scared me was that Emma was exactly like her aunt. She couldn’t resist a love match. Even at the expense of her own public image.
“I’ll watch Beth more closely in the second act,” I promised. “But put away the bottle. You know you’re a Cadbury.”
“I’m not even drinking. What do you think the crisps are for?”
“Put those away, too.” I fixed my gaze on her pointedly but found it difficult to keep a straight face. She had crumbs on her chin. I brushed them off gently with my thumb in a casually intimate gesture, and she closed her eyes, parting her lips slightly with a sigh.
Phwoar!
I was saved by the flicker of lights indicating the end of the interval. Soon, the orchestra would play the entr’acte, and the nonsense of Pirates of Penzance would be a welcome distraction.
2
The Game Is Afoot With Fabulous Shoes
Emma
“Did you see what I saw?” I gathered my oversized handbag from the theatre floor and shuffled out of the aisle.
Jaxson pressed his hand into the small of my back, sending delightful shivers up my spine.
“A hilariously entertaining yet campy operetta?” he answered.
“That kiss,” I replied. “I’m pretty sure there’s more of that going on backstage.”
“I have no doubt there must be a few showmances, Emma.” Jaxson leaned in and whispered in my ear, “It’s actually quite common.”
I turned to face him so abruptly, his chest crashed into mine, and he hooked his arm around my waist to keep me from falling backward. His eyes lit in flames, and the corners of his mouth curled into a deeper grin.
For a split second, his stare was white hot, and I had to clear my throat to chill the volcano in my core.
“I’ve never hooked up with a co-star,” I said adamantly.
His gaze dipped to my mouth, and with that cheeky grin still in place, he twisted a lock of my hair playfully around his forefinger and said, “Not yet.”
My knees buckled, and his grip on my waist tightened, pressing me against the front of his tuxedo.
“Are you all right?” He searched my features, and I noted the fresh citrus scent of his aftershave. “How much of that rum did you drink, Emma?”
Not a drop. Oh, I was intoxicated, all right, but it had nothing to do with rum. Cradled in Jaxson’s embrace was a dangerous position to be in, and I needed to snap out of it. His face was so close to mine, I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
“Jax?”
“Yes, Emma.” The timbre of his voice was deep and resonating like a thousand mountain dwarves. I had a sudden desire to search for forgotten gold somewhere in Middle Earth.
“Promise me something.”
He inched closer to me, if that was possible—his lips a hair’s breadth away from mine.
“Anything,” he whispered.
Stiff upper lip. Emma.
“Promise me—no matter what happens—you’ll always be my friend.”
A cold awareness overshadowed his features, and I noticed his Adam’s apple catch as he released his hand from my waist, putting distance between us. I felt the absence of his touch acutely.
“Friends,” he said with a forced smile. “Always.”
He drawled out the last word, channelling his inner Alan Rickman.
That made me laugh, which seemed to soften his countenance. He cast a tender gaze upon me and trailed the backs of his fingers softly across my cheekbone, and his smile transformed into sweet reverence.
Gah!
Why did his teeth have to be so immaculate? And why was I fixating on his teeth like an enthusiastic dentist?
“Do I need to carry you out of the theatre?”
“I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” I disengaged myself from the influence he had on my nerves and stepped away to straighten my dress. “I’m just faint from hunger.”
“Did you finish that bag of potato chips?” he asked with his voice full of concern.
“Listen to you. You say, ‘potato chips’ like a proper American.”
“Comes with the territory.”
“If you say so, Mr. Hollywood.”
“Let’s go to the stage door to find your Aunt Stella, and then we’ll eat all the calamari at the reception.”
Food. The man knew the way to my heart. My aunt always put on a spread for the Patrons of the Arts on preview night. When her theatre produced My Fair Lady the year prior, she served tea sandwiches and champagne. There was sure to be lots of champagne for the Pirates reception, too, as well as pirate-themed food like seafood perhaps. Or maybe those wieners in the shape of octopi. Octopuses? Octoweiners.
We spotted Stella as she emerged from backstage, still dressed in her pirate costume from the show.
“I’ve brought you a present,” I said, handing her the bottle of rum.
She examined the remaining contents with a playful frown. “How thoughtful of me to share half the bottle.”
She always exaggerated. There wasn’t that much missing.
“It was the chap sitting next to me,” I explained.
She looked to Jaxson with disbelief. She knew as well as I did he was too serious to break the theatre rules.
“The chap sitting on the other side of me,” I amended. “Bob.”
Jaxson nodded. “He was quite smitten with Emma.”
