A Midsummer Night's Fling (Much Ado about Love #1) (18 page)

He shot Nicola an uncertain look. She shrugged.
I’m lost too
.

Isabelle frowned, impatient. “Direct actors. Give notes like that.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been in the RSF company for years, Isa. I don’t always just stand around and look pretty. Sometimes I pay attention to you.”

“Hmm.” Isabelle narrowed her eyes, then turned on one heel and started along the “forest” path toward the stage.

Max frowned and glanced over at Nicola.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But Isabelle is right. You’re good at this.”

He brightened and started down the path beside her.

Resisting the urge to reach for his hand took everything Nicola had as they walked together to the stage.
I need to figure out what I’m doing here
.

To be with Max or not to be? She gusted out a deep sigh.
That’s the question
.

W
hen Max wandered back
to rehearsal, Nicola in tow, Judith sent him a withering scowl. “Where were you?”

Isabelle piped up before he could answer. “I held them up talking about the school program next week. I’m sorry, Jude.”

Judith grimaced, perhaps annoyed that Isabelle had short-circuited her scolding. The director waved a dismissive hand and returned to working on scenes with the four lovers.

Isabelle poked Max, jabbing her nail into his arm. “Now you owe me, and you
have
to do the school program.”

“I said I would—”

“And you have to talk Lachlan into doing it. I want to show a fight scene. In costume. Armor.”

Max groaned. “
Isabelle
, that’s going to be a pain in the—”

She poked him again. “Don’t complain. Just do it.” As she walked away, she turned over her shoulder. “You’re in too, Nicola. I want you to perform a Titania and Bottom scene. You’re doing good work.” Isabelle left.

Max glanced over in time to catch the pole-axed expression on Nicola’s face.

She blinked. “Has Isabelle been taking new happy pills or something?”

“
No!
” Judith yelled at the young woman playing Hermia. “You’re crying too much. Start again. Focus on the
language
.”

Max guided Nicola by the arm around the corner of the stage to reach the house seats. He murmured, “If Isabelle’s got happy pills, I wish she’d share them with Judith.”

“No!”

Nicola jumped under his hand as Judith yelled, but the director was still focused on poor Hermia.

“Pull your ass in when you hug him, girl!” Judith yelled. “Jesus, are you trying to show your figure off? You
love
Lysander, you
want
him. Act like it!”

Nicola shot Max a mock pout. “Now I don’t feel special anymore.” She wet her lips and looked around, drew in a deep breath, then let it out. “Did you want to keep talking about…you know?”

His chest constricted as he glanced around. Isabelle was still there, and Judith. Lachlan. So many people. So many ears. The shady trees above had seemed like their own little world, but now, here, he was full of doubt again. He squeezed her hand, then let it go. “Later?”

A frown flashed over her face but then she nodded. “Yeah. Later works.” She gave him a quick, polite smile, then, with a small sway in her step, she waltzed to the back row of the theater to sit beside Lachlan.

Max fought the simmer of jealousy in his gut and stomped into the greenroom, where he wouldn’t have to watch Judith eviscerate the actors one by one. Or watch Nicola cozy up to Lachlan.

Through the ingrained habit of being an actor, he checked his phone. No calls from his agent, but his brother had texted him not five minutes ago:
Hey need to talk.

Succumbing to his already shitty mood, Max wrote,
If you want to give me crap about Nic, then skip it.

No,
Peter wrote after a few seconds. He had to be on break during filming. Peter never texted while working. It “distanced him from the character”.
Coming home for sure,
Peter wrote.
Told Mom. It’s official.

Max frowned at his phone.
Why is he telling me?
He typed,
OK…

I want to stay at the Bunkhouse.

Max stifled a groan.
What’s wrong with YOUR house, movie star?

I let the lease expire,
Peter wrote.
I’m always workin & the place was always empty.

Max rolled his eyes.
Stay at Mom’s house?

Peter texted back:
Ha.

And then:
Ha ha ha

And then,
Hahahahahaha hahahaha hahahaha hahahaha hahahahahahahaha hahaha haha haha hahaha hahaha hahahaha hahahaha hahahaha hahahahahaha hahahaha hahaha haha hahaha hahaha hahahaha haha hahaha hahahahaha…

Max wrote:
K. I get it. Bunkhouse has an empty room. What day are you flying in?

Dunno. I’ll get back to you or I’ll have the assistant call.

K.

Thx bro,
Peter wrote.

Yeah,
Max replied.

Don’t kiss Nicola! :-D Bye.

Asshole! :-D Bye.
Max chucked the phone into his bag.

What was it with people today? Was it Annoy Max Day? He could not
wait
for rehearsal to be over so he could get home and get away from
everyone
.

* * *

“
I
want
to invite everyone to drinks at the Bore’s Head tonight,” Judith said as she wrapped up rehearsal.

Max swallowed a frustrated howl even as the rest of the cast voiced appreciative murmurs.

“First drinks are on me,” Judith continued. “I don’t know at least half of you as well as I should like, and I want to remedy that. Get to know you all better.”

Free drinks to struggling actors were always welcome. Max could duck out, but if he did duck out, he could kiss
Henry V
good-bye. Judith’s cool gaze did not give the impression this evening out was optional.

“Does Judith realize she quoted Bilbo Baggins?” Nicola asked from beside him.

“What?” Max asked, still distracted with his bad mood—and also, suddenly, by the delicious smell of Nicola’s hair.

“‘I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like,’” Lachlan murmured beside Max. “‘And I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.’”

Max glanced at their new director. “I wouldn’t put it past her.” He sighed.
Once more unto the breach
… “Who wants a ride to the pub?”

* * *

O
n their way
to Max’s car, Nicola’s cell phone jangled with “Money, Money” from
Cabaret
. The ringtone for her agent. “Sorry, guys.” She fumbled her phone out, then stepped from the path, slightly apart from the others. “Hi, Willa. Long time no hear.”

“Hiya, hon, how’s tricks?” Nicola’s agent, Willa, had a throaty, Lauren Bacall sort of voice. In real life, she was a plump grandmother of three, but Nicola remained convinced Willa’s sex-siren voice was what made her such an effective wheeler and dealer. People wanted to get Willa on the phone simply to hear her talk.

“Things are all right,” Nicola started. “
Midsummer
is—”

“Good, good. Honey, I have got
fabulous
news.”

Bitterness flooded Nicola’s mouth as her adrenaline spiked. “A part?”

“The
Anything Goes
national tour. They want you to be one of Reno’s Angels.”

She frowned, trying to remember the musical and the breakdown of parts. “The Angels? Aren’t they just the female lead’s backup singers?”

“Yeah, but the producers want you to be the first swing for Hope Harcourt and second swing for Reno. The two female leads!”

Nicola sighed. “The understudy. I’m the
understudy
for the female leads.” She shouldn’t be so disappointed. Even being the
understudy
on a national tour was a big deal. Good money too. Playing Titania had spoiled her, though. She liked
having
the part,
being
the character. Returning to understudy work and the ensemble was going to be difficult. As an understudy, you got all the work and labor of perfecting the part, but you only got to perform it maybe once or twice. All the responsibility of being the star, none of the glory.

Willa must have sensed her non-enthusiasm. “Hon, understudy work leads to bigger things. You’re paying your dues. Getting polish and experience.”

“Yeah.” Nicola restrained another wistful sigh. “When does it start?”

“That’s the thing. They want you in rehearsals end of July at the latest.”

Nicola swallowed. “
Midsummer
doesn’t close until August.”

“But, hon, this is a great opportunity for you. A national tour!”

“I’ve already done
three
national tours.”

Willa kept talking as if Nicola hadn’t spoken, “I’m sure Isabelle Elton would let you go for
this
. Besides, the RSF hasn’t asked you to be in any of the shows for next season, have they?”

Blood pounded in Nicola’s temples, a pulsing ache. She rubbed her forehead. “Can I think about
Anything Goes
?”

“I can buy you maybe a week, but then they’ll want an answer.”

“All right.” She said good-bye and hung up, then stared at her phone with disgust. She’d wanted another job, been desperate for one. But
another
national tour? Ensemble and understudy work instead of a real, juicy part?

But it was insanity to say no. Actors don’t say no to work, that was gospel.

But there was also the question of Max.

“What’s up?” Max patted her shoulder, and her skin seemed to go
whee
at the contact, a dizzy sort of thrill.
Max
. If she accepted the tour job, then that was it for them.
Again
.

Did she want to run from Max? Leave him again? But, if she gave up the tour to be with him, wasn’t that the same problem all over again? Living his life instead of having her own?

“Nic?” He was frowning.

“Let’s go. I need a drink.”

* * *

N
icola looked strange to Max
, worried, but a pack of people surrounded them and his car was crowded not only with Nicola but also with Lachlan, Tierney, and the other Bunkhouse inmate, Abe Tully. As soon as they hit the Bore’s Head, the group scattered.

Despite Nicola’s protests, Tierney carried her away to some far corner. Max and Abe headed to the bar for drinks, and Lachlan made a beeline straight for the table where Judith was holding court with several of the young (male) members of the company. The chance to talk to Nicola alone had evaporated.

Abe watched Lachlan go, then wheeled to give Max a speculative glance. “Don’t you want to kiss the queen’s ring?” Abe nodded toward Judith.

Max grunted. “Later.”

Abe stepped up to the bar to procure his Judith-funded first drink, a Guinness. Max moved to stand beside him and ordered a drink for which he dropped his own money on the bar. Iced tea.

Abe curled his lip in disgust at Max’s drink and wandered to sit at a booth with some of the other older actors—character types, every mother’s son. Max scanned the crowd. Normally if he came to the bar, he’d be hanging out with either Lachlan—who was at that moment turning the full wattage of his charm on Judith—or Max would be sitting with Tierney. But Tierney had run off with Nicola, and Max didn’t think he’d be welcome crashing girl-time.

“Hullo, Max.”

He rolled sideways against the bar to face Isabelle, staring in surprise. “Hi, Isa. What brings you to the Bore?”

She shrugged and pulled a strand of wildly curling, red-gold hair away from her face. “Jude invited me. And I need a drink tonight.”

“Is it Rita? Have you heard—”

Isabelle patted his arm. “No, no. She’s fine. I talked to Quinn half an hour ago. Rita’s going home in another day. She’s making progress.”

Max shot her a sidelong glance. “Why does Madame Artistic Director need a drink, then? Should I be worried?”

Isabelle made a
tch
sound and shot him an
As if I’m going to tell you
look. Her drink came, and she took a long swallow, her eyes snapping closed as if she wanted to shut out the world.