A Midsummer Night's Fling (Much Ado about Love #1) (31 page)

“What,” Judith said, her voice still gratingly bright, “that you and I had a few drinks and got carried away?”

Nicola’s temper snapped, and she stormed over to Judith, getting right in the older woman’s face until she could smell the powder of her makeup, smell her cloying floral perfume. “You know what you did, Judith. To Lachlan and to Max.”

Judith scoffed. “Max? He’s just upset because I gave Henry V to Lachlan. Anything Max says is pure spite.”

“We both know you tried to get Max flat on his back on your fucking casting couch.”

“Oh dear.” Judith batted her lashes, a triumphant light in her eyes. “Max must be so confused. Not surprising considering how drunk he was the other night.”

“You’re a liar.”

Judith smirked. “I am also one of Isabelle’s oldest and dearest friends. Care to wager who she’ll believe?”

Nicola’s blood was zipping through her, her heart beating with the swift, sick rhythm of terror.
Judith is going to get away with this
.

Sudden movement over Judith’s shoulder caught Nicola’s eye: Isabelle easing through the costume shop door. Nicola looked away so Judith wouldn’t notice the direction of her gaze. But how much had Isabelle heard? Enough? Any of it?

Sick in her gut, Nicola made a small
be
quiet
motion at her side with her palm, hoping Isabelle understood the signal not to reveal herself yet. Hunching her shoulders, Nicola let her voice go bleak. “Please, Judith. Don’t.”

Lachlan surged forward. “
I’m
bloody well going to talk.”

Nicola held up her hand, pressing her palm against his chest to keep him back from Judith. “No, Lachlan. Please. For Max. And yourself. You know what she could do to you two.”

“To all of you,” Judith said, folding her arms. “Isabelle trusts me implicitly. It’s too late to get you lot booted from
Midsummer
, but I could tell her ‘Oh, I slept with Lachlan. Such a horrible mistake, Isabelle. I’m just not comfortable working with him again.’ And Max, well, I’m afraid he’s been drinking again, missing rehearsals or, better yet,
drunk
at rehearsals. Yes, that would do.” Judith’s mouth crimped, and she raked a contemptuous gaze over Nicola. “And you, well, you have no talent, and you obviously can’t do Shakespeare. ‘No, Isabelle, I don’t think we should cast that Nicola in anything ever again.’”

Nicola wet her lips.
Please let Isabelle still be there
. She didn’t dare look to check. “What do we have to do to avoid all that?”

Judith snorted. “Just keep your mouth shut.”

“Judith!” With her usual flair and timing, Isabelle walked in.

Judith whirled, and her face blanched white. “Isabelle, I—”

Isabelle’s dark eyes hardened like two chips of obsidian. “Get the fuck out of my theater.”

“I didn’t—”

“Get the fuck out, or I’ll let Lachlan throw you out.”

Judith wet her lips, like she planned to try again, but then with a pained look at Isabelle, Judith swept out of the dressing room. She tried to muster her usual queenly dignity for her exit, but only ended up looking stiff and scared instead.

Isabelle slammed the door behind Judith’s retreating back, then fell against the wood. “Shit.”

“How did you know to come?” Nicola asked.

“When Judith cleared the room, Tierney went to get me. I’ve been listening through the door for a bit. I’m so sorry I ever brought her here.”

The artistic director focused the laser beam of her attention on Lachlan, and her gaze seemed to drill into him until he shrank against the wall. “And I’m so sorry this happened to you, Lachlan. But I’m going to put the word out about her. I don’t know how effective that will be, but she’s for sure never working at the RSF again.”

Nicola jumped at the vehemence in Isabelle’s voice. “You really believe Max and Lachlan?”

Isabelle’s mouth curled in a hurt pout. “Of course I believe you guys. I heard everything she said to you, and Max doesn’t lie. I know he’s not drinking again. Anyway, just
look
at Lachlan.” She waved her hand up and down, no doubt alluding to his crumpled clothing, his ghastly pallor, his haunted eyes. “Lachlan, you’re a great actor. A true talent. But even you are not this good.” She shook her head. “I’m going to
eviscerate
Judith.”

“Good,” Lachlan murmured.

Isabelle brushed her fingertips over his arm. “Lach, I’m sorry, but after all this, I can’t let—
you
can’t play Henry.”

“I know.” Lachlan rubbed his palms into his eyes.

“All right,” Isabelle said, her voice throaty and low with rage. “Excuse me. I have to make sure that piece of trash is off my theater grounds.”

“Wow.” Nicola swallowed. “This
Midsummer
production really is cursed. We’re on our second Titania and our third director.” It was tech week. What on earth were they going to do?

That froze Isabelle in her tracks, and for one horrible second Nicola thought Isabelle was going to reconsider firing Judith.

Isabelle combed her fingers through her hair. “Damn. Who could we bring in to cover tech and previews? I need to start the search for a new
Henry V
director. We have our summer benefit coming up. I don’t have
time
for this.”

Nicola hesitated, then said, “I have a suggestion.”

J
udith had disappeared
, Nicola was closeted away with Lachlan, and Max was a full-fledged blond. Could his day get any worse?

After Lachlan barfed and Judith had cleared out the dressing room, no one had seen the director since. Which wasn’t great because they were still trying to do a full dress today, and that was difficult to do without a director. Max was worried about Lachlan too. And he was worried about what Lachlan had
done
.

While waiting for Max’s hair dye to set, or whatever you call it, Tierney had about chewed her fingers to bloody ends. Then, as soon as she could wash the dye out in the bathroom sink, she’d thrust Max’s head under the water.

Now Tierney had disappeared too in search of her mother, Judith, Lachlan, or
anyone
who could tell them what was going on.

Max would settle for anyone who could get rehearsal going. All the actors were sprawled in the audience chairs. The four fairy handmaidens sat in a row together, their newly pastel hair reminding him of a clutch of Easter eggs. Max rose from his own audience chair and jogged over to sit by Violet the stage manager.

She had her cell perched on the binder with all the script pages and notes, and her gaze kept flicking to the phone. Clearly, Violet had no news from on high either.

“Isn’t there anything we can do without Judith?” he asked her. “Practice the quick changes?”

“Not without Tierney and the costumes.”

“Practice moving the sets around? The Amazon fight?
Anything?
”

Violet grimaced. “Judith doesn’t want us running anything without her here to make notes.” Violet had been yet another victim of Judith’s temper, and maybe she didn’t want to risk the director’s wrath by acting without specific instructions. But this was ridiculous. They were burning daylight and money, and, most precious of all,
time
.

“What about a simple line-through? Judith couldn’t object to us all sitting in chairs and saying our lines, right?”

Violet hesitated an endless minute before she said, “All right.”

She called all the actors closer, clustering them together in the front rows, and the cast ran their lines from the top of the play. No performing, just rattling off lines at about twice the speed as usual, making sure people knew the words, knew their cues. Puck and Titania were absent, but Violet read their lines and everyone else was right on point with the dialogue.

They were two-thirds through the play when Isabelle appeared. Lachlan and Nicola trailed behind her and folded themselves into two empty chairs with the rest of the cast. Lachlan was subdued but less tragic looking. Nicola was grinning.

The actor playing Demetrius stopped mid-line at Isabelle’s entrance, and the rest of the cast stared at their artistic director with wide, worried eyes. Max swallowed, as uneasy as any of them.

“Uh-oh.” Abe shifted in his seat beside Max. “The big boss lady. This isn’t good.”

“Tell me about it,” Max whispered. “The last time our director disappeared and Isabelle came down to talk with us we ended up with Judith.”

“And if Judith is gone, then what dickhead are we gonna end up with next?” Abe murmured.

Isabelle pointed straight at Max, then crooked her finger. “Maxim, I need to talk to you.”

* * *

A
fter a quick talk
with Isabelle in the front, Max walked toward the theater doors, blood thudding in his ears like a staccato drumbeat. His mouth was dry, but his hands were clammy. The whole world was running slow, painful, some moments too loud, the next eerily silent. He pressed his palm flat to push the theater doors open. He watched Isabelle’s curls bounce as she walked ahead of him down the aisle and onstage.

I can’t believe this is happening
.

He watched Isabelle take the stage, watched her mouth move, watched her gesture to him. “—happy with our new director.”

Someone slammed into him from the side. “I’m so proud of you!” The scent of Nicola’s hair filled his senses, and her arms went around his waist. Her soft body crushed against him, and her cool mouth touched his. As if he were a prince waking from a poisoned sleep, the world seemed to reorient itself. Time moved at its normal pace, but he still clasped Nicola close, a talisman against harm as the rest of the cast poured out of their chairs, some to shake hands with him, some to slap his back.

Lachlan muscled forward and gripped his hand, offering an apologetic grin. “You’ll be brilliant, mate. Absolutely brilliant.”

“It’s only for tech and previews.” Max fluffed his fingers through his newly blond hair, causing a wave of chemical smell to filter down to his nose from the disturbed follicles. His gut clenched, maybe from the chemical smell or maybe from fear.
The director. I am the fucking director
.

“What is Isabelle thinking?” Max muttered.

“Hey. None of that.” Nicola squeezed his waist. “It’s game on, Maxim. It’s go time. You don’t have the luxury of choking. We all need you too much.” She beamed at him, so sunny, so happy, so damn proud, it was impossible for his fear to maintain a toehold.

He gave her one last squeeze—
just cuz
—then let her go and clapped his hands to gain order. “All right, everyone. Violet, how much time do we have left today?”

“Four hours.”

He pointed at Tierney. “Tee, how soon can we do the costume parade?”

“An hour?” she said.

“Forty-five minutes?” he countered.

Tierney narrowed her eyes. “Fine. Fairies, rally to me!” Cackling merrily, Tierney thrust her cigarette pack into the air and led the fairy handmaidens and Lachlan out of the theater like a charging army.

“Tell Tee I’ll be along to change once everyone else has their assignments?” Max said to Nicola.

“Affirmative.” Nicola kissed his cheek, then bolted after the other fairies.

Max rubbed his palms together. “All right, Vi, let me at those production notes.”

* * *

I
t didn’t take
Tierney and the cast forty-five minutes to get all their costumes together and ready for his directorial perusal.

It took them thirty.

The cast seemed more energized for the production than they had in weeks. People were laughing again, hustling to get things done. It was just the sort of momentum they needed when heading into dress rehearsals and tech week.

Tierney led the costume parade, which was when all the characters got into their costumes, makeup, and hair for the first time and stood onstage altogether under the lights. This was to make sure all the outfits went together, the fabrics, the color palettes. You wanted it to feel like all the characters were from the same world, that none of the colors clashed, that the textures were right.

As far as Max was concerned, the costume parade was a formality. Tierney had knocked this one out of the park. There were three distinct groups in the play: the otherworldly fairies, the aristocratic lovers, and the working class “rude mechanicals” led by Bottom.

In her designs, Tierney had gone with a Greco-Roman aesthetic, but within that she had given each group their own distinct look—a lover would never wear one of the ragged costumes designed for the mechanicals, for instance—and yet all the characters were still inhabiting the same world.

Where she’d outdone herself, though, was in the fairies. All four of the actresses playing Titania’s handmaidens now had soft, pastel-colored hair of various shades—a soft lilac for Cobweb; an icy, silvery blue for Moth; a peachy orange for Mustardseed; and a soft blend of pale green, blue, and violet for Peaseblossom. Elaborate headdresses of flowers and feathers, twigs and seashells crowned their heads.

Their costumes were also a tactile delight of texture, some with scaled black leather, some with shredded silk pieces. One had an amazing corset that looked like wood. The most incredible, though, was Moth’s. Somehow, with clear sea glass beads knit with wire, Tierney had fashioned a dress that actually seemed made of water droplets for the Moth character.

Max stood onstage with his fairy court and had Violet take pictures with the digital camera because, of course, he couldn’t really see what he looked like with the rest of them. He glanced around. “Where’s Nic?” He slipped into Oberon voice, “Where is my fairy queen?”

Tierney gave him a Cheshire cat smirk. “Best for last, Maxim. You’ve already seen the dress of the dawn, so I thought we’d start with Titania’s twilight look.
Nicola!
”

Nicola emerged, looking like the beauty of a starlit sky made flesh. Staring at her, Max had a hard time catching his breath. The long sheathe of her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders. Her feet were bare, which struck
him
as incredibly erotic. The dress was a Grecian style like her other with a low front and a lower back, and the straps pinned at her shoulders—this time with two glittering diamond-like brooches—but the fabric of this one was inky, dark, like starlight in the night draped over her skin. A hundred winking crystals on the fabric shone with her every movement, making her pale, perfect skin glow like a rich pearl.

As Nicola walked toward him, her mouth curved with pleasure, and he distantly heard Tierney say, “My whole concept for you two was the sun and the sky. Like in old mythology where the sun and the sky are the first man and woman. Always fighting and making babies. Making love. Perfect for Titania and Oberon. Max, you’re the sun—obviously with that yellow head—and Nicola is the sky.”

The sky, the stars, the sun, the moon. True north
. Everything to him.
Always
. He blinked and shook his head.
Wow, Fiesengerke. Don’t get carried away.

It was a damn fine dress, though. Nicola stopped right in front of him, and he ached for her, stifled by his armor and tunic and cape. He wanted to lay her back on the stage and make love to her all night. No one but them, the crickets, and a scandalized moon.

“Show him the hair,” Tierney called.

Nicola made a little twist of her mouth. “Tierney and I aren’t sure how this will work. It might be distracting during a scene.” She slid her hands up her neck into her hair, making her breasts thrust against the sheer fabric of her dress. Max swallowed.

Small lights began to wink and dance in her hair, like fireflies had nestled themselves in her dark curls. The effect was charming and magical all at once. “How are you doing that?” he asked.

“Tierney found these LED lights for hair. I think they’re for raver kids, but no reason a fairy queen can’t use them, right?”

He cupped the back of her neck. “You look amazing, Nicci.”

She reached toward him.

“Um, Max, do you want a picture of all the fairies together?” Violet said.

“Right. Yes. Of course.” He drew himself up, trying to stand tall. Like a director. Like a fairy king.
Yeah
.

Nicola—
curse her
—giggled.

“Quiet you,” he muttered.

“The director has
spoken
,” she said in a gruff voice.

And then everyone was giggling.

* * *

N
icola skipped
backstage to put on the dawn outfit to make sure it jibed with the other fairy looks. While she changed, Max perused the rude mechanicals’ clothes. Everything was perfect, right on track. “Good job, Tee,” he called.