by Adele Buck
I haven’t met James Martin yet, but I hear good things about him. Do you know anything about him? A Google search at least tells me he’s pretty attractive in a young Idris Elba sort of way. He’s really a television actor though. Hope he knows his way around the theater. Some of these TV guys are just imbeciles. No craft.
Well, if he needs me to step up and help him, you know I will. It’s a drain on my energy and a distraction from my focus to coach another actor, but sometimes that’s what you have to do.
Anyway, I need to read my script. Hopefully the wifi at the B&B is solid enough to send a simple e-mail. I really feel like I’ve left most of civilization behind me.
Xoxoxo
Susan
To: Susan Vernon
From: Alicia Johnson
Subject: RE: Theater in the Sticks
Oh, Churchill sounds CHARMING. Send photos. Also, photos of James Martin. I saw him when we were both waiting for an audition a few months ago. “Pretty attractive?” No, more like smoking HOT. Totally captivating in person. I still blame him for the fact that I didn’t get that part. I will swear on a stack of Bibles that I was utterly distracted and it was his fault.
And I’m sure you’ll help him. Just don’t “coach” him so much he ends up having a nervous breakdown like that girl who played Sybil to your Amanda in Private Lives a few years ago…I don’t think you always know your own strength.
I’m sorry, but that story about the set designer is hilarious. Wish I had been there to see it. I am literally LOL-ing over here.
Had a really good audition today, speaking of which. Shakespeare! Ooh la la. So fancy.
Love,
‘Lis
Chapter 3
Applause rang through the rehearsal space. Paul beamed and leaned back in his chair at the head of the long table, his face almost straining with the emotion. Outstanding. The first read-through of a new play would always land on a continuum between awkward and thrilling. This reading exceeded all of Paul’s previous experience.
The cast looked first at him, and then around the table at each other, grinning and assessing. All eyes shone with excitement. They would be working together from here onward, forging something new and exciting out of what was now mostly the barest acquaintanceship.
Paul stood and looked around the table, his sweeping glance pausing on Cath as she smiled up at him. His grin intensified as he saw the pride in her eyes, then he forced himself to keep looking around at the cast.
“That was a terrific read-through, everyone. I am overjoyed to have you all on board. Cath has your instructions for the rest of the day.”
Cath stood, consulting her notes and Paul stepped back, ceding the cast’s attention. “The costume department has you all scheduled for fittings today. Please be prompt,” she said. “Freddie has emailed that schedule and the rest of the preliminary rehearsal schedule to each of you, and we will start with Act One, scene one tomorrow at nine sharp.”
Good-natured grumbling ensued as the cast pulled phones out to find out their fitting times, and Paul clapped his hands. “No complaining about early rehearsals. We have a lot to get through and none of you should be up late until we go into previews.”
“Depends on how we’re spending our evenings.” James lifted an eyebrow as his comment elicited laughter from the cast. Susan, sitting next to him, swatted his arm, a playful smirk on her face.
Paul found his gaze resettling on Cath. She watched the byplay between Susan and James with a sort of amused tolerance. An appreciative smile curled across Paul’s face. She and Susan had been polite to each other today, with none of the acid comments or spoiled tantrums that Susan was known for throughout New York. In fact, Susan had seemed to go out of her way to be courteous to Cath, and Paul felt good about casting her. Actors may have reputations for manufacturing drama offstage as well as on, and Paul could handle it when it occurred, but he had never found that this sort of behavior resulted in a better final product. In fact, it was detrimental.
The play was everything.
Hopefully Susan could focus on that. She was a colossal talent, after all.
Cath closed the three-ring binder that held her script and production notes carefully, making sure the pages were straight and tidy. Rocking her neck from side to side, she tried to release the tension that had been building throughout the read-through. Susan had been almost kind to her today, which only meant one thing. Her friendly overtures had always been followed by a smack, and Cath braced herself for the blow to land.
“That’s the tidy Kitty-Cath I remember.” Susan’s sarcastic voice floated from across the room, over the general conversation as the cast chatted and milled about.
And there it is.
Cath gritted her teeth. She had almost forgotten the mocking nickname Susan had slapped on her in college. Coming up to Cath after a theater history class, Susan had glanced over Cath’s pristine notes, one eyebrow lifted in disdain. “You’re just like a kitty, Cath! Always keeping your paws clean.” Susan had mimed a prissy feline licking a paw, flicking her hand and sticking out her tongue as if tasting something noxious. Her eyes had lit with sudden amusement. “Kitty-Cath! That’s you!”
“I don’t know why being organized is so funny, Susan.” Cath also hadn’t known then that calling attention to Susan’s teasing would only make it worse. Objections would be met with, “Oh, you know I’m kidding!” the implication being that Cath had no sense of humor and Susan had done nothing wrong.
“It’s the way you do it.” Susan had laughed, baffling Cath all the more. She only knew that Susan had singled her out for derision. And having picked her target, she would fire at Cath again and again and again until they graduated.
A gentle, kneading pressure and warmth radiated over Cath’s tense shoulder. Surprised, she turned to see Paul smiling at her, his hand massaging the tight muscles. “Great rehearsal. Thanks for all your hard work.”
Cath’s returning smile grew wooden as Susan approached. “Sure, Cath. Those stage directions weren’t going to read themselves. Brilliant work.” Susan winked and gave an exaggerated thumbs-up.
Paul’s blue eyes flicked to Susan. “No,” he said, his voice quiet and firm. “They weren’t. Have you forgotten how table reads work, Susan?”
Cath thought Susan stiffened at the rebuke, but if she did, her recovery was swift as she laughed and flipped a hand. “Just kidding. Geez, did Cath’s lack of a sense of humor rub off on you or something?”
Yup. There it was.
Paul’s grip tightened on Cath’s shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m pretty sure you have a fitting now. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t keep the costume shop waiting.”
At this unmistakable rebuke, Susan didn’t bother to mask her displeasure under a veneer of humor. “Fine.” Snatching up her bag, she strode out of the room, her exit catching the eye of James Martin, whose thoughtful gaze followed her, his head swiveling to track her progress out of the room.
“Nice going.” Cath bent forward to put her binder in her bag, pulling away from Paul’s hand still resting on her shoulder.
“What do you mean?” Paul’s eyes were blank and baffled as he looked at her.
“What, you didn’t mean to remind her that this is the first job she’s had in months with that crack about how table reads work?” Cath dashed her hair off her forehead with an impatient hand as she stood, shouldering her bag.
Paul stared at her for a moment, then rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “Christ. Since when should an actress be sensitive about gaps between gigs? It’s not like it’s an uncommon circumstance.”
“But you said it yourself—she’s a star. She probably thinks she should be immune.” Cath turned to go.
And he won’t believe me if I tell him that riding to my rescue like that is only going to make Susan’s behavior worse.
Paul watched Cath walk out, a frown furrowing his brow. Recalled to his larger duties by a question from o
ne of the actors, he strolled around the rehearsal space, chatting briefly with those who lingered. Freddie moved around the room, picking up empty paper cups and pushing chairs in around the table. She reminded him of Cath: the quiet competence, the almost invisible way she got things done without fuss or drama.
Without the Caths and the Freddies of this world, his rehearsal would have been a jagged, stumbling mess. With them, the read-through ran as if on oiled ball bearings.
His mind turned to Susan. And Cath. He didn’t understand what had made Cath tense up, but he definitely recognized that she had been on edge. And Susan’s teasing had bordered on derision. That won’t do. His jaw clenched and uneasiness pooled in his stomach. He had been so confident of his decision to hire Susan just minutes before. What if he was wrong?
No. It was too early for these kinds of doubts. Susan and Cath were adults. Everything would settle down. Leaving the rehearsal room, Paul jogged down to the theater’s basement, detouring into the costume shop. Andrea, the shop director, stood in the main workroom, glancing from a costume sketch to its muslin pattern pieces, appearing to compare the forms.
“All well here, Andrea?” He cocked an eyebrow at the little screened-off area at the back where he could hear Andrea’s draper, Jiang, conducting Susan’s fitting.
Andrea smiled and stretched up from her hunched position, pushing long black dreadlocks back over one shoulder. “You mean is Miss Serious Actress causing problems?” She tilted her head and her smile widened as Susan’s tinkling laugh floated out. “Not at this stage, but the girl’s got a rep. I’ll keep an eye out.”
“That’s good. If she seems like she’s not respecting everyone in the production, I want to know about it.” Paul rubbed his fingers across his lips, his eyes ranging over the serried rows of bobbins of colored thread resting on wall pegs behind Andrea.
“Sure, but she’s been a professional for years. You think she doesn’t know what the non-acting peons in a production bring to the table?”
Paul put his hands on his hips, considering how much to tell her. “There’s also some history.”
Andrea’s eyes widened. “With you? Was it wise to hire her, then?”
Refocusing abruptly on Andrea, his hand dropped away from his mouth. “No. I don’t mean that.” Not really. He grimaced.
“Right. What exactly do you mean?” Andrea’s huge brown eyes regarded him and Paul resisted the urge to squirm.
Rapping his knuckles nervously on the work table, Paul said, “Susan, Cath, and I went to college together. There’s always been some bad blood between those two. Cath doesn’t like her.”
Looking at him with narrowed eyes, Andrea leveled one long, elegant finger at Paul. “Cath doesn’t dislike people for no reason. She’s one of the most even-tempered people I’ve ever met.”
“I know,” Paul said. “But she’s a professional. She’s dealing.”
“You don’t let things get out of hand there,” Andrea said. “Cath’s been carrying your sorry ass for years now. You’d be a fool to lose her.”
Shoving down the spurt of blind panic that Andrea’s words prompted, Paul produced what he hoped was a confident smile. “Cath and I are solid. There’s no way I’d let anything get between us.”
Andrea just folded her arms across her chest and frowned. “Right.”
Paul’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you trying to tell me something”
Andrea mimicked his expression, mocking him. “How long have we known each other?”
Puzzled, Paul counted back. “Around…eight years? What’s this about?”
Tidily piling the muslin costume pieces, Andrea smiled cryptically. “I’m just a humble seamstress. I’m not going to stand here and tell you how to do your job.”
Paul snorted. “Bullshit. Come out with it.”
Andrea turned to face him more fully, one eyebrow raised. “Okay. Let’s put it this way. You’re a director. You’re supposed to be able to read people. Please don’t be an idiot.”
To: Alicia Johnson
From: Susan Vernon
Subject: Rehearsals
FINALLY rehearsals have started. It feels so good to be working again. That drought I had was making me nervous.
James Martin is as hot as you say. Smoking. And he is a FLIRT. What a relief. Paul seems to have become as much of a dull bore as Cath. But you can bet I will try to fix that. This whole situation needs some serious lightening up, if you know what I mean.
First costume fitting today too. Shop seems very competent. Adored the guy who was taking measurements for the initial cutting. Talented little cutie. Said I had the tiniest waist he had ever seen. Isn’t that the sweetest?
Act I Scene 1 rehearsals tomorrow. Thank GOD. I mean, read-throughs are fine, but it’s about time to get up and move, you know what I mean? I’m going to see if I can get some extra time with Paul. This role is bigger than anything I’ve ever taken on. It’s exciting, but between you and me, it’s scary too. So much emotional range. Exhausting. I’m going to be a limp rag by the time the run ends.
How’d everything go with that fancy Shakespeare audition?
Xoxo
Susan
To: Susan Vernon
From: Alicia Johnson
Subject: RE: Rehearsals
Hon, I still say you’re the luckiest bitch in the world to get to work with James Martin. And a flirt? Is that making up for your disappointment with the set designer? (I’m sorry, that is still the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while.) By the way, I hear James takes every opportunity possible to whip his shirt off and expose that buff bod—get me a sneaky photo of that if (WHEN) you get the chance.
Still haven’t heard re: Shakespeare. Too soon, you greedy gal. Some of us just have to be patient. I did book a commercial, so I won’t have to dig into my savings just yet.
Glad you’re back in the saddle. I know you were worried about the long gap, but dry spells happen for EVERYONE. Not even you are exempt. And you’ve got this. Don’t be scared.
Stay lively out there in the provinces—I can’t wait to hear what you get up to! You’re never boring, that’s for sure.
Alicia
Chapter 4
Cath shifted the strap of her shoulder bag as she pulled open the front door of the theater. Waving through the ticket window at the box office staff, she crossed the old fashioned, gilded lobby and headed into the darkened house. A pair of carpenters were already at work, measuring and taking notes in preparation to build the components of the set design Paul and Karl had finally compromised on.
Karl stood in front of the stage’s small apron, elevations of the design in his hands. Instead of paint-spattered jeans, he wore a similarly paint-spattered kilt made out of tough canvas. His feet were encased in ancient steel-toed work boots and his hairy legs were thick with muscle.
“All set, Karl? How’s Laurie doing? How many kittens did he have about the lighting changes and can I adopt one when it’s weaned?”
Looking over his shoulder at Cath, Karl’s cheeks bunched and his teeth flashed white in a broad grin. As he bent over to kiss her cheek, his beard tickled her. “You’ll get the pick of the litter. Laurie’s fine. He’s home redrafting the design. Grumbling, but at least that constitutes speaking to me. Speaking of which, we got a pretty nice apartment when we opted not to stay at anything like that cracker box you and Paul are living in. You should come over for dinner sometime soon.”
“That would be fun, thanks. Give Laurie my love. I have to go tape out the rehearsal space. I’ll see you guys at the production meeting.”
Karl waved and returned to his perusal of the elevations. Walking to the semi-hidden door to the left of the stage, Cath let herself through and proceeded back to the large rehearsal room. Freddie was already there, her petite frame pushing without much effect at one side of the long table they had sat at for the read-through, trying to get it to the side of the room.
“Freddie, don’t try to do that all on your own.” Cath dropped
her bag on a nearby folding chair and went to help Freddie shift the table. Heading back to her bag, she dug out her notes, a roll of gaffer tape, and a tape measure. In quiet harmony, she and Freddie measured the space, calculated the approximate dimensions of the set and its various structures, and marked them out on the floor with the tape. Cath settled three folding chairs in the “stage right” area to represent a sofa.
“That should do for now,” Cath said, brushing her hands together and grimacing. “I’m going to wash the grime off. Do you mind running for coffees? Paul should be here any minute. Get yourself one too.” Digging in her bag, she produced a bill and handed it to Freddie.
“You got it. Lucky we ended up with a decent coffee shop in the town, huh?”
“These small cities can be more civilized than you think, you snob. There’s more to the world than Manhattan. Away with you.” Cath made shooing motions and Freddie grinned.
“I know. I grew up two towns over.”
Cath laughed. “Freddie Alves, you little so-and-so. I had no idea.”
Freddie’s grin turned into a sheepish smirk and she tucked a short strand of curly, dark hair behind her ear. “Didn’t think getting work in theater would ever bring me back here. But my Mom’s happy she’s going to see me more often.” She shrugged and stuffed the money in her pocket. “Back in a minute.”
“Paul!” The sound of his name roused Paul out of the preoccupied haze he had been in as he prepared to pull open the theater door. Looking down the street, he saw Susan hurrying down the sidewalk toward him.
Checking his watch, he frowned as she approached. “Susan, it isn’t even eight yet. Your rehearsal call isn’t until nine.”
“I know,” she said with a breathless smile. “But I thought maybe we could talk about my take on the role, get some ideas flowing.”
