Acting Up (Center Stage Book 1)

by Adele Buck

Paul leaned against the back wall of the theater to watch it happen.

  Applause roared through the house, the audience rising to its feet. Cath cued the curtain call lights and grinned at Glenn. The cast filed onstage, Susan and James arriving last from opposite sides to meet in the middle, coming downstage to receive their applause and make their bows. James gestured at Susan to take another bow and she sank low, her hand over her heart and a gratified smile on her face. In fact, Cath had never seen her glow like that. Looks like she finally got whatever she needed.

  Cath arched an eyebrow as she noticed Susan did not offer the same courtesy to James, merely soaking in the adulation from the crowd as if she was the only one on stage.

  “Thank you everybody, great show,” Cath said into her microphone. Glenn gave her a thumbs-up when she glanced over at him and her face nearly hurt from smiling.

  The booth door opened and Cath turned to see Paul enter, beaming as hard as she felt she was, his ruffled hair evidence of the agitation he must have felt while watching. Flinging his arms around her, he lifted her off her feet, burying his face in her neck.

  “We did it,” he crowed, setting her back on her feet.

  “We did,” she said, then turned to see that the audience had continued its standing ovation. The actors were shading their eyes, seeking someone. She adjusted her headset which he’d knocked askew. “Paul, I think you’re being asked to take your own curtain call. Get out there.”

  Pausing to grip her face between his hands and give her a fast kiss, Paul ran out of the booth, calling, “Sorry, Glenn. Great work, but no kisses for you.”

  “Always the bridesmaid…” Glenn muttered with a wry smile as they watched Paul bound down the aisle and vault onto the stage, turning to face the audience and wrapping his arms around Susan and James's shoulders, bringing the rest of the cast along with him for a final bow.

  Extending his arms, Paul mouthed “thank you” repeatedly to the cast, to the wings where Freddie and other crew members worked, then finally brought two fingers to his mouth and directed a kiss to the booth, winking.

  “I’m sure that one was for you, Glenn,” Cath said, clapping him on the shoulder. “House lights up.”

  It took time for Paul to extricate himself from the congratulations of cast and crew, and then when he tried to make his way through the house, lingering audience members also claimed his attention. It had never been such a trial to be gracious, but all he wanted to do now was to share the moment, the triumph, with Cath.

  Breaking free at last, he saw the lighting booth was now dark. Eyes scanning, he walked into the lobby. Cath was there, chatting with Andrea, wearing the dress and scarf she had worn the evening of Karl and Laurie’s dinner party. Something caught in his chest and he paused for a moment just to watch her, laughing at something Andrea said, her chin tipping back, wide mouth smiling.

  He had never seen anything so beautiful.

  Andrea noticed him first, her eyes twinkling. Seeing Andrea’s expression, Cath turned and Paul was nearly unstitched by the mischief in her eyes.

  “There’s the man of the hour,” Cath said as he approached.

  “If they knew who was really running the show, they would know that you’re the woman of the hour,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

  “I’m going to need an insulin shot if you two don’t stop, so I will see you at the cast party,” Andrea said, waggling her fingers and heading for the exit.

  Paul ran his hand along Cath’s back. “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “Tired, but energized. You know?”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” he said. “Let’s go make nice at the party. The sooner we go, the sooner we can go home.”

  “Not really,” Cath said, sliding her hand into his and tugging him to the door. “You’re going to be mobbed all night. It’s going to be ages before we can go home. But that’s okay.”

  “Why is it okay?” he grumbled, trailing after her into the hot night air.

  She shot a mischievous glance back at him. “Because I’m the one who gets to go home with you.”

  The party was in full swing when they opened the door to the restaurant. A wall of sound hit Cath and she blinked. People talking, live music playing, and glasses clinking all combined in a chaotic whirl. People near the door recognized Paul and a cheer went up, traveling back through the restaurant as the accolade caught the attention of the people in the back.

  Waving the applause away, Paul lifted Cath’s hand like the winner of a prize fight and pointed at her. The cast and crew roared louder, followed uncertainly by the people who were not associated with the production. Cath felt her face grow hot and she tugged on Paul’s hand to lower it.

  “There’s a reason why I work behind the scenes, you idiot,” she muttered and he laughed.

  “Take your applause. You deserve it.”

  “I also deserve a drink,” she said and he laughed again.

  “Then let’s get you one.” He started to blaze a trail toward the bar, pulling her behind him. Along the way both of them were hailed by familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. The band swung into a number with a driving beat, drawing a significant group to the little dance floor in the corner, enabling Cath and Paul to move more easily to the bar.

  Receiving a cold glass of white wine from the bartender, Cath took a long sip and looked out over the crowd. The cast and crew mingled with guests who were much more expensively dressed. Big donors to the theater, Cath assumed.

  The restaurant door opened and Cath’s eyes grew wide as she recognized a tall, slim woman with a shock of short blond hair falling over her eyes. Cath elbowed Paul and his expression matched hers.

  “What is Alicia Johnson doing here now?” she asked.

  Paul shook his head, smiling slightly. “I made some inquiries after Susan was so knowledgeable about what her current gig was. Turns out they’re friends of some sort. Apparently worked together on something off-Broadway a few years ago and hit it off, as bizarre as that may be.”

  Cath watched Alicia approach Susan and hug her. Susan, despite her prodigious talent, couldn’t hide the wary look as she greeted the other woman or the tension in her body as she returned her hug. “I’d say more frenemies than friends if that greeting is anything to go by.”

  “Yeah, well. Maybe we’ll find out more. Looks like she’s coming over here.”

  Alicia wove through the crowd and stopped in front of Cath and Paul. The actress was striking rather than pretty, with her sharp jaw and thin blade of a nose. But her cheekbones were wide and her huge, brown eyes sparkled with intelligence and more than a hint of mischief. She extended a hand to Paul. “Congratulations. Great production.”

  Paul shook Alicia’s hand, bemused. He’d had actors who lost out on parts show up for opening night, but he’d never seen anyone travel a few hundred miles to do it.

  “It’s a surprise to see you, Alicia. How’s the Folger treating you?”

  Alicia extended a hand to Cath and smiled. “Better than Susan’s treated you, if the grapevine’s reports are true.”

  Ah. Curiosity and gossip. The two social mainstays of the theater. Paul was willing to bet that word had also gotten back to her that she had almost gotten a last-minute call to fill Susan’s role. Sidestepping the question implicit in Alicia’s statement, Paul said, “Thanks for coming so far to see it.”

  “Oh,” Alicia’s smile was Mona Lisa-worthy. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” She glanced over her shoulder and Paul followed her gaze, catching Susan glaring at her friend…or rival…or whatever she was. Realizing she had been seen, Susan turned and skewered the man she was talking to with a glittering smile. “Susan, old friend, never change,” Alicia murmured. Turning back, she smiled a genuine smile at Cath and Paul. “Anyway, I have an early flight back to D.C. and need to get to bed, but I wanted to swing by and congratulate you. It’s a stunning show. Take care.” With that, she walked o
ut of the restaurant.

  “Well, that was…something,” Cath said, looking at Paul with a mixture of laughter and confusion clouding her features.

  “Well, whatever it was it’s over now.” He might be in a crowd, but he needed her undivided attention for a little while.

  The band lit into a mid-tempo blues number. Paul and Cath listened through the first chorus, Paul nodding his head in time to the beat. The lyrics brought a smile to his face:

  I knew those fairy tales weren’t true

  I soldiered on and I made do

  I knew those fairy tales weren’t real

  I never knew what I could feel.

  If I never met you, I’d be fine

  Still the same

  I’d be searching for the sun,

  But I’d settle for the rain

  Locked inside, a well-defended fool

  I’d be safe from everything

  Even safe from you.

  Taking Cath’s glass from her, he set it on the bar. “Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand and smiling at her puzzled expression. “They’re playing our song.” She followed him to the little dance floor.

  “So, I’ll bite: why is this our song? I’ve never heard it before,” she said in his ear as he wrapped one arm around her and took her hand with the other.

  A nervous buzzing started low in Paul’s stomach and he swallowed. “I haven’t either, but here’s the thing: if I never met you, I might have thought I’d be fine. But I wouldn’t be. Not really.”

  Cath leaned back to look at Paul’s face, their bodies swaying with the music. He looked strange, tense, even awkward.

  “Here’s the thing,” he said again, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “I…’Beyond all limit of what else i’ the world/Do love, prize, honor you.’”

  Cath smiled. “Tempest, Act III Scene 1. And I love you too.”

  “It’s not just that,” he continued, pulling his hand from around her waist and holding something shiny—no, not just shiny—sparkly, up in front of her eyes. Cath blinked, focused, and then looked back at him, stunned.

  “Is that…”

  “It’s unconventional for an engagement ring, but I thought it would be more you. If you’ll have it. If you’ll have me.”

  Cath looked back at the ring, a wide, elegant twist of vines and leaves wrought in metal and gemstones.

  “Technically,” she said, shock making her babble, “In the Tempest, Miranda proposed to Ferdinand, so unconventional all the way around.”

  Paul fixed her eyes with his own.

  “Was that a yes?”

  Cath bit her lips together, nodding as she whispered Miranda’s line, “I am your wife, if you will marry me.” Relief flooded through Paul’s face as he threaded the ring on her finger and folded her in both arms, squeezing her to him. Cath took a deep, shuddering breath and pressed her cheek to his chest as the song concluded.

  “I take it she said yes?” The singer’s voice cracked out over the sound system. Startled, Cath looked over at the woman, guitar slung over her shoulder, a broad smile on her lips. The crowd in the restaurant quieted and Cath felt too many eyes on her.

  “Sorry,” Paul murmured in her ear. “Didn’t intend to make this so public.”

  “It’s okay. Just as long as they don’t follow us home, we’re good,” she whispered, keeping her face turned in toward him.

  “She did.” Paul affirmed aloud. Cath looked around, finding Karl, Laurie, Freddie, and James standing together in the crowd. Karl and Laurie looked misty, perhaps remembering their own proposal. Freddie’s mouth was hanging open in delight and James was grinning.

  Someone started to clap and applause rang through the room. “All right then,” the singer called out as her fingers plucked out the opening chords to the Beach Boys’ “God Only Knows,” the band joining in with her as she began to sing.

  Cath’s eyes roamed over Paul’s face as they started to sway to the music. “What?” she said as his eyes crinkled into tenderness.

  Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear, “I was just thinking…‘let's have a dance ere we are married.’”

  “So…we’re going to have that Beatrice and Benedick role-play after all, are we?”

  “No, we’re just going to continue to be us,” he said, spinning her until the room was a blur of color and music.

  Enjoyed Acting Up?

  Sign up for my newsletter for a special bonus chapter featuring Cath, Paul, Andrea, Freddie, James, Karl, and Laurie!

  http://bit.ly/actingup_bf

  And if you’re so inclined, please leave a review on your favorite book vendor’s site, Goodreads, or wherever you review books. Even a sentence can help a reader find a book. Thank you for reading, and keep reading for a sneak peek at Alicia’s story, coming soon…

  Acknowledgments

  Many, if not most, authors will tell you that they had a long road to publication. I am no different. There are so many people who believed in me, gave me critique, and just flat-out loved me in this long journey of mine and I apologize up front if I have left anyone out.

  This book is dedicated to my husband, the man known to Twitter as “Mr. B.” I also thank him here. He fed me, read my words, held me when I cried, and told me more than once that he knew this day would come.

  Mom: my fondest critic and fiercest ally. I love you, Marmee.

  The first draft of this book was actually workshopped practically in real-time on a Slack instance devoted to the Miss Fisher Mysteries fandom. I have drifted a bit from the group, but I have not forgotten any of you. Thank you all for everything.

  Marika Bailey, who designed such an amazing cover. Wow. I’m so glad I have the chance to work with you.

  My writing sisters: Diana Biller, Rachel Kellis, and June Hur. You are all rockstars and I adore you. Amy Bishop, who brought us into each others’ orbit: you know I owe you for far more than that.

  Ainslie Paton, queen of blurbs, dispenser of knowledge, source of wry wisdom and humor—and all from the other side of the planet. Thank you.

  Jayce Ellis. Oh. My. God. My once and future co-writer, my friend and fierce ally, I adore you.

  The Lisas: Lisa Lin and Lisa Catto. My writing commiserator and my conference roommate. You are both incredible, incendiary minds and talents.

  Elysabeth Grace and Kate Clayborn, my Shakespeare queens. I am so honored to know you both and call you my friends.

  Lucy Parker, you’ve been a friend from the beginning and your own amazing books have been an inspiration. I can’t even begin to thank you for your support.

  Suzanne Brockmann, you were one of my heroes and now you’re my friend. Thank you.

  My day-job allies, Anne and Matt. You’re amazing colleagues and loyal friends. Thank you for your support and friendship.

  To the entire Twitter crew I call pocket friends: you helped me do this. Thank you so much. I owe you more than I can express.

  Chapter 1 of Method Acting

  Want to get a sneak peek of Book 2 in the Center Stage series? Check out this preview of Alicia’s story in Washington D.C.

  Alicia hustled into her charge’s room, urging the girl to wake, to get dressed, to greet the day. Bustling about, she opened the curtains and babbled unceasing comments on the events to come. She marveled that the girl still slept.

  Teenagers.

  Alicia bent over and shook her. Froze, her heart thudding, nausea crawling up her throat. The young woman did not move. Did not breathe.

  Angels and ministers of grace…Grace… Her mind stuttered and spun for what seemed like an age, time slowing almost to a standstill, then rushing into double time.

  Screaming for help, Alicia almost ran into the girl’s mother, who raced in to see what was wrong. Unable to do more than point at the still form of the girl on the bed, Alicia spoke barely intelligible words, tears sliding down her cheeks as the other woman gripped her in a vain attempt at understanding or comfort.

  The girl’s father entered, seem
ing to dismiss both weeping women at the same time as he demanded the presence of his daughter.

  Useless man. Alicia didn’t bother to keep the sneer from her face, despite the fact he was her employer. What did she care, now that the child she had raised, had nursed, had comforted and corrected, was gone?

  Pointing at the bed with a shaking hand, Alicia swiped at her tears. “She's dead, deceased, she's dead.” Punctuating each mention of death with a stab of her finger, her mouth crumpled as she saw the realization finally flow across his face. “Alack the day,” she choked out, a lump lodging in her throat.

  The priest and the bridegroom entered on the heels of the father’s next flowery, pointless words.

  His fault. All of it. Love and insistence on blind adherence to duty. This is what comes of it.

  #

  Colin leaned back in his chair, his brows coming together in a slight frown as he watched the play unfold in front of him.

  Interesting.

  Most actresses playing The Nurse broke down here, wailing and helpless at the sight of the apparently dead Juliet. This one was different.

  She was angry.

  Specifically, she was furious with Lord Capulet, her face contorted in a rage-filled sneer at his next lines. The actor playing Juliet’s father seemed nervous of her, as if he was afraid she would grab the sword from Paris’ hip as he entered and run the older man through with it.

  Her dark eyes practically glittered with malice as she spat her final speech in the scene, a lament for the lost Juliet. But even then, her proclamations of the horror of the day seemed to contain more rage than grief. And when she intoned, “Never was seen so black a day as this,” she pointed a long, shaking finger at Capulet, threatening him, her subtext clear to Colin.

  Today may be my blackest day, but yours is yet to come.

  Colin was disappointed when Act Five of the play didn’t bring further surprises. He half expected a new plot twist added to the old story—The Nurse murdering Lord Capulet. When the cast filed out for their curtain call, he found his eyes straying to the woman who had startled him. The position where she took her bows was at the opposite end of the stage from where he sat and he couldn’t make out her features clearly. He wondered if the actress was as interesting as the character she had created.