Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set

by Gigi Blume

  “Hang on now. You told me you liked Frank.”

  “I never said that.”

  “Yes, you did. I specifically remember that day at the pier you said ‘Sunday at the Oscars was so magical’ and you were developing feelings for someone.”

  “Yeah, but I wasn’t talking about Frank.” She scrunched her nose again, like even the thought of Frank offended her.

  If not Frank, then who?

  I stuttered, trying to piece it together. “Frank… he… he caught you when you fell off the stairs. And you had googley eyes. And you slow danced after that.”

  She shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I’m attracted to him. Actually, I thought you two had a thing going on.”

  “Me?”

  She nodded emphatically. “You did go as his date.”

  “Don’t be daft. I only went to the Oscars with Frank because Jaxson—”

  No. No, no, no. This was all wrong. Surely she didn’t mean… But Jaxson left the Governor’s Ball early.

  “Um, Harriet. This fellow you fancy. It’s not… Jaxson. Is it?”

  She rolled her eyes lightheartedly. “Come on, Emma. You know Jax and I have a thing. He showed me off on the red carpet.”

  What kind of personal torture was this? “Jax and I?” “A thing?” What sort of thing? I was getting nauseous and not in a cute way like Jennifer Fairfax. I swallowed it down.

  “So, you and Jaxson. You’re a couple now or…”

  “Well, not exactly. We text.”

  “Text?”

  She got all mushy while she basked in the memory of his ‘texts,’ and I could see actual cartoon hearts in her eyes. What sort of things was he texting to her? He didn’t even like emojis.

  “He is such a gentleman. Soooo much better than Elton. Oh Emma, without your words of encouragement, I wouldn’t have even presumed, but you made me see my own beauty. I’m so happy.”

  It was my fault. This was all sixes and sevens. I groaned.

  “Are you okay?”

  I took a breath. Maybe this was all a misunderstanding. How to put it out there?

  “This ‘thing’ with you and Jaxson. Are you…” Oh bollocks. “…physical?”

  A wash of pink overspread her face. “Nah. Like I said. He’s a gentleman.”

  “What I mean is, has he…” I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Especially considering where his lips had been just the night before. Hint: On mine. His lips were on mine the night before.

  “You mean have we kissed?” she supplied.

  “Have you?” I blurted.

  “Not yet.”

  “Then how do you know he feels the same way about you? I mean… you don’t want history to repeat itself.”

  “Awww. You’re so sweet to worry about me. But Jax isn’t anything like Elton. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “Oh?”

  Harriet bit her bottom lip and leaned over the little table, setting her voice down low. It was secret time again. I was starting to hate secrets.

  “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this yet, but Jaxson went to Australia. He told me he has something very particular to tell his parents.”

  “Something very particular? What do you mean?”

  “It’s me, Emma. He’s telling them about me. Eeep! Isn’t this wild?”

  “Are you sure that’s what he meant?” I frowned.

  “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be stoked.” A realization came over her. “You don’t think he’s leading me on, do you?”

  No. That wasn’t his style. If Jaxson Knightly was anything, he was honourable.

  “I think…” Oh, my cracking heart. “I think the last thing Jaxson would do is lead a girl on if he wasn’t interested.”

  Except me. Because that’s exactly what he’d done. Unless all those tender moments and stolen kisses were part of my overactive imagination. He never did declare anything to me. I should have taken him at his word. It was a goodbye kiss. Because he was in love with Harriet.

  A new realization darted through me with the speed of an arrow. I then realized I didn’t want Jaxson to be in love with anyone… unless that someone was me.

  I left Harriet’s completely and utterly despondent. And although the rain had subsided, it was thunderstorm city all over my tear-streaked face. I didn’t just love Jaxson as the friends we’d been all those years. I was in love with him purely and deeply. My love for him ripped my heart into shreds. And now it was too late.

  30

  Lessons From Uncle Hershel

  Emma

  I got in the habit of taking long walks along the beach in the several days that followed Jaxson’s departure. That’s what one does in such cases as these. I was like one of those sappy commercials for dejected females.

  How quickly the tables had turned. And to think it was all my doing. I had to be the absolute worst matchmaker in the history of matchmakers. How could I be so blind to the truth? Now it all made sense. Jaxson’s odd behaviour over the past few weeks, how he’d grown distant, calling me less, scolding me more. How he told me he wasn’t going to the Oscars just so he could invite Harriet. And that night on the beach. The coldness in his expression when he turned from me to take a walk in the dark with Harriet. He was probably holding her hand as they searched for Grunions, tracing circles over her wrist like he used to with me. What sorts of things did they talk about? How long did he hold her gaze with his beautiful olive eyes? The tenderness in his smile. The more I let the scenarios pass through my mind, the more lethargic I grew. I just wanted to sleep forever. At one point, Rosario flipped me off my bed by the sheets. Caramel corn and pretzels flew all over the floor. She shut off the telly right in the middle of The Notebook and ordered me to get some fresh air. Or in her words, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, floja tragona. I need to vacuum.”

  I took long walks along the beach like a cliché in a Hallmark movie. I got some work done, too. I went through the pile of scripts my agent sent me and narrowed them down to the most promising few. Then I cried because Jaxson always helped me pick the best screenplays.

  When I was particularly in the mood to punish myself, I devoured some of the books Jaxson had previously read to me over the phone then brought back for my collection. In a moment of weakness, I took advantage of the key Jaxson gave me and drove to his house to retrieve my copy of Jane Eyre—even though I passed a Barnes and Noble and two libraries along the way. I justified the drive by telling myself only that copy had the bookmark where we’d left off in the story. Jax was a bookmark kind of guy. I found the book on his nightstand, and I may or may not have taken a nap on top of his soft comforter. It smelled like him, all citrusy and manly.

  That night, I curled up on my sofa and immersed myself in the sad, sad tale as only Charlotte Brontë could write. I wound up starting over from the beginning, recalling how Jaxson whispered the story to me as I drifted off to dreamland. Would he read to Harriet from now on? Would she doze off to the lulling and dulcet tones of Jaxson’s sugary voice? And to think Jax would have never thought twice about Harriet had I not pushed her into our circle. How I wished time travel were possible so I could go back to fix this whole mess. Perhaps Harriet would be going out with that Martinez guy had I not interfered. After all, she was more suited for a chap like him. Not Jax. She wouldn’t have even raised her thoughts to Jaxson had I not encouraged it. She went from sweet humility to extreme vanity, and it was all my fault. I created a monster.

  Ugh! Jax and Harriet? What a cringe fest. How awkward. And now everything would change.

  I fell asleep on my sofa reading Jane Eyre. Even the memory of his reading made me sleepy. The doorbell woke me up sometime after nightfall. I quickened at the idea it might be Jaxson. Of course, that was a silly notion brought on by my drowsy state. He was still in Australia.

  The crease from the sofa pillow must have marked my face. Also, I knew my hair was in a questionable disaster. When I opened the front door, Stella’s scowl was all the mirror I needed.

 
; “You look terrible,” she said, walking in with a paper bag.

  “Uh… thanks?”

  She strolled into my living room and spun around to take in the empty carton of ice cream and discarded tissues on the floor.

  “Rosario wasn’t kidding.” Stella whistled as she surveyed the room.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why do you think I’m here? Rosario was concerned. She called me. Keep up, dear.”

  “How did Rosario get your number?”

  “Never mind that, poppet. You’ve got something sticky on your hair.”

  I dragged my palm over my head. Yup. Dried up ice cream. How did I miss that bit? What a waste of perfectly good Chunky Monkey.

  Stella sat on the chair next to the sofa and kicked some crumpled tissue with the toe of her designer shoe.

  “I have something for you, love.” She reached into the paper bag and removed a jar full of cash, post-it notes, and sushi receipts. The wager money. Gloat much? She could have waited to rub my failure in my face.

  “Came to collect on those IOU notes?”

  “I came to pay up.”

  “I lost, remember? I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.”

  “Emma, remember when I told you there’s a much more important match you have to make?”

  “Sort of. It’s all kind of fuzzy. Isn’t it past midnight?”

  “It’s a quarter to eight.”

  Well, it felt like midnight. I settled back into a reclining position on the sofa and buried my face into the pillow.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said, rubbing the sleep from my eye. “I screwed up so bad. You have no idea how bad.”

  “Oh, I think I do know.”

  That was no shocker. Stella had her ways.

  “I suppose you would.” Exactly how much did she know, I wondered. More than I did, no doubt. Was she at my house to deliver news I didn’t want to hear? I didn’t even realize I was crying until the salty taste of tears dribbled into the corner of my mouth.

  “I’m such an idiot,” I lamented. “How could I be so stupid?”

  “Do you want me to answer that question?”

  “I mean, is it so wrong to want him all to myself? I don’t even care if he doesn’t love me back. As long as things never change. As long as we can be best friends. I’d be happy with that.”

  Stella remained silent for a long while, letting me sob into copious amounts of tissues. At one point, she retrieved a wastebasket from the kitchen. I didn’t even notice when she stepped away. She picked the tissues off my chest and tossed them in the bin. Then she perched herself on the edge of the sofa and gently stroked my hair, freeing the strands plastered to my cheek.

  “Sweetheart, listen to what you’re saying. Do you really want things to remain the same between you and Jaxson?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you expect him to live like a monk? What if he wants a wife and a family?”

  I couldn’t answer that because it was too painful to think about. I’d lose him forever if that happened.

  “Do you want him to be happy?”

  Of course I did. I loved him. I just didn’t think he’d be truly happy with Harriet.

  “I guess.”

  Stella nudged my feet and got comfortable on the sofa, the two of us nuzzled together as she rubbed my calves.

  “Did I ever tell you how I met your Great-Uncle Hershel?”

  “When you did Anything Goes on Broadway?”

  She nodded. “When I did Anything Goes on Broadway. I was playing Reno Sweeney and Hersh was general manager of the company. Most of the other producers spent their time up in their offices, but Hershel joined us every night backstage during warm-ups and watched every show from the house. I could always spot him in the audience. He was so dapper.

  “Yes, I know. You were something of a star on the West End with a popular show on the BBC, and you thought he was too shy to ask you out.”

  “Well, that’s not exactly the whole story.”

  “Really?” That piqued my interest, and I sat up to listen, tucking my knees into my chest. “Do go on.”

  “You see, there was this chorus boy—”

  “A chorus boy?” I cried. “Stella!”

  “No, no. Listen.” She swished her hand around to calm me down. “This chorus boy… Ethan or Bobby or… something. Anyway, could he ever dance. Ballet, Fosse, you name it. Anything Goes is a big tap show, you know, and that chap could tap circles around all the other dancers.”

  “Okay, all right. He could dance.”

  “And he was a looker—”

  “Stella!”

  “Patience, my dear.” She cleared her throat. “I had this wig girl… can’t remember her name. Cute as a button. I decided to set them up. I pulled out all my tricks—notes in the dressing room, secret rendezvous, drinks after the show. But no matter what I tried, Hershel was always there to ruin it. He’d show up at the date I had arranged at Keplan’s Deli. He’d steal the notes I left in Bobby’s dressing room. He even met my wig girl in the secret place I planned for her to run into the cute dancer.”

  “I think I know where this is going.”

  “Well, to make a long story short, Bobby and my wig girl never did get together. They both had the hots for Hershel.”

  “No way.”

  “Oh, yes.” She nodded emphatically. “I was completely off base. All those weeks of planning and scheming. Doing everything in my power to throw those two together, and there was Hershel all along. Thwarting my every move. He was everywhere. It drove me bonkers. To think it took two people to fancy Hershel before I realized I was in love with him. I was too busy making matches for everyone else, that I was blind to the man right in front of me. And then I was sure I was too late.”

  “But you weren’t too late.”

  “No. No, I was not.”

  Stella patted my feet and rose from the sofa with a small grunt. “Well, good night, poppet. Don’t be so glum. Not every matchmaking failure is a complete bust.” She took the jar off the coffee table and slipped it into my hands. “Find your own story in the rubble. That’s the hardest match you’ll ever make.”

  Mind blown. I’d always loved Uncle Hershel. But now, I loved him even more. He was quite the romantic… and maybe a little bit the jealous type.

  “I’ll just see myself out,” Stella called from the vestibule.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Like a tosser, I was still sitting there on my sofa dumbly clutching the money jar with both hands.

  “It’s fine,” I heard her say before the door clicked shut. “Just take a shower, you ragamuffin.”

  31

  Zip It

  Jaxson

  Eleven and a half hours, London to Los Angeles nonstop. Eleven and a half hours with nothing to do but sit and wait. Eleven and a half hours before I could rush to Emma.

  All right, rush might be a relative term when considering L.A. traffic. Slug was more like it—but I made it to her house right before sunset.

  A drastic array of emotions surged through me. Sorrow. Anger. Hope. I wasn’t even sure what I would find when I reached Emma. Would I find a heartsick Emma? An eat-her-sorrows Emma? A woman scorned and jaded?

  I was still in bed feeling sorry for my own pitiful self when the story appeared in my newsfeed.

  Baby Bump Shocker:

  Frank Churchill and reality star Jennifer Fairfax expecting.

  How they kept their romance a secret. Fans react.

  I caught the first plane to L.A. before even calling Frank to confirm the rumour. Even if it was fake news, my concern for Emma was too strong. If it was true, how she must have taken the blow. If it wasn’t, how horrible for her to see all the stories online. I had to get to her to offer whatever emotional support I could—no matter how difficult it would be to see her pining for another man.

  As I reached for my key, Rosario opened the door with her bag slung over her shoulder.

  “Senorita saying she’s no home.”
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  “Did she, now?”

  “And take off the shoes. You go to la beach. Es mucha sand to my floor.” The silly woman descended the steps and scuttled off to meet James at his car, leaving the front door open for me.

  Okaaay. To la beach I go.

  I stepped inside, calling after Emma, although I knew she wouldn’t answer. I peeked my head in all the usual spaces. The house was quiet. Passing through the living room toward the beach-facing doors, an odd sight caught my eye. A copy of Jane Eyre sat on the coffee table face down. It was the same copy I had in my house. I could tell by the scrap of notepaper I used as a bookmark. Just to be sure, I double-checked to see if I’d written anything embarrassing on it.

  Well, perhaps the lyrics to Never Ever Getting Rid of Me weren’t too incriminating. Moving on.

  I found Emma shuffling along down the shoreline, sand flying at her feet as she hurried away from the house. Her pounding march and swinging arms evidenced the agitation in her steps. Tossing her head back to see me follow, she sped up her gait.

  “I see you,” I called out from behind. “You don’t need to pretend you’re not home anymore.”

  She slowed to a stroll, and I caught up, stepping into stride alongside of her.

  “I need to have a talk with Rosario about privacy,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Do you want me to go?”

  “No. But what if it was… someone else?” We fell into an easy tread through the sand, cool granules collecting between our toes with every sweeping step. Emma sighed and offered me a sideways glance. “I thought you’d be gone longer.”

  “So did I.”

  “How was Oz?”

  “Well, the rents are on one of those Norwegian river cruises. I went to London instead.”

  Emma stopped walking abruptly. “London? Whatever for?”

  To pay her mum a visit. To put an end to our deal once and for all.

  “Ah, just to stop in on some mates.”

  “Oh.”

  I let a moment pass before bringing up the subject I came to discuss. The soft ebb and flow of the waves giving me courage to speak.