by Jayne Denker
Mrs. P’s lips pursed with disapproval. “He just came from his tuxedo fitting. With Audra.”
“Wait. He’s not . . . they’re not . . . ?”
“No, no. Of course not. But let’s just say with Ray, a little bit of flirting goes a long way. He’s easily entertained.”
“Ew. The old horndog.”
“It’s just a mercy he’s not yelling at us for a few minutes. Even if we do have that hussy to thank for his good mood.”
And it was quite a good mood. Ray called for Rachel Dwyer and Lorenzo D’Annunzio to try out their song next, then he came up behind Niall and whacked him on the shoulder again. “This is going great,” he exulted. “Have you heard Rachel and Lorenzo lately? They’re going to blow you away.”
It was highly unlikely Lorenzo D’Annunzio and Rachel Dwyer’s duet from La Bohème had truly fried the speakers, and it was merely a coincidence that when Rachel hit her high note—or at least got as close to it as possible—there had been a crackling noise, then no sound at all (for all the world, Niall thought, as though the speakers had given up the ghost right then and there). Whatever the reason, the rehearsal had come to a screeching halt (so to speak) while Alan Marshall, their impromptu sound tech, repaired whatever it was that had gone on the fritz.
“Hey, Ray? When you said the singers were going to blow you away . . .”
“All right, all right. I didn’t mean quite like this,” Ray grumbled.
Everyone in the area drifted off, grateful for the unexpected break. Once again, Niall’s attention was drawn to Celia, who was now talking with Audra at the side of the stage. He sat down in the front row of the house and pretended to study his list of jokes for the evening, but really he was trying to catch even a snippet of their conversation. Not like Celia would confide in Audra—he was pretty sure she wouldn’t, anyway—but he couldn’t help wondering. Luckily he didn’t have to work too hard, because Audra’s voice was nothing if not as loud and piercing as the firehouse alarm; within seconds, Niall picked up that she was badgering Celia about what she was going to wear the night of the competition.
“Um, a black tracksuit?” Celia said, in a tone that implied there was no other option.
“Aw, no, honey! You’ve gotta wear something hot!”
“I’m going to be crawling all over the place taking photos, Audra. Hot is not on the agenda.”
“Hot is always on the agenda. I am gonna get you into the most amazing dress. Oh! I know which one already! You’re gonna love it—all sparkly and stretchy. It’ll show off those gorgeous curves—”
“Psst! Young man!”
Dammit. There he was, distracted—however unwillingly—by thoughts of Celia’s gorgeous curves, when Lorenzo D’Annunzio leaned forward from the row behind him. Niall put on a polite smile.
“Mr. D. What can I do for you?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing. I just thought I’d see how you’re doing.”
“Doing great, thanks.”
“Good, good. And the whole . . . hosting thing? Going well?”
Niall waved his notes. “Working on it.”
“Good. Excellent. And the, uh, judging portion of your job?”
“Hasn’t come into play yet, but I’m feeling confident.”
“Very nice.” He paused and mopped a few beads of sweat off his forehead. Niall went back to his notes. “You like subs?”
Shrugging, Niall answered, “Who doesn’t?”
“What’s your favorite? Turkey? Chicken salad? I’ve got you pegged as a tuna guy. Am I right?”
“Mr. D, where are we going with this?”
“You like . . . free subs? For life?”
“Mr. D’Annunzio,” Niall said slowly, twisting in his seat to face him, “you’re not trying to bribe a judge, are you?”
“What? No!” The large man put a beefy hand to his heart as though offended at the very notion. “I just like to share my food with people I like, you understand. Best capocollo in the Northeast, you know.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Mr. D. And we’re going to pretend this conversation never happened, all right?”
Mr. D slunk away, and Niall immediately returned his attention to Celia and Audra.
Celia was saying, “Do not mention that sequined corset thing you push on everybody who comes into your shop.”
“Oh, you can’t have that. I sold it.”
“Thank God—finally.”
“Yeah, Mrs. D’Annunzio’s wearing it tomorrow night.”
Celia hesitated. “Is a strapless sequined thing really the best look for a seventy-year-old with . . . uh . . .”
“Wrinkly batwing arms and a hundred extra pounds? Honey, it’s all in the attitude. Plus a bolero jacket to hide most of the sins. Now come on, live a little. Look good for your date with the movie star.”
“Audra, he’s not my date.”
An irrationally massive lump of dismay settled in Niall’s gut. Of course he wasn’t her date. Not when he was callously severing the ties that had bound them together, however briefly, every time he opened his mouth. He’d made his decision—to keep her safe, he had to cut her out of his life. Too bad he hadn’t been able to get his own heart to agree to it. Even now, all he could think about was having Celia on his arm the following night. But even she had already accepted that it wasn’t going to happen. Celia Marshall was nothing if not as smart as she was beautiful . . . and resilient. She was already laughing with Audra about dates.
“What, Lester beat him to it?”
“No! I had planned on being my gran’s spinster companion.”
“Oh yeah, because when you talk about old women who need spinster companions, the first person anyone thinks of is Holly Leigh. Come on. I’m putting something together for you right now.”
Audra dragged Celia off, and Niall jumped when, with a thump and a whine, the sound system came back on. A few people applauded Alan, who raised his hands in acknowledgment, and the final rehearsal was back on.
Chapter 29
“Purple? Really? You knew I was wearing purple!” Missy Preston huffed, looking in the dressing room mirror at Rachel Dwyer, behind her.
“So what? This looks good on me.”
“The dresses are too similar! We look too much alike!”
“No, we don’t! You’re much—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Taller.”
“Thank you.”
“And older,” Rachel muttered.
“I heard that!”
“I could have said wrinklier!”
“Okay, that’s enough. Ladies, you both look beautiful,” Ray muttered, trying to placate them, although he was too preoccupied to sound convincing. Then he turned around, eyeballing Niall suspiciously. “Shouldn’t you be making yourself useful?”
“What?” Niall looked up absently.
“Don’t just sit there! Do something constructive!”
“Right.” But he just slouched lower into the faded floral easy chair in the corner of the mildew-scented dressing room, staring at nothing, not caring if his tux wrinkled or if his suit absorbed the funky smells issuing from the ancient fabric.
Darryl kicked the base of the chair to get his attention. “Hey, man. You nervous?”
Nervous? He didn’t get nervous anymore. Not about performances, anyway. No, as usual these days, his head was filled with nothing but thoughts of Celia. That situation made him nervous. He couldn’t stop wondering if he’d done the right thing.
“Ah, he’ll be fine,” Ray said dismissively, then spoke into a walkie-talkie. “Brandon? You there? How’s it looking? Parking lot filling up?”
“Not really, boss.”
“What the hell—? You’re supposed to be parking cars!”
“Can’t, if there aren’t any to park.”
Everyone in the dressing room froze, and it was clear what they were all thinking: Nobody was coming to the show?
“What’s going on? Talk to me,” Ray ordered. “Brandon? You there?”
&nbs
p; “I think you’re supposed to say ‘over,’ ” Mr. D advised.
“Shut up, Lorenzo. This isn’t the movies.” Into the walkie-talkie, he said, “Brandon? Why are there no cars to park?” Reluctantly, he added, “Over.”
“Hang on a sec, boss.” After a pause, the young man came back with, “Yeah, we see the problem now. Everyone’s bumper-to-bumper on the road coming up here.”
“Did somebody hit a deer or something?”
“Nope. Burt Womack’s in front. Looks like he’s leading a parade.”
Ray sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead.
“Plenty of cars behind him, though. We’ll be busy in about five, ten minutes.”
“So you mean Burt’s about ten yards from the gates.”
Brandon laughed. “Right.”
“All right. Thanks for the update. Get to work. Er, over and out.” Ray pocketed the walkie-talkie and barked, “All right, you heard the boy. Nearly showtime. Now, we’re all going to walk out the back door and around to the front.”
“What for?” Brianna asked, tugging on the hem of her blue minidress.
“So we can go through the front doors. Make an entrance.”
“That’s just weird, Ray,” Darryl rumbled.
“Do as I tell you, Sykes. Everybody pair up. Crenshaw, you’re coming too.”
“Yep.” Niall had decided not to fight this battle when Ray first proposed his idea of walking the red carpet, about a week ago. He’d even agreed to be the consultant for all things Hollywood, so Ray could get the look and feel of an opening night right.
Ray held the dressing room door open and looked over each pair as they went past. He stopped Laurie at the threshold. “Where’s Nora?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered apprehensively. “Maybe she’s late, and stuck behind Burt now with everybody else?”
Ray frowned. “Okay. Go on. She can catch up.” When Laurie was gone, Ray muttered, “Great. That’s all we need.” Then he shook himself. “Okay, Crenshaw, let’s go.”
“Um, give me a minute, okay? I’ll be right behind you.”
“Hurry up, then.” And Ray bustled off, herding his flock as attentively as a border collie.
Niall stood and stretched, appreciating the quiet of the dressing room for a few minutes. In a little while, he was going to have to go out onstage and crack jokes and be charming and . . . everything he didn’t feel like doing right now. He dug deep for his professionalism, his funny-guy persona. It was in there somewhere, and he could haul it out and make it do tricks whether he was really feeling it or not—as he’d done many times before—but it was pretty difficult at the moment.
He slouched down the back hallway, hands in his pockets. Ahead of him, something clanked. Then, near the short flight of steps that led up to the emergency exit door, he spotted a shadow that moved. He stopped. Without a word, he sat down on one of the steps and just waited patiently.
Eventually a tired voice said, “I can’t do it.”
“Sure you can.”
“Nope.”
“You’re here, aren’t you? That’s something.”
Nora emerged from the shadows and leaned against a pillar, running a hand over her wild hair. “No idea why, that’s for sure. You’re not getting me on that stage.”
“Okay.” They were silent for a while. Then Niall murmured, “I’ll bet you look for his name in the gossip columns. Watch every single one of his movies . . .”
Nora opened her mouth to respond, closed it again, then grudgingly admitted, “Even the episodes of his lousy one-season sitcom somebody posted on YouTube.”
“Is he still in the business?”
“Yeah, but he quit acting and became a reality-show producer a while back. So he’s behind the camera now.”
“How long has it been?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do.”
Another pause. “It’ll be twenty-three years. In ten days. I guess it’s kind of impossible to forget the day someone ruins your life, huh?”
Niall shrugged. “I don’t think he much ruined your life. And who knows what would have happened if you’d actually gone with him? What if everything had turned out worse?”
“At least it would have been something.”
“I think you’ve got a whole lot of something right here. What’s he got?”
“A production company, supermodel wife, two daughters. Not that I’m counting.”
Oops. “Well, he left you behind, so he’s missing some common sense, anyway.”
“Flatterer.”
“You know, I think it’s time to show him what you’re made of.”
“What in the hell are you talking about? The contest? He won’t know this is going on.”
“No, but if you sing tonight, you’ll be proving to yourself that he didn’t ruin your life. And in a way, you’ll be showing him too. You didn’t stop existing twenty-three years ago.”
More silence. Niall held his breath.
“You are out of your ever-lovin’ mind, movie star.”
Niall sighed. “Okay. Forget it. I’ll go tell Ray. He’ll figure something out for Laurie.”
He stood up and straightened his tux; Nora put a hand on his arm. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to do it. I just said you’re out of your mind.”
Keeping his expression neutral, although he wanted to grin from ear to ear, he said, “If you hurry, you can catch up to everyone else and walk the red carpet.”
“Not a chance. I need time to cram myself into that stupid dress Audra’s making me wear.” She paused. “Is Laurie ready? She doing all right?”
“She’s fine. She’ll be better when she knows her singing partner is ready too.”
Nora paused and scrutinized him with her hard eyes. “What’s the matter with you? You’re not your usual goofy puppy-dog self.”
Shrugging, he said, “Nothing, really.”
But Nora evidently had a pretty good idea what was bothering him. “Where’s your sidekick? Celia?”
“Not my sidekick. Not my anything.”
“Oh, like I’m supposed to believe that.” She snorted. “You’re not here for this contest. You’re here for her. Don’t deny it; I can see it every time you look at her.”
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t matter. We’re . . . not compatible.”
Another snort. “Right. Or you’re just chicken.”
“Says the woman who nearly backed out of the competition a few minutes ago.”
“Don’t change the subject. We’re talking about you now. What’s going on? Did you dump her?”
Oh God. He pretty much had, hadn’t he? He just hadn’t snuck out of town in the middle of the night, or whatever Nora’s celebrity had done. But he couldn’t admit it; that would hit too close to home for Nora. So he stayed silent.
“Figures,” she said. “You Hollywood types really are all alike.”
“Hey, that’s not true.”
“You know what he said to me before he took off?”
“What?”
“He told me he didn’t think I’d ‘fit in’ in California. As if people don’t reinvent themselves all the time, to break into show business. Hell, even Marilyn started out as a cute little brunette named Norma Jean. But you know what I think? I think he was afraid he’d be embarrassed by me. Are you afraid Celia would embarrass you, movie star?”
“God, no!” Niall protested, truly shocked. “She’s amazing. She’s incredible. If anything, she should be embarrassed by me.”
“Well, she’s not. And that’s clear every time she looks at you.” Nora paused. “So what the hell are you doing?”
“Trying to keep her out of . . . trying to protect her.”
“Trying to protect yourself, you mean.”
“I told you, I’m not like your—”
“Prove it. Do right by her. And for God’s sake, be honest with yourself. Stop making excuses to hide.”
“You do realize the irony in that, coming from you, ri
ght?”
“I’m going on that stage. What are you going to do? Just don’t—”
“ ‘Don’t hurt her, or I’ll kill you,’ right?”
“How’d you guess?”
“It’s a pretty common theme around here.”
“And we all mean it.”
Niall pushed open the back door and emerged into the humid early evening. The sun was starting to set a bit earlier now that it was the middle of August, but the heat remained, and he immediately regretted expending any energy hurrying around the side of the building. The parking lot was indeed filling up now, with rows and rows of cars already parked and more streaming in, their tires stirring up low clouds of dust in the dry dirt-and-gravel lot. As he made his way through the crowds heading for the main entrance, he craned his neck, looking for just one person.
There. He spotted Celia and her mother emerging from Wendy’s car. And he nearly tripped over absolutely nothing in the broad, empty expanse.
Celia was a vision. That was the only word that came to mind. She absolutely glowed in a pale yellow dress made of some sort of lacy stuff that did indeed cling to her curves, as Audra had promised, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Little bits of fabric wrapped around the tops of her arms, leaving her shoulders bare, taunting him, inviting him to cover them in kisses. Her brown hair was curled and swept over one shoulder; when she turned around, a comb or a clip at the back of her hair glinted in the evening light. And there . . . there were the legs he loved to caress. The ones that should be declared a national treasure.
He could have stood there looking at her all night, except for a driving urge to get closer to her, wrap his arms around her, feel her body up against his. It was official: He’d completely lost his mind. No, his heart. He’d suspected as much all along, but now he knew it was true. And he knew he’d been an idiot to think he could stay away from her.
Niall took a breath and collected himself before approaching the women casually, as though he absolutely was not entertaining any of the hundred filthy thoughts racing through his mind, even with her mother standing right there. When he reached them, he observed the social niceties, kissing Wendy’s cheek, making small talk, while Celia avoided his eyes, instead fussing with her camera bag and a small purse. He took the camera bag from her.