A Midsummer Night's Fling (Stage Kiss Series Book 1)

by Beth Matthews

  She bumped his shoulder with hers. "A beautiful fuck up. A marvelous wreck."

  "We were so damn young when we met. I always thought I found you too soon. If we'd been older, more mature when we started . . . " His thumb tickled beneath her chin as he stared into her eyes. When he'd fixed her hair, his hand had lingered on the side of her neck. Nicola became intensely aware of the weight of his palm as her skin fired with sensation, a match struck to life. "Nic . . . " He leaned toward her.

  She wet her lips, a craving for him starting low in her gut. "Max." She covered his hand and lifted his palm from her skin. She needed to know what she was doing with Max before she did anything else with Max.

  Trying to reclaim their earlier camaraderie, she adopted a chipper tone – which sounded grating even to her own ears. "So, the 'forgeries of jealousy' speech. How would you handle that?"

  A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he gave a little nod. He shifted his butt over so he sat farther from her and their arms and sides no longer touched. With an effort that was obvious by his furrowed forehead, Max wrenched his focus back toward work. "OK, the thing with long speeches like 'forgeries of jealousy' is you don't want to approach them as a big block of text you have to get through. Break the speeches into distinct parts, they usually are anyway."

  "How so?"

  He held up three fingers then lowered one of them as he made his first point. "Number one, the speech starts because the character is responding to something that just happened, right? Oberon is accusing Titania of adultery so she fires back at him."

  "Right."

  "The second part of a speech," he ticked off a second finger, "is the character articulating the situation, exploring the problem. In your speech, that's all the middle bit where she's talking about the weather going screwy."

  Nicola drew herself up and projected out, using her Queen voice. "'Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, as in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea contagious fogs; Have every pelting river made so proud' . . . yada, yada."

  "Right. The last part in a long speech," he held his remaining finger up, drawing special emphasis, "the character usually comes to some sort of realization or solution. Or they've realized there is no solution. That's the end where Titania tells Oberon the screwy weather is their fault because they've been fighting. Take the audience on that journey with you; show them the thought process and the forward momentum."

  Nicola blinked, processing this, reviewing the speech in this new light. It did seem clearer, more manageable. "Thank you, Max."

  He beamed at her, laugh lines crinkling. Something inside her, her heart, her soul maybe – corny as that thought was – stretched, her very self reaching toward him even though she kept her arms pinned against her sides.

  "They're calling for you two," Isabelle said from behind them.

  Nicola jumped, twitching with guilt even though she hadn't been doing anything wrong. Only thinking wrong things.

  "What are you doing at rehearsal, Isa?" Max asked.

  "I'm recruiting for the school program we're putting on next week at that performing arts high school. I need actors to do demonstrations."

  Max rolled to his feet then held his hand out to Nicola. "Count me in. School demos are always fun."

  "Me too." Nicola slid her hand into his, taking a secret thrill in the slide of palm against palm as she let him pull her to her feet. As she stood, she dusted her butt off then offered Isabelle an apologetic look. "I'm sorry if we held rehearsal up. Max was helping me with Titania."

  Isabelle folded her arms, lips pursed. "I saw that."

  Nicola braced herself for the storm, but Isabelle merely cocked her head to the side and said, "Where did you learn to do that, Max?"

  He shot Nicola an uncertain look. She shrugged. I'm lost too.

  Isabelle frowned, impatient. "Direct actors. Give notes like that."

  Max raised an eyebrow. "I've been in the RSF company for years, Isa. I don't always just stand around and look pretty. Sometimes I pay attention to you."

  "Hmm." Isabelle narrowed her eyes then turned on one heel and started along the "forest" path toward the stage.

  Max frowned and glanced over at Nicola.

  "I don't know," she said. "But Isabelle is right. You're good at this."

  He brightened and started down the path beside her.

  Resisting the urge to reach for his hand took everything Nicola had as they walked together to the stage.

  I need to figure out what I'm doing here.

  To be with Max or not to be? She puffed her breath out on a deep sigh. That's the fucking question.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Max wandered back to rehearsal, Nicola in tow, Judith sent him a withering scowl. "Where were you?"

  Isabelle piped up before he could answer. "I held them up talking about the school program next week. I'm sorry, Jude."

  Judith grimaced, perhaps annoyed that Isabelle had short-circuited her scolding. The director waved a dismissive hand and returned to working on scenes with the four lovers.

  Isabelle poked Max, jabbing her nail into his arm. "Now you owe me, and you have to do the school program."

  "I said I would – "

  "And you have to talk Lachlan into doing it. I want to show a fight scene. In costume. Armor."

  Max groaned. "Isabelle, that's going to be a pain in the – "

  She poked him again. "Don't complain. Just do it." As she walked away, she turned over her shoulder. "You're in too, Nicola. I want you to perform a Titania and Bottom scene. You're doing good work." Isabelle left.

  Max glanced over in time to catch the pole-axed expression on Nicola's face.

  She blinked. "Has Isabelle been taking new happy pills or something?"

  "No!" Judith yelled at the young woman playing Hermia. "You're crying too much. Start again. Focus on the language."

  Max guided Nicola by the arm around the corner of the stage to reach the house seats. He murmured, "If Isabelle's got happy pills I wish she'd share them with Judith."

  "No!"

  Nicola jumped under his hand as Judith yelled, but the director was still focused on poor Hermia.

  "Pull your ass in when you hug him, girl!" Judith yelled. "Jesus, are you trying to show your figure off? You love Lysander, you want him. Act like it!"

  Nicola shot Max a mock pout. "Now I don't feel special anymore," she murmured. She wet her lips and looked around, drew in a deep breath then let it out. "Did you want to keep talking about . . . you know?"

  His chest constricted as he glanced around. Isabelle was still there, and Judith. Lachlan. So many people. So many ears. The shady trees above had seemed like their own little world, but now, here, he was full of doubt again. He squeezed her hand then let it go. "Later?"

  A frown flashed over her face but then she nodded. "Yeah. Later works." She gave him a quick, polite smile then with a small sway in her step she waltzed to the back row of the theater to sit beside Lachlan.

  Max fought the simmer of jealousy in his gut and stomped into the green room where he wouldn't have to watch Judith eviscerate the actors one by one. Or watch Nicola cozy up to Lachlan.

  Through the ingrained habit of being an actor, he checked his phone. No calls from his agent, but his brother had texted him not five minutes ago: Hey need to talk.

  Succumbing to his already shitty mood, Max wrote, If you want to give me crap about Nic then skip it.

  No, Peter wrote after a few seconds. He had to be on break during filming. Peter never texted while working; it "distanced him from the character". Coming home for sure, Peter wrote. Told Mom. It's official.

  Max frowned at his phone. Why is he telling me? He typed, OK . . .

  I want to stay at The Bunkhouse.

  Max stifled a groan. What's wrong with YOUR house movie star?

  I let the lease expire, Peter wrote. I'm always workin & the place was always empty.

  Max rolled his eyes. Stay at Mom's house?

  Peter texted ba
ck, Ha.

  And then, Ha ha ha

  And then, Hahahahahaha hahahaha hahahaha hahahaha hahahahahahahaha hahaha haha haha hahaha hahaha hahahaha hahahaha hahahaha hahahahahaha hahahaha hahaha haha hahaha hahaha hahahaha haha hahaha hahahahaha . . .

  Max wrote, K. I get it. Bunkhouse has an empty room. What day are you flying in?

  Dunno. I'll get back to you or I'll have the assistant call.

  K.

  Thx bro, Peter wrote.

  Yeah, Max replied.

  Don't kiss Nicola! :-D Bye.

  Asshole! :-D Bye. Max chucked the phone into his bag.

  What was it with people today? Was it "Annoy Max Day"?

  He could not wait for rehearsal to be over so he could get home and get away from everyone.

  ***

  "I want to invite everyone to drinks at The Bore's Head tonight," Judith said as she wrapped up rehearsal.

  Max swallowed a frustrated howl even as the rest of the cast voiced appreciative murmurs.

  "First drinks are on me," Judith continued. "I don't know at least half of you as well as I should like and I want to remedy that. Get to know you all better."

  Free drinks to struggling actors were always welcome. Max could duck out, but if he did duck out he could kiss Henry V goodbye. Judith's cool gaze did not give the impression this evening out was optional.

  "Does Judith realize she quoted Bilbo Baggins?" Nicola asked from beside him.

  "What?" Max asked, still distracted with his bad mood – and also, suddenly, by the delicious smell of Nicola's hair.

  "'I don't know half of you half as well as I should like,'" Lachlan murmured beside Max. "'And I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.'"

  Max glanced at their new director. "I wouldn't put it past her." He sighed. Once more unto the breach . . . "Who wants a ride to the pub?"

  ***

  On their way to Max's car, Nicola's cell phone jangled with "Money, Money" from Cabaret. The ringtone for her agent. "Sorry, guys." She fumbled her phone out then stepped from the path, slightly apart from the others. "Hi, Willa. Long time no hear."

  "Hiya, hon, how's tricks?" Nicola's agent, Willa, had a throaty, Lauren Bacall sort of voice. In real life she was a plump grandmother of three, but Nicola remained convinced Willa's sex siren voice was what made her such an effective wheeler and dealer. People wanted to get Willa on the phone simply to hear her talk.

  "Things are all right," Nicola started. "Midsummer is – "

  "Good, good. Honey, I have got fabulous news."

  Bitterness flooded Nicola's mouth. Her adrenaline spiking. "A part?"

  "The Anything Goes national tour. They want you to be one of Reno's Angels."

  She frowned, trying to remember the musical and the breakdown of parts. "The Angels? Aren't they just the female lead's back-up singers?"

  "Yeah, but the producers want you to be the first swing for Hope Harcourt and second swing for Reno. The two female leads!"

  Nicola sighed. "The understudy. I'm the understudy for the female leads." She shouldn't be so disappointed. Even being the understudy on a national tour was a big deal. Good money too. Playing Titania had spoiled her, though. She liked having the part, being the character. Returning to understudy work and the ensemble was going to be difficult. As an understudy you got all the work and labor of perfecting the part, but you only got to perform it maybe once or twice. All the responsibility of being the star, none of the glory.

  Willa must have sensed her non-enthusiasm. "Hon, understudy work leads to bigger things. You're paying your dues. Getting polish and experience."

  "Yeah." Nicola restrained another wistful sigh. "When does it start?"

  "That's the thing. They want you in rehearsals end of July at the latest."

  Nicola swallowed. "Midsummer doesn't close until August."

  "But, hon, this is a great opportunity for you. A national tour!"

  "I've already done three national tours."

  Willa kept talking as if Nicola hadn't spoken, "And I'm sure Isabelle Elton would let you go for this. Besides, the RSF hasn't asked you to be in any of the shows for next season, have they?"

  Blood pounded in Nicola's temples, a pulsing ache. She rubbed her forehead. "Can I think about Anything Goes?"

  "I can buy you maybe a week, but then they'll want an answer."

  "All right." She said goodbye and hung up then stared at her phone with disgust. She'd wanted another job, been desperate for one. But another national tour? Ensemble and understudy work instead of a real, juicy part?

  But it was insanity to say no. Actors don't say no to work, that was Gospel.

  But there was also the question of Max.

  "Everything OK?" Max patted her shoulder, and her skin seemed to go whee at the contact, a dizzy sort of thrill.

  Max. If she accepted the tour job then that was it for them. Again.

  Did she want to run from Max? Leave him again?

  But, if she gave up the tour to be with him, wasn't that the same problem all over again? Living his life instead of having her own?

  "Nic?" He was frowning.

  "Let's go," she said. "I need a drink."

  ***

  Nicola looked strange to Max, worried, but a pack of people surrounded them and his car was crowded not only with Nicola but also with Lachlan, Tierney, and the other Bunkhouse inmate Abe Tully. As soon as they hit The Bore's Head, the group scattered.

  Despite Nicola's protests, Tierney carried her away to some far corner. Max and Abe headed to the bar for drinks, and Lachlan made a beeline straight for the table where Judith was holding court with several of the young (male) members of the company. The chance to talk to Nicola alone had evaporated.

  Abe watched Lachlan go then wheeled to give Max a speculative glance. "Don't you want to kiss the Queen's ring?" Abe nodded toward Judith.

  Max grunted. "Later."

  Abe stepped up to the bar to procure his Judith-funded first drink, a Guinness. Max moved to stand beside him and ordered a drink which he dropped his own money on the bar for. Iced tea.

  Abe curled his lip in disgust at Max's drink and wandered to sit at a booth with some of the other older actors – character types, every mother's son. Max scanned the crowd. Normally if he came to the bar he'd be hanging out with either Lachlan – who was at that moment turning the full wattage of his charm on Judith, or Max would be sitting with Tierney. But Tierney had run off with Nicola, and Max didn't think he'd be welcome crashing girl-time.

  "Hullo, Max."

  He rolled sideways against the bar to face Isabelle, staring in surprise. "Hi, Isa. What brings you to The Bore?"

  She shrugged and pulled a strand of wildly curling, red-gold hair away from her face. "Jude invited me. And I need a drink tonight."

  "Is it Rita? Have you heard – "

  Isabelle patted his arm. "No, no. She's fine. I talked to Quinn half an hour ago. Rita's going home in another day. She's making progress."

  Max puffed out a breath and shot her a sidelong glance. "Why does Madame Artistic Director need a drink then? Should I be worried?"

  Isabelle made a tch sound and shot him a, As if I'm going to tell you look. Her drink came and she took a long swallow, her eyes snapping closed as if she wanted to shut out the world.

  Max touched her shoulder. "Isa, what's wrong?"

  But before she could so much as open her mouth to reply, Judith was there, slinging an arm around Isabelle's shoulders and reeling her in for a half hug. "You came!" Judith cried, her speech slurred.

  Max eased back to give the friends privacy, but Judith released Isabelle and moved on to him. Judith caught his wrist and squeezed, beaming. "I'm glad you came too, Max. I thought you were wonderful in rehearsal today. You're right on track with Oberon."

  "Thank you, Judith."

  Judith crinkled her eyes at him, happily buzzed.

  Max bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

  Someone else came through the do
ors and Judith let out a happy cry and careened off to greet them, abandoning Isabelle and Max.

  "Good ol' Jude," Isabelle murmured, taking a sip of her dirty martini. Her face was stiff, tension quivering in her muscles. Isabelle had been this way for months, like a rope unraveling, each thread in her coming loose with a twang which seemed to reverberate through the whole company. Twang. Judith's the co-artistic director. Twang. Judith's running Midsummer.

  What was next? And could Max make it to minimum safe distance before Isabelle's cord snapped all the way?

  She polished half her drink in one swallow then smacked her lips, her black cherry eyes flicking over to him. "I'm glad I gave you a shot all those years ago, kid. You done good."

  A grin blossomed on his face, and he bumped her shoulder with his. "I'm glad you trusted me. I don't know where I'd be if I wasn't in the RSF."

  "Me either." She scoffed out a bitter laugh and polished off her martini.

  "What's bugging you?" There were plenty of morose drunks around – this was a bar for actors, after all – but Isabelle wasn't usually one of them.

  Isabelle's next drink arrived, and she stared at the glass for a second then took another gulp.

  Max frowned, really worried. "Isabelle?"

  She set the drink down, her eyes bleak. "I don't know where I'd be without the RSF."

  "I don't get it."

  "Where would I be? Broadway? The Oscars? I was thirty when Mama died and left me the company. I had offers for Broadway, TV shows, films. I was at my peak. I could have done anything. Instead I stayed here. And now I'm old."

  "Isabelle, you're what? Thirty-nine?" In the interests of diplomacy, he low-balled her age by about five years. "You are not old."

  Isabelle jiggled her head in denial, the mass of her curling hair quivering with the motion. "Stuck. I am stuck, Maxim. All those auditions I've been going on? Nada. Zip." She hit the 'p' sound hard, smacking her lips. "I'm over the hill. I can't even get a part in my own shows anymore. Rita wouldn't let me play Titania."

  Max squeezed her arm. "You played Cleopatra in the fall. You were nominated for an Ovation award."

  She flapped her hand. "Shakespeare. I am so sick of Shakespeare." Isabelle drained her second martini and signaled the bartender. Fortunately, the bartender was still occupied at the other end of the bar serving Abe and his cronies. Isabelle seemed to be doing fine on two martinis. Max would do what he could to stop her from having three.