Acting Up (Center Stage Book 1)

by Adele Buck

  James paced back and forth, swinging his arms as if to bleed off excess energy, his eyes directed at the floor. After a few trips back and forth across the taped-off area, he turned back to Paul. “I guess since Molly’s asleep I’m able to be honest with her for the first time.”

  “Excellent. And how does that make you feel?”

  Paul could see that James was resisting the urge to pace again and he almost smiled. He certainly knew the feeling. “Go ahead. Move around. No cameras, remember? Your physicality, your energy, is a good thing. Use it. We all know how much I fidget and pace. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

  James’s grin flashed and he walked around the room again in long strides. Coming to a stop at the far end of the space, he took a deep breath. “Molly makes me feel vulnerable. Scared. Like I want to lash out and pull her close at the same time.”

  I know just how you feel, bud.

  Cath hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she let out a long exhale. This was the Paul she knew, drawing the performance from inside the actor instead of trying to push it from the outside. Collaborating, asking questions, letting James come to organic decisions about his character.

  “Great. Go from that place. That scared, vulnerable place. Okay, let’s take it from the start, then. Whenever you’re ready.” Paul moved back to stand in his usual spot next to the rehearsal table, just inches from Cath. Her stomach tightened at the familiarity of it.

  James paused behind the three folding chairs that stood in for the ornate, Victorian couch that would be part of the final set. “Something wrong?” Paul asked.

  With a sheepish smile, James pointed at the empty space where Susan would be. “It would help to not have to talk to thin air,” he said.

  Cath touched Paul’s hand with tentative fingertips, tilting her head at Freddie when he turned to her. Nodding, Paul asked, “Freddie, would you mind being Susan’s stand-in today?”

  Her eyes went wide at this and Cath chuckled. “You don’t have to act, Freddie. Just lie across the chairs and close your eyes. Give James a warm body to talk to.” Getting to her feet, she grabbed a thick, quilted moving blanket that had been left in a corner. Draping it over the chairs, she patted the seat. “Come on, Freddie. Nice and comfy. Where else would you get paid to nap on the job?”

  Getting up stiffly, Freddie moved over to the improvised sofa and lay down, tucking her hands under her cheek and looking up at James, who smiled his thanks.

  “Close your eyes, Freddie. James won’t bite,” Paul said as Cath resumed her seat and picked up her pencil. “And James, feel free to move. Ignore the blocking for now and just be in the moment.”

  Freddie’s big doe eyes fluttered shut and James started the monologue, ranging around the space, his broad-shouldered frame beginning to express Hugh’s frustration and helplessness at knowing Molly was slipping away. Cath was glad Paul had told James to ignore the blocking, because she was captivated by what was starting to emerge in his performance. When the speech came to a close, James stood at Freddie’s feet, gazing down at her face with such an expression of grief and futility that Cath nearly started to applaud. She glanced up at Paul, expecting to see triumph on his face.

  Instead, she saw…she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. Paul seemed angry. What could possibly make him angry now? Baffled, she drew her eyebrows together and mouthed a silent, “What?”

  What? For crying out loud, Cath had been watching James like she wanted him delivered to her gift-wrapped.

  Without answering her silent question, Paul turned back to James to re-block the scene. He used James's previous movement as an outline, but gave him specific things to do, making the motion more purposeful while still allowing the actor’s dynamic energy an outlet.

  For the second time, he’d rather have punched the man in his exceedingly white teeth.

  While he was working with James, he noticed Freddie out of the corner of his eye. The young woman had gotten up from her makeshift couch and was twisting her head from side to side. He guessed the “sofa” wasn’t quite as comfortable as Cath had advertised. Finishing his instructions, he headed back to the table where Cath was making rapid notes in her script, recording the blocking changes.

  Erasing something, she brushed at the page with the side of her hand and scribbled frantically. She glanced at him, a wary smile just barely tugging at the corners of her mouth. Paul felt jealousy flare in his chest again when she looking back at the rehearsal set, but she tilted her head, indicating he should look too, a warm smile of amusement lighting her eyes.

  James was folding the moving blanket, doubling the padding on the chairs, and wadding up the excess at the end to form a bit of a pillow for Freddie’s head.

  “Chivalrous,” she murmured. But she didn’t seem to be made jealous by James's taking care of Freddie, just delighted by it.

  Paul had to admit that it was nice of James to consider Freddie’s comfort. His attitude was a far cry from Susan, who would have regarded Freddie as either an annoying but necessary prop or a barely amusing irrelevance.

  Paul set James to start the monologue again, pleased to see that he was apparently gaining confidence, letting even more emotion show, finding colors and shades that he hadn’t in past iterations of the scene.

  He almost missed the moment when Susan slipped into the rehearsal, winking at him as she softly closed the door behind her, her eyes turning to take in the scene in progress.

  Great. Trust that woman to be early for rehearsal only when it’s completely inconvenient.

  Cath felt the muscles in her shoulders go rigid when Susan entered the room. Glancing sideways at Paul, she wondered if he would send her out again in order to give James one more run through without the distraction of his co-star’s presence.

  James seemed completely unaware of anything but Freddie feigning sleep on the folding chairs. Ranging from tenderness to frustration to fear, he was the picture of a devoted man driven to distraction by the thought of losing the woman he loves. The monologue spun to a whirling crescendo of need and passion and anguish, descending from that peak to a quiet plea to be heard, for her to come back to him. When James came to rest this time, it wasn’t at Freddie’s feet. Instead, he knelt by her head, fingers outstretched, wanting to caress her face, but afraid to try.

  Applause rang through the room and Cath glanced at Paul, seeing the muscles in his jaw bunch as he turned to Susan, who was clapping madly. Glancing back at the rehearsal, James just looked startled and Freddie looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole and die, her huge eyes sprung wide, crimson spreading across the face still pillowed on her hands.

  “Thank you, Susan, for that touching tribute to James's performance.” Paul’s voice was dry to the point of aridity.

  Grimacing, Susan dumped her bag to the floor. “It was good. I was moved. It was a compliment. What do you want from me?”

  “Coming at your call time instead of twenty minutes early would be nice,” Paul said from between gritted teeth.

  Ignoring this, Susan strode over to James and smiled up at him. He looked down at her without expression and Freddie sat up and moved back to the table, her head down.

  “Thanks, Frannie,” Susan said with a careless flutter of her fingers, not looking away from James’s face.

  “Her name is Freddie,” James said, disbelief contorting his features.

  “Oh,” Susan said, shrugging. “Sorry. Anyway, if you want to run it again, let’s go.” Sitting on the impromptu sofa, she made as if to stretch out as Freddie had done.

  “It’s so nice of you to take over my rehearsal, Susan,” Paul said. “Hard to know how we ever managed to carry on without you.”

  Susan nearly pouted. “The sarcasm isn’t necessary. If you want me to leave, I can do that. All you have to do is ask.”

  Paul sighed. “No, since you’re here, let’s have James run it with you.”

  Producing an angelic smile, Susan assumed the same attitude Freddie had taken
. Glancing over at her assistant, Cath noticed that Freddie’s face was lowered and her cheeks were still flushed. Looking up at James, she saw that he was also watching Freddie.

  Well, isn’t that interesting.

  “Thanks everyone, that’s enough for today.” Exhausted, Paul turned to Cath, who was giving some final instructions to Freddie. Looking around, he saw the actors were moving about the room, picking up their belongings and getting ready to head home for the evening.

  Turning back to Cath, he saw that she was tidying her script, her long fingers evening the pages before she closed the binder. Paul was reminded of those fingers sifting through his hair, running along his scalp. Fighting the urge to close his eyes and sink into the memory, he summoned up a stiff smile as she turned to him, her eyes flicking sideways to his face.

  “Decent rehearsal, as it turns out.” She murmured out of the side of her mouth, eyes on the actors as they filed out of the room, Freddie following with a brief wave.

  Inhaling deeply, Paul nodded, letting the breath go almost explosively. “And I am very glad. I was worried there.”

  Cath elbowed him as she shouldered her bag. “You say that at this stage every single production. Though not usually with this much reason.”

  “Are you saying I’m predictable?” A fragile bubble of joy seemed to be captured in Paul’s chest, as he realized that somehow he hadn’t wrecked everything. It made breathing a little difficult.

  Cath’s eyes tilted up at him, a sly smile hovering at the corners of her lips. “You may be. A bit. But I’ve known you a long time.”

  “Really.” He smiled tentatively at her, thinking of all the far from predictable things he would like to do to her body if she would just give him the chance. Her eyes widened as she seemed to catch his thoughts by his tone, then narrowed again, darting around the room to make sure they were alone.

  “What are you up to?” she murmured.

  His momentary daring drained away. Too soon after last night. “Not much,” he said.

  She gave a crisp nod, her jaw tight. “Okay, then.”

  Paul followed Cath out of the rehearsal space into the darkened house. Turning to look at the current state of the set, Paul grinned. The smell of raw lumber, the tangibility of the progress that had been made, energized him. The bones of the set were in place. “Excellent.”

  Karl stepped out from the wings. “You like?”

  “I do. Outstanding work.”

  “Good.” Karl looked at the half-built set with pride, then turned back to Paul and Cath, raising a forefinger. “Also, I forgot something. I was supposed to invite you both for dinner Saturday night. Laurie will skin me if you don’t show. I hope you don’t have other plans, otherwise you will be accomplices to my murder.”

  Paul looked swiftly at Cath. One corner of her mouth quirked.

  “I for one will be there. Wouldn’t want Laurie to hurt you, after all,” she said.

  “Right,” Paul agreed. “Though he be tiny, Laurie is mighty.”

  To: Alicia Johnson

  From: Susan Vernon

  Subject: Finally

  Well, rehearsals have finally gotten more productive. I was a little afraid for a bit that James couldn’t hack the theater. You know the old saying that “television rots your brain?” Sometimes I think it’s doubly true for acting on television. But I have to admit he’s good.

  I came early to rehearsal to help James, since he was rehearsing his big monologue (and you’d think I murdered a puppy instead of make myself available for the good of the production from the way Paul carried on. I just don’t get that man’s deal) and whatever happened today, James's performance really clicked in. The scenes we did today were pretty electric. Contemplating my next move there, because the man is seriously too hot for words. All in all, the play is worth dealing with Paul’s stupid tantrums. He doesn’t seem to understand that nobody takes this profession as seriously as I do. But when I try to hold anyone to my standards or give any sort of extra help, they go off on me.

  The applause opening night is going to be delicious, though. I live for that sound.

  James still hasn’t taken his shirt off, though. Which is a crime.

  Tell me all the DC doings!

  Xoxoxo - Susan

  To: Susan Vernon

  From: Alicia Johnson

  Subject: RE: Finally

  Hey hon!

  That’s great news about rehearsals. I’m sure you were very patient with James, so glad that paid off.

  You were right. DC is HOT. And humid. But the Folger—holy cow it’s the most amazing space. Small, intimate, totally Elizabethan. Incredible. We did the table read today and the cast is great—very talented and funny. I’m looking forward to this. Even though it is THE NURSE. Oy. The Nurse. But I actually have some new ideas about how to play her. Hopefully the director will be on board. I don’t plan on being the usual comic old lady if I can help it.

  Love,

  Alicia

  Chapter 12

  Cath smoothed sheer lipstick over her lips and stood back from her little bathroom mirror.

  It’ll have to do.

  She wasn’t quite sure about her entire outfit since her apartment didn’t have a full-length mirror, but she’d have to risk it. The dress felt a little too short, though it had seemed fine when she bought it in New York a few days before she left for Churchill. Smoothing her hands over the light cotton, she resisted the urge to tug at the bottom of the skirt. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and dug through her tiny closet for a skinny green scarf shot through with silver threads. Looping this around her neck, she grabbed her bag and her keys and walked out the door before she could dither over her outfit again.

  Locking her apartment, she paused for a moment to take a breath. She tried to imagine how this would go if she and Paul hadn’t kissed. They had tried to return to their usual way of working together, but a tense awkwardness continued to lie between them over the last few days. Their normal, easy camaraderie now seemed distant and alien, a dance that she and Paul had forgotten the steps to but tried to reproduce out of mechanical habit. It left an ache in her gut. She had avoided a romantic entanglement so she wouldn’t lose her best friend and it seems that she might have lost her best friend anyway. Or at least misplaced him.

  Go downstairs. Knock on the door. Ask him if he’s ready. Walk to Karl and Laurie’s. Make small talk. How hard can this be?

  Right.

  Setting her jaw, she turned and walked resolutely down the stairs. Raising her hand to knock on Paul’s door, he startled her by opening it before her fist descended. She felt an absurd urge to tap on his forehead instead, realizing a beat too late that that was exactly the kind of idiotic little joke of a gesture that she really would have made a month ago. Or even a week ago. But the moment was gone and she let her hand drop to her side.

  “Good timing,” she said.

  “Yeah, well. I can hear you from my place, so…”

  “That’s right. You told me.” Cath suddenly realized that there was a subtle difference to Paul’s appearance from when she had seen him earlier in the day. Leaning back, she scanned his appearance. “You got your hair cut,” she said, blinking.

  “It was about time,” he said, smoothing his hand over his cropped head. “I was trending away from ‘distracted artist’ toward full on ‘mad scientist.’”

  Cath clenched her hand by her side, resisting the urge to touch and stroke. “Well. It looks good.” She always liked the bohemian wildness of it. But this was surprisingly attractive as well.

  Hell.

  Paul noticed the slight tensing of Cath’s hand and forced his expression to stay neutral. If she wanted to touch him half as much as he wanted her, waiting might be his best possible strategy.

  “You look fantastic,” he said. She was wearing a dress he hadn’t seen before—sort of like a soft gray tee-shirt with a deep scoop neck, the soft folds of the skirt ending a couple inches above her knees.

 
Christ, she has sensational legs.

  He thought she was blushing, but it was hard to tell in the dim light of the dingy hallway. She fidgeted with the sparkly scarf that was looped around her neck. “Thanks. You ready to go?”

  He cleared his throat, pulling his mind away from the momentary irrational jealousy of an inanimate object—that scarf got to caress her neck, after all—and stepped through the door, closing and locking it behind him.

  “Sure. It wouldn’t do to keep Laurie waiting. No doubt he has some sort of fancy thing planned that has very tricky timing.”

  Cath smirked. “I think he’s actually out of his molecular gastronomy phase.”

  “What’s the newest obsession? Nose-to-tail? Gluten-free? Nothing but gluten?”

  “Karl tells me he’s gone very rustic. Peasant food.”

  “That’s a hell of a lot more appealing than the weird foams and stuff he was into last time we had dinner with them.” Paul shuddered at the memory.

  “Exactly what I thought.” Cath paused to wait for him as he closed the front door of the building. “I still wonder how Karl survived that phase. He’s huge. How come he didn’t just waste away?”

  “I think Karl was supplementing his diet extensively with takeout pizza and other street food during that period.” Reaching the bottom of the porch stairs, they turned to walk down the sidewalk.

  “Good thing Laurie didn’t find out. He would have been hurt.”

  Paul chuckled. “Gastronomic infidelity?”

  “Something like that.”

  Paul glanced sideways at Cath, noticing the way the skirt swirled around her legs as she walked. “When did you get that dress? I haven’t seen it before, have I?”

  Cath looked at him, her eyes wide. “Um. Before we left New York. It’s the first time I’ve worn it.”

  “You’re all dolled up.” He let his gaze travel down her legs again.