Acting Up (Center Stage Book 1)

by Adele Buck

  “And Susan may be a good actress, but she’s bad news.”

  “Oh, she’s seriously bad news.”

  Susan folded her hands on the table in front of her and looked at Paul. And continued to look at him, her gaze softening, her eyes seeming to grow larger, more limpid. Disgust rose in him as he realized what she was doing: attempting to use her looks and a wordless emotional appeal to get him to drop the subject, to distract him.

  Shooting a tight, artificial smile at her, he said, “Nice try. Now use your words.”

  “Paul.” The single syllable of his name came out as a purr, another attempt at seduction.

  “What?” Paul nearly barked, his frustration with her petulance and attempted manipulation rising to the breaking point. She started at the abruptness of his voice, her careful pose cracking, her eyes blinking with genuine confusion.

  “I don’t see why you’re so upset with me. I mean…” Susan shrugged one shoulder, her head dipping the side, eyes rolling to the ceiling. “If I tease Cath a little it’s just…that’s what I’ve always done with Cath. And James…he needs to up his game. He doesn’t have enough experience in the theater. This is a big part. A big play. It could be a big deal. I’m just trying to help.”

  Paul inhaled through his nose, teeth clenching. “And you somehow think that, one.” He held up a finger. “It’s your job to ‘help’ James to ‘up his game,’ and two.” Another finger. “The best way to do that is to make cutting comments and tear him down?”

  “Paul.” Susan shot a gleaming smile across the table and he found himself wishing she would forget his name. Every time she used it, it was like she was needling him, attempting to maneuver him. “Aren’t we all in this together? Don’t we all need to pitch in? Isn’t theater a collaborative medium?”

  “Collaborative, yes, but to be honest, I don’t really think you know what that word means. We all still have our own jobs to do.” Paul took a deep breath and ran his tense fingers through his hair. Susan frowned and folded her arms under her breasts, pushing them up slightly. Paul wondered for a moment if she knew how obvious she was getting. How much it was working against her, not for her.

  Paul decided to try another tack. Thinking rapidly, he said, “Let’s forget for a moment the not-unimportant fact that James's performance is his business and mine and not yours. Your methods resemble lack of self-control more than constructive assistance.” He rubbed his hand across his mouth and lifted a finger to point at Susan. “Actually, let’s not leave aside the issue of roles and responsibilities. Consider for a moment, Susan, if James were the more experienced stage actor and he was making acid little asides to you during the first few days of rehearsal? If he was intimating that you were dragging the progress of the production down? How would that affect your performance? Would that make you ‘up your game’ or would it throw you off completely?”

  Susan seemed to seriously consider this.

  Finally. Am I getting through to you even the least little bit?

  A small smile crossed Susan’s face and Paul tensed. The damn woman was just too unpredictable. For the hundredth time since they had started rehearsals—no, since before that, since she had arrived in town inexplicably early—he wished he had listened to Cath’s objections more seriously during casting.

  “Fine, Paul. I see how I might have…” she paused and gave the waiter a brilliant smile as he placed the plate of vegetables in front of her. “Overstepped my role.”

  Paul closed his eyes in relief and inhaled the rich smell of lamb, spinach and spices that was emanating from the pot in front of him. “Good. If you really want to help James, pay closer attention to him during his long speech in Act Three. The focus doesn’t always have to be on you.”

  For this, he was rewarded with a glare.

  When Paul got back to the theater, the rehearsal space was empty. Looking at his phone, he was irritated to realize there was ten minutes before everyone was due back. For once, he wanted Cath’s legendary punctuality to abandon her, to give him the upper hand, the moral high ground. He hoped his lunch with Susan had given the actress some perspective and, more meaningfully, some self-interested reasons to stop behaving like a brat.

  If only she wasn’t such a damn good actress. Paul had hired temperamental actors in the past, but Susan really took the cake. And now that they were past their initial hurdles, her performance was already showing glimmers of brilliance.

  If you ignored the extracurricular sniping.

  Paul really wanted to ignore it. The play could be extraordinary with Susan in that role. If she didn’t break everyone else involved. Including her leading man.

  Pacing the room, Paul rubbed his eyes and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. Checked his phone again. Eight minutes until rehearsal recommenced. Shouldn’t Cath be here earlier? No, that was petty of him. She belonged to the same union as the actors, she got the same lunch break everyone else did.

  But Paul was also starting to regret hiring James for personal reasons. He wondered what the actor was saying to her. How their lunch was going.

  At three minutes to one, Freddie returned, bopping extravagantly to whatever music was playing on her phone. Seeing Paul, she started and slammed one hand to her chest, the other hand tearing off her headphones. “That was…not at all embarrassing. You’re. Um. You’re back early.”

  “Sorry, Freddie. Didn’t mean to startle you.” Paul pulled out his phone to check the time again when James and Cath walked in. Two minutes to spare. Paul’s teeth clenched. He looked at them closely as they walked in, mid-conversation. James was grinning. So was Cath. No, she was laughing. She was looking up at James, her head tilted. She had the challenging, humorous look that Paul recognized as something she usually only directed at him when they were playing their quotation game.

  Shit.

  For the first time in his life, Paul really, really wanted to punch the actor’s handsome face.

  Cath laughed at James's joke as they walked into the rehearsal space. She was almost surprised that the laugh was genuine, but if she had learned anything in the last hour or so, it was that James had confirmed her first impression. He was a genuinely nice person.

  A nice person with an agenda and a bit of a devious streak, but a nice person, nonetheless.

  “Look. You need to pull his attention away from the twenty-four/seven Susan Show,” James had said as they disposed of the remains of their lunch. “Susan’s already turned the rehearsal process into a psychosocial experiment. Let’s just extend it in a direction she doesn’t expect.”

  Cath hadn’t wanted to be swayed by this kind of argument. She wanted to be above the sort of petty machinations and manipulations Susan trafficked in. But Cath also knew that the high road—at least where Susan was concerned—was lonely and fruitless.

  Why not try something different?

  “What did you have in mind?” she had asked.

  “Well, Paul has rules about dating actresses. Do you have rules about dating actors?”

  Cath had frozen, her last potato chip lifted halfway to her mouth. “Um.” She had scanned James's face for any hint that he was joking. His eyes had been wide and smiling, but not teasing. Shifting her attention back to her food, she had avoided his eyes as she said, “I don’t do that.”

  “Seriously? Well, let’s break some new ground then. Or at least make them think it’s a possibility. Pull the focus.”

  Which led her to this moment, laughing at James's joke, which he appeared to have timed perfectly to get her to react at just the moment when they walked in together. She could practically feel Paul’s gaze on her, cold and blue.

  Play it cool.

  Right.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned and smiled at Paul as she dropped her bag to the table and dug out her script. “Nice lunch?” she asked, summoning up what she hoped was a pleasant, neutral smile.

  Paul was not smiling. Her expression faltered a bit. “Problem?” She dug out her phone and checked the
time. No, not late. Looking back at Paul, he was getting himself together with a visible effort. Glancing quickly at James, she saw he was viewing the byplay with interest, his brown eyes warm and watchful.

  Looking back at Paul, Cath could see that his temper was visibly shredding again. This wasn’t normal for him. He usually had no issues with anger or loss of control. But anything normal and usual was off the table for this production.

  The other actors scheduled for rehearsal were just coming in, dropping their bags and moving around the rehearsal space. Paul gave Cath one more hard glare and turned to his cast. “Okay. Let’s take it from the top of the scene.” A small and, if Cath knew Paul, sarcastic pause followed. “James? If you would be so good as to start?”

  Paul gritted his teeth as the cast packed up and headed out after the final scene of the day. Grabbing the pencil lying next to Cath’s script, he tapped it furiously against the table, eyebrows drawn together, staring fiercely at nothing.

  “Hey.” Starting at the voice in his ear, he dropped the pencil, turning to Cath. His hand came up to rub over his mouth as she retrieved the pencil and slid it behind her ear.

  “Something wrong?” Her head tilted as she tidied the pages of her script, and he fixated on the skin just below that pencil, her ear, wondering what it would feel like under his lips, then glanced to her face. She was watching James leave the rehearsal space, smiling at his wave goodbye. Once the actor had left, Cath turned back to him, an easy smile on her face. Jealousy flared in him hot and bright, but he wrenched himself back to the moment.

  It was time to get himself under control once and for all.

  “Wrong?” he asked, recalling her question. “No, why would anything be wrong?” He was all too aware that his bluff was falling around him like a house of cards, collapsing and blowing away in the breeze. Everything was wrong. And the worst part of it all was that he was responsible for all the wrong. He was the employer of all the wrong. He had hired the horror-show of a leading lady. He had hired the actor who seemed to be seducing his best friend, professional right hand, and…don’t go there.

  Cath was looking at him with an expression he knew well. As my dear, sweet mother always told me, “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter,” she used to say. Her face said it now.

  “Fine.” He glanced around to make sure they were alone. They were: even the faithful Freddie had taken off for the day. “Mea culpa. Susan is the worst. You were right, I was wrong. She’s a problem and a half.”

  Paul had expected her to be relieved at this admission. Instead, she seemed more tense than ever at the mention of Susan. “Oh, really? So, what are you going to do now?”

  He sighed, realizing the source of her tension. “She’s still right for the part.”

  Her lips pursed. “So…nothing changes except I get a bullshit opportunity to say, ‘I told you so.’”

  Paul’s forefinger and thumb splayed across his eyes, rubbing feverishly. “Cath, please don’t bust my balls over this. Could you try and help me fix it instead? We’re supposed to be on the same page here.”

  Silence. He removed his fingers from his eyelids and looked at Cath. She had shouldered her bag and was staring at him, her green eyes wide and solemn.

  “Paul, you’re the director. You made the decision to hire Susan. You were the one who was sure you could handle her. I told you she was trouble. Now you want my help?”

  Paul took a deep breath. “Cath, we’re partners.”

  “No, Paul.” Cath’s voice was soft. “If we were partners, you would have listened to me in the first place.”

  Paul watched as she turned, her dark hair swinging out behind her as she left the room.

  To: Susan Vernon

  From: Alicia Johnson

  Subject: Where you been, girl?

  Heyyyy… It’s just like you to go all radio silence when I finally have NEWS. I’m got the Shakespeare! You’ll laugh, because… Oh, hell. It’s the Nurse in Romeo and Juliet. Down in Washington, D.C. at the Folger. So, on the one hand, I can’t believe I’m playing the Nurse. The original crone role. While you get to play a sexy lady. On the other hand, it’s a whole new pool of serious stuff. The Folger!! And they’ve made it clear that they’re casting it right for the original intent of the play. I mean, a wet-nurse can’t be sixty years old, right? So it’s actually age-appropriate for me.

  How’s the doings in Churchill? Doing anyone? James Martin, maybe? Or Paul Mainwaring? I’m packing for the swamps of our nation’s capital, but dying to hear all the news from Connecticut.

  Xoxo — Alicia

  To: Alicia Johnson

  From: Susan Vernon

  Subject: Re: Where you been, girl?

  Oooh…Congratulations, ‘Lis! Very fancy stuff there, snagging a Folger gig. Don’t worry about the role. It seems they’re casting the “old lady” roles younger and younger every year. You’re like a baby “Nurse.” You’re going to kill it. Steal the show from the teenagers.

  At any rate, you know what they always say: there are no small parts, just small actors.

  I have to say, James Martin has been quite the disappointment. He hasn’t taken his shirt off once in rehearsals so far. He even—can you believe this—took Cath out to lunch today. What is wrong with the man?

  Be sure to get an apartment with serious air conditioning. D.C. in the summer is no joke.

  Smooches—

  Susan

  Chapter 9

  Cath lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Or she would be staring at the ceiling if she could see it. Her room was an airless, lightless box despite the theoretical supply of fresh air from the open window next to her bed. Shifting her shoulders, she tried to lure herself to sleep. Soothing things. Sleeping thoughts.

  Her eyes snapped open.

  Nothing.

  Rolling to her side, she bunched the pillow under her cheek, hugging its familiar shape. The pillow was one of the few things she brought with her when she worked outside New York. She knew plenty of people who brought an entire suitcase full of trinkets and reminders of home. Items to decorate an otherwise sterile or unfamiliar living space. Aside from her clothes, Cath carried two things with her: a framed photograph and her down pillow.

  She probably shouldn’t tote that photo around with her. It was too revealing. Or at least it felt that way now. A candid snapshot of her and Paul, taken at the cast party on the opening night of their first professional production. They had been tucked into a corner of the room, fizzing with excitement, hardly able to believe that the accomplishment they had talked and dreamed about over four years of college had been realized. A friend had called out to them and they had turned, the sparkling excitement in both their eyes captured by his camera.

  It had been a perfect moment.

  But she hardly needed the reminder of her best friend when he was currently sleeping almost directly underneath her. Or maybe he was beneath her. Cath groaned at that visual and rolled onto her stomach, letting the pillow un-bunch and flatten underneath her heated face.

  There was a small, though real, possibility that she had completely blown the whole “best friend” thing to smithereens today, what with her refusal to help figure the Susan situation out and her dramatic exit.

  Actually, she realized as she rolled over again, despite the nervous flutters in her stomach, she realized she felt pretty okay about the whole “dramatic exit” thing. It might have been her finest acting moment ever. Not that she had a lot of examples to draw upon from her own experience.

  Even Susan might have been impressed.

  Ha. As if.

  If she was honest with herself, she was pretty sure Paul was kicking himself about the Susan situation. Well, he had said as much, hadn’t he? And he was fair, even when it came to his own faults. It was even possible that he was acknowledging that Cath’s unwillingness to help him shoulder that responsibility was reasonable.

  So why was she lying awake at…what time? She lifted her head and grabbed her phone off the li
ttle bedside table to check. And then groaned and turned over again.

  Paul rubbed his face and listened as the ceiling over him softly creaked. Again. Cath was having a sleepless night, that was for sure. He wondered what was making her so restless.

  Unbidden, the image of her laughing up at James as they returned from lunch shoved itself into Paul’s brain. What was going on there? Was Cath abandoning her “no actors” rule? Anything was possible in this crazy situation. Were Cath and James going to start seeing each other? Were they already seeing each other?

  What if he just did away with the euphemism?

  Oh, God.

  Scrubbing his hand across his face again, Paul squeezed his eyes tight. The idea of trying to sleep while listening to the noises of James and Cath getting it on overhead might just kill him.

  Groaning in counterpoint to another creak from overhead, Paul rolled from his side to his back, staring up into the darkness. Don’t think about Cath and James.

  So he removed James from the mental picture.

  That left Cath.

  He saw Cath in his mind’s eye as she had faced him and told him that she was leaving him to deal with the problem that he had landed them both in. He remembered looking with disbelief into her chilly, green eyes. She had turned and walked out.

  Stop. Rewind. Take it from the top.

  What if he had looked down at her upturned face, cupped his hand behind her head, and kissed her? What if he had felt her hair threading through his fingers like cool silk, her warm lips underneath his, going from stiff surprise to warm acceptance? What if her strong, lithe body had pressed against him and her arms had pulled him close?

  What if he had gone hard over his best friend?

  Shit. He was hard over his best friend.

  His right hand, the traitor, automatically drifted under the covers to grip and stroke.

  Where was he?