Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set

by Gigi Blume

  “He’s not the butler, you know.”

  She giggled. “I know. But it’s adorable to see him try to please me.”

  I wondered whether Mum meant to be a mini terrorist, or if it just came naturally. Note to self: A long as Mum was in town, hide the cheese-flavoured snacks, hide the sweets, and for heaven’s sake, hide Jaxson Knightly.

  Frank Churchill was M.I.A. His ‘missed the plane’ excuse for ghosting Monday’s rehearsal turned into ‘lost his passport’ on Tuesday. It would take all week to get it sorted with the embassy.

  Suuuuure.

  Meanwhile, rehearsals went on as scheduled with Elton quite equal to filling in. He seemed to enjoy showcasing his talents. When I asked Elton if he ever considered acting, Morris barked a laugh and told me a few anecdotes about their college days.

  “We’d audition for all the shows,” Morris explained. “But when we’d get cut, Elton and I would write vaudeville skits and perform them in the girls’ dorms. His idea. That’s kind of how we got our start in showbiz.”

  “Oh, brilliant,” I said, feigning a pout. “You should have performed one of those at the Tonys. I would have infinitely preferred anything you guys do over Sharknado the Musical.”

  “That’s debatable. Sharknado’s a cult classic.” Morris winked and flashed a bright smile. He was too adorable for words. No wonder his wife snatched him up in high school.

  Harriet, however, was far too shy. I did my best to include her in every conversation I had with Elton, but when he’d address her, she’d smile and blush. She needed a tad more confidence.

  “Have you met Beth?” I asked her while Jaxson worked in the corner with the composers. Only the soloists were called that day, so we were a cosy group.

  “I have,” she said with a nod. “The other day, I think.”

  Oh, yes. How could I forget the image of Harriet fangirling over Will Darcy while Beth graciously snapped photos? Why couldn’t Harriet be that bold with Elton? She was probably too struck with romantic ambitions to voice them. She could use a role model. Someone who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind to the most intimidating man in Hollywood to win his heart.

  Harriet seemed to open up considerably around Beth, although she still was too eager to please. She was sickeningly agreeable to the point of liking everything Beth liked.

  I like this brand of water.

  So do I.

  Cloud Atlas is my favourite movie.

  Oh, me too.

  I doubted she’d even seen it. At one point, I noticed a glimmer of amusement in Beth’s eye. I ticked my brow as if to say, “I know Harriet’s a piece of work, but we like her anyway.” Beth winked back all, “I’m right there with you, sister. She’s adorable.”

  Beth hugged Harriet, all warmth and friendliness.

  “How are things with your new beau?” I asked Beth, hoping it would spark something in Harriet—something like asking for Elton’s number.

  “It’s all so new and yet… ancient at the same time. Does that make sense?”

  I nodded. “Absolutely. Like you were made for each other since the beginning of time.”

  “That’s so romantic,” chirped Harriet. “I’d like to find a love like that.”

  “You don’t feel that way straight off,” I said. “It takes time. Right, Beth?”

  She laughed. “It certainly did for me. I couldn’t stand Will for a good three months.”

  Harriet’s jaw dropped, and her eyes shone like high beams. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” Beth confirmed with a sweet smile.

  “You see, Harriet?” I added. “You never know. Your soul mate could be in this room at this very moment.”

  I shifted my gaze toward Elton, but Harriet only looked around nervously.

  “You just need to have more self-confidence.” I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and squeezed. I had a good five inches on her without heels and even more on Beth. I felt like an Amazon. I glanced down at her sensible flats. “We’re going shoe shopping after this.”

  Beth was invited, of course, but she declined the offer. Before returning to the theatre for her evening performance, she had to go with her famous boyfriend to pick up a new car. According to her, he gave away his Ferrari and bought a new Prius online.

  “My Volvo finally gave up on life, and Will insisted on buying me a new car. But I don’t take handouts. So next thing I know, he’s suddenly a low-profile Prius owner and hinted he’d let me ‘borrow’ it sometimes. I think I’ll buy myself a big truck just to mess with him.”

  I was liking Beth more and more. She was funny and charming with a sprinkling of snark thrown in for flavour. I was looking forward to spending time with her and desperately wished she could go shopping with us. It was exactly the girly thing I needed in my life: gal pals shopping and having lunch with a little gossip on the side. I decided I’d be the Carrie Bradshaw of our group. #friendshipgoals

  I ended up finding Harriet a few gorgeous pairs of stilettos and fashionable boots with cute outfits to match. She admitted she expected a shop more along the lines of a TJ Maxx and almost refused to try anything on. The only way I could convince her to let me buy her stuff was to say it was part of her work uniform as my personal assistant. After all, she might have to meet with producers and studio executives on my behalf. She lit up at the idea. Her arm didn’t need much twisting. What surprised me was how much I enjoyed taking part in her transformation. The clothes seemed to break her out of her shell, and the shoes—after a few wobbly mishaps—gave her a definitive strut. If only she’d do something with her hair. Which gave me a brilliant idea.

  Annie Taylor, my favourite makeup artist, would know how to fix Harriet up with a good do. I was delighted she could meet me at my house with such short notice. Before I knew it, Harriet had her hair in curlers while Annie applied contouring to her round face. Harriet was all smiles. She said she felt like that girl in Princess Diaries.

  I brought up a bottle of Prosecco to the master bath, and we sipped our feminine cares away. I liked having my girl tribe. I really had missed out on this stuff in my unconventional formidable years. At one point in the evening, Mum came upstairs having just arrived from a drop-in yoga class. She took one look at Annie’s electric-blue hair, sneered at our champagne flutes and covered her nose with her scarf.

  “Ugh. Those products you’re using are full of toxic chemicals.” She fanned the air in front of her for emphasis. “Please tell me you don’t have aerosol cans.”

  Annie looked guiltily toward her big caboodle of radioactive carcinogens, and Mum left the room, coughing dramatically.

  “Is your mom okay?” asked Annie.

  “Oh, she’s fine.” I flicked my fingernails in the ether. “She claims to have chemical allergies. I’m not allowed to wear perfume in her presence. Or deodorant.”

  “That sounds horrible,” cried Harriet. “Poor woman.”

  I wanted to point out said ‘poor woman’ hadn’t bothered to acknowledge the humans in the room and was likely throwing away all of Rosario’s cleaning products at present. I sighed, hoping I’d successfully hidden any food not considered organic. I had a vision of my merry father back in Blighty gleefully munching Jaffa Cakes on the sofa in Mum’s absence.

  Annie worked for some time, teaching Harriet various ways she could style her hair on her own without much faff. Harriet was a vision. I made her give us a mini catwalk jaunt while Annie put her supplies away. I wanted to applaud.

  “Watch out, gentlemen,” I said. She was a bombshell on wheels.

  Harriet blushed. “Are you sure it’s not too much?”

  “It’s never too much,” replied Annie, washing her hands. “Switch out a lighter shade of lipstick for your day look, and that guy you like will be eating out of your hand.”

  “Martín?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Harriet,” I cried. “You could have any guy you want. You could aim a little higher, you know.”

  Annie giggled, replacing her jewellery. She l
oved to wear lots of silver bangles and rings, but they often got in the way while she worked. And that’s when I noticed the huge rock on her left hand.

  “What’s this?” I snatched her hand before she could finish adorning her wrists. She grinned brightly and bit her bottom lip, bursting with news she’d been waiting to tell.

  “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone,” she said. “When you called today, it was the perfect opportunity to come over and give you the good news.”

  I jumped up and down and screamed with such enthusiasm. Mum heard me from her guest room and ran in like gangbusters wearing a medical mask.

  “Who’s hurt? Flush your eyes with saline.”

  “Nobody’s hurt, Mum.”

  She glanced disapprovingly at Harriet. “Chemical burns? Inhaled toxic fumes?”

  I rolled my eyeballs at her zealous panic mongering. “Everything’s tickety-boo.”

  She glared at me suspiciously and retreated from the room. I wouldn’t be surprised to find her next time in a hazmat suit. Harriet kicked off her heels and rushed next to me to admire Annie’s engagement ring. It was a princess-cut diamond the size of a small country and was set in marcasite-encrusted platinum.

  “That’s gorgeous,” exclaimed Harriet.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “But you should never take it off, dear. Even while you’re working.”

  Annie shrugged and said, “I know. I’m just not used to it yet.”

  Then we dug all the juicy details out of her. How Randall planned the perfectly romantic evening, how nervous he was, and how dashing he looked. Then how everything went to pot, and he ended up with a sprained ankle, practically weeping at the end of the night from an endless train of fiascos. And at his lowest point, she asked him to marry her, and he admitted he’d planned to propose that very night.

  “I knew he was carrying the ring in his coat pocket when he asked me to fetch his keys.”

  “Oh my gosh, did you freak out?” asked Harriet.

  Annie smiled. “I waited, thinking the perfect opportunity would arise at some point in the evening. But when it didn’t seem he’d make his move at all, I asked him to marry me right there on the front steps of the Burbank Urgent Care.”

  Harriet and I sighed. To think I’d been an integral part in bringing them together—and wouldn’t that show a thing or two to Jaxson. This was a matchmaking triumph beyond anything imaginable. I could hardly wait for Harriet to share a similar story soon.

  Before Annie went home, she extended an invitation for her wedding to me and her new friend Harriet. Randall didn’t want a long engagement. Two weeks was about all he could stand.

  “We found a hotel in San Diego with a last-minute cancellation, and they gave us a killer deal.” She gave us hugs and waved goodbye to Mum who’d been lurking in the solarium, watching the waves crash on the shore through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “I hope you can make it on such short notice,” continued Annie, jiggling her keys. “Randall has a meeting with Jaxson tomorrow, so I’m sure he’ll tell him about the wedding then.”

  And to think Jaxson liked to discourage my matchmaking. I couldn’t wait to see his face when he discovered my victory. Annie and Randall getting married. All my hard work paid off.

  I shifted my gaze to Harriet. Her bright smile and inner glow lit up the room.

  You’re next, my dear. Just wait and see.

  7

  Perpetual State Of Symmetry

  Jaxson

  I made sure Friday was a short day. I missed Emma. Sure, we saw each other every day at rehearsals, but that was all business. And lately, all her free time was occupied with whatever sorts of things she did with Harriet. I was beginning to regret the suggestion. I didn’t realize she’d take it to heart with such gusto.

  She’d been impossible since Randall Weston came to meet me and the composers about the art design for Field of Hearts on Thursday. I needed an historically accurate feel with enough space for dance numbers. He was the only guy I knew with the ability to execute such a task. But Emma knew he had other news to discuss, and she waited around until he shared it—just to see my reaction. I could tell she was waiting for it by the way she wiggled her brows and watched me while Randall invited us to his wedding to Annie. She whooped about it after Randall left, rubbing it in my face. It was silly. But I was afraid that someday she would go too far. That fear magnified itself when she accosted Elton after we wrapped on Friday and played her little composition for him. Harriet sang. If it could be called singing. She could barely be heard. Her voice was sweet enough, but she lacked a lot of training. Emma didn’t even seem to notice and played away on the piano while Elton watched her, enthralled by the performance of only one of the ladies. Read: not Harriet.

  I observed the scene with interest. Emma was so obviously trying to showcase her friend. But why? Surely, she knew there wasn’t a part in the movie for her. She couldn’t be so blind to Harriet’s inexperience. Goddard School, where Harriet studied acting, was nothing more than an overpriced vanity studio. It was one of many ‘acting academies’ designed to prey on young hopefuls, all the while charging exorbitant class fees and delivering very little. I’d seen one of their ads one day in Backstage Magazine with a great big photo of Henry Crawford, one of their alumni. What the suckers reading the ad didn’t know was that Henry only attended Goddard for a nanosecond before getting lucky because of his good looks; he told me so when he worked on my last film. I never wanted to hire him in the first place. But our casting director promised me she could attach Frank Churchill for my musical if I had a place for Henry in my steampunk picture. I still hadn’t figured out her motives. The trade-off was worth it, though. Or it would be if Frank ever returned from his trip abroad. He assured me he’d be at rehearsal Monday. I decided to wait and see before panic set in. Wouldn’t want to alarm Pinky more than she was.

  Once Emma finished performing her song, Elton’s applause was so thunderous, Stella was sure to hear it from her office. He was all over himself with adoration. How excellent the structure, how expertly performed, etc. I wanted to hurl. Or throw something. Elton was a Broadway professional. He was doing Emma and her friend a disservice by his ingenuine, overly generous comments.

  Emma excused herself from the scene, leaving Harriet alone with Elton. She grinned mischievously as she approached me.

  “Why do I get the feeling that song was more than you’re letting on?” I said with my hands resolutely in my pockets. It was my only tactic to refrain from pulling her into my arms whenever she was near.

  “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She planted a quick kiss to my cheek in passing.

  “Where are you going?” I called after her, but she disappeared into the hallway. We had our usual Friday dinner plans, and I was hungry. Tonight, her mother offered to cook. Emma didn’t seem too thrilled by the idea.

  I followed her down the corridor, knowing exactly where she was headed. I found her in Stella’s office just as she stuck a post-it note to Stella’s computer.

  “Emma?”

  Her lips curled in response to my voice, and she came straight to me, snaking her arms around my waist.

  So much for hands in pockets, Knightly.

  Her hugs were the highlight of my existence, yet she couldn’t know how they affected me. She was far too innocent to realize—which was rare in this town.

  My stomach growled, and she giggled against my chest. This moment was everything. My heart was full.

  “Somebody’s hungry,” she said through a smile.

  “I skipped lunch.”

  “Let’s go for pizza and root beer.”

  Reluctantly, I stepped away—just enough to see her face. It was a slightly painful exercise. “Your mum’s expecting us.”

  She ticked her head, still holding on to my shirt. “Precisely why we should fill up on pizza first.”

  I smiled warmly, rescuing a stray hair from entering her mouth. “It won’t be so bad. We’ll
pick up some flowers on the way.”

  “I don’t think I can cope with another obnoxious meal of kale and quinoa seasoned with the herbs of Mother Earth.”

  I bopped her nose with my finger. “I’ll take you out for gelato.”

  She frowned adorably and sulked out of the office. We were met, upon returning to the Cry Room, by Elton and Elton alone.

  “Where’s Harriet?” asked Emma.

  Elton shrugged and nodded toward the door. “She went home, I guess.”

  “Home?” exclaimed Emma. “I thought you were her ride.”

  “Didn’t you drive her here?” he responded calmly.

  “Yes, but she asked you for a ride home because I have plans.” Emma was completely out of sorts with this development, running outside in search of her friend. When she returned, breathing heavily, Elton was at the piano playing her composition.

  “You know,” he said, fingering the melody, “I think we should record this.”

  Emma brightened at the idea. “Really?” That seemed to recover her spirits quite rapidly.

  “Sure,” said Elton, watching her reaction with unveiled interest. “I can’t remember ever hearing something so perfectly full of emotion and sincerity.”

  What a load of tosh. But Emma was all teeth and dimples, her eyes shining with gratitude. I couldn’t take that away from her—however false Elton’s intentions were. She was so high on the praise he gave her, she not only devoured the mediocre dinner her mum prepared but paid forward all the compliments she’d received onto the meal. No matter how I felt about it, I had to admit she deserved that gelato. And then some. Unfortunately, the gelato was the only thing in my power to give her.

  Her good mood extended into Saturday when I picked her up for our meeting with Roberto Martinez.

  “Just call me Martín,” he said, shaking my hand, and blushed at Emma. She had that effect on men, but one of the things that endeared me to her so much was her modesty on that score. She never used it to her advantage, nor did she truly know her power. She smiled warmly and scanned the bar, marvelling at how different it looked in daylight.