by Lucy Parker
Leo wasn’t exactly chatty, but he’d been professional and polite, his big hands had been gentle as he worked, and he’d been unexpectedly kind when someone had brought in the latest gossip column.
Blunt, but kind. “Load of bullshit. You’re going to nail this. Fuck them.”
From what she could see now, he was perfectly happy to stand there, head cocked, eyes intent on Trix’s face, listening to whatever her friend was saying in her old animated way.
“Hey.”
Lily turned, still smiling. “Hey, Freddy.” She looked from her co-star’s topknot of escaping ringlets to her dress. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” Freddy toasted her with her cocktail glass. “I would return the compliment, but I think it’s redundant. How’s your night going?”
“Good.”
“Mmm-hmm. And the truth?”
“I feel about as popular in this room as a tax investigator.”
“Yeah,” Freddy said sympathetically. “Little tip from a West End veteran: banging your director is kind of a rookie mistake.”
“Thank you.”
Freddy looked into the crowd. “I see our competitor for the crown is playing the role of the heartbroken but resilient ex tonight. Probably why she left the fit husband at home. No reminder that she’s not exactly crying into her celibate pillow. I like the little downcast glances and lip-bites. Really grab that sympathy vote.”
“I thought you liked Margo.”
“I do like Margo. But—and I mean this in the most flattering way possible—if I’m a veteran, she’s the freaking Yoda of the theatre. She can blow most of the people in this room out of the water performance-wise, and she knows how to work the publicity machine like a pro. She’s smart, she’s nice, but don’t get in the way of her career. She’s also human, so I’d take anything she says to you on the subject of our esteemed director with a pinch of salt.”
Lily hooked her thumb over the rim of her glass. “The breakup was mutual and I really don’t think she regrets it. She seems pretty satisfied with her husband.” She paused. “Away from the cameras, anyway.”
“I was in the studio next door when Alberto paid her a little visit at work on Wednesday night. Believe me, I know she’s satisfied, and I’d rather not have had the full audio experience through the wall.” Freddy rolled her eyes. “But come on. Even if a breakup is amicable, who really wants to think their ex is getting something from a new partner that they obviously didn’t inspire themselves?”
Margo had said something similar, in an open and self-deprecating way, right before she’d followed up with the kicker about Luc’s single-minded devotion to cues, lighting and profit margins.
“Mmm.” Lily took a sip of her drink.
“Well, anyway, I’m sure you’ve been around the block a few times,” Freddy said cheerfully, and Lily’s cranberry juice went down the wrong way and almost came back up her nose when she choked on a spontaneous laugh. “I doubt you need my words of wisdom.”
“You wouldn’t think so.” Wryly, Lily wiped juice from her chin and checked her dress for stains. “I haven’t exactly been myself lately.”
“Sex that good, huh?” Freddy asked, interested. “He does have kind of a Gregory Peck thing going on.”
“No comment.”
“You’re even starting to sound like him.” Freddy’s gaze drifted over to the bar. “At least you have a sex life, even if it’s turned you into a professional pariah. I see my most promising prospect prefers pink-haired women the size of his thumb. I’m depressed.” Her roving eyes lit on someone behind Lily. “Hey, it’s the Troys, plural.”
“And the Carlton, singular.” The male voice was deep and intensely dry. “Which is usually more than enough.”
Lily knew Richard Troy by sight and reputation, like most of London. The amount of awards he’d won was roughly equal to the number of people he’d alienated. At any other time, she might have been intimidated; right now, it was quite nice to have some company in the bad-press pen. She already knew and liked his wife. Lainie Graham had guest-starred on Knightsbridge several months ago, and Lily had got the intel from Ash this week that she’d been contracted for a multi-episode arc next season.
“Hi, Lainie,” she said. “How are you?”
From the loose circle of her husband’s arm, Lainie returned her smile. Her green eyes were warm. “A little disappointed. I was hoping we’d be working together again, but we seem to be doing a career switch.”
“Yes.” Lazily, Richard stroked circles on his wife’s hip. “But I believe the correct order is soap opera to stage, sweetheart, not the other way around.” He nodded at Lily. “Congratulations on the escape from improbable storylines and truly dire writing. Although choosing a Savage play for your debut was a dive straight off the deep end.”
“Into the deep end,” Freddy corrected.
“If you say so.”
“Do I sense a little hostility?”
“Shall we say that Richard and Luc Savage didn’t exactly hold hands and skip through the wings when they worked together?” Lainie grinned. “I’m still so sorry that I wasn’t in The Importance of Being Earnest to witness those interactions in person. It must have been like watching a Monty Python skit. Or Bert and Ernie, if they’d lost all their joy in life.”
“If that babble is meant to imply some sort of temperamental similarity,” Richard said, “I think it qualifies as grounds for divorce.”
“Oh, it wasn’t,” Lainie assured him. “I don’t think you’re at all alike. Luc Savage knows how to control his temper.” She widened her eyes at him. He shook his head, but a smile played at the corners of his mouth. His arm slid around her fully, tugging her into his chest.
“Okay.” Freddy glowered. “Ernie’s not even here and I still feel like a fifth wheel. I’m going to continue preparing the critics for my upcoming brilliance, before the overwhelming coupledom makes me vomit.” She peered at the dregs of her drink. “Although it’s possible the vodka might contribute.”
Richard watched her go. “She needs to hire an interpreter to walk two steps behind her and translate into English.”
“Lainie!” A guy in a tweed suit swooped in to kiss Lainie’s cheek. The scent of his cologne was so strong that it caught in Lily’s throat; she took another swallow of juice and tried to breathe shallowly. “You look gorgeous.”
“She looks a lot better from a distance,” Richard said frostily. “Preferably from the other side of the room.”
Lainie turned and stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“That didn’t come out right.” He scowled at Tweedy’s hand, which was still fastened around his wife’s elbow.
The other man wisely removed it. His eyes fastened on Lily and brightened. “Hello, there.”
Lainie was trying not to laugh. “Sorry, Rafe, it sounds like Lily’s elbow is spoken for as well. Do you know each other? Lily, Rafe Talbot, assistant director at the Fallon. Rafe, this is Lily Lamprey, 1553’s Elizabeth I.”
Lily looked up quickly. The Fallon was Kathleen Leibowitz’s theatre.
“Lily Lamprey. Right, right. Shame about that not working out.”
Her professional smile faltered. “I’m sorry?”
“The shortlist for Blithe Spirit? You were up for Edith.”
Were up for it. She almost saw the little bubble of anticipation with Leibowitz’s name on it drift past and pop.
“Yes,” she said, slowly. In every sense of the word, she’d been up for it.
Lainie glanced at her with concern. Richard’s expression hadn’t changed; he still looked as if he’d rather be at home in bed.
Right now, going home, crawling onto Luc’s bare back and yanking the quilt over her head sounded like a good idea to Lily.
“Pity, but Kathleen’s kind of a purist, you know? Old-school. Classical training, you live for the theatre, you keep your nose clean. She’s all about the ‘artistic integrity,’” Rafe said with air quotes. “No publicity that isn
’t generated by the quality of the performance. She once fired a lead on the first night because of a minor shoplifting incident, can you believe that?” He flicked something from his cuff. “You see how it is.”
It took all of Lily’s classical training to allow her to hold on to the dregs of her smile. Inside, she wasn’t sure whether she was more disappointed, embarrassed or pissed off, and hoped that an intense combination of all three couldn’t shrivel vital organs. “Yes. I see how it is.”
There was a slightly awkward silence after the bearer of bad news left to hunt down another martini.
Lainie cleared her throat. “You know, Alexander Bennett is casting soon for the autumn season at the Metronome. I’m happy to put in a good word.”
Lily tried not to visibly cringe. Now she was being thrown a pity bone by the kind-hearted and far more professionally popular. Brilliant.
“Well, don’t kick her when she’s down, darling,” Richard drawled. “I think her evening has taken enough of a curve without having Bennett inflicted on her, as well.”
That did draw a small smile from her. “Thanks,” she said to Lainie. “Couldn’t hurt. Although I’m having a bit of a…PR issue at the moment.”
Lainie seemed to be trying to find a way to phrase it delicately. “I did notice you’ve been providing a bit of light relief from all the important but depressing news that people should actually be reading.”
Lily sighed. “As long as it’s benefitting someone.”
“If it helps, I think it’s benefitting your current show at least. The room is buzzing.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Not much fun when the arrows are all pointing in your direction? I think you’ve temporarily dethroned Richard. Although he has an interview next Friday, and I don’t think he’s ever got through an hour at the BBC without using the words fucking and moron, so that’s bound to result in at least one unfortunate headline.”
“I’m standing right here.” Richard’s voice was mild.
“I know. Your hand is on my butt.” Lainie looked at her astutely. “I know it can be difficult trying to tune out the criticism—”
Richard’s hand came up to tweak Lainie’s ear. “I’m not sure you’re really in a position to give advice on dealing with bad press. You could stand under the Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain and burn the national flag, and Rupert Murdoch’s minions would still print ‘Isn’t she sweet.’” He brushed his lips against her temple. “If I remember correctly, Tig, your impressive ability to con the British media into overlooking your faults is the reason we’ve somehow ended up sharing a wardrobe.”
“Careful.” Lainie put her hand over his. “If you keep showering me with these excessive compliments, we’re going to nauseate everyone in the hotel.”
“Tig?” Lily asked.
Lainie’s cheeks turned the same shade as her hair. “Tigger.”
Lily’s gaze moved to the sleek red ponytail. “Because of your hair?” Which was not orange, but—well. Men.
“Um. No. It’s because I—”
“Bounce.” Richard grinned properly for the first time, which completely transformed his angular, brooding face. “She likes to bounce on…things.”
“Richard.”
“Tig.”
Lainie buried her nose in her cocktail glass, hiding her glowing cheeks behind it, and Lily produced a hasty cough.
“How convenient.” The new voice was strident and mocking, managing to cut through the drone of conversation around them like a buzz saw. “Two of my most profitable headliners posing in one picture frame.”
The man who joined their circle was on the latter side of middle age, lean and silver-haired with piercing eyes and a contemptuous mouth.
Richard reluctantly removed his gaze from his wife to look at him, equally coolly. “If you’re going to interrupt a private conversation, you might as well introduce yourself.”
“Zach Byrne.” He didn’t offer a handshake. Wisely, he also didn’t venture near Richard with the air kisses that half the guests in the room seemed to prefer. “Editor-in-chief of London Celebrity.”
Lily stiffened, all lingering amusement doused. Lainie’s eyes narrowed, and Richard murmured sardonically, “Well, they do say that admitting your problem is the first step back to a decent life.”
The Burned by London Celebrity club obviously had a wide membership.
“We’re just missing your patron,” Byrne said to Lily. His lips twisted. “Did I say ‘patron’? I’m sorry. As I age, I tend to mix up my words.”
Richard lifted a brow. “That would at least partly explain the garbage you print.”
Byrne’s attention didn’t waver from Lily. “I meant ‘director.’ No sign of Savage, I see. I’m surprised he’s not here. Keeping up appearances. Keep trying to scrub the shit off the family name.”
“I’m sure you can think of plenty more lies and innuendo without requiring his actual presence.”
“From where I’m standing, I’m not seeing anything that needs a retraction.”
“Do you see your name on an invitation from where you’re standing? Because I’m fairly sure you didn’t get one.”
“Interesting tone. Apparently pre-production at the Queen Anne doesn’t include media training.”
“Why exactly are you here?”
“Our theatre critic was mysteriously left off the guest list. I rectified the omission for the public good. Even stopped by personally, just to show there’s no hard feelings on that score.”
“‘The public good?’” Lily repeated. She looked at his champagne flute. “Drinking alcohol paid for by a man you seem to have some kind of petty personal vendetta against is somehow benefitting the public?”
“It’s always been the responsibility of journalists—”
“Taking wild liberties with the definition of journalism there.”
“—to keep bloated egos in check. If there weren’t social commentary, people like the Savages would get away with murder.”
Lainie coughed. “Is it just me or is this conversation heading into the realms of The Perils of Pauline?”
“If Byrne was connected to Savage & Byrne, the most spectacularly unsuccessful production company in West End history,” Richard said, as if Byrne weren’t standing right in front of him, “one of the revenge plays might be a better reference. The moral is usually that an obsessive persecution complex leads to multiple people being skewered. However, I assume he’s not a complete sociopath as well as a bad writer, so hopefully he’ll cling to the cliché that the pen is mightier than the sword.”
“Really?” Byrne jerked his thumb at Richard. “Someone voluntarily invited him to a party?”
Lainie patted her husband’s hand. “Never mind. I still like you.”
Byrne smiled humourlessly. “My father invested everything into that company. Johnny Savage extorted everything out of that company. We ended up penniless, and the Savages continue to act like the cocks of the walk. Luc Savage built his business with dirty money, profiting off others’ hard work and naive trust.” His eyes returned to Lily’s face and he put a certain emphasis on the word naive. “I don’t think he ought to get a completely free ride. Do you?”
Lainie frowned. “Johnny Savage?”
“Cameron Savage’s father.” Richard’s very blue eyes were shaded with cynicism. “The black mark on the family name. We all have one. Most of us have several.”
“No,” Byrne said. “We do not all have one. There are actually entire families of decent, moral people.”
“Possibly.” Richard didn’t sound impressed. “But I think you’ve scotched any chance your family had to that claim.”
“My conscience is clear. I doubt if Luc Savage can say the same.”
This was the first Lily had heard of any of this. By the sounds of it, Luc’s snotty reaction to her father’s business practices was even more uncalled for, but she didn’t have to consider before replying. “Whatever Johnny Savage did or didn’t do, it�
�s not a reflection on Luc. He’s honest—” uncomfortably so “—and hard-working.” Troublingly so. Unequivocally, she returned Byrne’s cold gaze. “People aren’t genetically programmed to repeat their grandparents’ mistakes.”
Or their parents’ mistakes.
His patrician features were derisive. “I almost feel sorry for you.”
“If you hadn’t grossly abused your position, I might say the same.”
Byrne shook his head. “If the Savages and their…associates—” he might as well have just said playmates “—choose to behave in ways that increase our website traffic on a daily basis, I’m hardly going to look a gift horse in the mouth. A little recompense is due.” He drained his glass and saluted her with it. “Best of luck for opening night. I’m reserving plenty of space for the review.”
As she watched him stride away, Lainie’s opinion was succinct. “What a dick.” She tugged on Richard’s tie. “Is he the slimebag who headed the exposé about your father?”
Richard was playing with the end of her ponytail. He tugged back. “I think that was his less bitter but totally moronic predecessor who shagged the Minister of Agriculture.”
“Education,” Lainie and Lily corrected at the same time.
Richard’s expression was priceless. “You know, it’s amazing how much you can get done if you don’t read the intimate details of other people’s sex lives in constant, minute detail.” To Lily, he said blandly, “This profession is also a lot easier if you don’t get bogged down in the social media shit.”
“Oh, I believe you.”
Lainie checked her watch. “We should probably get going. But in a totally sincere, non-dick way, best of luck for Hell Week and break a leg on opening night.”
“Are you coming?”
“I am. Richard’s doing another run at the Globe.”
“Of course.”
“I always found that was the worst part about having friends in the theatre. You can never go to each other’s opening nights because you’re working the same hours a few streets over.”
That was true; Trix was gutted that she was going to miss Lily’s debut, but you didn’t hand over to an understudy unless you were physically unable to move, speak or get out of bed. She’d promised to come to the after-party.
