The Show Must Go On (Bryant Rockwell Book 2)

by Jacky Gray

  “Would madam care to try some?”

  “Really? But …” She gestured for him to pour, not wanting to be a party pooper, and was rewarded with a smile which went back to the trust thing again. She raised the glass, took a tentative sniff and sipped. Not exactly unpleasant, but she couldn’t stop the lower part of her face from screwing up at the unfamiliar flavour.

  “Oh, no. You hate it. Drat. I should have …”

  “I don’t hate it. Just give me a sec.” She sipped again. “I’m not used to drinking wine.”

  “It’s not wine. Well it is, but it’s non-alcoholic.” He passed over a mug full of breadsticks, then disappeared to the kitchen.

  She took one, nibbling on it as she tried to figure how she could suppress her distaste. He’d obviously put a lot of time and effort into this, but a combination of overwhelm and nerves had rendered her mouth incapable of fulfilling its normal function in the taste department. Finally, the whole “food tasting like cardboard” cliché made sense.

  He returned with starters, which looked like a “food porn” picture from a magazine or TV advert, with golden breaded-mushrooms nestling on a bed of colourful leaves, drizzled with a dressing and sprinkled with seeds.

  She figured a smile would help to make up for her earlier reaction. “Thanks so much, this is wonderful. You’ve worked so hard.”

  “I have to own up to some help. Sheila took me shopping and pointed out a few things to make it look good.”

  As he described an incident with his aunt, Jude remembered Bernie’s mindfulness technique. Using the input from her senses to ground out the fear, she sniffed the breadstick and nibbled the end. Her mouth watered as she focussed on the buttery goodness of the salty stick.

  “So that must be how Diana found out about it.” He waved his hand in front of her face. “Jude. Are you going to try the mushrooms or should I skip to the main course?” His grin said he didn’t mind her mental absence. “I was gonna warn you about burning your mouth, but I think they’re fine now.”

  Oops. How long had she been out of it? She ignored the embarrassment signals attempting to redirect her blood face-wise and speared a mushroom with her fork. The explosion of flavours spoke of garlic and herbs, but an over-ride in her brain suggested she shouldn’t worry about it as he was eating them, too.

  She nodded. “More than fine. They’re gorgeous. Thank you.” This time, when she sipped the wine, it complemented the sensations in her mouth, and her delight triggered a visible relaxation in his body as he sat back with obvious relief. Her eyes crinkled as a wave of appreciation for this wonderful boy swept over her, deepening her smile.

  Luke obviously missed it, intent on devouring the biggest mushroom on his plate. As his mouth closed round it, he froze, his eyes watering. The whole ‘cool dude’ image dissolved as he grabbed his glass and chugged back a huge gulp of water.

  “Be careful. Some of them are still pretty hot.” He glanced up, registering the soppy expression on her face, and swallowed, with a grin. “Jimmy would probably say something cool like, ‘but not as hot as you.’ I guess I’ll never be that smooth.”

  She couldn’t let him get away with a borrowed corny line, nor have him knowing exactly how hard she’d fallen, so she went on the offensive. “That’s obvious.” She drew his attention to her outfit. “A little appreciation of all the effort would have been nice. You have no idea how long this little lot took.”

  “Did I not say how gorgeous you looked when I took your coat?”

  She blinked a double take, with the hint of a blush. “So you did. My bad. Guess I was too nervous for it to register. Did I happen to mention how well you scrub up?”

  “Your exact words. A toast to two of Bryant Rockwell’s beautiful people.”

  She clinked with a giggle, then savoured another mushroom. “These are so good – perfectly crispy on the outside …”

  “Before you start asking for the recipe, they are shop-bought. Creating them from scratch is way too complicated for my limited culinary skills.”

  “But you cooked them to perfection and presented them like you’ve been studying Masterchef.” She winked. “I bet Ray couldn’t have done it that well.”

  His shrug said her compliment had hit the spot. Despite the mellowing in the past few weeks, she still detected a touch of rivalry between them.

  The rest of the meal reinforced Luke’s expertise in the kitchen, and he kept up a constant stream of conversation outside of his normal sporting topics, revealing a dry, subversive wit honed from his love of old movies.

  After reluctantly allowing her to help clear the table and load the dishwasher, he let her choose the movie. None of the ones on TV inspired them, so he suggested a DVD. Three guys in the house limited the choice to war movies, old black and whites or hard-hitting action tales with high body counts. With the odd British comedy thrown in for good measure.

  On his recommendation, they watched a quirky Arnold Schwarzenegger comedy called True Lies, and she soon got caught up in the antics of the undercover spy and his adventure-seeking wife. The impressive dance halfway through came as a pleasant surprise, but the final tango scene had Jude glued to the screen, delighting in the interplay with the rose. “So-oo cool. It’s something I always wanted to do.”

  “So do it. You’re a great dancer.”

  “You’re kidding. It takes days of training just to learn one dance.”

  “With all your skill on the ice, it shouldn’t be much of a challenge to convert to ballroom.”

  “They’re nothing alike. For starters, I don’t have a partner, so I never have to do that impossible ‘being led by a man’ garbage.”

  “It’s not garbage. It looks cool when the man presents his lady on Strictly.”

  “You watch Strictly Come Dancing? For real?”

  “Sheila’s a huge fan, so when Dad has a weekend gig we have no choice.”

  His action surprised her as he leapt up and grabbed one of the roses off the table. Putting it between his teeth, he held out his arms in a credible ballroom hold, beckoning for her to join him.

  Memories of the Halloween party returned and she felt every bit as inept. “But I haven’t got a clue what to do.” Spurred on by his confidence, she took a tentative step forward and fitted her hands in his, gasping when he pulled her close so their bodies touched.

  He whipped out the rose dramatically, jerking his head in a credible imitation of a head snap, then grinned. “Sorry, no gapping allowed.”

  Jude went along with him, but it soon became clear they had no chance of doing the thing justice: his athlete’s sense of rhythm wasn’t enough, and she instinctively fought against following his lead, even though she desperately wanted to get it right.

  She sighed. “Sorry. I guess it’s nothing like as easy as they make it look. I think you need a proper teacher. I mean we need a proper teacher. Or at least someone to show us a few moves.”

  “No worries, I never really expected it to work; I know I have two left feet. I bet Ray would get it in a heartbeat. If he could walk.”

  “Don’t put yourself down so much. You can do so many things, extremely well. I bet Ray couldn’t have done all this to make it the best date everrrr!”

  He grinned. “You think? Thanks for that, it means a lot.”

  Jude was still kissing him ten minutes later when her mum turned up to give her a lift home.

  25 Luke’s Got it Bad

  The last thing Luke needed was to spend his Friday afternoon at the garage, but he had little choice about it. He’d already sorted the swap a month earlier when the final dress rehearsal for Saturday had been announced. He desperately wanted to do something with Jude, so he called Chris to ask for another swap.

  The chief mechanic, Mick, answered in a foul mood, telling him to “Get his arse over pronto or there’d be trouble.”

  Luke arrived to meet utter chaos; one of the mechanics had slipped on a patch of oil and knocked himself out, so Chris had ferried him to casualty.r />
  Mick greeted him with a friendly wave. “Sorry about earlier, but we’re two men down and I’m having to field calls from tosspots – I mean customers.”

  Luke’s shrug said “no worries.”

  “I need you to man the phones and the front desk so I can get on with some work. Can you do that?” Without waiting for an answer, he sloped out, leaving Luke to face three impatient customers.

  It was a baptism of fire as Luke tried to placate, book in an MOT and a clutch replacement, and locate the right replacement bulb from the impressive rack. Thankfully, they responded to his clueless desperation with helpful advice; these were all seasoned professionals who knew the way Chris ran things.

  The phone brought a steady flow of enquiries, bookings and total numpties. He also had to place a rush order for an urgent part with a local supplier who boasted delivery within the hour, but rarely made it in less than two. Mick showed him the system to look up the part number and was most complimentary when the correct part arrived within half an hour.

  “Well done, you. Must have sweet-talked that Janice into jumping the queue to get it that fast.”

  Luke grinned. “She did tell me I had a sexy phone voice.”

  Wait ’til I see her. She’s old enough to be your gran.”

  An hour later, Mick returned with a mug of tea. “Thanks to you, we’re back on course. That lady is one of Chris’ best customers, she puts a lot of business our way and he always goes the distance to keep her sweet.”

  Luke sipped the lukewarm brew with a grimace. It was thick enough to stand a spoon in.

  “Don’t like my builder’s tea?”

  “Why not ‘mechanic’s tea?’ You’re not a builder.”

  “No idea. It’s a thing.” Mick slid a sideways glance. “So who’s this bird you wanted to skip your shift for?”

  “What makes you think it’s a bir … girl?”

  “Because you wouldn’t dream of skipping it for anything else.”

  “You know … a girl. Two arms, legs, all the usual bits.”

  “Cheeky blighter.” Mick swigged his tea. “Does she have a name?”

  “Yep.”

  Raised eyebrows hovered over a “don’t push it” glare. “Don’t be coy, you owe me some details.”

  “Because …?”

  “Made you a brew, didn’t I?”

  Luke sighed. He wasn’t ready to share the secret thrills he got every time Jude looked at him, let alone when she …

  “Bloody hell, mate. You don’t want to let her know how bad you’ve got it or she’ll never let go.”

  Right now, that was the last thing Luke wanted. The idea of Jude clinging onto him forever was pretty much as good as it would ever get.

  The next adventure in this series is Leader of the Pack.

  If you would like a taster, read on:

  Olivia Tranter, known as Liv to her friends, sat backstage in her skimpy-topped flapper dress, shivering in spite of the fleece over her shoulders.

  “Break a leg!”

  “You break two. ”

  As the hackneyed phrase was bandied around, she thought how dreadful it would be if one of the actors obeyed the unlikely command. They wouldn’t be much good trying to perform on crutches – or even worse, in a wheelchair.

  Unless their name was Ray …

  All the hard work of the cast and crew of Bryant Rockwell’s production of Bugsy Malone was paying off. The first two performances had come together beautifully, only tonight and tomorrow to go. Liv thought back to the past few months, recalling the dramatic changes in most of her friends. They’d all (including her) experienced huge transformation since the arrival of drop-dead-gorgeous Ray.

  Despite the layer of greasepaint the parent volunteer was applying, he must have sensed her gaze, meeting it with a wink. “Ok?” he mouthed.

  She twitched a shoulder, the only response the chorus of butterflies in her stomach would allow before resuming their angry yoga. She figured it had to be angry, the way they were dive-bombing her insides. Quite why butterflies would do yoga was another matter entirely.

  The depth of the smile he returned probably caused a host of wrinkles in the makeup. It definitely caused a mass of kinks in the wiring in her brain connected to the stomach area, pitching those butterflies into some sort of dance routine. Most likely an Argentine Tango.

  Jude, sporting superstar and all-round good-egg, approached with a script in her hand and a worried look on her face. ‘Liv. Can you help? Kirsty’s mum phoned to say she’s sick, so Miss Maines has asked me to take over the Bangles part. I’m hopeless at learning lines.”

  “Sure. But wouldn’t you be better off with Kat? She’s doing drama, so she knows way more tricks to make the lines stick.”

  “Good point. Have you seen her?”

  “Over there, talking to Terry.”

  Liv glanced over – they weren’t just talking, but rehearsing a scene which had fallen a bit flat on the previous night. It involved Terry getting a lot more physical with Kat than a girl should want her boyfriend to get. With another girl. Especially if that girl was her best friend.

  She sighed. Not his fault. After the director’s post-show notes, Miss Maines took them aside for a quiet word, asking if they could spice up their first romantic encounter to make it a little less like a brother-sister thing.

  As the director spoke, Terry had looked directly at Liv, and she blushed now, remembering the way he’s kissed her on their first date at the end of the October half-term holiday. As her mind offered clichés involving legs and jelly, she shooed away the inner snark which nagged its constant refrain: It’s make your mind up time. You can’t keep stringing these boys along. They have names for girls like that.

  The teeny-tiny part of her brain which occasionally stuck up for her, protested. Not a tease. Just trying to sort out the myriad conflicting messages from both boys.

  Snarky, the nasty gremlin which had reigned supreme in her head for so many years, jumped on its gentle opponent with glee. Shut up, Wimpy. You haven’t done Liv any favours with the whole touchy-feely routine. Look at the state she’s in.

  Liv almost groaned aloud. Since when had her Jiminy-cricket conscience evolved into a couple of cartoon characters arguing in her head? Not to mention talking about herself in the third person. As she struggled to put the feuding voices back in whatever boxes they’d sprung from, Snarky got in a last dig. And anyway, it’s not two, it’s three.

  Before she could even think about the Jimmy Proud factor, the sound of laughter from the audience helped her to latch the lids on their boxes. The increase in volume said someone had opened the door which led to the stage. All the adult helpers adopted the finger-on-the-lips and hand-in-the-air pose, attempting to force the excitable drama brats to be quiet. Good luck with that one. The box muffled Snarky’s voice to a whisper.

  Miss Maines rushed about with a clipboard trying to get everyone for the next scene lined up, ready to go on. In an effort to reduce her stress levels, she’d already tried to rope all the principals into putting makeup on some of the extras, but Liv’s hands were shaking so much she was worse than useless. The make-up supervisor had kindly suggested she should help elsewhere.

  But Liv was in no fit state to help anyone, and the lack of interaction threatened to spring her two internal jokers – not a pleasant prospect. Terry, Kat and Luke were in so many scenes she barely saw them. She had the most backstage-time; her initial appearance was well into the first act. She scanned the room, feeling more and more nervous.

  “Are you all right, Olivia? You look very pale.” Miss Maines frowned her concern.

  “It’s the makeup. And a severe case of stage-fright. I’ll be ok when I get on; I can’t stand the waiting.”

  The drama teacher smiled kindly and patted her arm. “I know what you mean; I’m the same. Go and keep Ray company. He has to stay in the props room because it’s a pain to get his wheelchair down the backstage corridor.” She checked her list. “Your entra
nce is from the other side of the stage, so make sure you’re back in time.”

  The props room was a little warmer than the main rehearsal space, but the only chair was cluttered. She cleared the haphazard jumble of dog-eared scripts, finding a place on the shelves to stack them; then snuggling into the chair with a copy of last year’s production, Grease.

  “Tut, tut, Tallulah. You’re in the wrong camp; this is enemy territory.” Dandy Dan’s voice startled her as he glided in silently, fresh from the execution of Doodle, the unfortunate butterfingered member of his gang. He wheeled right up to her and changed back into Ray, full of concern. “Hey, you look really pale. Are you ok?”

  “I’m fine. Miss Maines said I should keep you company.”

  “Nice thought. It gets lonely in here on my own. I’m not back on ’til the Chinese laundry scene. I just do a walk on.” He gestured at his chair, earning the required smile. His next comment surprised her. “Wow, you shouldn’t do that, looking like you do.”

  “What?” She frowned. “What did I do?”

  “Smile. You’ll have us all forgetting our lines.” His eyes narrowed. “Stand up. Turn round.”

  Another frown. In spite of her instincts, she obeyed the commanding tone in his voice, standing uncertainly. “What’s up? Is there something wrong with my dress?”

  “Nothing, except it’s hanging off you.”

  “That was the flapper style.”

  “Not that much. Have you been losing weight, Liv?”

  “Maybe a bit.” She blushed and glanced down at her still-curvy body. Does it look naff?”

  “You’re kidding.” A pause. “From where I’m sitting, you look amazing. I can see why Terry can’t keep his hands off you.”

  She blushed even deeper and he took her hand in his, playing with it for a moment as if trying to decide what to do next. His touch sent waves of heat charging up her arm and she found it difficult to breathe.

  “Tell me straight, Liv. Do you have feelings for him?”

  Glossary and Note about UK Schools