Love's Encore Series (Books One and Two)

by Miranda MacLeod

  Although Cecily’s money was on Todd. True to form, he’d misplaced the box he was supposed to carry in his opening scene so many times today that the prop master had threatened to duct-tape it to his hand. And then in a fit of exasperation, he actually did. Todd was chatting off stage as he waited for his cue, and Cecily could see the silver tape and the box bobbing up and down as he gesticulated. It was hypnotic. If he misplaced that prop one more time before opening night, she was fairly certain there would be a homicide.

  As insane as the tech week experience was, Cecily didn’t mind. As a volunteer and understudy, she had few responsibilities except to watch. She wasn’t even required to be there the full day, but Rorie had been on and off the stage for hours directing her crew, and it was an irresistible treat for Cecily to watch her without anyone questioning why. Especially with Polly and Amanda lurking around the theater all week. It hardly felt safe to smile in Rorie’s direction, let alone risk being found alone together. Polly was suspicious, she was certain of it. Cecily couldn’t believe her bad luck when she found out those two had signed up as last-minute volunteers.

  But sitting in the semi-darkness, with Rorie on stage and her nemesis nowhere in sight, Cecily could almost pretend she was back in college. For a moment she was certain that after they wrapped up tonight, she and Rorie would head back to her dormitory and talk about their plans for New York. What would it be like to have their whole future ahead of them again, instead of just a few more stolen days? As she watched the mastery that Rorie exuded as she worked, Cecily was bursting with pride, but there was a sadness inside her as well, and a growing insecurity. Rorie was the best of the best, that was plain to see. And she’d become that person in Cecily’s absence. Maybe because of it.

  That Cecily was never destined to become a Broadway star was a simple statement of fact. She felt debilitated at the mere thought of standing on a stage, and she lacked ambition. She’d been willing to pretend if it gave her a reason to follow Rorie to New York, but in her heart she knew that if she’d gone, she would’ve held Rorie back and been a disappointment to her. Rorie had taken huge risks to achieve what she had, and that was something she never would have done if Cecily had stayed. It broke her heart, but it was the truth.

  They lay in the middle of Cecily’s bed, bare limbs intertwined. Cecily’s bra and panties matched the rosy shade of her comforter, and of her cheeks, which were flushed from pleasurable exertion. She wore nothing else, and Rorie was in a similar state of undress, with black cotton panties and a sports bra revealing most of her golden skin. Cecily sucked in air through her teeth as Rorie’s hand caressed her breast over the thin pink lace, and produced a faint whistling noise that made Rorie laugh. Encouraged by the response, she slid her fingers beneath the top edge of lace until her fingertips made contact with Cecily’s hardened nipple.

  “Stop that,” Cecily said with a giggle, swatting at Rorie’s hand unconvincingly. “I thought we agreed to go slow.”

  “We did,” Rorie agreed. “And in the spirit of our agreement, I plan to spend hours just playing with your nipples.”

  “You know what I mean,” Cecily scolded. “Underwear stays on. Same rules I had for the boys I dated in high school.”

  “Technically, it is on. And in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a high school boy.”

  Rorie pressed her tongue against the rough lace, and Cecily could feel the heat and wetness on her skin through the bra. She moaned, wrapping her legs tightly around Rorie’s thigh and pressing herself against her. “Yeah, I noticed. None of them ever had this effect on me. I swear when you do that, it aches.”

  Rorie looked up, her sparkling blue eyes filled with concern. “Cici, if it hurts, I can stop.”

  “Don’t you dare!” Cecily kissed her mouth hungrily until the buzzing of the alarm clock forced them apart. Cecily smacked the snooze bar, but Rorie had already sat up and started rummaging for her clothing. “Can’t you stay a little longer?” Cecily wriggled her shoulders, letting the strap of her bra slide down her arm suggestively, but Rorie shook her head.

  “It’s the start of Hell Week, which you, too, would have the joy of if you’d auditioned for the show.”

  Cecily’s stomach seized at the thought, but she shrugged dismissively so as not to let on about her little phobia. “I didn’t have time with all my classes.”

  “Yeah, but don’t you still need to be in a main stage show to qualify for a double major?”

  “I told you, I’m only doing the minor. And besides” she added, slipping her top over her head as she spoke, “I might not have the chance.”

  “What do you mean?” Rorie’s expression was puzzled.

  Cecily sighed. She might as well break the news now. “It’s just, Mother wants me to file for graduation. The deadline’s this week and I have enough credits as soon as the semester ends.”

  “What?” Rorie looked like she’d been punched in the chest. “But I can’t leave for New York until the spring!”

  “I know, but it’s not like Mother knows about that.”

  “But if you stay and audition for the next show, you’d earn a full theater degree, which would be so much better for your career. You just have to tell her no.”

  “Easy for you to say! She’s not interested in me having a career, and if she were it would not be in the theater. Besides,” Cecily looked into Rorie’s eyes nervously, “she thinks it would give me more time to prepare for the wedding.”

  Rorie’s face grew stony. “Which means she doesn’t know you broke up with Chet.”

  Cecily swallowed hard. “I may have been more subtle than I thought. I’m not convinced he knows, either. Apparently his family has invited mine to their house in Connecticut for Christmas.”

  Rorie stared at her in confusion. “You can’t possibly go. You have to tell them.”

  “I know. I know. Unless…”

  “No. There’s no ‘unless’.”

  Contrary to what Rorie seemed to believe, Cecily had thought about it and come up with a plan. She just needed to convince her it would work. “Hear me out. If I graduate now, I could move to New York and get settled in. Start looking for work. And my parents would pay for the move, and probably the apartment, too.”

  “Because they’d think it was for you and Chet. Uh uh, Cici. Not happening.”

  Cecily grew more desperate. “I’d tell them about Chet after I got there, and you could join me in the summer.”

  “Really? And you’d tell your parents that I’m your girlfriend?”

  “Eventually, I swear. After I turn twenty-five and gain control of the trust fund my grandparents set up for me.”

  “Twenty-five?” Rorie repeated in disbelief. “That’s three years from now!”

  “I know, but until then, my parents decide how much of it I can spend, so keeping on their good side is the only way to avoid living in a tiny closet in New York.”

  Rorie’s eyes rolled. “Pretty sure you’re just describing a different kind of closet, Cici. And not one I want to live in.” She pulled on the last of her clothing and moved to get up from the bed.

  “Rorie, wait!” Cecily reached out and grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry. You’re probably right. But we’d be so much more comfortable doing it my way.” She looked pleadingly at her, willing her to see it from her perspective.

  Rorie sighed. “If I just wanted comfort, I’d still be on speaking terms with my dad, and probably graduated already with a fraction of the debt I have now. Sometimes it's about more than just being comfortable. Or practical.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cecily said, feeling miserable. What she was asking of Rorie was unfair, and she knew it. But she didn't see any other way.

  “Look, just stay for your last semester and we’ll have plenty of time to figure it out, okay?”

  Cecily nodded, forcing a smile. What she didn’t say was that her mother had already submitted the graduation paperwork on her behalf, and there was no going back.

  “All right, people
,” the director barked from the front row. Since the start of the day he'd morphed from kindly grandfather to a general in the Red Army. “Let’s take a fifteen minute break. I’ve got some issues to go over with lighting, and then we’ll run it one more time!” He bent down as the stage manager murmured in his ear. He looked at her in surprise, then cleared his throat. “Right, change of plans. Good news, Bailey. You can finally go refill that latte. Phinn, too. We’ve reached your limit of hours for the night according to your contracts, so you’re off the hook. The rest of you whose agents aren’t as good at negotiating for you as theirs are, are not. So, I want our understudies on stage after the break to run through the blocking for Act One. There’s enough time, you might as well throw on your costumes for the first scene, too, so we can see them under the lights.”

  Cecily’s heart started to thud with such force that she could feel it pulsing in her throat, choking off her air supply with every beat. Until this moment, it hadn’t occurred to her that she might be the first tech week casualty. That’s because she hadn’t realized getting up on stage would be part of the deal. Sure, she was the understudy, but wasn’t that a last resort? She’d been promised that understudies almost never got called on stage during dress rehearsals. The limited time of tech week was just too costly to waste, and the chance of needing to fill in during a run as short as theirs was remote.

  The massive auditorium became fuzzy around the edges of her vision, and if she was going to black out, she hoped she could do it in her seat. If it happened on stage there was a much greater chance of breaking her neck as she fell into the orchestra pit, or slipping and impaling herself on a prop, or having a sandbag drop on her head. Do they still use sandbags? Maybe that was just in old Bugs Bunny cartoons. It didn't matter. Beads of sweat formed on her brow, cartoon or not.

  She felt a tap on her shoulder. It was the wardrobe mistress, reminding her to report downstairs to the dressing rooms. Considering the number of nightmares in which she’d been naked on stage, she felt it wise to comply. Cecily descended the narrow metal staircase from the orchestra pit into the trap room below the stage, then winded her way through the rabbit warren of hallways and passages that opened eventually into the green room.

  The green room was where the actors would await their turn onstage during the show. It was also where three stage hands, dressed all in black, were currently sprawled out on the floor, catching a few minutes of sleep during the break. Stepping over their prone bodies, she wondered if she’d just stumbled over the winning corpses in the Hell Week death-match. She pictured a hard-boiled detective from an old Hollywood film drawing an outline around them in chalk, then laughed at the image in her mind. She was starting to lose it, and she had four more of these rehearsals to get through before opening night.

  A sign with her character’s name, ‘Blanche Dubois’, was pinned to a dressing room door at the far end of another twisty hallway. Cecily peeked inside with a tentative smile. It froze on her face when she spotted Amanda, Polly’s best friend, apparently volunteering in the wardrobe department. The woman was short and plump, with unruly red hair and freckles. She was the type of woman who knew she wasn’t as glamorous as her friend and was always compensating for that fact through fierce loyalty to her. Of the many hyper-competitive and petty people Cecily had come across throughout Tyler’s school years, these two women were the worst. Polly was the real bully, the type who looked for any weakness to exploit, but Amanda could be a model of passive aggression when it suited her.

  “Amanda, I’m here for my costume?” Cecily aimed for a tone of polite deference, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible.

  Amanda looked her up and down with a cold gaze. “So, you’re Bailey’s understudy? I’ll hand it to you, you’re quick.” Amanda grabbed a dress from a rack and tossed it to her as she spoke.

  “Pardon?” She wasn't sure why Amanda would say that. If anything, Cecily had dragged her feet the whole way out of dread.

  “To snag a role after Polly became indisposed this season. She was devastated to be away and came back as soon as she could.”

  Indisposed? Cecily was glad to be mostly hidden behind a privacy screen so Amanda couldn’t detect her silent laughter. Polly had thrown a public tantrum when she was turned down for a part, and had spent the past several weeks in South Beach recuperating from a tummy tuck, if rumors were to be believed. But, sure, call it indisposed.

  “It really wasn’t my intention, or even my choice. Bailey insisted.”

  Amanda sniffed in her annoying way that made it clear she wanted to say something but was holding back for decorum’s sake.

  “You may as well just spit it out, Amanda.”

  “No, it’s nothing.” She took a breath. “Just, they said the new policy was no parts for donors. I almost wondered if you’d been sleeping with the director or something, for them to make an exception.”

  “For an understudy part? Otto’s at least seventy-five years old. Hardly my type.”

  Amanda laughed. “No, he’s not, is he?”

  There was something is the way she stressed that final word, and the glint of malice in her eyes, that made Cecily’s blood run cold. Her implication was clear. Polly had obviously clued Amanda in on any suspicions she’d harbored about Rorie and her. And clearly they weren’t above using that information.

  “Look, Amanda. I’ve never done anything to you, or to Polly,” she began.

  “Done anything? Well, no. Your husband isn’t nearly as well connected as mine, and makes a fraction of what Polly’s husband makes, so how could you do anything?” She shrugged dismissively.

  Cecily stared at Amanda in disbelief. A bell in the hall chimed a five minute warning.

  “Okay, I should go.” Cecily said, her blood boiling. “Great chatting with you.”

  She wandered to the green room in shock. The nerve of those women! Was that all anyone cared about, how much each other’s husbands made or what their job titles were? Well, what else is there to care about around here? Cecily thought about her life, searching for any accomplishments to call her own, any claim to fame, and came up empty. The most mysterious thing about her right now might be who she was sleeping with, and apparently that wasn’t as big of a secret as she’d hoped.

  She thought of Rorie, of her critically-acclaimed films and Academy Award. She would never be like that, and for the first time she felt almost relieved that their short affair was nearly over. It was one thing to indulge in a few weeks of nostalgia, but anything beyond that—why would Rorie even want her? Present-day Cecily would be nothing but a disappointment to the woman that Rorie had become. Cecily took a deep breath, trying to stop herself from spiraling into insecurity and self-doubt, but it was a struggle. While she believed that Rorie loved her, it was so easy to listen to all the negative words in her head.

  Cecily was sitting on a worn-out couch in the green room when Bailey wandered in, fresh latte in hand. She smiled at the star in surprise. “I thought you’d gone home for the night!”

  “No, not yet. Phinn had something he needed to talk to the director about, so I’m just waiting ‘til…oops! I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

  “You mean you and Phinn are back together?” Cecily tried to look surprised by the news.

  Bailey nodded, grinning. “Ever since that day we went shopping and had to be rescued. Knowing I was in danger just set off something kinda primal in him, you know?”

  Oh, yeah. I know. Cecily sucked in her cheeks to stop herself from laughing.

  “Anyway, we’re keeping it quiet right now, but I’m kind of glad you know. I doubt I would’ve had the courage to try again with him if it hadn’t been for you encouraging me with your talk about second chances.”

  A stage hand peered into the green room. “We’re ready for you, Mrs. Parker.”

  Cecily nodded and rose shakily from the couch.

  “You nervous?” Bailey asked. “You look a little nervous.”

  “More than a
little,” she confessed, grim determination on her face. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “You want some advice? Your advice helped me, maybe mine will help you. When you get on stage, don’t look at the audience. Just pick a spot to focus on. And then think about something that makes you feel safe and happy.” She patted Cecily on the shoulder, then gave her a little shove toward the door. “Now break a leg!”

  Cecily’s knees felt weak with fright, but she forced herself to walk onto the stage a few feet beyond the wings. Her heart raced and her vision blurred as her gaze landed on the small audience gathered in the front rows. No, don’t look! She took short, shallow breaths and scanned the space above the seats, looking for a focal point the way a drowning person searches for a piece of driftwood in a river. Her eyes landed on one of the private boxes on the mezzanine level near the stage, and she knew she’d found the right choice.

  The Oakwood Theater had been built with all the ornate details of the art deco period in which it was built, including gilt-framed boxes with red velvet curtains for VIP guests. Secretly, Cecily had dreamed of sitting in one ever since watching the movie Pretty Woman when she was a teenager and seeing Julia Roberts’ character get all dressed up for the opera. She’d assumed as a patron she might get the chance, but it turned out the boxes were no longer used except as a place to store lighting equipment. It was a shame, but at least it gave her a focal point now.

  She stared at the box but her pulse still raced wildly. Happy and safe. Happy and safe. Her mind was blank, too aware of the audience to force her body to cooperate, until she saw the velvet curtain in the box shift and glimpsed a mass of black braided hair.

  Rorie.

  That was the answer, of course. She was the only person who’d ever filled Cecily with such feelings of happiness and safety. Rorie was her focal point, the driftwood that would keep her afloat. Cecily felt her heartbeat slow and her legs stop wobbling, and she strode with her chin up to hit her first mark. She’d found the confidence she needed to overcome her fears, at least for the moment, but where would it come from once Rorie was gone?