8
Rorie spotted Cecily, perched alone on the edge of the rehearsal hall's small stage. She started to enter the room, then paused. She’d just come from Susan's office, and the news she’d been sent to deliver was not going to be welcome. She continued down the hall to the lunchroom instead. A few minutes later she stood in front of the door again, two steaming mugs of coffee in her hands. She took a deep breath and walked in.
“Cecily?”
The woman looked up, her expression wary as she watched Rorie approach. “Well?”
“Here,” Rorie said, holding out one of the cups, “I brought you some coffee.”
“Uh oh,” she said, taking the cup. “I remember this tactic. Does that mean you have something to apologize for?”
“Not exactly,” Rorie took a seat beside her on the stage. “But I thought it might soften the blow.”
Cecily's eyebrows raised. “That doesn't sound promising.”
“I'm afraid not. I talked to Susan, and the new assignment's a done deal.”
“Even after you explained?”
Rorie shook her head, ignoring the groaning. “It had nothing to do with me. It's because of Bailey.”
Cecily's brow wrinkled in confusion. “Bailey? You mean the star? I don't understand. When I came in here an hour ago, she never so much as looked at me. Just started throwing things at Phinn again, and the director sent everyone home. What does she have to do with this?”
“Actresses can be irrational. You should know.” Rorie struggled to keep a straight face at the annoyed look she earned. “Anyway, I guess seeing Phinn out of the blue like this came as a shock, and now Bailey's feeling a little insecure.”
“More like homicidal. But what does her insecurity have to do with me?”
“Nothing really, except she's getting paranoid. She's had some nasty run-ins with the fans who've been hanging out by the stage door.”
“Not to mention her nasty run-ins with Phinn,” Cecily added. “Bailey's unhinged, and I’m not convinced Phinn’s any better.”
Rorie sighed. “You don't know the half of it. Bailey was convinced that Bev—you remember her, the intern? Well, she was supposed to be her understudy, only Bailey decided Bev was trying to sabotage her. She demanded she be removed, and she specifically asked Susan for you to be the replacement.”
“Me? Why me?”
“I don't know.” Rorie shrugged. “I guess she noticed you in here that first day and thought you looked less threatening. I mean, Bev’s sweet but she does kind of give off that hungry starlet vibe sometimes, so . . .”
“But no way Bev would sabotage the star just to get a break, surely?”
“Of course not. Like you said, Bailey's unhinged. But, shouldn't you be happy about this?” Rorie asked. “After all these years, this could be your chance to finally be on stage in front of a real audience.”
“Um.” Cecily swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing pink. “About that. I think I kind of have a confession to make.”
Rorie studied Cecily's face expectantly.
“I have terrible stage fright,” Cecily continued. “The last thing I want is to be anywhere near a stage, or a live audience.”
“Since when?” Rorie eyed her suspiciously. Cecily had been an actress in college, after all.
Cecily continued looking at the floor, avoiding Rorie's gaze. “Since always. It’s the reason I never tried out for the stage productions at school. I loved taking the classes, but the thought of a real stage, or an audience? God, no.”
Rorie felt a chill move through her shoulders and down her spine. Stage fright? True, she'd never seen her on stage, but she'd seen her do enough acting in real life to assume she was a pro. In school, Cecily'd had a talent for blending into whatever crowd she was around, of making a person see what she thought they wanted to see. Rorie had watched her do it more than once—the dutiful daughter, the loving fiancee—but always believed she knew the real Cecily that was underneath. Her mind raced back over all the plans they’d once made to move to New York together after school. She’d waivered over the years over what it had meant, wanting to believe--but this revelation left no room for doubt. Everything they’d shared had been just another role, one Cecily had tried on for a while and then discarded when it no longer suited her.
She studied Cecily for a moment, stunned, then gave a bitter laugh. “Well, I guess that answers one question.”
Cecily looked up. “What question?”
“Whether any of it ever meant anything to you.” Rorie felt her face harden.
“Rorie, I—”
“When we talked about being together after graduation, working on Broadway together … I really believed you.” She hopped down from the stage and started toward the door. “I thought it was your family, you know. I thought that they found out about us, about our plans, and kept you from coming back. But you never had any intention of following through with any of it, did you?”
“Rorie, wait!”
“It's a pity about the stage fright,” she said as she left. “You really were an excellent actress. You sure had me fooled, anyway.”
Rorie heard Cecily's voice call out behind her, but she stormed out the rehearsal room door without looking back.
* * *
“Hey, Cici!”
Cecily jumped at the sound of the voice behind her, teetering from her crouched position and landing with a thud, just inches away from an open container of paint. She stared from the paint to the stretched canvas backdrop on the floor in front of her, then wide-eyed up at Rorie.
“I can't believe you did that! I almost knocked that can over and ruined the backdrop.”
“Ah, come on,” Rorie teased. “The show's not for eight weeks. Plenty of time to make a new one.”
“Sure there is. Professor Jackson already doesn't like me. Are you trying to get me kicked out of the theater for good?”
“Sorry,” Rorie replied, looking contrite. She sat cross-legged next to Cecily at the edge of the canvas. “I was just excited to share my news.”
Cecily's face relaxed into a smile, her near miss forgotten. “What news?”
“My friend Jake from the AV Club just got his hands on stacks of films from an old theater that was shutting down. There's stuff from Hitchcock, Preminger, Nichols—I don't know, so many more. Lots of classics, some of them are really rare.”
“Okay.” Cecily knew this must be a good thing, but she wasn't familiar with most of the names Rorie had rattled off, other than Hitchcock.
“Come on, Cici. This is fantastic! The chance to see these on real film instead of television? It's gonna be amazing.”
“No, I'm sure,” Cecily said. “I mean, I've never actually seen them on television, I don't think, but—”
“What?” Rorie looked stunned at the revelation. “Seriously? How can you even live with yourself? Okay, look. I've got a friend who's gonna loan me the equipment. We're setting up a screening room at my apartment and having a movie marathon.”
Cecily grinned. “Okay. When?”
“How about Friday? My roommates are both going out of town for the Columbus Day holiday, so I can leave everything set up in the living room all weekend.”
Cecily's face fell. “This weekend? I can't. My Friday class was canceled so I'm driving to New Orleans on Thursday afternoon. Chet's flying in for some big mock trial competition and it's only a few hours away, so …”
“Oh. No, of course,” Rorie said, her smile not entirely convincing. “Some other time.”“Promise? With the screening room and everything? Because that sounded really nice.” Inwardly, Cecily cursed the rotten timing. She almost never had weekend plans lately. Why did it have to be this weekend, of all times? Instead of feeling happy at the prospect of seeing her boyfriend, Cecily felt frustrated at him for ruining Rorie’s surprise.
“Of course, screening room and all. I wouldn't watch them any other way. My roommates will just have to deal with it. Someday I'm going to have a house with my own
screening room built in, just like the big directors have. Maybe decorate it like one of the old 1920s movie palaces, with framed movie posters and big leather couches.”
“What, you're going to give up theater and move to Hollywood?”
Rorie shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe. I've dreamed of it since I was a kid. I mean, Hollywood would be amazing, but it's so competitive. I know people in New York, so I might go there. I haven't decided yet.”
“God, New York would be fantastic,” Cecily said with a sigh.
“So why don't you go after graduation? Give it a try.”
Cecily laughed as she shook her head. “Because I'm getting married, and going wherever Chet ends up, remember?”
“Is that what you want?”
“It's what I'm doing, isn't it?”
“That's not necessarily the same thing.” Rorie leaned forward, her hand resting on the edge of the unfinished backdrop. “If you weren't doing that, what would you want to do? Move to New York and become a big Broadway star?”
“Me?” Cecily giggled. “Maybe the chorus. Somewhere in the back.”
“Oh, come on,” Rorie teased. “This is a fantasy. It's okay to dream big.”
“Fine. You're right. It's a fantasy. So, I'll be a big star. We'll both win Tony awards, of course, me for my fabulous acting, you for your breathtaking sets.”
“Oh, I get to come, too?”
“Of course! I don't want to go to New York without you. We'll get an enormous penthouse apartment, with its own screening room, just for you.”
“Very generous, thank you.” Rorie's blue eyes sparkled.
Cecily sighed and stood to go. “I'd better go and start packing.”
“For New York? You have months until graduation.”
“For New Orleans. This is real life, remember?”
Cecily strolled across campus in the fading afternoon light, making a mental checklist of what she would need for her trip, and unconsciously humming the tune to New York, New York.
9
“All right, people!” the director called, with just a hint of a Russian accent. “Let’s see if we can make it through a full rehearsal today, shall we? Take it from the top of the scene, and no more broken dishes!”
The actors were gathered around a large table on the rehearsal room stage, their scripts open in front of them. From her seat in the audience, Cecily studied her new colleagues. The director, Otto, wore a rumpled suit and had a thick salt and pepper mustache. He reminded Cecily of an eastern European grandfather, like Peter Falk in the Princess Bride. She smiled as she thought of it, as that was one of the movies she and Tyler had loved to watch together when he was little. Maybe this understudy gig wouldn't be too bad after all, if it brought up pleasant associations like that.
Phinn sat to one side of Otto. Perhaps fittingly, he bore a passing resemblance to a young Marlon Brando, who had made the role of Stanley famous in the original stage production of A Streetcar Named Desire, and later in the film. Phinn had that same tousled hair and intense gaze. He had the dimpled smile, too. He'd shown it generously before Bailey arrived, and Cecily had found him charming. But at this moment, he was scowling at Bailey, who sat across the table from him, her full lips pouting, her attitude exuding irritation. Even from her seat in the audience, Cecily could feel the air between them crackling with sexual tension.
Beside Bailey sat Dorrie, a petite brunette with a sweet smile who would play the role of Stella, Blanche’s sister. She had the physique of a runner, and took occasional swigs of a dark green smoothie from the silicone-coated glass bottle she'd set on the table. Cecily recognized this girl's type from the weekends she went shopping at the farmers markets. Dorrie wore no makeup and the clothing she had on was almost guaranteed to be marked as fair trade and cruelty free. A snack of homemade granola—in a reusable fabric baggie, of course—sat next to the smoothie. Cecily was almost certain she'd overheard her before rehearsal talking to Bev about urban rooftop beekeeping.
Then there was Todd, an earnest young man with a widow's peak, who would play part of Mitch, Blanche’s ‘gentleman caller’. This was his first professional role, and he appeared to feel almost as nervous as Cecily did to be there. The poor kid was just as scatterbrained, too. Even now he was searching for his pen. Cecily was pretty sure he'd recovered it from various elusive hiding places half a dozen times already, and rehearsal hadn't started yet.
Eventually, eight other actors would join them, but today only Bev sat at the table, prepared to read the remaining smaller parts. Cecily might help Bev with that later, and would run Blanche's lines when time permitted, but for today her job was just to sit and watch. She still wasn’t thrilled with the idea of being the understudy for such an important role, but deep down she had to admit that it was exciting to be acting again. It was only the first day of rehearsal, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so alive. Even if all she did was follow along silently with her script and make notes. Or maybe especially because that was all that was expected of her.
Without the pressure of performing in front of an audience, Cecily felt at ease and free to sit back and simply enjoy being around the actors. It’d been a long time. And the truth was, the cast was very good. It was clear that even Bailey and Phinn, despite their reality television origins, displayed impressive depth and talent. That is, when they could stop sniping at each other long enough to get through more than a few lines.
“Okay, Phinn,” Otto said as they prepared to run through the first act a second time. “This time through I want you to really think about the emotions we talked about, okay? Do you think you can do that?”
“Yeah, yeah. Only I’m not really the one having a problem with it. If Bailey could just—”
“Me?” Bailey shrieked. “You know what? I’ve had enough of this bull shi—” The ringtone of her phone cut off the rest of her thought. She swiped the phone off the table and held it to her ear. “Jonas? Can you hear me?” She covered the mouthpiece with her hand and glared around the table. “It’s my agent. You think I could get a little privacy?”
“All right, folks,” Otto said. “Let’s take a break. Back in five.”
Cecily thought that it must’ve taken Otto every ounce of courage to remain in control and not cower behind a chair. Bailey looked like she might bite someone’s head off just for sport.
“Wait!” Bailey snapped. “Bev—soy latte.” She thrust her cup out and Bev retrieved it, then scurried away.
The other actors stood and filed out of the room, muttering to one another and shaking their heads. Cecily stood to leave as well, feeling a twinge of nerves at the thought that she might run into Rorie in the break room. She’d done everything in her power to avoid Rorie since yesterday’s fallout.
“Damn it!” Bailey slammed the phone against the table and Cecily froze awkwardly mid-stride. “Wait. Cecily, isn’t it? Come here for a minute.”
Cecily’s stomach clenched. She surveyed the woman’s furious expression and chancing a run-in with Rorie became infinitely more appealing by comparison. At least in the lunchroom she could grab a cup of coffee before her execution. She shuffled gingerly toward the stage. She wasn’t sure what her offense had been, but one look at the diva’s face told her that disembowelment was the most likely punishment.
Or maybe she just needs someone to get her a muffin to go with her latte.
“My God, agents are morons! Is your agent as big an idiot as mine?”
Cecily swallowed nervously. “I don’t have an agent.” She hoped this was the right answer. She really didn’t want to die.
“Oh, right. You’re the soccer mom.” Bailey waved her hand dismissively. “Well, don’t ever get one. They’re a pain in the ass.”
Bailey squinted at her phone for a moment, either forgetting Cecily was there or choosing to ignore her. Cecily took the opportunity to study the star warily. She was imposingly tall, even seated, with a face that was actually quite pretty when it wasn’t scowling. Cecil
y noted with surprise that Bailey was much younger than she’d assumed. The role of the tragically fading beauty, Blanche Dubois, was often played by an older actress, but up close she realized that Bailey was in her early twenties at most. Not that much older than Tyler. She’s hardly more than a kid!
Bailey’s lower lip trembled as she stared at the screen and Cecily’s heart softened with an unexpected rush of maternal instinct toward the girl. “Bailey, is everything okay?” Cecily asked softly. “Do you want to talk about it?” Part of her couldn’t believe she was offering to stay and chat of her own free will, but it didn’t seem right to leave the girl all alone. Bailey had done a good job of intimidating and alienating the other cast members, and it looked to Cecily like what she could really use most was a friend.
Bailey looked up, her cheeks glistening with tears. Cecily eased herself into a chair beside her and waited quietly. Finally, Bailey spoke.
“I didn’t know he would be here. I swear I didn’t.” Her eyes seemed to beg Cecily to believe her.
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Cecily soothed.
“I’m not a bad person.” Bailey’s voice was a whisper.
“Of course you’re not.” Cecily wasn’t exactly certain what they were talking about but it didn’t matter. Calming Bailey was her top priority right now. She could puzzle the rest out later.
“Oh, please. Anyone who’s seen the show says differently!”
“Well, I’ve never seen your show, so—”
“Really?” Bailey’s stare was incredulous.
Uh oh. Maybe that wasn't the best answer to give a star. “No offense. I just don’t watch much television.”
Bailey grinned. “No, that’s fantastic! You’re the only person I’ve met in months who hasn’t seen it.” Bailey closed her eyes and bowed her head toward the table, a look of shame replacing the smile. “They told me Phinn was in on it, too, you know. Said it would make both of our careers.”
“In on it?” Cecily asked, confused.
“The wedding, on our show. They may technically be unscripted, but those shows aren’t exactly reality,” Bailey explained. “They’re always telling you some way to play it so that you get more tension, better ratings. You know, pick a fight with another contestant, or say something nasty about them in the confessional. That kind of thing.”
A Road Through Mountains (Love's Encore Book 1) Page 6
