To the Moon and Back

by Melissa Brayden

  Lauren grinned. “I just…wanted to. Oh, man. I’m going to regret that tomorrow, aren’t I?”

  Carly backed up down the walk a few steps, her lips still pleasantly buzzing. “I think this is when we wait and find out.” She pointed at Lauren. “Drink some water. Pop a couple Advil, and I’ll see you at rehearsal.”

  Chapter Four

  What the hell had she done? That was the question of the day, and it played over and over in Lauren’s brain from the second she opened her eyes the next morning. Her head throbbed like someone was beating a bass drum inside her skull, but she couldn’t pay that any attention, because somehow she’d kissed Carly Daniel on the steps of her home, and if her memory served correctly, it had been really, really good.

  “Lauren, are we going from act one, scene three, or are we starting at the top?”

  She blinked, not at all thinking about a pair of full, kissable lips beneath hers that never should have been there. Trip was speaking to her. Had it been important? She had no clue because she was too busy reliving a kissing scene from a movie starring Carly Daniel, only it wasn’t a movie. It was her own life. “I’m sorry. What?”

  “Rehearsal setup? We go in half an hour, and I was double-checking where Ethan wanted to begin. Did you chat with him?”

  “Oh. Yes, top of the show. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. You in there? You need a Red Bull or twelve?” He touched her shoulder lightly as he passed.

  She laughed ruefully. “I’ll take the twelve. Just a crazy weekend.”

  “Oh, right. The Carly thing. Wow.”

  She froze. How in the hell did Trip know about Carly? There was only one explanation, which of course she should have anticipated. Carly had told someone in the company, maybe multiple someones, forever tainting Lauren’s stellar reputation as a professional in the field. Stage managers didn’t engage with actors currently in their shows. That was just basic.

  Trembling slightly, she turned around and faced Trip as he arranged the rehearsal furniture for the top of act 1 to simulate gate nineteen at the airport. “It was a passing moment. That’s all. I don’t even know how it got to…that. It never should have.”

  “Oh, I know. But talk about attention, right? Otherworldly the way these things take off.”

  Lauren chuckled along with Trip, because she had no idea what that meant but didn’t want to appear totally daft. But then, forget it, because she needed to know, and right the hell now, what he was referencing if she had any hope of squelching this thing early and fast. “What attention? I’m sorry. Slow today.” Her heart thudded as she awaited what would surely be a catastrophic reply.

  “On Instagram. The post that rando put up got a lot of play.”

  Lauren made a gesture as if to erase the board because she had an urgent need to understand what was happening, and it felt acutely like Trip had adopted another language entirely. “Can we start over? I think we’re talking about different things. At least, I hope we are, for the good of all things sacred.”

  He squinted at her. “I’m talking about the Instagram post that went up Saturday night of you and Carly getting cozy over the pool table. The one where you were all up in her space, teaching her your break shot, looking like a total badass.”

  Her mind stuttered to catch up. She remembered putting her arms around Carly to teach her to break properly. It had been a little intoxicating. “How is that online?”

  He stared at her like she should know this. “Cell phones were everywhere that night. One of her adoring fans snapped it, and it got shared about a million times.”

  “Right,” Lauren said, squeezing the spot between her eyes.

  Trip continued to talk as he prepped the set. “She’s crazy famous, and people are clamoring to know who she’s dating. She stays tight-lipped in the press about it.”

  “How do you know so much?”

  “I collect gossip for a living, Lauren. You know me. Flip on an episode of Access Hollywood once in a while. TMZ can be fun.”

  “Gotcha,” Lauren said, numbly. While learning that the ill-advised kiss wasn’t public information provided Lauren a small measure of relief, the photo wasn’t exactly fantastic news. That kind of cozy relationship with her lead actress wasn’t the image she wanted out there. Her cast would see that, not to mention the wider world. “Can I see it?” She had an Instagram account but rarely opened it these days.

  It took Trip only a few seconds to produce the image. “It’s not…awful,” he said, clearly doing his best to minimize the perceived fallout. “Actually, it’s a really hot photo of the two of you. People will talk about it for a few days and then move on to something else.”

  She looked down at the photo on Trip’s screen. She was crouched over Carly, their faces very close together, their bodies touching back to front. It looked like she was speaking quietly into Carly’s ear. Carly was smiling. Wonderful, Lauren.

  “They should fire me now,” she said with a sigh and tossed the phone onto the table in front of her.

  Trip abandoned his task and headed over. His hair seemed sympathetic, having lost its festive bounce, and that helped.

  In favor of the larger issue, she shoved aside the other things that viewing the photo did to her, the tightening of her stomach muscles, the warmth that started at her hairline and moved rapidly down her body, making her fingers tingle and dance nervously. She’d never really had to deal with dancing fingers before.

  She remembered the moment itself clearly, how Carly’s blond hair had tickled Lauren’s collarbone as she’d spoken quietly. She swallowed.

  “Lauren, my noble leader, you’re blushing profusely.”

  She glanced up. “Am not.”

  “And now you’re telling outright lies, and it’s me.” He turned a chair backward and sat next to her as if in down-to-business mode. “Lala, you have a thing for Carly Daniel? You wouldn’t be the first in this life, so it’s not at all a surprising thing. Let me tell ya. She’s a lesbian. You’re a lesbian. Sometimes lesbians get together and do lesbian things.”

  “Please, Trip. I was drinking and trying to be…I don’t know, fun?” She sighed. “Look where it got me. Definitely not a mistake I’ll make again. I need to keep my distance. Decided.”

  “Stop it right now, or I’ll hurl this chair through a window like Patti Lupone in a rage.”

  “Dramatic.”

  “When it comes to this? Yes. I loved that you came out with us. It’s been a while since you’ve attended any kind of gathering outside of the ones that come with formal invitations, and you’re not a nun. Yet.”

  Trip’s pep talk fell flat, ineffective in the face of her own minor freak-out. Lauren blinked several times, waiting for her emotions to settle. Any moment now. When they did, she would take full grip of the reins, and conquer this situation the way she did all others. She was type A for a reason, damn it.

  Because she didn’t respond, Trip punched her in the arm. Hard.

  “Ow,” she said, rubbing the spot. “Why are you beating on me, you lunatic?”

  “Because you need to snap out of it. We have a rehearsal to get to, and we can’t do it without you.” A pause. “Our resident Casanova pool shark.”

  She gasped in outrage as Trip bounded away. His upbeat, lighthearted demeanor helped alleviate some of her stress. As did his hair.

  It didn’t last long.

  Ten a.m. came, and with it, the entire cast gathered. Well, except for one. Carly was MIA again, and this time Ethan seemed to truly take notice. “Why are we waiting on her again?” Ethan asked Lauren with an unusual bite in his tone. Even he was growing weary, which said something.

  “I’ll call,” she said, offering him an apologetic glance. Not that this was her fault, but stage management often took the brunt of the disdain for rehearsal not going according to plan. That came with the gig. Carly didn’t pick up her first call, or her second, nor her third either. It was now forty minutes into rehearsal, and her understudy, Nia, had taken over to ke
ep them from losing any more valuable time.

  “Shall I go bang on her door?” Trip whispered in Lauren’s ear. Normally, that would be the protocol. She’d keep things moving in the room, and her ASM would search out their problem child. Today felt different. Already angry and resenting the hell out of Carly’s presence after what happened this weekend, this behavior only multiplied her frustration.

  “No. This is her fourth late arrival, and this one is flagrant. I’m going personally.”

  Trip’s eyebrows touched his hairline. He hadn’t expected that response, and she hadn’t expected to give it. “Gotcha. I’ll take over here.”

  “I appreciate it,” she said, quietly, scooping up her bag.

  Ethan moved to her, having overheard their discussion. “And Lauren? Make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

  “I hear you,” she said, swallowing her hatred for this day, and it wasn’t even noon.

  She was familiar with the apartments the theater retained for housing out-of-town talent. She hopped in her Mini, blasted the radio, and headed there. She rode the elevator to the fourth floor of the building, stared down the number 406 that matched the paperwork she had on Carly, and knocked three times with maybe a little extra force. No one answered. Wonderful. She knocked again, this time vigorously, and when that didn’t work, she knocked with her key to the theater, generating a much louder, grating sound.

  “What the hell?” Carly said, swinging the door open, bleary-eyed. She stared at Lauren, then craned her head around the corner and stared down the hallway. Then back to Lauren.

  “Carly, you’re an hour late to rehearsal, and that’s if we were teleported to The McAllister right this moment.”

  More blinking. Carly ran her hand through her hair, which was tousled, but in that shampoo commercial way that only certain people—people who were not Lauren—could pull off. When she opened the door more fully, Lauren took in her whole outfit. A tank top and what appeared to be a baby-blue thong. She looked away from the expanse of skin available to her gaze.

  “Fuck. I didn’t mean to oversleep.” She glanced behind her for answers, flashing a bare cheek at Lauren. “I was up late and probably didn’t set an alarm.”

  “Probably?” Lauren asked and turned back to Carly, because thong or not, this irresponsibility at work was unacceptable.

  “Yeah. Sorry about that. Let me get myself together.” Lauren nodded and folded her arms. “What? You’re just going to stand there? Is your plan to escort me?”

  “I thought we’d ride over together, yeah.” Damn right she was going to escort her. She was not walking back into that rehearsal hall with word that Carly would be there soon, while they all watched the door and crossed their fingers.

  “Lauren,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “I’m a successful adult. You don’t have to babysit me.”

  “Apparently, I do.”

  “Fine,” she said coolly. Carly let the door fall open as she headed back inside. “Then do so inside. Less weird that way. Plus, it might help you relax.”

  Lauren followed quickly behind Carly, hostility flaring. “Please don’t insinuate that I need to relax. That’s rude. I arrived on time for my job. You’re the one who kept twenty people waiting and made both of us look bad.”

  “I said it was a mistake.” Carly raised a shoulder as if to telegraph this was no big deal and they should move on. “Why can’t you understand that things happen.”

  “To just you? Because everyone else made a point to arrive on time, prepared. I think we all deal with alarm clocks. We all have the same traffic to battle. Hell, this apartment is ten minutes from the theater.”

  “I’ll be early tomorrow. How’s that? I’ll add a little investment to your time management bank account, because you’re clearly keeping track. Doesn’t clock-watching get boring?”

  “That’s not enough.”

  “Fine. What is it that you want from me? Why don’t you just spell it out and save us time? Because I’m starting to feel like it’s my head on a platter.”

  “That’s not at all what I want.” Lauren clasped her fingers in front of her to keep her tone calm, reined in. That had never been difficult before. Why was she struggling? “You have to make changes to not just your punctuality, but your approach to life. At the very least, to your work.”

  Carly stared at her with fire in her eyes. The anger turned them a deeper shade of blue. Yep, she’d finally upset Carly. “Oh, I need to change the way I approach my work? Because I haven’t achieved any kind of status in a cutthroat town like LA. Got it. Thank you so much for your unsolicited wisdom from…where are we again?” She looked around. “God, it’s good you’re here now to steer me back onto the right path.”

  “Well, if I wasn’t, you’d still be asleep. So there’s that.”

  Silence hit. “It was an accident,” Carly said, biting off each word before disappearing into the bedroom in a beautiful flutter of anger.

  Lauren stifled an eye roll and stepped inside Carly’s apartment, as she’d left the door ajar for her. Wow, okay. Once inside, she took note of the fact that the space was definitely a lot neater than Lauren would have predicted, given hurricane Carly. The entirely gray and white kitchen and modern living room both gleamed. The granite countertops sparkled. No clothing bombs or pizza boxes to be seen. Everything appeared neat, tidy, and organized. Carly Daniel, who wasn’t capable of organizing her life if it killed her, was neat? No. Who was this person? That’s when it hit her. Carly was capable. She just had to care enough. “All right. I see how it is.”

  “Did you say something?” Carly called from in the bedroom.

  “Nothing important,” Lauren called back.

  Now alone, she had a moment to get herself under control again. She was at Carly’s apartment on business, and her job was to keep the polished stage manager veneer in place. She tried to cut herself a small break, however, because her feelings were edging to the surface, making it all feel like a messy, jumbled ball of competing emotions she had trouble separating. Plus, she was in a strange state both mentally and physically, and it all began Saturday night. Carly got her all worked up and bothered in too many ways to keep track of. Instead of trying, she forced herself to focus on the important issue at hand. Carly missing her call time wasn’t charming or endearing. This was bad behavior and nothing new for Carly Daniel, according to the headlines, which made it worse. But then there was the Carly with the confident swagger at the bar, the sweet smile she afforded anyone in the rehearsal room. She never said an unkind word to anyone, well, until today, and—

  “Are you having a conversation with yourself?”

  Lauren looked up from Carly’s couch, where she’d apparently sat down at some point, to see Carly studying her like an interesting science experiment. “I was just sorting out all I need to get done today. It’s a lot, so we should get going.”

  “Well, the warring expressions that just took turns on your face tell me that your day must be pretty dramatic. Conflict ridden, in fact.” Carly paused and placed one hand on her hip. She now wore slim-fitting jeans, a really soft looking long-sleeved pink T-shirt with a dip at the neckline, and short lace-up boots. Sigh. The universe was taunting her with a gorgeous movie star who kissed like a goddess and had little regard for professionalism. What a combo, indeed. That’s when she remembered that Carly was still regarding her expectantly.

  “I don’t know what my face was doing. I can’t always worry about my face’s agenda. I was busy.” Lauren did her best to make sure her face now appeared perfectly blank. She couldn’t decide if she’d succeeded and glanced around surreptitiously for a mirror.

  Carly eyed her knowingly. “It’s just that we haven’t seen each other since the other night. Is that where your mind went?”

  Chita Rivera, were they really doing this? Right now? On the heels of a disagreement when they should be racing back to work? “Carly, we’re due at The McAllister yesterday.”

  “Good point.”

&
nbsp; Lauren stood and walked to the door.

  “We can talk about the porch kiss in the car,” Carly finished.

  Everything came to a screeching halt, including Lauren. “No. No, we definitely shouldn’t do that. In fact, I don’t think we should talk about it at all. Ever.”

  “Oh,” Carly said. Her tone was soft, and the knowing smile dimmed. “Got it.”

  Lauren sighed at the pang of guilt that slammed her and tried to explain. “It’s just that the whole thing, everything that night, was alcohol fueled, and skewed, and not a good representation of who I am as a person. As a stage manager, I mean. This”—she gestured between herself and Carly—“never should have happened.”

  Carly blinked once, and a distance settled between them, her eyes glacial. “Understood. A total mistake to erase from the history books.” Carly breezed past her out of the apartment, seemingly unaffected.

  While that should have been a good thing, an appropriate conclusion to their interaction, instead, it left Lauren feeling…listless, unsatisfied, and full of a tugging she couldn’t quite name. Just erased from the history books, huh? Wasn’t that what she wanted, though? Suddenly, she wondered.

  Didn’t matter. They had a job to do. When her gaze drifted to Carly’s ass as they walked the length of the hallway, she reminded herself of just that.

  It didn’t work.

  * * *

  Carly was over the judgmental attitude. Since when did being a stage manager come with such a healthy dose of superiority? She was quiet in Lauren’s care on the way to the theater. To cover the awkward silence, she sang quietly along with the radio, stealing an occasional glance at Lauren, who had her hair pulled partially back today, with the ends in a lazy curl. Nope. She would not crush on Lauren any longer. She shook herself out of it and watched the road instead.

  What a complete cluster the morning had been. Though she was not thrilled with herself for staying out with Kirby and her boyfriend so late and missing her call time, she was equally annoyed with Lauren and the way she’d approached the situation. Not only that, but now her head wasn’t in the game. She’d had trouble connecting to anything meaningful in the scene work with Evelyn as of late and felt like a fish flopping in the sand when it came to her work on Starry Nights.