Reckless Romance

by Maggie Riley

  But all that didn’t change the fact that she was Allie’s friend. This could get complicated fast. I had no idea what my sister would think about me putting the moves on Reagan, but I guessed it wouldn’t be especially complimentary. Because I knew what she would say, because I was saying the same thing to myself. That I was stuck in what seemed to be a never-ending downward spiral, and the last thing I wanted to do was to drag someone down with me. Especially someone like Reagan who seemed made of happiness and joy.

  But despite the shared attraction, it was selfish of me to have acted on it. Wasn’t it?

  Because I felt better than I had in weeks, maybe even in months. I spent the day watching the clock, waiting for two o’clock, looking forward to seeing her again. When was the last time I been this excited for something? The last time I had wanted something. Anything.

  Realizing that made it clear just how shitty my life had gotten—how shitty I had let it become—after my career ended. Had I really been so devoid of ambition, of drive, that I had deprived myself of feeling this way?

  I got back to my apartment and some of my good mood faded. Because I looked around my place and finally saw how awful it was. How empty and soulless it was. There was nothing here that reflected me. Or any human being. It was as personal as a hotel room. I really hadn’t thought it was that bad, but it was now clear why my sister would wince every time she walked in. Why she kept urging me to buy furniture. Why Reagan had been so insistent that I change it. The place was depressing as fuck. Just like me.

  But I didn’t want to be like this. I didn’t want to live like this anymore. Because after spending time with Reagan, after being in her place, after being near her, all I wanted to do was capture that kind of comfort, that kind of coziness that seemed to surround her.

  I sat down on my couch. Usually at this time in the evening, I would be grabbing a six pack from the fridge and settling in for another Netflix marathon. But for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel like losing myself in a show that I had already seen a million times. I didn’t feel like numbing myself, didn’t feel like escaping into a world outside my own. I wanted to stay in this one. Wanted to savor the afternoon I’d had with Reagan. Wanted to replay not just the kiss, but our entire time together. How her face had lit up when she laughed. How her eyes sparkled. How happy she was. How excited and inspired.

  And how she made me feel. I loved my family, loved my sister, but they all still had that look of pity in their eyes when they talked to me. They all felt sorry for me in one way or another. I got none of that from Reagan. Everything about her felt real and genuine and honest. That’s what I wanted. What I needed right now.

  But as I sat there, remembering the taste of her lips, I realized that she had plenty to offer me. Plenty to give. But now the question became, if that’s what I wanted from Reagan, what could I offer in return?

  Chapter 18

  REAGAN

  “Earth to Reagan.”

  Joanna snapped her fingers in front of my face and I flinched, startled out of my never-ending daydream about Josh’s kiss from last night. About how good it had felt to have his mouth on mine, his body pressed close. How I wanted more of that. A lot more.

  I looked over at Joanna, hoping that I wasn’t blushing. She gave me a look.

  “You’re acting odd today,” she said. “And not in your usual odd way.”

  “It’s nothing,” I told her.

  “Right.” But the look on her face indicated that she wasn’t buying it.

  She had been suspicious the minute I arrived at the theatre. That was the problem with being friends with someone for so long—they could take one look at your face and know all your secrets. Or at least that you had secrets.

  I hadn’t told her about the kiss. And I wasn’t sure why. I had always told Joanna about my various interactions with the opposite sex. She had always managed to inject a much-needed dose of reality into the romantic fantasies I tended to build up in my head. But I didn’t need a dose of reality when it came to Josh. Or maybe I didn’t want one. Because as much as I had enjoyed the kiss—and I had really enjoyed it—I still didn’t believe it. Still couldn’t believe that it had happened.

  “Are you going to be this distracted all day?” Joanna asked, sitting next to me at the table we had set up in the theatre.

  “No,” I told her, pulling my focus away from Josh and back to the task at hand. “I’m just a little tired. I was up late.”

  “Well, you picked the perfect scenes,” Joanna said, looking through the sides I had gotten printed out. “So the lack of sleep was clearly profitable in the end.”

  Except I hadn’t been up late choosing the scenes. In fact, once I had gotten back into my apartment, the memory of Josh’s kiss still fresh in my memory, it was as if my creative floodgates had been opened. I knew immediately what scenes I wanted to use for the auditions. I knew exactly the qualities I would be looking for in actors, knew exactly the way I wanted each part to be played. All my hesitation was gone, my creative blocks broken down.

  No, what had kept me up late were thoughts of Josh. Of our date. Of all the possible ways I could screw it up.

  But while I had indulged in that thinking for hours last night, I didn’t have time to do that now. We had a full day of auditions lined up in front of us. Finding the right actors was the most important element in making this performance a success. And the last thing I needed was to be distracted. I told myself to stop thinking about Josh, especially when all my attention needed to be focused on this. Despite how great the kiss was, despite my excitement for our date tonight, if I had learned anything from my limited experience with men and dating, it was that all that was often temporary. But theatre was forever. Theatre never let me down.

  “Any familiar faces on the audition sheet?” Joanna asked, taking a look at the schedule for the day.

  It was fairly full. Which was a good sign. The more options we had, the better. And it also meant that actors were interested in being involved with our theatre. Also a good sign.

  “A few.” I pointed to the names of a few performers who had been in our other two shows. All of whom I had enjoyed working with. I glanced at my phone, checking the time. “Any word from Liz?”

  We still had an hour until auditions officially started, but I was hoping Liz—who had agreed to read lines with actors and help us out—would arrive before we got started. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to her at Allie’s wedding, and wanted a chance to get to know her a little.

  “She should be here soon,” said Joanna, pulling out her notebook.

  Even though casting the show was mostly my responsibility, I trusted Joanna’s judgment and often referred to her notes and opinion when I was unsure about a decision.

  “How was the charity event last night?” I asked her.

  She raised a shoulder. “I have another spa package I don’t need and the Children’s Hospital has several thousand dollars from my family’s foundation.”

  “Run into anyone we know?” I asked, thinking about Lincoln’s surprise appearance yesterday.

  “No,” Joanna said, her voice flat. “Thank goodness.”

  For a moment, I thought about telling her that Lincoln had stopped by, but I had a pretty good idea about how well that would go over. She would probably be furious that I didn’t punch him in the face or call the police or something like that. Lincoln had always been the one thing in Joanna’s life that seemed to bring out that kind of passionate emotional response. At one point, it had been a good emotional response. Now, it wasn’t. And she would likely consider my interaction with him yesterday—the conversation, the tour, the friendliness—as a betrayal.

  But once upon a time he had been my friend too. And I didn’t like to turn my back on friends. I couldn’t imagine that she had been able to avoid him completely since their last interaction. His family was just as wealthy and well connected as hers and the people in that circle had specific social obligations. It seemed imposs
ible that Lincoln and Joanna hadn’t run into each other at some point in the past few years—since I had no doubt that Lincoln was required to attend the same sort of events that Joanna did—but if it had happened, I’d heard no mention of it.

  If Joanna wanted to talk to me about it, she knew she could. But I knew she wouldn’t. As far as she was concerned, that part of her life, that part of herself, was dead and buried. Never to be spoken about again. Sometimes it made me sad, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

  The door to the theatre flew open and I turned to find a petite blonde making her way towards us at full speed. Her corkscrew curls bounced as she unwound a flimsy scarf from her neck, her pale pink dress looking like something that belonged more on a New Orleans plantation than a theatre in New York City.

  “So sorry I’m late, sugar,” she said, her thick Southern accent only adding to the image. “The subway was more crowded than a chicken coop in winter.”

  “Not a problem,” said Joanna, standing to greet her.

  The two of them were a pair—both blonde and pale, but Joanna was like a life-sized Jessica Rabbit in a white suit, while Liz looked like an angel you’d put on top of a Christmas tree.

  “Good to see you again.” I reached out a hand. “We didn’t get much of a chance to talk at the wedding.”

  She took my hand with both of hers. “My goodness, we didn’t, did we?” she said, her blue eyes twinkling. “But wasn’t that just the most beautiful wedding you ever did see?”

  “It really was,” I said, warming to her immediately.

  “I about bawled my eyes out when I first saw Allie in her white dress,” she said, getting a little teary right in front of me. I couldn’t help doing the same. “She looked as pretty as a postcard.”

  “It was a nice wedding,” said Joanna, her eyes dry and tone mildly amused. As usual.

  “Look at me,” said Liz, dabbing at her eyes. “Springing a leak like a busted pipe.” She took a deep breath and gave us a big, bright smile. “Why don’t you ladies tell me exactly what you need and I’ll do my best to help you out.”

  Joanna gave her a quick tour around the theatre, while I organized my notes and got ready for the auditions to start. There were a lot of parts to cast and I needed to get them exactly right. Shakespeare was a really popular choice, especially for New York theatres, and it was also something that could go really, really wrong. It had been done so many times that there were lots of shows to compare it to—lots of ways to screw it up.

  “I just love the way you’re reimagining the show,” said Liz, returning to the table and looking over my shoulder at the sides that were laid out. “Such a fun interpretation.”

  “Thank you,” I told her, always happy to discuss the show with other theatre lovers. “I’m feeling good about it.”

  “You should,” she said, now looking at the audition list. “Ooo, honey, you’ve got a great group coming in today.” She pointed at a couple of names. “These two are a hoot. And this gal would be a perfect Helena.”

  “Really?” I made a little note of that in my notebook. “Have you worked with them before?”

  “Sugar, I’ve worked with nearly every actor in New York City.” Liz flipped a blonde curl over her shoulder. “It’s what happens when you’ve spent years in the chorus.”

  Some of the humor had faded from her eyes.

  “Allie always spoke so highly about your acting skills,” I said. “We’d love for you to audition, if you’re interested.”

  “That’s real sweet of you.” Liz’s voice was light, but she wasn’t looking at me. Her face seemed a little stormy. Unhappy. “But I’m retired from acting.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. There was clearly a story there. And Allie had said nothing about Liz leaving acting behind. Did she even know? “Well, we appreciate you helping out.”

  “Anything for friends of Allie,” she told me, her smile coming back. “Now, should I bring the first person in?”

  Liz might have retired from acting, but she sure knew a hell of a lot about the acting community. After each audition, she had information to share about that particular actor. She let us know if they had a reputation for being flaky or if they auditioned well, and acted poorly—or vice versa. She also knew who would have the best chemistry if they were matched up together.

  All that on top of being a rather spectacular actress herself. Whenever we had her read with whoever was auditioning, it was often hard to focus on the actual person auditioning, since she had a tendency to steal focus no matter which part she was playing.

  It made absolutely no sense why she was retired from acting. She was clearly very talented and I was feeling quite disappointed that I couldn’t cast her in the show. She would have made an incredible Titania. Or Hermia. Or Helena. Or hell, she could have done a great job with the part of Bottom. Literally any part.

  But it was clear she wasn’t willing to discuss that possibility. Any time I complimented her, she ducked her head and quickly changed the subject. After a while, I stopped trying to imagine her in the play, and just focused on the advice she offered on those who were coming in to audition. She was extremely smart and knew her stuff. A great resource.

  Which is what occupied my thoughts when Joanna and I broke for lunch. We invited Liz to join us, but she demurred and took off on her own, letting us know she’d be back for the afternoon auditions.

  I was so focused on mentally casting the play that I didn’t even notice where Joanna had chosen to take us for lunch until we were seated.

  “Two white tablecloth restaurants in one week?” I asked, looking around. “I thought you did more than enough to fulfill your socialite requirements.”

  “Shockingly, I actually enjoy eating here,” said Joanna, taking out the menu. “And if I remember correctly, so do you.”

  She was right. It was one of the few fancy, expensive places that was actually good. That I actually missed. Mainly because it wasn’t as elitist and stuck-up as the rest of them tended to be. But it was still expensive. Too steep for my poor director’s salary.

  “Miss Millett!” Our waiter came over with a big smile. An older gentleman, he had been there for years and if you listened to him, he was actually the person in charge of everything. I always believed him. He had always treated us kindly. Even when we hadn’t been the most popular people in our social circle. “It’s been ages.”

  “Hello, Thomas,” Joanna said. “You remember Reagan, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” he said, turning his grin towards me. “How are you, my dear?”

  “Happy to see you,” I told him, and watched his smile broaden. He was one of the few people who knew me back when I was Caroline but had taken my change of name and circumstance in stride.

  “It’s a true pleasure to have you with us today,” he said. “Shall I get your usual?”

  I looked at the menu. “I don’t see it listed anymore.”

  We had always shared the vegetable lasagna and breadsticks. It had always been on the lowbrow side of the menu, and had obviously been replaced with fancier choices.

  “For you girls, we’ll make an exception,” Thomas said. “The kitchen staff will be thrilled to know you’re here. You might get a few of them stopping by to say hello.”

  “We’d love to see them,” said Joanna.

  I had always adored Armonia, but it was special for Joanna. She had never told me why, but I knew that she was well known and well loved here.

  “Will there be anyone else joining you today?” asked Thomas.

  “Not joining us,” said Joanna. “But someone will be stopping by. You can show them to our table.”

  That meant someone was coming to take Joanna’s picture. I was confused. She had gone to a highly publicized event last night and had already been photographed at a fancy restaurant this weekend. Another outing seemed like overkill—at least for Joanna.

  “What’s going on?” I asked her, once Thomas had gone.


  “You know it’s always better that I grease the wheel before requesting anything from my parents,” she said, putting her napkin on her lap.

  “What are you asking them for?” I was confused.

  “It’s what we’re asking them for,” she told me, placing her perfectly manicured fingers on the table.

  “What are we asking them for?” I felt a sudden jolt of panic. Were we out of money? Was the production in jeopardy?

  “Money so we can afford to hire a director’s assistant,” said Joanna.

  I stared at her for a moment. “A director’s assistant?”

  Joanna took a drink of water. “Well, we can’t ask Liz to work for free.” She gave me a look. “You think I didn’t notice the look on your face when we left the theatre?”

  I knew that I had been thinking about how we could help Liz. How we could use her. But I hadn’t even considered asking her to be my assistant.

  “It was the same look you have every time we pass a pet store,” Joanna told me. “That ‘how can I save everyone’ look.”

  “Liz would make a great director’s assistant,” I said slowly, my brain racing.

  “I know,” said Joanna. “And you would make great use of her.”

  “Can we afford it?” I asked, mentally going through our budget, which I already had only a vague understanding of.

  “We will when I ask my parents for more money,” said Joanna.

  My heart gave a little squeeze. “It’s not fair that you have to do that.”

  She shrugged. “Since when is life fair? Besides, it’s time that we expand. Set our sights higher.”

  “We’re still so new,” I reminded her.

  “Liz would be an asset to the theatre,” she said. “Getting you creative support and having someone as well-connected as she is would be worth the minor groveling I’d have to do.”

  “I don’t want you to owe them anything,” I told Joanna, thinking again of Lincoln, even more glad that I hadn’t mentioned seeing him.