Second Chance At Two Love Lane

by Kieran Kramer

  “Just friends,” Ella said. “And we lost touch ten years ago. But I have to be honest because you’ll probably hear this from another source: Without Hank, I wouldn’t have this part.”

  “Really,” the second grip said, sounding fascinated.

  “I know I can handle it,” Ella said. “But when the other actor withdrew, Hank got me in. I live here and do a lot of community theater. I gave up my professional acting ambitions long ago. I’m a full-time matchmaker. My colleagues are filling in for me at work, and my part is very small. But it’ll be fun.”

  “I love your attitude,” said the makeup girl. “It’s refreshing to see someone not so ruthlessly ambitious, who’s here for fun. God, I’ve almost forgotten what that feels like, doing this gig for fun.”

  Ella felt a twinge of guilt. She’d been daydreaming about making a comeback. About getting a second chance. That was ruthlessly ambitious, wasn’t it? And she was agreeing to live with her ex just so she could get a part in Forever Road!

  “But you have a lot to prove too,” the first grip said. “I feel that in you.”

  “I guess I do,” said Ella. “How many actors get to be in a scene with Samantha Drake? I’m in three, and I’m really grateful.”

  The makeup girl smiled. “Thanks for letting us know how you fit in. There’s nothing worse than finding stuff out that you wish you’d already known before you spout off at the mouth. Which we just did.” She angled her head toward Samantha and Hank’s table.

  “No big deal.” Ella chuckled. “But I’ve made it a practice not to gossip on set.” Looking back on her short couple of years working as an actor in New York, she saw that that was true. She’d been a professional. She’d been the same way in community theater—refused to become involved in the various soap operas that developed over the course of a show. “It’s tough, considering how juicy the stories can get, but I got more jobs the less I was involved in the drama.”

  “You’re speaking in past tense,” said the second grip. “Girlfriend, you’re here. Now. You’re back.”

  Ella felt a thrill at those words. “Wow,” she said, “thanks for helping me feel I belong.”

  “I want to hear about your matchmaking job,” the makeup girl said.

  “Me too,” said the grouchy grip. “I have no luck in love.”

  But the read-through was upon them. The girl with the Bluetooth earbuds stood up in front of everyone at a mic and told them to find their places. A rush of nerves shot through Ella. She couldn’t believe she was doing a read-through without ever having seen the script.

  She was living dangerously, she supposed. And why not? What did she really have to lose here? It wasn’t like she had a lot of lines to say, anyway. Not to mention that she had Two Love Lane and a very rich life in Charleston. She glanced over and saw Hank, still talking to Samantha. He caught her eye—she saw him light up, which made her heart beat faster—and he gestured for her to come over.

  She gestured back that it was time to go to the stage: she pointed at an invisible watch on her wrist, then pointed at the circle of chairs. But she smiled too. They could be friends. That wouldn’t hurt anything, as long as they were friends from across the room, like now.

  Don’t believe it, a warning voice inside reminded her. Even from across the room is too close.

  Samantha caught her smile right before it disappeared and looked pointedly away, moving toward the stage like a swan. Ella had to wonder whatever happened to girl power when it came to Samantha. Or was she all about it, and Ella simply didn’t know her well enough to understand how she worked? If Ella were a big star, she would never look away from another woman in a smaller role who was only trying to be friendly—

  And had secret, nefarious plans to make Samantha her best friend.

  Oh, well. Maybe that was what kept Samantha so removed, at least from her. She might sense Ella wanted to ride her coattails to some great acting role. Even famous people wanted to be valued for themselves, right? Surely, they didn’t want to be seen as nothing more than a rung on a ladder to someone else’s dream.

  Hank had told Ella just last night walking home from playing pool at the Blind Tiger that it had been great to be there. No one had bothered him. Usually, he had people cozying up to him all the time, wanting something from him. It got old, he’d said.

  Pammy had retorted, “Save your famous-people problems for people who care.”

  And Hank had challenged her to an arm wrestle for that remark once they got back to the house. Apparently, they used to do that growing up, and they were fairly evenly matched. A few minutes later, they were sitting at the kitchen table again, and he won, but Pammy said it was because she was laughing so hard and that she’d beat him next time. Hank then challenged Ella to a thumb wrestle, and she said no, her thumb needed working out, and she only played games she could win, like Scrabble.

  They vowed to play Scrabble soon. And next thing they knew, Pammy left the kitchen. She’d drunk too much at the Blind Tiger. Ella and Hank had to awkwardly head to their rooms at the same time, so Hank stayed downstairs to wait while Ella was in the bathroom upstairs getting ready for bed. She hustled and jumped into bed and forgot to shut her door. So he shut it, and before he did, said, “Good night. Tonight was fun,” and she said, “Yes, it was. I’m glad I beat you at pool.” He chuckled and said, “What a gracious winner you are,” and she laughed, and said, “Thanks for including me in the dinner.” And he replied, “My pleasure.”

  And then they both sort of froze in silence at the word “pleasure” and he shut the door, but too slowly, and she lay in bed a whole hour thinking of how cute he was, especially his butt and his shoulders when he’d leaned over the pool table. And then she tried to forget by remembering her birthday that long-ago night, when he’d forgotten it, and she’d gotten no ring or surprise party but just that news about him getting the movie, and how the next morning, they’d split up.

  And she cried again before she fell asleep.

  Why was she crying all these years later?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Now in the music hall Ella was glad when her new friends on the crew agreed they’d have to have breakfast again with her soon, and she headed to the stage, her knees wobbly.

  The chair backs all had nametags taped to them. Ella sat down on hers. Then Hank went over to his chair, on the opposite side of the circle.

  Good. The farther away, the better.

  But then he pulled off his tag and came straight over to her. She felt her face flush. Calm down, she chided herself. It’s just Hank trying to be friends.

  She really wished he wouldn’t. She needed to focus on her part. And she didn’t need that old crush feeling to rear its ugly head and send her right back into the tailspin she’d experienced a decade ago.

  She deserved better. She’d earned better. And anyone who wanted to be in her trusted inner circle needed to merit that space.

  But Hank removed the tag on the chair next to hers on the right anyway. It belonged to someone named Ida. He brought Ida’s tag to his old chair. Then he came and sat down next to Ella. He crumpled his nametag and tossed it into a nearby trash can.

  Slam dunk.

  Did anything go wrong for him?

  “Hi,” he said, his eyes warm, his whole body exuding positivity.

  All around them, people were finding their seats, laughing, talking loudly.

  “Hey,” she said lightly back.

  “You’ll do great.” His gaze was a little too perceptive, as if he could sense all her rattled feelings. About the movie. About him.

  She prayed he couldn’t sense any of the latter. That would be too humiliating. Let him think she never gave him a moment’s thought. “Thanks,” she said. “You’ll do great too.”

  There was an awkward pause.

  “Tonight—” he began.

  “After this is over—” she started to say.

  And they both clammed up.

  “Go ahead,” he said.


  She shifted in her seat. “I was just going to say that after the read-through, I’m going to my office for lunch then coming back for a costume fitting this afternoon. If you want to come and see where I work.”

  She instantly regretted the offer. But it was too late, and the truth was, she’d spoken impulsively because she wanted him to see how successful she was, how her own heartbreak hadn’t held her back from becoming who she wanted to be.

  “I’d love to,” he said, “but I probably won’t be able to. We’ll see. For the next week, I’ll be booked from seven a.m. to somewhere around eleven p.m., probably.”

  “Wow.” She had to admit to herself—she was disappointed.

  “Pammy knows she won’t see much of me,” he said. “But a little is better than nothing.”

  Against her best judgment, Ella was thinking the same thing. Catching a glimpse of Hank was better than not seeing him at all. But then she struggled to remember—and succeeded!—that she’d be so much better off when he flew back to New York. She could go back to her normal life. Her safe life.

  “Thanks for asking, though,” he said. “I’d love to see your office.”

  “Maybe someday. What were you going to say about tonight?” She shoved aside the very reckless hope that they could hang out again and tried to focus on how she should find something to do that night apart from him, so he’d see she had a whirlwind social life. Not that she did lately, apart from her theater activities.

  “I was wondering if—” He had to stop again.

  Isabel had started to yell at someone on the phone. She was standing in the middle of the circle. “I’ve had it, Saul. Get your grandmother on the line. Now.”

  “Her teenage son acts out a lot,” said Hank under his breath.

  Ella looked back over her shoulder toward the agitated director and saw Samantha behind her, looking at Ella and Hank, her mouth grim. Ella worked up a smile and waved at her. Insecure, that was all Samantha was. She wasn’t a mean girl. Mean girls were getting their comeuppance these days, thank God, and most women were hyperaware of that fact and doing their best not to be part of the problem.

  Most women. Hopefully, Samantha had gotten the PSA message that kindness was in and girl power was, well … empowering!

  Samantha gave her a limp wave back, and Ella’s heart lifted. See? She wasn’t so bad. The woman named Ida sat to Samantha’s left—Hank’s original chair. She had really cute corkscrew curls. She waved at Ella too. So Ella waved at her.

  Everyone was making nice. And it was a huge relief.

  “Okay, people!” Isabel said above the chatter. “Let’s get going.”

  And the reading took off. Ella was enthralled. It was a great script, and she kept getting goose bumps. This movie was going to be good, really good, maybe worthy of awards if the script was anything to go by.

  She felt so lucky to be a part of it!

  As compelling as the lines were, she couldn’t help being very aware of Hank’s thigh so close to hers. And once their knees even bumped. She flinched and moved away. He didn’t seem to notice because it happened right in the middle of one of his best lines, when he was telling Samantha’s character he’d stolen half a million dollars from her closet—money she’d stolen from her dying sister—and used it all up gambling in Vegas.

  The tension between the two stars, both of them playing people who’d made very bad choices, was riveting, Ella thought. And she could tell everyone else did, too, by the way they followed the dialogue between Samantha and Hank, swiveling their heads as if they were at a tennis match.

  And now … now Ella realized why Hank had moved his seat. It wasn’t because of her. It was because he wanted to be able to look directly across the circle at Samantha. And she looked directly at him. When they spoke their lines, it was like an invisible electric current snapped and sparked between them. If they had sat next to each other, it would have been awkward, almost impossible, to maintain eye contact without bumping legs and shoulders. And the full dramatic effect of owning the entire stage between them would have been lost.

  With each passing minute, Ella felt smaller and smaller. She wished she could move to another chair. She’d been stupid to think Hank wanted to sit next to her for any reasons other than professional ones. She was acting like a freshman in high school, really. What was she expecting next, for him to pass her a note asking her to meet him behind the bleachers?

  She should be relieved he was all about his professional concerns and not about her.

  And then, inexplicably, she started thinking about a very strong memory she had of them at their apartment in New York.…

  “Ella!” Isabel’s voice came to her, sharp, almost annoyed.

  Ella looked down at the script and nearly jumped out of her skin. She’d missed her line! Hank’s character had left the scene—which was in Samantha’s character’s apartment, and now Ella’s character had shown up to give Samantha’s character her undivided cousinly attention.

  Ella didn’t have time to berate herself. Instantly, she became an ex-con from Texas. “It’s been too long,” she told Samantha, “way too long. Got any wine?”

  And the scene proceeded. Ella had three more lines. She and Samantha read them well together, so that was encouraging.

  Even so, Ella’s face was burning. What would Hank, the director, Samantha, and all the cast think of her daydreaming during the read-through and missing her line?

  She’d nearly forgotten her screwup by the end of the reading because the script was that good. So she didn’t even remember that she should probably slink offstage. She was too exhilarated. The final page, which was totally owned by Hank and Samantha, had made her tear up and laugh, all at the same time.

  “So,” she said to Hank with a grin, “wow.”

  He grinned back. “I know. Pretty incredible, huh?”

  “I’d say. I’m glad the other guy…” She intentionally didn’t say Frampton’s name and lowered her voice. “What I mean to say is, I’m surprised they didn’t call you first.”

  He leaned in a little closer. “They did, and I said I wasn’t interested.”

  “Really? But it’s such a great script!”

  “Think about it, Ella.” He picked up his folding chair and hers, put them in a nearby stack, then turned to look at her. His expression said it all. He hadn’t been interested in taking the part because he knew it was filming in Charleston, and she was here.

  “Oh,” she said, her stomach dropping.

  He walked back toward her.

  “But you shouldn’t have—” she began. What else could she say? It was his business.

  “It’s a moot point, isn’t it?” he said. “I’m here. I got a second chance. And this time, I said yes.”

  “I can see why you’d take it. This script is incredible.”

  “It wasn’t the script,” he said. “As I told you when I arrived.”

  “Hank.”

  “I gotta go.” And he did. He was pulled away by the costume designer and the producer. And then Isabel joined the group. They were walking with great purpose to the exit to the lobby, probably to head outside, down the street, and to Hank’s trailer on the set, where they could chat in private about whatever it was they needed to talk about. And then Hank stopped. Pulled out his phone.

  Ella’s phone purred. Please let it be Hank, she thought. No matter how wrong it was to feel that way, she did. Sure enough, Ancient History was on the line. “Yes?” she asked, striving to sound cool.

  He looked over at her. “I meant to ask you earlier if tonight you can hang out with Pammy. I got the impression from her last night that you two are already bonding. She really likes you. And I feel like this is a great opportunity to, you know, have her listen to someone smart she respects.”

  “Sure. We’ll talk. Maybe we’ll do something very Charleston-y together.” Ella couldn’t help feeling disappointed he wasn’t going to be there.

  “Aw, that’s nice,” he said. “I have something I nee
d to go to tonight, or I’d try to tag along.”

  Oh, she’d have liked that! The mere idea left her a little short of breath. “Won’t you have movie stuff to do every night?” It was silly that they were speaking on the phone while they were looking at each other from across the music hall floor.

  But it was romantic, too. She couldn’t deny it. And at that moment, she didn’t want to.

  Hank didn’t seem to care that he was holding up Isabel, the producer, and the costume designer. “My schedule is tight,” he admitted. “And you’re going to have some late nights on the set too. You can’t be with Pammy all the time.”

  “It wouldn’t be good for her, anyway,” Ella said. “She needs to make her own friends.”

  “True. But anyway, thanks. At least for tonight “

  “My pleasure,” she said, using the same words he had last night.

  He shot her a long look.

  She stared back, fluttered her fingers at him the way Miss Thing waved. Had she wanted to tease him with My pleasure? Sure she did. But maybe she was also mocking him since he’d told her the exact same thing the evening before and had left her alone in the dark to have illicit thoughts about him.

  Let him think whatever he wanted.

  He and his cohorts disappeared through the swinging doors that led to the lobby.

  Samantha appeared at her elbow. “What were you thinking, Ella?”

  Ella, flushed still from chatting with Hank, turned to her. “I’m sorry?”

  Samantha lofted a brow. “Your line. The one you forgot to say. What were you thinking?”

  “Oh.” It all came back to her. The cringey moment. So Samantha was going to go there. Ella didn’t deserve a break, but still, it wasn’t easy to be called out by the female lead. “I’m really sorry.”

  Samantha laughed. “Darling, I don’t care that you forgot your line.”

  “You don’t?” Ella regrouped. She’d had hopes Samantha was going to be, if not a friend, someone she could really admire and look up to. Maybe she still could.

  “It was only a read-through. Everyone misses a line now and then. I only want to know what was going through your head. You had a look on your face.…”