by Adele Buck
The production’s two assistant stage managers, Trey and Denise, stood by to wheel in a representation of Central Park’s Umpire Rock for the next scene. Freddie hadn’t had too much of a chance to learn anything more about them than their names, but they seemed on the ball and competent. Also, to her relief, they seemed happy to have someone in the stage manager’s chair again. It would have really sucked to have one of them gunning for the top job and then have to work for her instead.
Checking the time, she waited until the cast ran through the number one more time and caught Michael’s eye. “Time for a fifteen-minute break, Michael.”
“Thanks, Freddie. Fifteen, everyone.”
The cast wandered off to check their phones, use the facilities, and do whatever else actors did during their short, union-mandated breaks. Michael strolled over to Freddie, who rose and stretched her arms above her head.
“Going well so far,” he said.
Freddie nodded. “You weren’t kidding about Candace, though.”
Michael sighed. “Yeah. I’ve been waiting for the day Susan rips her pretty red hair right off her head, but so far Susan has been pretending like she doesn’t hear half the stuff Candace says. It probably helps that Candace, despite not being able to perceive it, isn’t well liked by the rest of the cast.”
“Yeah, I caught that too.”
“And after only half a day.”
“She’s not subtle and the rest of the cast doesn’t have to be since she’s not paying attention.”
“That’s the other thing. I think Susan can ignore Candace because she’s really not that bright. Candace hits one and a half notes in her sniping, basically boiling down to the fact that Susan is older than she is and to Candace, ‘older’ is tantamount to ‘washed up.’”
“It takes a special sort of person to think they’re immune to the aging process.” Freddie shook her head.
Lines fanned out from Michael’s eyes as he smiled. “Truth.”
Freddie’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She didn’t even try to suppress a smile at the text that was on her screen.
James Martin: Think I found an apartment. Would like you to see it. You free after work?
Chapter 8
Freddie turned in the center of the large room, her mouth an “O.” James bit back a smile, glancing from Freddie to Stacey, his realtor. The woman had dragged him over what felt like half of Manhattan in a ridiculously short span of time and he felt a bit smug that he had dragged her right back to the first apartment they had looked at.
“So, what do you think?” he said.
Freddie’s large, dark eyes swiveled to him as she finished the circuit of the room. “You’re serious?”
“Serious about this place? Yeah. What do you think?”
Continuing to look around the room, Freddie settled her hands on her hips. “I think your big talk about job insecurity seems a bit bullshit now. My entire place could fit in this room alone.” Freddie gestured at the expanse of living space, which was intended to hold a living and dining area. “You even have a view.” She waved at the windows, which looked over a pocket park.
“It’s actually the smallest of the apartments he looked at,” Stacey said, clipping her lips together when James shot her a quelling look.
“And you could afford all of them?” Freddie’s eyes bore through James.
“Well, not all at once.” His joke landed with a thud on the parquet floor as Freddie continued to glare.
“So, why this one?” She glanced at the realtor, but the other woman seemed to have gotten the message that she wasn’t to be a part of this conversation and was examining something on her phone with exaggerated care.
James shrugged. “I like the neighborhood.”
Freddie’s lips folded into her mouth and she stepped closer to James. “It’s five blocks from my place,” she said, pitching her voice low and darting her eyes at the realtor, who was still acting as if she wasn’t eavesdropping.
“And that’s a bad thing?” James fought to keep his voice light, his stance easy. Why was she fighting him on this? He’d hoped she would be pleased.
Waving a hand in the space in between the two of them she hissed, “What if this… doesn’t work? Am I going to run into you at the corner store? The subway? Or don’t rich television stars take the subway or say hi to bodega cats?”
James captured the flapping hand, folding his own around it. “Fred. Calm down. Why are you so sure we’re not going to work?”
“Well, it’s still early…” Her face flooded with color, but she didn’t pull her hand away.
“Come on and look at the bedroom,” he said, tugging her to the door. Pulling her through after him, he looked back and gave her what he hoped was an encouraging grin. “Check it out,” he said. “Corner apartment, south and east facing windows. We can catch the sunrise.”
“You always were an early bird.” Freddie made a face.
“And you like to sleep in. But that’s what blinds are for.”
“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”
Trapped. Why did she feel so trapped by this? New York was big enough for the two of them, even if James was thinking of renting an apartment so near hers—or was he buying? Freddie had no idea how these things worked for people whose finances weren’t so… day to day, week to week, paycheck to paycheck.
James had moved away and was leaning against the wall. She could envision a king-size bed standing against that wall, facing the south windows. Prowling around the room, she stuck her head into the en-suite bathroom. It wasn’t as huge as the rest of the rooms she had seen, but it had been renovated recently, with a big glassed-in shower and modern tile. She could picture James in this apartment, see him filling the space with his broad shoulders and long stride. See him enjoying the sunrise in tumbled bedsheets.
But could she see herself there too? Even as a visitor?
“This is… quite the setup,” Freddie finally said, peering into the closet. “Closet space… a Manhattan miracle.”
“Come see the kitchen. It’ll bring you back down to Earth.” James interlaced his fingers with hers again and tugged her to the galley kitchen off the large living space. Though small, it too had been renovated recently, boasting gleaming appliances and marble countertops. The backsplash behind the enameled sink was outfitted with gleaming, white subway tile. Sleek, dark cabinetry complemented the airy lightness of the counters, walls, and flooring.
“Dude. A kitchen outfitted like this is hardly slumming it,” Freddie said, trailing her fingertips along the cool marble counters.
“It’s minuscule. I learned how to cook in L.A. I’m pretty good now and I like doing it. I wouldn’t know how to cope in a tiny space like this.” Truth to tell, he did fill it up. And the smile that spread across his face seemed to expand his presence further.
“Get with the New York story, big guy.” Freddie jabbed a finger into the center of his chest. “This kitchen would probably make that food writer at the Times salivate with envy. You have plenty of room.”
“True. I mean, you’re in here with me and I don’t feel crowded.” James grabbed the hand digging into his sternum and tugged her close, his body radiating heat and his face beaming down at her with quiet humor.
“That’s because I’m minuscule too.”
“All the more reason for me to get this place. You fit.”
Freddie set her open palm on his chest, feeling like she was trying to hold up a brick wall. “You have to want this place for you. We split up before. It could happen again.”
The humor went out of James’ eyes and he looked down at her with solemn intensity. “I like this place. It suits me. And I know I asked for too much too soon two years ago. But I’m committed to taking my time and getting this right. I won’t press you.”
“Okay, then.” She closed her eyes and tried to quiet her racing mind.
“But.” Freddie’s eyes flew back up to his face at the sound of his voice. “You
’re right about something—this place feels right for me. It fits. And so do you.”
Time for a change of scenery. “What do you say to another date?” James asked.
“Are we going to have a date every day at this point?” Freddie’s eyes crinkled with repressed humor and James felt something in his chest ease. In hindsight, maybe this whole scene was a bit too intense. Not just the apartment near her, but including her in the decision.
“Well, you’re going to go into production soon, and with my schedule, I don’t know how many daytime hours I’ll have free. If my show takes a turn for the dark and gritty, we may have more night shoots, and be free when you are, but I can’t count on it. It might be difficult to find time to see each other in a few weeks. We might as well make the most of our compatible hours while we can.”
“Yet again, you have an answer for everything. Do you need to give your real estate broker an answer now?”
“And you have a question for everything. No. I think I can sleep on this.” James left her to open and close cabinet doors and walked back to the living area where Stacey was checking something on her phone.
“Come to a decision yet?” The woman’s bright red lipstick stretched into a fake smile that didn’t meet her eyes.
James tilted his head and extended a hand. “Not yet. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
Stacey shook hands solemnly. “This could get snapped up by then. If you really want it, you should move on it.”
James reviewed what he knew about the listing. It had been on the market for a month. “I’ll take that chance and call you tomorrow.”
“Does the girlfriend not like it?” The artificial smile transformed into an equally artificial moue of disapproval, her eyes looking over his shoulder, seeking Freddie. James glanced back, but Freddie still hadn’t emerged from the kitchen.
“No, she likes it fine.” James hoped their low-voiced conversation wasn’t carrying to Freddie’s ears, but was resigned to the fact that the empty space virtually echoed and sound carried easily, bouncing off of hardwood floors and plaster walls. “We just need a chance to talk.”
“Well then.” Stacey stuffed her phone into an expensive-looking leather tote and gestured toward the door. “We’ll call it a day then.”
Collecting Freddie as they passed the kitchen, the trio exited the apartment. After riding down together in the elevator, she stuck out her hand and James shook it. “I’ll be looking forward to your call tomorrow. Nice to meet you, Ms. Alves.” Turning on her heel, she walked out of the building and down the street.
“Well that ordeal is over for now,” James said.
“Ordeal? Really?” Freddie’s eyebrows lifted as she turned to him. “Looking at a bunch of shiny new apartments, all of which you could afford to move into tomorrow?”
“Well, my furniture doesn’t arrive for at least another three days. But yes,” he said, raising his hands at her skeptical expression. “Sure, it’s fun at first, then it’s exhausting. There are a lot of variables to consider. It’s overwhelming to try to balance them all. It’s a huge decision to make.”
Freddie’s expression softened, her dark eyes glowing. “Fine. So. A date. Where do we want to go?”
“Well, I’d ask you if you wanted to get Portuguese food, but you’re a total pain in the ass about it.”
She grinned. “Nobody cooks like my ma.”
He rubbed his belly. “I know. So, I noticed a little Italian place around the corner. It smelled good, too.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Freddie could smell the restaurant before they rounded the corner. “Did you say it smelled good?” she said, her voice rising to a squeak on the last word.
James turned to her, eyebrows crimping together. “You don’t like?”
Inhaling deeply, Freddie shook her head. “That doesn’t smell good. It smells amazing.” Garlic, tomatoes, and…oh, God. Yeast. Did this place make its own bread too? The mix of smells just about made her lightheaded and she realized how long it had been since her hastily scarfed lunch during today’s rehearsal.
James’ white teeth flashed and his face relaxed again. “Yeah, I thought you’d like it. Another reason to consider moving into the neighborhood, you know?”
“How did I not know about this place?” she murmured as he opened the rough wooden door and the rush of aromas intensified, making her mouth water. The place was tiny, but only half full on a Monday, with an open kitchen in the back and exposed brick walls lined with shelves full of wine bottles. She and James were waved to a table in front of a plate glass window that looked out onto the street and she sat, receiving a menu in a daze.
“You really didn’t know this place was here?” James asked.
“Nope.” She gulped down water and scanned the menu, thinking about her usual routines. “The subway I usually use is in the opposite direction, the bodega I usually go to is around the corner from my place, and…” She trailed off, thinking about how un-adventurous she sounded.
“And Manhattan is a checkerboard of incredibly tiny villages.” James grabbed a piece of focaccia out of the basket between them and dipped it into a plate of olive oil, taking a bite and chewing.
“True.” His observation made her feel a bit less pathetic and she followed his example, tearing off a piece of fresh, chewy bread and dredging it in the oil, which had fresh parmesan shaved into it. Popping it into her mouth, she closed her eyes and repressed a moan as she ate. “This is amazing.” The focaccia had a springy bite, with rosemary and salt blending with the mellow olive oil and pungent cheese. “I could make a meal of this alone.”
Opening her eyes, she saw that James was looking at her with a familiar expression. He could make a meal of her, if the black pupils spreading across his dark brown irises were anything to go by. She nearly choked as the look sent a bolt of heat straight through her, causing her knees to involuntarily clamp together, lust pulsing between her legs.
James coughed and lowered his eyes to his menu. “So. Anything look good to you?” His normally modulated, deep voice sounded strained.
Freddie looked down and tried to focus on the long, single sheet of heavy paper in front of her. “Um. Pasta puttanesca?” She swallowed, her own throat tight, her words coming out in a sort of strangled squeak. “What about you?”
“Pork,” he said, and Freddie suppressed a juvenile giggle at the double entendre. Suddenly, everything was about sex.
“So…” Freddie placed her menu to one side of her place setting and raised her eyes to James’ face, trying to think of a casual way to frame her next question. “How long are we going to…date before…” She picked up her water glass and took a sip.
“Before falling back into bed with each other?” James’ expression was wry as he shuffled their menus together.
Freddie choked. So much for casual. She gulped some ice water, hoping to cool the burning in her cheeks. No luck. “Um.”
James leaned toward her, his forearms on the table. “Is this the woman who told me in no uncertain terms that she wanted to come on my face? Why so shy now?”
The warmth in Freddie’s cheeks fanned to a blaze and her eyes darted around the restaurant. “Shh.”
“Nah.” James leaned back and regarded her with a heavy-lidded gaze. “It’s too soon if you’re all shy again.”
Freddie was really almost too cute to tease this way.
Almost.
James watched her gulp water as if her face was a five-alarm fire that she needed to quench. Which it was. Of course, looking at her flushed face reminded him of how the flush would spread lower, across her chest when she was aroused. The memory made him shift uncomfortably. His chair felt too hard, her eyes too accusing.
Freddie set down her water glass. “So,” she said with quiet deliberation. “What’s next?”
“Next?”
She gaze held his. “Yeah, big guy. You’re the man with the plan. What’s next?”
James blinked. Freddie’s big eyes
were solemn, with none of the humor that they usually contained. The waiter came, giving him cover for his confusion as they ordered.
What was next?
What was the signal that told him that they were ready to move to the next step—or move back to the step they’d just vacated?
And glancing back at Freddie, who seemed to be gathering herself for battle, why was it up to him?
Raising his hands preemptively, James nearly laughed with relief when the waiter appeared again with the bottle of wine he had ordered. Ignoring Freddie’s thwarted glare, he nodded at the waiter and proffered the taste he poured to Freddie, rather than trying it himself.
Her expression said, Nice try, buddy. But she sipped and nodded and waited while the man poured out for both of them.
Left alone with their wine, Freddie continued to look at him. “Well?”
“Why is this up to me?”
“Like I said, you’re the guy who had the bright idea.”
“Aren’t we in this together?”
“That’s a cop-out and you know it.” Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t have a plan, do you?”
James set his glass down and rubbed his fingertips over his lips. “No,” he said. “It seemed like a good idea to take a step back, but I don’t know what the sign for a step forward looks like. But does anyone ever have a good answer for that one? Did we have a good answer two years ago?”
Freddie appeared to consider this. “I guess not. It just seems… so weird. Artificial in some way.”
Nodding, James reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “Yeah. It is. But we’re not fighting, either.”
“It’s not because…” Freddie looked past him, as if she couldn’t look him in the eye.
“Because what?”
“Because you don’t want me that way anymore?” The words came out in a rush, as if they had been dammed up inside her and the merest chink in her defenses had broken down an entire wall.