Waiting For A Star To Fall (Autumn Brody Book 2)

by A. C. Dillon

  A grumble was his only reply. He knows I'm right.

  "Look, what's a year if you're meant to be together? You knew coming in that her career could be time-consuming, right?"

  "And I didn't care. I don't care."

  "And so's journalism. So why put it on hold? She knew what she was getting into when she told you to apply. That should say everything."

  "I... I guess it does. I won't tell her you told me, but... Thank you. I guess I've had my head up my ass for a long time."

  "I've got to go; Andrew's about to gnaw on the lobby furniture," she joked, shooting him a knowing look. "But call when you get here, okay?"

  "I will. Don't forget the text."

  "See you soon, Evan."

  Hanging up, she quickly tapped out a text with their hotel address and room number as she trailed behind Andrew. A tap of the send button and she slid the phone inside her purse with a huff.

  "Veronica is probably going to be pissed," Andrew mused.

  "She owes me, and right now, there are more pressing matters to worry about. Like her physical safety, for starters. Now, lunch?"

  Andrew rubbed his stomach, feigning pain. "I was starting to think we'd never get to eat. Let's go."

  * * *

  "Alright, quickly now: one last time."

  With a clap of his hands, Samuel Schatzman settled into his front row seat, studying his altered choreography for the fight scene that ultimately led to the death of Veronica's character, Johanna. In discussing the show with a trusted friend, it had apparently occurred to him that repositioning Zachary and Jonathan close to centre stage lent a more natural flow to Veronica's stumble and ultimate branding of the tree. While he certainly wasn't wrong about it, Veronica couldn't make herself give a damn about improving aesthetics. She would dutifully memorize her new marks, but if her director expected to get verbally jerked off for a shift of three inches, he was looking at the wrong woman.

  The fight unfolded, Zachary now more central as he struggled with Jonathan, defending the honour of his beloved. Frantic and defiant, Veronica threw herself into the fray, halting with a gasp as the stage blade was jammed into her left abdomen. Smacking her palm against the wound as if to trigger the blood pack used during the performance, she staggered backwards, naturally coming to a halt as her back connected with the broad trunk of the tree.

  "Johanna!" Zachary wailed, rushing to her side on cue.

  As she did every night, she remembered Evan's voice as she'd broken up with him, and poured her heartache into her final, sung reprise: "A place where love rules... over all... A place where women rise, not... fall."

  Collapsing into Zachary's arms, she let her exhaustion take hold, falling limply into his waiting arms as he grieved in song. One verse in, Samuel called for a halt to the proceedings.

  "Excellent! Thank you, all, for your cooperation and flexibility. Performance in an hour."

  Pulling free of Zach's grip, Veronica shook herself, drew a deep breath and demanded a coffee from the stage manager, Zoe Ferguson. Diva behaviour? Sure. But in light of the shitty night she'd had, she believed she deserved a little slack -- perhaps enough to strangle someone with. With a huff, Zoe delegated a Starbucks run to an intern before chasing after Samuel, muttering something about lighting.

  "You're not yourself. Late night?"

  Veronica glanced over at Camilla Kinsey, envying her ability to seemingly roll out of bed looking glamorous. Fifteen years her senior, Camilla had taken to mothering Veronica now and again. Nothing extreme or annoying—more of a gentle chiding and imparting of lessons learned.

  "Not the good kind," Veronica replied as they made their way backstage.

  "I didn't think so. Have Angie do your make-up today; she's a pro with a dark circle. Lisa doesn't know concealer from blush." From the venom in her tone, it was clear Camilla had learned this from unhappy experience.

  "Duly noted. Where the hell is that coffee?" Veronica grumbled, glancing around. "There are two Starbucks locations within a block of this place."

  "It'll come, Veronica. Go toss your hair into rollers. By the time you're annoyed by that, Zoe's little flunkie will be toting your Grande with a smile."

  With a sigh, Veronica paused at the door of her dressing room. "I'm just bitchy today, Camilla. I know you're right."

  "We understand. Well, perhaps Mr. Romper Room doesn't, but he thinks with his head, so there's no sense in trying to make him." Camilla had made no secret of her distaste for Zach from the start. It was their initial bond.

  "Oh, who cares about him? I know who my friends are."

  With a wistful smile, Camilla squeezed her shoulder. "Then you're about five years ahead of me, my dear. Go on, then. The show must go on and all that crap."

  With a forced smile, Veronica retreated into her dressing room, slumping into her chair and flipping the switch to heat up her 2-inch rollers. With a weary sigh, she fumbled in her drawers, searching for her citrus perfume. It always perked her up on rough days, although 'rough' was a goddamn understatement for today.

  Call Evan.

  She shook her head, immediately arguing with herself. Bad idea. He needs to understand that without balance, we're doomed. Plus, I broke his heart. Why would he give a shit about my problems?

  Perfume in hand, she spritzed her wrists, rubbing them together. That's not fair. He would care. He's a good soul.

  Apparently, she was losing her mind. Awesome. She was a party all by herself now. Inhaling the warm, grapefruit-heavy scent on her wrist, she tucked the bottle into the drawer—and froze.

  No. No, not another one...

  The familiar heavy stock of the envelope made her stomach turn. If nothing else, she knew her admirer spent money on his psycho stationery. The envelope flap was tucked in, not licked, as per usual. Avoiding DNA, she concluded, based on her avid consumption of Investigation Discovery programs. With shaking hands, she pulled a single sheet of paper free from its sheath.

  It bore yesterday's date. Her stomach lurched at the implications of the letter's location. He'd been in here, with enough time to go through her belongings. He... Oh God, he'd even spritzed her perfume on the page. Or had he somehow learned what scent she enjoyed and purchased his own bottle?

  Veronica,

  I couldn't resist spoiling you a little. You've worked so hard on the show, you deserve to be rewarded. I could tell by the way you lingered in the store with these heels on your delicate feet that they were the pair you truly wanted, as opposed to the pair you settled for.

  I'd like to take you dancing. I suspect you're secretly gifted with the classics: the tango; the samba. Sensual dances, the kind meant to be shared with intimate understanding. So few people understand you as intimately as I do.

  I regret to be the bearer of bad news, but Parsons has been hinting that TMZ has been telling the truth about your relationship with him. Fear not: I know he's lying. I'll make him behave.

  Sleep well, tonight. Maybe you will wear nothing but your new heels. When you are ready to be with me, they will be the only thing I allow you to wear. True beauty should never be hidden away.

  Stop hiding. Come seek me.

  A rapping on the door behind her sent the page fluttering to the ground. With a soft whimper, Veronica spun around, relieved to see the intern with her coffee in hand.

  "Dark roast, four sugars?" he asked anxiously.

  Veronica rose quickly, reaching for the paper cup. "Yes. Thank you. I'm just a little... out of it today."

  "No trouble, Ms. St. Clair."

  Locking the door behind him, Veronica chugged half of the coffee as she stormed back to the dressing table. No more. She wouldn't ever read another of this sick bastard's letters again. Stomping on the letter with her heel, she kicked it beneath the dressing table and settled in to roll her hair.

  Come near me and I'll show you what I'd do with a three-inch stiletto. Sectioning her hair, she glared at her reflection. I'll jam it in your fucking jugular, so help me. I am not your princes
s. Find another castle.

  EIGHT

  It was Andrew's decision not to forewarn Veronica about the surprise guest in tow. Don't give her a chance to push him away without hearing him out, he'd explained as Evan freshened up in their bathroom. She needs all of the support she can get. Unable to argue with that logic, Autumn had agreed to keep silent.

  They'd done their best not to draw attention to their engagement but a two-carat diamond was rather hard to miss, as Autumn was quickly learning. Although Evan's congratulatory embrace was warm and sincere, she could sense the sting of how divergent their romantic lives had become. For now, anyway. Maybe Veronica seeing him in person would be the catalyst that led to a reunion.

  They arrived at the theatre just moments after the matinee's conclusion, slipping inside with the begrudging blessing of Zoe Ferguson, who seemed to have a perpetual chip on her shoulder. Stunning as she was, with her short, black curls and caramel complexion, her attitude simply ruined it. Slipping into the back row of the orchestra level, they waited for Veronica to emerge for her scheduled rehearsal.

  "That's Samuel Schatzman," Autumn murmured, pointing to a lanky man obscured in the shadows near stage left.

  "How can you tell?" Andrew asked.

  "Veronica says he has a special gift for going ninja without trying. Just like that guy."

  Slowly, the cast of In the Garden emerged on stage, Veronica one of the last to arrive. Immediately, Evan recognized that she was far from her usual ebullient self. Leaning forward, he grimaced.

  "She's so pale. Is she wearing make-up to make her that way?"

  Autumn shook her head slowly. "She's a mess. The letters, the gift... It's getting to her."

  Something was wrong: there was no action on set. Were they talking through the scene? Mentally counting the bodies on stage, Autumn groaned.

  "Zachary's missing," she concluded. "And he's a main player in the damn scene they're reworking."

  Evan scowled at the name. "Mr. Disney Dreamboat?" he hissed.

  "She hates him," Andrew insisted. "We all do. He's such a slimeball. It's a shame he can actually fucking act."

  From the front of house, Veronica's voice rang out: "Look, I've barely slept in the last week. If he can't be professional enough to be prompt, I'm not sticking around."

  "It's not like her to be rude," Evan mused.

  Autumn began to fidget in her seat. "No, it's not... And there she goes. Shit, come on, guys!"

  They hastily rose from their seats, Autumn jogging down the aisle, calling out her friend's name. On the third try, Veronica froze, spinning around with a confused look.

  "I didn't say four, did I?" she immediately babbled. "I told you five, right?"

  "We came to look after you," Autumn insisted.

  "You really didn't have to... Evan?"

  Andrew had stepped aside, clearing Veronica's line of sight and revealing their unexpected guest. His face unshaven, eyes bloodshot, Evan's weary gait and drained features mirrored Veronica's ashen skin and defeated stance. Autumn edged to the left, waiting to jump in, should things turn ugly.

  "Veronica." It wasn't as much as statement as it was a prayer.

  "How?"

  "I heard about the letters... I needed to know you were safe." One small step forward.

  Veronica matched it, shaking her head. "But... But I...”

  Evan shrugged. "I'm still your friend, if nothing else... Aren't I?"

  "Of course you are." A tear slid down her cheek, her hand brushing it aside quickly. "You always will be."

  Autumn watched the scene unfold, mesmerized. The electricity between them... it was astonishing. Even her cast mates seemed intrigued by the real-life drama unfolding between Veronica and her former boyfriend.

  Former? The question hung in the air, suffocating them. Each took another half-step forward, in unison.

  "I wanted to call you, but I didn't feel like it was fair," Veronica admitted reluctantly.

  "I wanted you to call," Evan countered sadly. "I knew you wouldn't, so I came to you."

  And there it was: a smile. A genuine, vibrant smile from Veronica. Hope.

  Turning to Autumn, Veronica whispered, "Would you excuse us? Evan and I need to talk."

  "Take your time," Autumn urged. "Andrew and I are capable of amusing ourselves."

  Veronica reached out for Evan's hand, pulling him behind her as she strode backstage. Judging from his bewildered expression, Evan didn't quite grasp what was about to happen behind closed doors. He'll clue in soon enough, Autumn decided.

  "I think they're going to be okay," Andrew declared with a knowing look.

  "The heart wants what it wants. They'll figure it out in about thirty seconds." Autumn ushered Andrew closer, not wanting to be overheard. "Care to take a tour around this historic theatre?"

  "Also known as Autumn trying to figure out how a stalker is evading the half-assed security in this place? I figured that was your plan."

  She winced. "Am I that transparent?"

  "You write books, Autumn. You might as well slap a sticker that says, 'Hi, my name is Angela Lansbury' on your chest." At her mortified expression, he chuckled. "Alright, let's Murder, She Wrote this place while we wait for those two to sort their drama out."

  "I can sort it out for them, if they need me to. They're victims of cruel kindness," she grumbled. "Been there, done that. It was a huge mistake."

  Cutting through a back corridor and nodding to Jose, Andrew studied the ceiling, taking note of the security equipment—or rather, the lack thereof. "Hey, we all screw up. As long as we learn from it, it's fine." With a frown, he gestured to his far right. "Is that one low-end camera what they want to call security? Jesus, I don't even think it's angled to correctly capture the entire corridor."

  "So there's a blind spot?"

  "Yeah. Watch me." With his back pressed to the wall beneath the camera, he slid around the corner towards the stage doors. "Voila. Bet you won't see me on the instant replay."

  "Now, how much knowledge of surveillance would you need to make that deduction?" Autumn asked, tapping a note into her phone.

  "You mean, is this a pro? Nah. You could figure that out from YouTube."

  Continuing their study of the rear hallways of the O'Rourke, Autumn found herself increasingly irate. "Am I right in thinking that the exit camera does a better job of capturing people exiting than entering?"

  "Clever woman. If you're lucky, you'd capture someone's ass with that thing, and not much else. If they chose an alternate route of departure..."

  "You'd never get their face on film. My dad would lose his shit if a bank was this cavalier about their equipment." Exasperated, Autumn tossed her phone in her purse. "Basically, this place is more of a gaping hole than the Grand Canyon when it comes to the protection of their actors. Has my dad gotten back to you yet about the security service?"

  "Not yet, although he did suggest it might take a day or two."

  The bang of a steel door drew their attention, the two of them glaring as Zachary Parsons casually strolled inside. Clutching a folded paper, he was absolutely thrilled with himself. Phone numbers, she assumed as he tucked the page in his back pocket.

  Ever cocky, he had the audacity to let his gaze blatantly roam Autumn's entire body. Furious, she crossed her arms over her chest.

  "I know my tits are great, but they're off limits," she snapped. "You missed rehearsal, by the way."

  Bemused—or perhaps aroused?—by her immunity to his charms, Zach shrugged. "I had important matters to attend to."

  "Greeting underage girls? How classy. Chris Hansen would be slow-clapping for you, buddy," Andrew snarled.

  Immediately, he was on the defensive. "Without fans, we have no audience. No audience, no money. It's not my fault that the rest of you don't understand the dynamic. Besides," he continued, "we're rehearsing a whopping three-inch difference in stage placement. A child could manage to keep that straight."

  "Autumn? Is everything alright?" Veronica em
erged from around the corner, flashing an exasperated look at her co-star.

  "Peachy keen. Mr. Parsons was just explaining to us that without his shameless seduction of teenage girls, you wouldn't have a job."

  Veronica laughed sarcastically, turning back to her co-star. "Oh, is that so? Because I can't think of a single article or review that suggested anything of the sort. Camilla, certainly. Connor, one or two. You? Not so much. Now, can we get this damn rehearsal over with?"

  "Whenever you're ready, princess."

  Watching Zach stomp off towards the stage, Veronica made a tsk-tsk noise, batting her eyes like an ingénue. "You know, I don't think he likes me much."

  Andrew huffed. "Zero surprise. I've met grizzly bears with better personalities. What we're curious about is whether Evan likes you much?"

  "Yeah, where is he?" Autumn chimed in playfully. "Would he be the reason you have lipstick on your right cheek?"

  "Oh, crap!" Rubbing her cheek furiously, Veronica refused to make eye contact with either of them. "He's fine. He had to use the bathroom."

  "To get your lipstick off his face, I presume," Andrew teased.

  With a wink, she turned away, calling out behind her. "I don't know why he's bothering. I plan on covering him in it again right after this stupid rehearsal." The sound of a clap halted her departure, Veronica spinning around in a flurry. "Did you two just high-five over that?"

  "Maaaaybe," Autumn sing-songed as Andrew snickered behind his palm.

  "I... You know what? I'm too tired to be appropriately scathing. Insert snarky, chastising comment here. Now, hurry up. I have to go die dramatically in the arms of a self-centred douchebag."

  They found Evan seated in the third row, a goofy grin plastered on his face. Settling in beside him, Autumn jabbed his arm with her elbow.

  "So?"

  His face bearing a dreamy expression, the likes of which she hadn't seen since the time Keenan had gotten stoned beyond the ability to walk, Evan's happiness was unmistakable. "She admitted what you told me, without me asking anything. I promised to go to Sheffield and she... Well, you know Veronica."