Prince of the Playhouse (7 page)

That would be fun to see.
Ru turned toward him and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do you think you’re having so much trouble?”

He shrugged, then looked up at Ru as though to see if he cared. “I’m not really an actor. I mean, I’ve got little training. I made one film and it hit big. It’s been a roller coaster ever since.” He flicked a spool of thread across the table. “I work with a coach and try to take classes, but fuck. I film sixteen hours a day pretty much the whole year. I haven’t had a whole day off in months.”

“Jesus, you don’t make it sound very glamorous.”

“Trust me, it’s not. I took this fucking part out of the worst kind of hubris. Believing my own damned PR. Now I get the karma of that. The whole world will know I’m a fraud.”

“Fuck if you’re a fraud!”

Gray looked up with wide eyes.

“I’ve been watching your films for years. Okay, we ain’t talkin’ Tennessee Williams here, but what you do is wildly entertaining, commanding, gripping, and nobody does it better.”

“Shit, man, that’s the nicest thing anyone ever said to me.”

“You don’t have to fail at this either. I’ll admit you’re not looking good right now.” He grinned to soften the criticism. “But you can get it. You just need to find the reality in all those fancy words.”

“How am I going to do that? I really am trying.”

“Don’t you have a coach?”

“Yeah, but she’s used to working with real actors. She talks over my head.”

Ru sat opposite Gray. “Think about it. This dude is blabbing about killing himself. Haven’t you ever thought of doing that? Like, either killing yourself to make all the shit and pain stop, or maybe killing yourself to keep from killing someone else.”

Silence.

Ru looked up at Gray, who stared at him with an open mouth. Suddenly he nodded. “Hell yes, I have. That makes sense to me.”

“That’s what he’s doing. He’s just saying how much easier it is to off yourself than to suffer the slings and arrows of all the idiots and their lies and demands. But if you kill yourself, are you giving up—what? Like heaven, or enlightenment? See, Hamlet probably kind of believed in God, but even if you don’t, you could kill yourself and be missing out on something really good that life has waiting. So it’s a tough one.”

Gray flopped back in his chair. “How do you know this shit?”

Ru stared at his perfect manicure. “Been there and done that, darling.”

“Jesus.” He blew out breath like a horse. “So will you help me?”

“Me? How?”

“Run me through lines, tell me when I suck. Most of all, tell me what the shit means in the real world.”

Oh Jesus, oh Jesus.
Like somebody just offered an addict his drug of choice. He took a breath.
Don’t forget, this dude is a nearly married man, and they call that masochism.
“God, I’d love to, but I have two collections to finish designing.”

“What if I helped?”

Ru grinned. “You sew?”

“No, but I sure as fuck know a lot of people who do from the costumers on my films. I could get a bunch of great sewing people who could take your drawings and turn them into clothes. You’d be hands-free, baby. Then you could help me. Does that work?”

“There are people a lot more qualified than I am to help you.”

“No, actually, there aren’t. You just explained that damned soliloquy better in a few minutes than anyone else has in days and weeks. If you’re willing, I’ll do anything I can to get your help.”

Welcome to S&M world.
He smiled. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Man, that’s the best thing I’ve heard this week.” Gray tipped so far back on his chair he should have fallen on his ass, but apparently gravity did not apply to superstars. He flopped forward with a crash of chair legs. “When can we start? Now?”

“Uh, no. I have to go to my day job.”

“Tonight?”

Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
“Okay, tonight.”

“Is your place okay? I’ll bring dinner.” He stopped and got that different Gray expression. The unsure one. “Uh, maybe you have a, uh, boyfriend or something who isn’t going to want me there. We could work at my hotel. It’s nice.”

“No boyfriend—or something. My place is fine.”

“That’s great. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Was he really sitting here listening to the biggest movie star on the planet express gratitude to him?
Fantasyland, darling. Clearly fantasyland.

A half hour later, Ru stepped into the front door of Shazam after his short walk from the Playhouse. The beautiful building, remodeled by Billy Ballew, Shaz’s husband, glowed all around him. A skylight in the reception area let in sunshine that warmed the slate floors, while a trickling fountain complemented the soft, piped-in classical music, and plants and flowers softened the modern décor. He loved it. And there to the right stood the door that would lead to Ru Maitland Designs—or it would as soon as Ru had the money and customers to support his own business. Shaz wanted to give it to him, but not happening. Shaz had made it on his own, and so would Ru. Sure, he’d take help, but he wanted to build his own company. The play would be a big boost. He swallowed. So would a connection with the soon-to-be-wife of Gray Anson.
Shit.

The door into the studio opened, and Bitzie Freeland backed out, juggling a pitcher of water and a stack of toilet paper. Bitzie had replaced Millicent, who became one of Shaz’s junior stylists.

“Let me help.” Ru hurried over and retrieved the rolls from under Bitzie’s neck.

“Thanks, Ru. Restocking the guest bathroom. He’s looking for you.”

He set the paper on her desk. “On my way.”

The studio opened into a large space divided into functions—hair, makeup, wardrobe, accessories, and the dressing and fitting lounge where clients hung out. Shaz’s voice spilled from the lounge. “It’s perfect, darling. This is the style the world’s been waiting for.”

Ru walked in just in time to see Edie Hershey, one of the biggest stars ever to shine in Nashville, spin forward looking like she’d never seen a trailer park. A formfitting gown of silver paillettes shimmered, framing her sleek, beige-blonde hair, which curled on her shoulders without taking over the planet.
What a transformation.

She grinned at Ru. “Whaddaya think, dollface? Can I fool ’em into believing I’m a lady instead of an overpriced white trash filly from the back of beyond?”

“Ma’am, I think they’ll genuflect and make you queen.” He laughed and gave her a sweeping bow.

“Well, dayum, I know why you pay him the big bucks, Shaz.”

Shaz gave Ru a kiss on the cheek. “Hi, darling. I need your incomparable eye on this gown.”

Ru stepped back. “Maybe a tiny bit tighter in the hips so it emphasizes the flare. I’ll tell James.”

Shaz helped Edie down from the platform. She smiled at Ru. “So Shaz tells me you’ve been hanging with Mr. Hot Bod Action Hero himself.”

Ru ducked his head. “Not exactly hanging, but yes, he’s in the show I’m designing. You know him?”

“Just met him a couple times. He’s pretty popular in the good ole boy crowd, so he comes to Nashville and Texas and those parts from time to time for parties and such. Quite a contradiction, isn’t he?”

He glanced up and met her bright, smart-as-a-whip blue eyes. “What do you mean?”

“One minute he’s confident as a circus clown on stilts, the next he’s lookin’ like somebody threw him in deep water and let in the sharks. You notice that?”

“Yes. Actually I have.”

“I’m guessin’ that boy’s had too much too soon and hasn’t had a chance to make his own choices. I mean, he may earn an oil gusher or so a year, but he’s still a young’un.”

Ru grinned. “You do have a way with words, dear.”

“Hey, a man like you could teach him a thing or two about the world, I’m betting.”

“I’m younger than he is.”

“Well, yeah, but then there’s young and young. You’ve made all your own choices would be my bet.”

He inclined his head with a smile. “Why would someone like Gray Anson need my help?”

“You tell me, darlin’.” She grinned and swept out of the room into the dressing stalls.

Shaz sidled over and said softly, “How did the day go, dear?”

Ru glanced at his feet.

“Tell Shazzy Wazzy.”

He pitched his voice low too. “Gray wants to give me a team of Hollywood seamstresses to help with my collection.”

“Shitfire, darling, have you been doing blowjobs in the costume department?”

Ru flashed him a grimace. “You’re only half kidding, I know. But apparently I helped him understand Hamlet, and he wants me to coach him on his performance.”

“Uhh, Ru Maitland, boy drama instructor?”

“I know. I told him I’m not qualified. Anyway, he’s delivering the seamstresses tomorrow, and I agreed to help him.”

“When?”

“Uh, tonight.”

“You sure this isn’t just a ruse to get you alone?”

“I can only wish.”

Shaz snorted as Edie emerged in her next outfit. He put a hand on Ru’s arm. “Just be careful, darling. Men that famous have too much to lose to be reliable.”

The phone in Ru’s pocket buzzed. He stepped away and answered while Shaz worked with Edie. “Maitland.”

“Mr. Maitland, this is Officer Cantrell at the Laguna Beach police department. I’m calling for Chief of Police Kincaid. She’s wondering if you could come in this afternoon and answer a few more questions about the robbery you were involved in?”

“Uh, well, I was the victim, so I’m not sure ‘involved’ is quite the right word.”

The young officer sounded embarrassed. “Sorry, that’s what I meant. The robbery in which you were a victim.”

Ru frowned. “Can you tell me what it’s about? I’m pretty busy.”

“No, sir. She didn’t say. Just asked if you could come in?”

His stomach flipped. “Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you. Same place you came last time.”

“I assumed.” He hung up.

“Everything okay, darling?” Shaz stood adjusting a shawl on Edie.

“Uh, yes. Fine. I was, uh, witness to a crime, and the police want me to come in and answer some questions.”

Edie said, “Oooh, that’s exciting. What kind of crime?”

“Robbery.”

“Hey, now you’re talkin’ my kind of folks.”

Shaz frowned. “You never told me.”

“In all the excitement about the play, I guess I forgot.”

“Gray Anson could make me forget my own mother.” Edie bellowed her laugh.

Ru pointed toward the door. “Okay if I leave for a while?”

“Darling, how often must I say I’m not your boss? Of course, it’s fine.”

He kissed Edie good-bye and left the coziness of Shazam for an uncomfortable walk to the police department three blocks away. What the hell could they want with him?

It didn’t take nearly enough time to get there. He stepped up to the desk in the lobby, where a young female police officer was tapping on a computer. “Excuse me. I’m Ru Maitland.”

“Oh, hi. I’m the person who called you. Apologies for the bad choice of words.” She smiled, which brightened her plain face. “Come with me.”

She led him back to a room that might have been a conference room—or maybe something a tad more sinister like an interrogation room. The last time, he’d simply sat in front of Officer Johns’s desk.
Hmm. Escalation.
“She’ll be right with you.”

A few minutes of fidgeting later, Kincaid walked in. He’d met her briefly during his questioning on his previous cop trip—stocky, forties, sandy-brown hair, and a pleasant but not-messing-around manner. “Thanks for coming in on such short notice, Mr. Maitland.”

“Certainly. What’s going on?”

She sat opposite him at the table. “The man you said tried to rob you—Gary Fogarty—has been let out on bail.”

Ru’s eyebrows tried to cover his eyes. “You do know he attempted armed robbery, right? What’s to keep him from doing it again?”

“He was released into the custody of his lawyer.” She looked up from the papers in front of her. “We had insufficient evidence to establish armed robbery. We couldn’t hold him.”

“You have the knife.”

She nodded. “But there are as many of your prints on the knife as his. His lawyer claims that you two have history and simply got into an altercation on the street. He says the knife was yours.”

“Well, shit, I never saw the bastard before in my life.”

“I don’t suppose you can prove that? Or prove that he threatened you? Officer Johns has combed the neighborhood looking for witnesses but hasn’t found any. Did any cars drive by, do you remember?”

He shook his head. “No. That’s such a steep side street, not many cars use it.” He tamped down the knot in his gut. “What does his lawyer mean about history? I walked up that street and the guy followed me. End of story.”

“He maintains you and Fogarty knew each other previously. Fogarty says you saw him, attacked him, then called the police and made up the story.”

“It’s just not true.”

“Well, unless you can prove you didn’t know each other, it’s likely to end up a case of ‘he said, he said.’ You weren’t hurt. Barely even dirty, as I recall. So whatever happened, you got the best of it. For the moment we’ll leave it at that.” She rose.

Ru stood as well. “What exactly were you expecting me to say?”

“I simply wanted to know if you’d ever met Fogarty in the past. I have your answer. Thank you for coming in.” She didn’t smile.

Neither did Ru.

GRAY PULLED
on a hoodie over his T-shirt and glanced in the closet mirror. Benson swore he was going to get shot as a gang member someday, but hell, he hated disguises, and arriving at Ru Maitland’s in a wig and phony mustache was too lame to contemplate. Hell, going anywhere near Ru Maitland on purpose was too dumb to contemplate, but Gray hadn’t lied. Somehow Ru made the story of Hamlet come alive for him. Maybe, just maybe, Ru could help him not suck totally at this ridiculous enterprise.

“Darling, Mommy and Daddy really want to take us to dinner tonight.”

Gray walked out of the closet and faced Penelope, who leaned back, decorating the king-size bed. Yes, she was beautiful and smart, but why the fuck did she pose her way through life?
Look who’s talking.
He shook his head. “Sorry, but I’ve got to do this. It’s important. I don’t want to bomb on this performance, seriously.”