by Karis Walsh
“For art?” Emilie shrugged and studied Arden with her head tilted to one side. “Yes, that might work. You’d make a believable hunchbacked murderous king, so I’d be able to get into the character of Lady Anne.”
Arden laughed and shook her head. “Again with the compliments. You need to stop or I’ll be too conceited to handle.”
Emilie smiled. “I’ll try. Now, any chance you’d want to get dinner tonight? I’ve been eating nothing but soup at home this week.”
“Do you feel like meeting some of my friends? We were going to meet at a pub just a few blocks from here.” Arden stood and held out her hand to Emilie.
“It depends.” Emilie pretended to hesitate, even though an evening of laughter, good food, and beer sounded too unbearably wonderful to miss. “Is this place called the Bard’s Pub?”
“Ah, you’ve noticed a trend in business names, have you? Don’t worry, it’s called the Dog and Crow.”
“What a relief.” Emilie let Arden pull her to her feet, but she quickly dropped the contact between them. She had to keep her distance, and even such a simple touch made her crave more. Arden started walking toward a nearby maintenance shack, and Emilie went with her. “The B section of the Ashland phone book must be three times as thick as any other letter.”
“The worst one was the Bard’s Sushi Palace,” Arden said. “Needless to say, it didn’t last long.”
Chapter Six
Arden took a quick shower in the miniscule staff room and then changed into a black shirt and a clean pair of worn jeans. Every time she walked back and forth to her locker, she could see Emilie sitting on the little covered patio. She was chewing on a piece of hair that had broken free from her braid and studying a script. Emilie had seemed a little on edge when they’d first met—first-day jitters were to be expected—but Arden was surprised by the change she saw in her after only a week. She was still funny and easy to talk to, but there was a deeper tension in her than what Arden had seen before.
She guessed it was because this season meant so much to Emilie. Arden had seen how much Emilie cared about this job in her expression and had heard it in her voice when she talked about giving up her acting career to follow her ex. Now she saw it in Emilie’s tense jaw and in the shadows under her eyes. She seemed to think this summer at the festival would be her turning point—either back to her beloved acting or away from it for good. Arden had been around actors enough to know she couldn’t convince Emilie that there would be other chances if this one didn’t go well. Things were more black and white for passionate people like Emilie.
Arden was doubly surprised, then, that Emilie had agreed to go out with her. She hadn’t expected Emilie to allow anything to stand in her way this year, and Arden’s obvious interest in dating her should have been something Emilie tried to avoid. Her need to get away from the stress of the company must have overridden her need to concentrate fully on her part in it. Or had she been unable to resist Arden’s charisma and charm?
She laughed to herself as she combed her straight hair and tucked it, still damp, behind her ears. Unlikely. But Arden was happy to have a chance to be around Emilie some more. She was good company, and Arden hadn’t been lying when she said she needed to be saved from herself and her ridiculous weakness for actors. When the season ended, and Emilie moved on to bigger roles and greater fame, Arden would be left unscathed, with only her memories of a nice friendship and not a heated love affair. She wouldn’t care one bit when Emilie left. In fact, they’d be able to keep in touch, unlike the other women Arden had dated.
Yeah. They’d be pen pals. Arden didn’t feel like laughing at the thought. Could she really be sure Emilie wouldn’t break her heart at the end of the year, whether they slept together or not? She wasn’t sure, but she was going to close her eyes, jump in, and see what happened.
“Ready to go?” she asked when she came outside. Emilie closed her script and blinked a few times in a way that seemed familiar to Arden. She was coming back from whatever world she had been in—maybe the tomb in Richard III’s castle or Titania’s magical forest.
“Sure,” Emilie said, recovering quickly and smiling at Arden. She reached over and ran a tentative finger over Arden’s hair, following it as it curved behind her ear. “Do you need to dry your hair first? It’ll turn to ice out here.”
Arden shivered, but her reaction had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with Emilie’s touch. She was in deep trouble here, but she felt helpless to stop. “We just have a short walk, and there’ll be a fire in the pub. I’ll survive.”
Maybe. They started walking out of the park, and Arden gestured to the right. Everything in Ashland’s business district was within walking distance from the theaters.
“How was your week?” she asked, focusing on the chill on her scalp—it really was too cold to be out here with wet hair—and letting the weather erase the heated trail Emilie’s finger had scorched from her temple to her ear.
“Ugh. Crazy. The pace here is faster than I’m used to, and then multiply everything for three plays. I know that as soon as I feel like I’m getting used to them, rehearsals will start for the next two.” Emilie reached up and rubbed her forehead. “As if the plays weren’t bad enough, today I had to meet with an evil wig maker. She’s probably collecting real scalps for her creations, so be careful if you’re outside alone at night.” She stopped and faced Arden. “Do you see any welts? Permanent scars?”
Arden saw only touchable skin. She poked Emilie gently between her eyebrows. “All I see are frown lines, and hopefully those aren’t permanently etched in just yet.”
“Great. Thanks.” Emilie bumped Arden with her shoulder and continued walking.
“Tell me about the wig maker. I want to be able to recognize her if we meet on one of the secluded trails in the park.”
“Well, she’ll probably be holding a huge pair of recently sharpened shears. That’ll be your first clue…”
Emilie went on to describe her appointment, and after a few minutes Arden was nearly doubled over with laughter. “Stop, my stomach hurts,” she said, blinking back tears from laughing so hard. “It can’t really have been this bad.”
“It was worse,” Emilie said. “I’m leaving out the parts where I sobbed and begged for mercy because I don’t want to embarrass myself.”
Arden shook her head and led them down a curved staircase and into the basement of a two-story brick building. A Thai restaurant was on the first floor, with a real estate agency above. The windowless pub was cozy and warm after being outside, and they stood in the entrance for a moment as their eyes adjusted to the dim light. As Arden had promised, a fire crackled noisily in the corner of the room, giving everything in it a moving glow. Posters from past festival seasons and signed head shots filled the walls, and a red telephone box stood between the bar and the restrooms. Round wooden tables were grouped around the main floor of the pub, some regular height with padded leather chairs and others tall with stools.
Arden took Emilie over to the bar and leaned her elbow on the sticky granite countertop. “Hey, Lisa,” she called.
Lisa flipped the towel she had been using to clean spilled beer off the counter over her shoulder and came to their end of the bar.
“Arden, good to see you. Marty and Rebecca already got your beer. Who’s this, then?”
Arden hesitated for a brief moment. Lisa’s short stylish white-blond hair and her killer body—evidenced by the bare space between her tank top and her low-rise jeans—combined with her British accent to make her irresistible to almost anyone who came into the bar. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought Emilie here.
“This is Emilie. She’s in the company. Em, this is Lisa. She owns the Dog and Crow.”
Arden hoped the nickname might imply more intimacy between her and Emilie than was really there, but Lisa didn’t seem to notice and held Emilie’s hand a little longer than necessary. Arden was ready to grab one of the soda taps and hose her down.
�
��Great name for a pub,” Emilie said, her voice carrying easily over the noise in the bar.
“Free pint if you can tell me the source,” Lisa said with a wink. Arden rolled her eyes, ready to drag Emilie away and to her friends’ table. Although Marty and Rebecca probably would be just as flirtatious…
Emilie frowned and looked into the distance as she probably ran through every line in every Shakespearean play. “It sounds familiar, so I think I’ve said the line before…” Her smile was sudden and bright, and Arden’s arousal flared unexpectedly. She tried to turn her gasp into a more publicly acceptable sigh.
“Much Ado About Nothing. Beatrice would rather hear a dog barking at a crow than a man telling her…Oh, that’s clever of you.”
Lisa grinned and gestured toward the tap pulls. “What’s your pleasure, my lady?”
Damn. Arden searched the room for her friends while Lisa poured an ale for Emilie. “C’mon, Em,” she said. “We’re over here.”
She gave Emilie a little push toward the corner of the room and turned back to Lisa before following her. “Tone it down a little, okay?”
Lisa laughed and flicked her towel at Arden. “Can’t take the competition?”
Arden shook her head. “We’re just friends. I’m just trying to protect her from the local predators.”
“But who will protect her from you?” Lisa called after her, hopefully not loud enough for Emilie to hear.
Arden caught up with Emilie and pointed out the table where her two friends were sitting. And arguing, from the looks of it. The three of them had grown up together, and Arden always took on the role of mediator between the other two.
“Hey. Marty, Rebecca, this is Emilie. She’s new in town.”
“New in town, in January,” Marty said, pretending to be deep in thought. “Hmm, let me guess. You’re a dry cleaner.”
“Please,” Rebecca scoffed, waving her hand. “Look at her. She’s obviously here to sell shoes.”
Emilie shook her head. “You’re both wrong. I’m starting a new business in Ashland. The Bard’s Doggy Daycare.”
“I suppose you’ll dress them in costumes and have them bark lines from the plays,” Rebecca said with a laugh.
“Like Antony and Cleopawtra?” Emilie asked. “What a great idea!”
Marty handed Arden her beer and raised her own mug in a mock toast to Emilie. “Well, enjoy your last weeks of anonymity. Once the festival starts, you’ll be a celebrity around here and won’t be able to go out without people stopping you on the street and talking about the plays.”
“Just like Hollywood,” Arden said, taking a drink of beer. “Except this crowd takes their beloved Shakespeare seriously. Your fans are as likely to critique your performance as to ask for an autograph.”
Everyone laughed except Emilie. “Seriously?”
Arden gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. At least she hoped it was reassuring for Emilie, because all it did for her was make the nerve endings in her hand flutter. “Don’t worry. You’ll be amazing, and they’ll only have wonderful things to say about you. But in case anyone tries to give you acting notes, remember this line: Thank you for the advice, and I’ll take it under consideration.”
“And if they’re too far out of line, say unsolicited advice instead,” Rebecca said.
“With a pointed emphasis on the word unsolicited. And a glare,” Marty added.
“So you’ve actually seen this happen to the actors in the festival?” All three nodded. “And do any of you take part in this informal criticism?”
“No, of course not,” Marty said. “I mean, I’m sure you wouldn’t possibly mess with the meter of the lines. That’d be the only reason I’d publicly humiliate you.”
“And as long as your comedic timing is spot-on, which I’m sure it will be, then I won’t say a peep,” Rebecca said.
“Don’t look at me.” Arden raised her hands in a gesture of surrender when they all turned to look at her. “I’ve already seen Emilie perform on a stage of sorts. She was phenomenal, and I wouldn’t dream of saying anything negative about her.” She leaned toward Emilie and spoke in an exaggerated whisper. “As long as you work on your accent, of course.”
Emilie laughed weakly and took a gulp of ale. “I guess as long as you don’t heckle me from the audience, I can live with the rest. Oh, shit.”
Her attention was caught by a group of people coming through the door. She waved when they spotted her.
“I’m going to go say hello before they come over,” she said. “I’ve met them in rehearsals, but I only remember two of their names—I think—and I don’t want to seem rude by not introducing them to you. I’ll be right back.”
“Really?” Marty said. “You can’t remember five names, but you expect to memorize how many lines?”
“I have to revise my earlier statement,” Rebecca said. “Put forgetting her lines in place of the comedic timing part.”
“I’m going to gently set this beer on the table and not throw it at any of you,” Emilie said, putting her mug down with deliberation. She got up, brushing against Arden’s leg as she rose from the table, and walked toward the door. Arden watched her go, and then turned back to the table to see her friends staring at her with those annoying knowing looks they had perfected over the years.
“When we came over, you two seemed to be going at it. What’s the argument this time?”
“The movie we saw last weekend,” Rebecca said, her voice rising as she seemed ready to pounce back into the argument. “Remember the scene when the robot—”
“Don’t let her distract you,” Marty said with a shake of her head. “She’s just trying to get us off the subject of Emilie and how she’ll destroy Arden when the season is over and she goes away. Leaving us to pick up the broken pieces of our friend and to try to jigsaw them back together.”
“We’re just friends,” Arden said, spinning her half-empty mug on the table. “She needs a break from the stress of the festival, and I volunteered.”
“Uh-huh.” Marty shook her head.
“Seriously. Just friends.”
“Honey, we believe that part,” Rebecca said, patting her knee. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have brought her here to meet us.”
Arden stared at her. “You’ve met women I’ve dated before.”
“Yes, if we happened to run in to the two of you somewhere. But never like this.” Marty gestured around the room. “Socially. Just for fun.”
“Then why did you sound suspicious when I said we were friends?”
“Because it doesn’t matter what the two of you are doing together in bed or out of it. What matters is how you feel about her.”
Arden knew her friends would see right through her lie, but she felt compelled to protest anyway. “Nonsense. I don’t feel anything different for her than I do for either of you.”
“So you wouldn’t mind if I asked her out?”
Arden glared at Rebecca. “Go right ahead. You won’t survive until date night, though. Stop laughing, Marty. I’m just protecting Emilie.”
Luckily, Emilie returned to the table then and ended that part of the conversation. At least Arden hoped her friends would drop it, although she couldn’t be 100 percent sure.
“In case you forgot, I’m Arden.” Marty pointed at herself, then Arden and Rebecca. “And this is Rebecca and Marty.”
“Wait, let me write that down before I forget.” Emilie rummaged in her bag and brought out a pencil and notebook. She pointed at Marty, then around the table, mimicking Marty’s gesture perfectly. “Left to right, Smart Ass, Slightly Less Smart Ass, and Why Is She Friends With These Two?”
Arden laughed and clinked mugs with Emilie, ignoring the eloquent look her friends gave each other.
Chapter Seven
Arden came out of the maintenance shed with her lunch bag, looking for a quiet spot where she could eat, when she saw Emilie sitting outside waiting for her. She looked up and smiled broadly when she saw Arden, and Arden felt an answ
ering grin start inside her and flow onto her face.
“Lunchtime?” Emilie asked with a hopeful tone in her voice.
“Yes, but I can’t tell if you want my company or my food.” Arden sat next to her on the bench.
“Mainly the first, although I wouldn’t say no to the second.” Emilie jostled Arden with her shoulder. “I’m between appointments and thought I’d see if you have a little time to spend with me. And I haven’t eaten for hours.”
She put a tragic emphasis on the last word, and Arden had to laugh as she pulled out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and handed half to Emilie. Em took a huge bite while she watched Arden take cookies, a bag of chips, and an apple out of the bag and set them on a paper napkin.
“What, are you twelve?” Emilie asked, her voice thick with sticky peanut butter. She finished her half sandwich and took one of the cookies. Arden ate some of her own sandwich to occupy her mouth and keep herself from tasting Emilie.
Arden laughed. “It’s easy to make. Tease all you want, you won’t be able to come up with anything I haven’t heard before from Jacob and the rest of them. I’m immune.”
She took a bite of the apple and handed it to Emilie to share.
“So, are you adjusting to life in Ashland?” she asked, distracting herself from the sight of Emilie using her index finger to wipe juice from the apple off her chin.
Emilie shrugged. “The people in town seem very friendly,” she said, obviously avoiding the topic of her company work. Arden didn’t fight the direction of the conversation.
“It’s a good place. Most everyone loves the festival because they appreciate the money it brings here every season.” Arden crunched on a salty chip and amended what she had just said. “It’s more than money, though. Ashland hosted Chautauqua lectures right here for over twenty years, so this town has a history of supporting education and culture, and we’re proud of what happens here every year. It’s like we’ve all had a hand in it.”