by Lucy Parker
Lainie’s fingers tightened around his, but her discreet tug didn’t break his hold. There was only so much she could do in the full glare of the theatrical world, with a feverish tapping of thumbs feeding the intel straight into social media. She had too much dignity to get into a public scuffle with her ex-boyfriend.
But nor did she want to be photographed with his nose nestled in her hair. “The tragic news of your latest breakup was reported less than six hours ago,” she hissed. He turned his head, and his lips ventured way too close to her face. She leaned sharply away. “What I don’t want is for people to think I had anything to do with Crystalle’s Shock Heartbreak! I have no desire to ignite rumours about you and me again. Just stand for the bloody photo and then go elsewhere, please.”
Will made a low sound of disgust. “Heartbreak. I’m sure she’s sobbing her eyes out as we speak, curled up cosily back in her marital bed.”
“Tell me you aren’t expecting sympathy.” Lainie saw Alexander Bennett getting out of a limo. “Bennett’s here.”
They amped up their smiles. Her cheeks were beginning to hurt. She still felt tired from the remnants of her flu bug. She’d only been back at work for one day, and everything still had a slight sheen of unreality outside the bubble of her bedroom. Another flash went off, and she resisted the urge to look down at her gown. Sarah and Meghan had joined forces to help her get ready, and they had taken numerous shots with a camera flash on, in both natural and artificial light. They had all been confident that her shimmery dress would not turn sheer in photographs, but a hint of paranoia lingered. She had worn her sexiest knickers as a morale boost, but she’d prefer that fact not to be made public.
At least not to multiple people. One person, maybe...
Don’t go there.
The cameramen at last turned their attention to the next newcomers, and Lainie hastened forward at some speed. She swore under her breath. It had been epically bad timing arriving at the same moment as Will. She had been unable to turn tail and run without creating an even bigger story, but appearing in the same photograph would be enough to have their relationship rekindled on gossip blogs. Add in Richard’s conspicuous absence from the red carpet, thanks to a speaking engagement that had run late, and her sex life would end up resembling a Ping-Pong tournament. Bounced back and forth between the same two players.
Will seemed torn between tailing her and remaining behind to soak up his newfound sex symbol status. Unfortunately, persistence won out over vanity.
“No,” he said from above her shoulder. Someone shoved against them, and he took the opportunity to put a gentlemanly arm around her. The subtle hip-squeeze was less chivalrous. “I’m not asking for sympathy.”
Lainie glanced at him impatiently. At the moment, she was more concerned with getting inside the venue with her toes and pedicure intact. The street outside the Exhibition Centre was manic. A handful of names from the Hollywood A-list had dabbled in the West End this year, and had been nominated for a National Theatre Award tonight. Earls Court was chaos during rush hour at the best of times; the prospect of seeing a movie star in the flesh had provoked complete insanity. She was trying not to feel starstruck herself, whenever the pitch of screams peaked in volume and she saw another familiar face. This might be her first major awards ceremony, but she didn’t have to act like it.
“I’m the one who ended it,” Will went on, dropping his voice as they made it through the doors. It was still loud inside, excited voices laughing and chattering in every direction, but it was no longer deafening away from the added traffic noise and fan hysteria. “Although she didn’t waste time grieving about it,” he added sourly. His fingers spread on her stomach, pulling her to a stop. “Lainie. It wasn’t working. It wasn’t the same.”
The press of stylish, heavily perfumed, glittering bodies formed a barrier that allowed her to push him away without being seen. “Will. I don’t care. Your love life is no longer any of my business. Thank God.”
“We had something really great.”
“We did not. We had good sex, one shared interest and the inevitable result of propinquity. Would you like to add a suitably regretful ‘I made a huge mistake,’ just to complete the cliché?”
“Did you forget to eat before you came?” Will asked coldly. “You’re always a bitch when you’re hungry.”
“Well, gee. Now I really want the makeup sex.”
Will glanced around. A few interested eyes were turning their way, despite the competition of famous faces. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“We’ll talk about this never. Enjoy your evening. Good luck in your category.” Lainie turned away pointedly and latched on to the first acquaintance she saw.
In less dire circumstances, she would never have voluntarily entered into a conversation with the ghastly woman. Six seconds after her falsely cheerful “Hello! I haven’t seen you for ages,” she was being shown the other actress’s Twitter feed, which included fashion commentary from the red carpet outside. It was a rookie mistake to read blogger opinions of your dress while you were still wearing it. Lainie forced a smile and tried to share the amusement. Personally, she thought her own critique was a little harsh. And she was fairly sure there was no e in the word ho unless it was being used in a gardening context.
She was pleased to discover that the awards were a sit-down-around-tables rather than a sit-in-neat-rows event, the important distinction between the two being champagne—and lots of it. Lainie found her table and saw Richard’s name on the place setting beside her own. She wasn’t sure if someone had confirmed their attendance as a couple, or if even the higher-ups in the acting guilds bought into the gutter press’s scandal-mongering. Whatever—she was just relieved that Will hadn’t been put at their table to spice up the evening.
Her left-side neighbour was an icon of the theatre, one of the Royal Shakespeare Company’s living legends. The association with Richard had nudged her into some exalted circles. The elderly actor was so charismatic and genuinely charming that he brushed aside her intimidated shyness without drawing attention to it. He immediately involved her in a fascinating discussion about the current production at the Globe, and Lainie was sipping Perrier-Jouët when the back of her neck prickled. She sensed Richard’s presence and caught a whiff of his cologne before he slid into the empty seat on her right.
He greeted her companion with a nod and a handshake—the posh gent’s version of rappers raising their chins and bumping fists, Lainie assumed—and then raised an eyebrow at her. “You look very beautiful.”
He looked like a press release for Armani. She did love a good three-piece suit. Richard’s eyes scanned her clinging black gown, resting for an interested moment on the plunging neckline. She hoped he appreciated it. More double-sided tape had been employed in that wrangling job than Santa’s elves used at Christmas.
She met the glint in his blue eyes with a suspicious narrowing of her own.
“Shoes on the right feet and everything,” he added in a congratulatory tone, checking under the table. He opted for a sneaky grope of her knee while he was under there, and she jumped. “Sterling job at covering up the recent psychiatric episode.”
“Translation, please?” Lainie asked, trying not to visibly squirm when playful fingers crept up the sensitive length of her inner thigh. She slapped them away with her clutch. It was gold-plated and apparently useful for more than housing her lipstick and emergency twenty quid.
Richard retrieved his hand and used it to pick up his champagne flute. His throat worked as he swallowed. “I gather that at some point between exiting your car and entering the building, you suffered a brainstorm and decided to rekindle the epic love story. Reports vary as to whether lips and partial nudity were involved, but I imagine the society page of the Sun will fill in the gaps tomorrow.”
Was that sardonic humour in his face—or something else?
Lainie glared at him. “Always happy to provide cheap entertainment. Shall I ask Will to rub himself
all over you in full public view, and see how funny you find it?”
The gleam in Richard’s eyes took on a more dangerous aspect. “Define rubbed.”
Her indignation beat a swift retreat at that look. It indicated he would shortly be happy to define right hook for Will. “It was just Will mucking about for the cameras, as usual.” She didn’t mention the Crystalle breakup or the belated show of remorse. There was an even chance that Will been knocking back whiskies in his limo and didn’t mean a word of it. She would bet her entire twenty pounds that he left the venue tonight with another woman, regardless.
“How was your speech?” she asked, determinedly changing the subject. “Were you audible? Eloquent? Sober?” She grinned at him. “I envision a standing ovation and at least one pair of knickers being thrown.”
“That would have been disconcerting.” Richard’s mouth twitched reluctantly. “Given that I was addressing the almost entirely male body of the Westminster Operatic Guild. And there wasn’t a woman there under the age of sixty-five.”
“I’m sure that’s the prime age for knicker-tossing,” Lainie said. “They would have practised their overarm throw during the height of Beatlemania. You’re almost as cute as Ringo Starr.”
Richard looked into his glass. “I think I need something stronger.”
She pushed a bowl toward him. “Have a wasabi nut.”
Without ever having been to a major awards show, Lainie considered herself a veteran. She live-streamed the Oscars, BAFTAs, Tonys, Emmys and Golden Globes every year, and she didn’t always mute the speeches or take tea breaks. She had been not-so-secretly incredibly excited about tonight, despite the fact that she was only nominated for an ensemble cast gong, which she couldn’t fool herself was anything but resting on the laurels of Richard, Will and Chloe. It was still her first nomination. Of many, she told herself, looking around the glitzy, crowded room. She would take a note from Richard’s book of self-confidence and feel inspired and ambitious instead of small and unworthy.
By the three-quarter mark of the ceremony, the effervescent buzz had dulled to a halfhearted fizz. It turned out that sitting on an uncomfortable chair for three hours, intermittently clapping and having to listen in polite silence to the long acceptance speeches, was dull. A fast-forward button wouldn’t go astray. And they lost the ensemble category, although the award went to a production that Lainie had enjoyed so much she couldn’t be totally sorry.
As the winner for the best one-man show giggled self-consciously into the microphone, Lainie heard Richard let out a heavy, annoyed breath. She glanced over at him. He appeared to be playing both sides of an improvised chess match with the leftover wasabi nuts. She hid a smile, and he scowled at her when she ate one of his pawns.
“This is your category,” she muttered when the host returned to the stage. “Sit up and quit fiddling with your nuts.”
The elderly scion of the RSC snorted a laugh into his napkin. Richard looked unamused.
She hadn’t been looking forward to the announcement of this particular award. Both Will and Richard had been nominated for a leading actor statue, Will for The Cavalier’s Tribute and Richard for his most-recent-but-one role in a festival run of Richard III at the Old Vic. It seemed likely to prove an awkward few minutes no matter who won. She had weighed the other nominated performances and decided that none of them were of the same calibre. And unfortunately she had come to the conclusion that, in a fair judgement, there was only one possible winner this year.
The voting panel had agreed with her.
Richard’s face was completely blank as Will went up to the stage to collect his trophy, but there was a telltale flicker in his jaw. First warning sign of an almighty male sulk.
The Cavalier’s Tribute scooped another major award with Alexander Bennett taking the directorial honour. Lainie was thrilled on behalf of the production. She managed to muster some goodwill toward Bennett himself, although he made the task more difficult by giving the smuggest speech of the night. He could do with learning from Richard II’s mistakes. It was wiser not to compare oneself to a deity.
When the host closed the prize-giving portion of the evening and directed everyone’s attention toward the bar, there was a mass rising of bodies and an immediate outburst of chatter. Lainie turned toward Richard. “I’m sorry you didn’t win.”
He grunted, and she continued serenely, “Although you can’t say it was unexpected.”
That woke him out of his disgruntled apathy. His dark brows snapped thunderously together. “What?”
Lainie was unmoved. He might as well get the strop out of his system, so she didn’t have to put up with it all night. “There’s no question that you’re the strongest actor in The Cavalier’s Tribute,” she said, shrugging. “You’re well aware you’re in a supporting role and stealing the spotlight from Will every night, with very little effort.”
That produced a tiny smirk. She ignored it and went on, “But your nomination was for Richard III, not Bandero. It was an arts festival role that ran for three nights, and,” she finished bluntly, “your performance was subpar.”
“Oh, was it?” Richard asked dangerously.
She wasn’t impressed by the intimidating tone. “Yes, it was. And you know it. I saw that production on the opening night. It was the most mediocre, half-assed performance you’ve ever turned out. I bet you anything you like that you were more convincing during am-dram productions in your teens. I wouldn’t have believed it was you behind the costume if your name hadn’t been on the playbill.” She held his wrathful gaze. Her own was calm and measuring. “You still deserved to be nominated. Your worst performance is better than most actors will achieve on their best night. But it would have been a biased travesty if you’d won. What happened?”
“What do you mean, what happened?” he asked rather nastily. “I lost. Deservedly, according to you.”
“And you agree with me.” Lainie spoke confidently. “I know how seriously you take the profession. You’re a solid self-critic. And it must have gone against the grain to skate over a role like you did with that production. What happened?”
He was silent, glaring down at the table. She thought he wasn’t going to answer, but finally he said coolly, “I was told about half an hour before curtain on opening night that a friend from university had committed suicide that morning.”
“Oh God.” Lainie reached out and closed her fingers around his fist.
He gently detached her hold. “It was irresponsible timing on behalf of the messenger, but it was my own failure that I let it affect my performance. The entire production was resting on my ability to convince in the leading role, and I let down every other person on, behind and in front of that stage.” He raised one shoulder and let it fall. “Mea culpa.”
“What did you say the other day about having superhuman expectations? Jesus, Richard. For all intents and purposes, your friend had died thirty minutes ago. I think you can cut yourself some slack. It was understandable you would be distracted.”
“Perhaps. But not very professional.” Richard hesitated. “It hit hard. Not just because of the loss of Derek, although that was a tragedy that should have and could have been avoided if his friends had realised in time. But his death recalled another...situation.”
“Yes?” Lainie prompted quietly.
Looking at his set face, she was unsure if he would have gone on, even if Lynette Stern hadn’t taken that moment to interrupt. The agent put a red-tipped hand on Richard’s shoulder and he stiffened, his expression closing. Lainie felt the intimacy between them shut down as if an iron gate had been lowered.
“Richard,” Lynette said briskly. “Good. Harlan Powell is looking for you. Hello, Lainie, how are you?”
“Fine, thanks.” Lainie was still looking at Richard.
“He can’t be looking very hard,” he said to Lynette. “Since I haven’t moved from my designated seat.”
Lynette ignored the acerbic response. She tugged at Richard’s arm,
making him scowl. “He wants to discuss a potential role at the Globe. He’s over at the bar.”
“Of course he is.” Richard looked irritated, but he rose to his feet. His eyes rested on Lainie. “I’ll be back,” he said briefly, and she nodded.
She was watching him walk away, and she jumped when Lynette touched her arm.
“Mind if I sit?” the agent asked, and then draped herself on Richard’s vacated chair before Lainie had time to answer. It was a swooning movement that contrived to look impossibly elegant, but Lainie suspected Lynette’s dress was so tight she couldn’t bend at the middle.
“Help yourself,” she said ironically.
The agent seemed to think the invitation also applied to Richard’s champagne flute. “Thank God for the bubbly,” she said, downing about a hundred pounds’ worth of booze in one gulp. “I think I actually felt new wrinkles forming during Eliza Pimm’s speech. These events make the Hundred Years’ War seem like a momentary blip in time.”
“You’ll be sorry Richard didn’t win,” Lainie said neutrally.
“Mmm.” The other woman eyed her shrewdly. “He was rubbish in that role. Some bloody moron blindsided him with the news of a school friend’s death right before he went on. He pulled it together well enough, considering the circumstances. The average theatregoer might not have noticed a problem, especially if they weren’t familiar with his usual work. Even some of the critics were fooled.”
“Yes. I remember.” Lainie remembered reading more than one glowing review with astonishment, wondering if they had been at the same play.
“But it was a definite low point on his résumé. Thankfully, it was only a three-night run.” Lynette shot her a considering glance. “And how are things going with you two? I expected to be called to a late-night homicide scene by now.”
