The Prince's Devious Proposal
Page 17
And now she was going to show it to the rest of the world.
God, she hoped people would like it. It would be painful in such a personal way if they didn’t.
She took one last look around backstage and then made her way out to the front of the house. There was nothing else for her to do here, and she was making herself far too nervous lurking in the wings. The cast knew what they needed to do. The crew had been well trained. The best thing Charlotte could do now was to get out of their way and let them do their jobs.
That was easier said than done, though. As soon as she took her seat, she began to feel fidgety, thinking of things she hadn’t checked.
Were all the props in place? She hadn’t looked. Her prop master was a pro, but there had been that one rehearsal in which the bicycle had been a complete no-show. You could laugh something like that off in rehearsals, but if it happened tonight…she didn’t even want to think about it.
And what about the costumes? She always liked to do final checks with the actors on opening nights, just to make sure they looked the way she wanted them to, and Emery had been so far from ready—
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. No. She was just going to have to relax and let go of her worries. Either this would go well, or it wouldn’t. She had done all she could in rehearsals and her work with the crew. They were ready. She trusted them.
As the curtain lifted, Charlotte’s anxiety reached its peak. For a moment she felt almost blinded by nerves.
But then Emery walked out onto the stage and spoke her first lines. She was perfectly in character, just as she always was, and Charlotte could feel the audience around her becoming swept up in the story.
The play was a reminiscence on Charlotte’s own years in graduate school, and it was there, in fact, that she had begun writing it. She had done her best to represent the way the pressured environment of an institute of higher learning could create unbreakable bonds between people.
Emery’s character, Anna St. Clair, was not directly based on Charlotte herself or on anyone she had known in school, but she was an amalgam comprised of many different people. Charlotte felt deeply and personally connected to the character, more so than she did to any other she had ever written.
She had cast Emery after a single audition, thrilled with the spark the young actress had brought to the role. She hadn’t expected to find someone who so completely was Anna St. Clair, but watching Emery made Charlotte feel as if the character she had spent so many years creating had literally come to life.
It was almost perfect.
Almost.
In the second act, things began to slip just a little. This was the part of the play they’d struggled with a few times in rehearsals. Anna was supposed to abandon the friends who had become like her surrogate family during her time at school, leaving her free to focus more wholly on her studies, and Emery had never been able to really capture the character’s motivation.
“I don’t get it,” she’d said on more than one occasion. “Everything good that’s happened to her so far has been because of her friends. Why would she think she’s got to leave them now?”
Charlotte had done her upmost to explain the pivotal moment in her character’s coming-of-age tale, but she knew that Emery had never quite managed to wrap her head around it. Sometimes she acted the part flawlessly anyway. But sometimes she thought too hard about what she was doing, and Charlotte was able to see through her portrayal.
Unfortunately, that seemed to be the case tonight.
Emery fumbled a line in the second to last scene of the play, and Charlotte felt as if she was choking. The actress never really got her feet back under her after that misstep. Fortunately, she didn’t have much to do in the final scene, but Charlotte was excruciatingly aware the whole time that the person standing on the stage was Emery and not Anna.
The curtain call couldn’t have come soon enough. She was relieved, as the cast took their bows, to see that the audience around her was applauding enthusiastically. Although she had been nervous about what their response might be, she allowed herself to look around.
Several people were on their feet. That was a good thing, Charlotte knew. She had only produced one play that had failed to bring anyone to their feet at its end, and that production had closed after only a few weeks. At least this one was looking more successful than that.
She looked to her right and noticed a well-dressed man applauding especially vigorously. He was tall, with light brown hair that fell across his forehead. Undeniably handsome, he looked to be about her own age—no older than thirty-five, surely—and the grin that split his face momentarily stunned her.
He really liked the play.
That was more than just approval. He was enthusiastic about it. Excited.
She knew that some productions had regulars, fans who loved them so much that they came back again and again. Was it possible that this man would come back to see her show again? She had never had a regular before—at least, not that she knew of. It would feel like quite an accomplishment to know that someone was such a fan of her work.
And to have it happen with this play—the one that had meant so much to her—that would be extra special.
Watching the avid fan, her concerns about the flaws in Emery’s performance abated. Obviously it couldn’t have been as bad as she’d feared, or this man wouldn’t be applauding so heartily.
Maybe he was a critic! Charlotte’s heart leapt at the thought. Her work had been reviewed before, but never by someone who had so clearly adored it. For a moment, she allowed herself to fantasize about what it would feel like to go out tomorrow, pick up a newspaper, and see a glowing review of the play.
It’s really all happening. The play she’d worked on since graduate school had just had its opening night, and it had gone as well as she could have hoped. With the exception of Emery’s fumble, there had been no problems, and the audience had clearly liked what they’d seen.
I was right to trust my team. They really came through for me.
She had always found it difficult to put her faith in other people, to believe that a job could be done well if she didn’t do it herself. She had always felt the need to micromanage her shows, to make sure that every aspect of every production was happening the way she wanted it to. This play was the first one she’d ever tried to relax and let her team control. This was the first time she had ever watched one of her plays from the house instead of from the wings.
And I’m so glad I did. It was so worth it.
The moment the house lights came up, she left her chair and hurried out to the lobby. She had told herself she would go backstage when the play was over, that she wouldn’t listen to the audience response, but she couldn’t help herself. It was a masochistic tendency she had developed during the run of the very first show she’d ever directed—the need to mingle with the audience and hear everything they were saying.
I really am an idiot, she chided herself as she made her way up the aisle toward the lobby. If there’s even a chance someone’s saying something unflattering about me, I’ll rush to hear it like a dog looking for a treat. I’m a glutton for punishment.
She knew it was true, and yet she couldn’t stop herself from pushing open the doors and stepping out among the throng of people who filled the lobby.
Once among them, she found an empty place against a wall and stood with her back to it, watching the people go by and listening to their conversation. One of the benefits of being a playwright rather than an actor was that nobody ever recognized her by sight. If the crowd passing by in the lobby had known who she was, she was sure many of them would have stopped to talk, to compliment the show or to ask her questions. But she was able to be anonymous, and that suited her in the moment.
A group of women passing by enthused over the acting, and Charlotte couldn’t help but smile. They have no idea how hard I wrestled with the actors. This cast had been more difficult than any she had ever worked with. Her problems get
ting Emery to understand her character’s motivation had been the tip of the iceberg.
There was Mitchell Young, who had acted on Broadway before. He considered his qualifications above reproach and was extremely hesitant to take any direction from Charlotte on anything. Every time she gave him a note, he nodded and then completely disregarded what she’d said in the next run through. It took a thousand little corrections to impact his performance.
And there was Scott Travers, the youngest member of the cast and a debut actor. Charlotte adored Scott’s enthusiasm for the project they were working on, but it was so difficult to keep him focused. He so often missed his cues because he was wandering around backstage taking in the sights, marveling at where he was.
Charlotte could understand that. She often felt the urge to marvel at where she was herself. But she couldn’t deny that she had been anxious about Scott’s attention drifting tonight.
Thank God he kept his mind on the show!
As the lobby emptied out, Charlotte made her way backstage to speak to the cast, to congratulate them and thank them for the wonderful performance and to discuss tomorrow’s show.
They were gathered in the hallway that connected the dressing rooms to one another, costumes drooping, makeup melted from two hours under the stage lights, passing around water bottles and plastic flutes of champagne. Someone pressed a drink into Charlotte’s hands as she stepped into the hall, and the whole cast cheered.
Emery came running up to her. She was bright-eyed, and though her makeup was smeared, her exhilaration made her look lovely.
“The audience loved it!” she said. “Did you see the ovation we got? I bet we’ll get five-star reviews!”
“Hey, don’t jinx it!” someone called from the back of the crowd.
Emery waved her hand dismissively in the objector’s direction. “It couldn’t have gone any better,” she said.
Charlotte heard the jubilation in her leading lady’s voice and the critique she had been planning to give died in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to rain on Emery’s parade. Not while everyone was so happy and excited. The show had been a success, and they deserved to celebrate.
“We’re going to Darcy’s Pub once everyone is cleaned up and ready to leave,” Scott said. “Do you want to come with us, Charlotte?”
She hesitated. She had been planning to go back to her apartment, make herself a cup of tea, and get to sleep early. This seemed especially important since she wasn’t going to give her cast notes on their performance tonight. She would have to set an earlier call time tomorrow to allow for that conversation to take place.
But it was hard not to be swept up in the actors’ joy at their success. “I suppose I could have one drink,” she said.
“Are you even old enough to drink, Scott?” someone called out.
“Shut up,” Scott said cheerfully. “I’m twenty-three.”
“I need to go do a last sweep of the stage,” Charlotte said. “I’ll meet you over at Darcy’s, okay?”
“That’s fine,” Scott said. “Mitchell’s already gone over to reserve some tables.”
Charlotte nodded. “I’ll see you all there,” she said to the group. “And while I’ve got you here, I want to thank you for your wonderful performance tonight. It was amazing to see our show finally brought to life for an audience, and it truly could not have been what it was without each and every one of you.”
The cast cheered her again and began to disperse, hurrying to wash their faces and change out of their costumes.
Charlotte made her way to the stage, her thoughts already turning toward tomorrow’s performance.
Just a few little things to tweak, she thought. Then the show will be absolutely perfect.
She just hoped she would be able to get her actors to listen.
* * *
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