"How much experience with Shakespeare do you have, dear?"
Nicola blew her breath out through her lips. "I've done several Shakespeare plays before. R&J twice. Midsummer. I did Antigone with Rita."
"Greek theater. Hmm." Judith's nose curled. "So no formal classical training?"
Nicola twitched her shoulders, nettled. "Actually I have an MFA."
"Yes. Hmm. Well." Judith clapped her hands together and rested the pointed fingers against her lips. "The verse, dear. The verse. It's Shakespeare. You can't ignore the verse the way you have been."
Nicola bit her cheek to keep from snapping back. She'd dealt with prickly directors before. What was it about Judith that made her so twitchy? The Max thing?
Of course not. Nicola forced herself to pay attention.
Judith began pacing circles around her. "I've played Titania seven times before. In England. New York. Even once on this stage. I know this part backwards and forwards." Judith stopped pacing and faced Nicola. "You haven't nailed the rhythm of the language. You're doing it wrong. Here, do a speech for me. Do 'forgeries of jealousy'."
So you can tell me I'm doing it wrong? Nicola unclenched her hands and breathed. Assuming her most queenly manner, she began, "'These are the forgeries of jealousy: And never, since the middle summer's spring, met we – '"
"There! See. Did you even scan the line first?"
"Yes, I di – "
"And did you make notes? Commit the rhythm to memory?" Judith's voice was scathing, her pale eyes snapping with anger. Nicola watched warily as Judith's temper gathered momentum, like a snowball rolling downhill until it's become an avalanche. "There's technique here, my dear. Craft."
"I did scan the lines for the verse's rhythm. I – "
"You young actresses, all the same. You think you can walk in and start spouting Shakespeare out like its Neil Simon. Well, it's not." Judith's manner was like a cat lashing out at you and scraping away lines of your skin, abrupt and without reason.
This isn't even about me, Nicola realized.
Judith clucked her tongue, shaking the white-blonde hair away from her face, her feet pounding the floor as she paced. "Before you ever say a line you need to figure out the metrical character of each line of verse. You need to know it, to internalize the meter for every line. Start again."
Nicola wet her lips. "'These are the forgeries of jealousy: And never – '"
"No!" Judith yelled right in Nicola's face. Her eyes wide, nostrils flared, Judith sucked in a huge breath then launched into Titania herself, her impressive voice filling the room, forceful, beautiful, but still boiling below with that odd rage. "'These are the forgeries of jealousy:And never, since the middle summer's spring, met we on hill, in dale, forest or mead.'" As she finished, Judith stared at Nicola, her gaze like a dissection knife. "Start again."
Shaking with frustration and anger, Nicola started the speech over.
***
Thankfully, lunch break was mandated by the union, otherwise Judith would have kept Nicola locked in that room, running the same monologue over and over without stopping. The stage manager rescued Nicola right before lunch, and Judith disappeared, sour-faced and angry, probably mad she hadn't reduced Nicola to tears.
As rehearsal broke for the meal, a few people wandered to a local diner for their grub, but at least half of the cast poured into the green room backstage to eat.
The first blast of air conditioning hit Nicola's face and she let out a small coo of happiness. She loved the outdoor theater space, but she could already tell the heat was going to be murder when the SoCal summer kicked into gear.
It was also really, really nice not to have Judith yelling at her anymore.
"You're going to want to invest in bug spray when we start the nighttime performances."
Nicola jumped at Max's voice right behind her. Once rehearsal started, she hadn't seen him up close, and she'd sort of allowed herself to pretend he didn't exist. Now he was there, smelling like sunshine and a light sweat, the top and sides of his longish blonde hair pulled pack with a rubber band, that devastating grin lighting his face.
She felt sweaty and gross, basically melted, and he looked like a Sun God. Typical.
Still, impossible to be annoyed when he flashed her that devastating grin, his blue eyes glinting.
"Bug spray?" she said. "Seriously?"
"The delights of an outdoor theater."
Nicola settled at a small table with playing cards scattered in the middle and unpacked her chicken salad. Max unwrapped a big sandwich with roast beef flowing out the sides and instinctively pulled out the chair next to hers.
Old habits. Watching him, her mouth quirked as she remembered when he'd visit her at college. He'd hang out in the green room waiting for her to be done with rehearsal. Then they'd drive off in his convertible, the night cool, the stars above them, and she'd thought it would last forever.
She sighed at the memories and speared up a forkful of romaine and chicken. "Do you always help out that much at rehearsal?"
He wobbled his hand in a so-so gesture. "Depends on the director. Rita's sort of taken me under her wing. Mentoring. When Isabelle directs she lets me hang around too. 'Absorbing her genius'." He laughed. "And I do like being helpful."
"I remember that." Max had always been the first volunteer to carry groceries, to drive a buddy to auditions, to stay late during tech rehearsal. To help Nicola's mother pack half the house when her husband left them. Nicola and Max had even been broken up that month. When they'd been on their quarterly make-up then break-up schedule during college. But, ex-boyfriend or not, he'd still come to help her mother.
Nicola took a long slug from her water bottle. "All right, Maxim, besides bug spray, what else can you tell me about playing an outdoor theater?"
Lachlan startled her as he flung his lunch down then folded his lanky height into the extra chair beside Nicola. Tierney claimed the last seat. The costume designer tossed a pack of cigarettes onto the table next to Lachlan's more reasonable lunch of a sandwich, fruit salad, and potato chips.
"Hello, Lachlan. Tierney." Nicola nodded to them, and tried not to be disappointed at having her alone time with Max disturbed. Alone time was bad. She should be happy of the extra company. She forked up another mouthful of salad and sighed while she chewed.
"Hey, where were you two for the last few hours?" Max asked the newcomers. "I turned around after warm-ups and Lach was gone."
"Did you miss your bitch boy Puck?" Tierney snagged Lachlan's Tupperware full of sliced fruit and began eating it with her fingers.
"Our dear pink-haired girl wanted me for a fitting." Lachlan wrinkled his nose and tore open his potato chip bag. "Puck's faux-leather pants are nearly complete. Tra-la-la." He twirled his finger in the air in a bored circle. "And then dear Tierney followed me home so she could eat my lunch, apparently." His gaze sharpened as he glanced between Max and Nicola. "But forgive me. Did we interrupt your tête-à-tête?"
Max bared his teeth at Lachlan in annoyance but kept chewing.
Nicola rolled her eyes at both men. "No. Max was warning me about the bug spray."
Tierney and Lachlan both grimaced. Further proof, Nicola supposed, that Max wasn't pulling her leg. "Tell me then, what else do I have to look forward to with an outdoor theater?"
Tierney squished a grape in her teeth and leaned back, popping her chair onto two legs. "We get yellow jackets if we eat outside, which is why they make y'all pile into the green room for lunch."
"Not for the air conditioning?" Nicola asked.
Tierney cackled.
Take that as a 'no.'
"We get deer coming off the foothills eating our scenic bushes. Raccoons on occasion too." Lachlan offered Nicola the potato chip bag. "Crisp?"
She picked one chip out to be polite and crunched it, the salt prickling on her tongue. "Anything besides wildlife?"
Tierney picked through more of Lachlan's fruit as she pondered. "When it's an El Niño year, with all th
e rain, sometimes the stage's 'forest' floods."
"The dressing rooms too." Lachlan beamed as he popped a chip into his mouth.
While holding his sandwich, Max nudged Nicola with his elbow to get her attention. "Planes will fly overhead at the most dramatic moment in a play, killing the mood. The audience has been known to get entirely distracted by a lone butterfly fluttering through the theater. And I once had a bird shit on my head during King Lear." He finished this recital with a bite of his sandwich then grinned at her through the mouthful, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.
Nicola fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Now you're just bragging."
He choked. Then he laughed.
Lunch passed pleasantly after that. Nicola was even feeling so good she sent a small sideways grin Max's way, which he returned. She had a paying gig, the work – Judith's nastiness aside – was fulfilling, Nicola liked her cast-mates, and Max seemed inclined to behave himself. Now.
Maybe taking this part wasn't such a mistake, after all.
One week later . . .
"All right, my darlings, I want to work on the kiss between Titania and Oberon."
Nicola blinked in shock as Rita made this announcement. Judith's antagonism aside, things had gone well Nicola's first week at rehearsal. She and Max had been able to maintain a cool but amicable distance, falling into a comfortable work routine. Things were mostly in a technical place with rehearsals anyway – enter here, stand here, wait a beat on that line – sort of stuff. Nicola's Max-Willpower hadn't yet been tested like it had with the audition.
Then she walked into rehearsal on the second day of her second week and "Kiss" was the first thing out of Rita's mouth.
Why does the universe hate me? The day was still young, but the sun was already sharp and bright, the shaded covers over the outdoor stage insufficient against such enthusiastic, chipper new light. Nicola's skin was warmed but not yet overheated. Only a matter of time. A needlepoint of pain started behind her eyes.
"Uh, what kiss, Rita?" Shakespeare's actual play had no such stage direction and none of the blocking Nicola had spent the last week learning had indicated kissing Max as a possibility.
Rita flapped her hands, motioning Nicola to silence. "I rethought the scene where Oberon lifts the spell, mija. Gilbert! Ay dios . . . where is Gil? I need my Bottom!"
Nicola was so wound up she didn't even laugh at that ridiculous statement. She flipped her script to the right place and reviewed how Rita had originally blocked the scene. Nicola's heart was pounding out a sick, punishing beat inside her, but she kept her face expressionless, calm.
Stupid to think she would be able to get through this production without kissing Max. I wonder if it's too late to switch parts. Maybe Rita could have Gil play Titania instead. That would be a new and different direction for the play.
The stage manager and a few of the fairies pushed several unpainted wooden blocks together to make up Titania's bed. Nicola stretched herself out.
"Maxim!" Rita's shrill cry echoed off the back rows of the theater, taking full advantage of the wonderful acoustics.
"I'm here. I'm here." Max jogged onto the stage and circled behind Nicola. The bed platform rocked as Max leaned his considerable bulk against it.
"Puck! Where the hell is Puck?" Rita spat out, losing patience. "And Gil! Abe, you find my Puck. Violet, find Gilbert. Ay dios mio. Where is everybody?" Rita stormed over to confer with the stage manager.
Nicola propped herself up on her elbows. Max eased himself down to sit at her feet. For a long moment she only stared at him, and he stared back, looking ridiculously worried.
"It's not the end of the world." Watching him, Nicola was provoked into a laugh. "Maybe she'll let you kiss Lachlan next."
A corner of Max's mouth tipped up, and he stared thoughtfully at the sky. "We'll be fine. It's not like we've never done this."
"No." Her heart thudded in her chest, punching against her ribs. "No. After all, we spent most of 2003 making out."
"2004 too."
"2004 was a good year."
His mouth quirked. "An immature vintage, but it had potential."
She puffed out a laugh then gazed around, feeling antsy.
"What?" he asked.
"If there's going to be kissing today I'd just as soon get it over with."
Crushing silence followed this pronouncement.
Nicola reran her words in her head and, realizing how she'd sounded, clapped a hand over her mouth. Max shot her a mock-glower, but she couldn't hold back one squeak of laughter. "Sorry, Max. You know what I mean."
"I wonder if there are any onions lying around somewhere," he said. "Garlic?"
"Don't you dare. That wasn't funny in R&J and it's not funny now. You're a grown man. A professional actor. Act like it."
"Where's the fun in that?"
She ought to stay something stern and grown up, something responsible, but his hair was glinting gold in the sun, a dimple flirting with her at the corner of his mouth. All she wanted was to sit in the sun beside him and laugh.
Max. Her heart had forgotten what it felt like to know someone like this, to be able to read his expressions, to predict what he'd say, to be pleased simply by his nearness. This was the sweet comfort of affection – not only wanting the person you were with, or loving them, but liking them too. Over the years, she'd forced herself to forget how much she simply liked Max.
It wasn't a comforting thing to recognize now.
Especially what with the imminent kissing.
Max studied her face, his eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to say something.
"Sorry, sorry." Gil Dodgson thumped onstage and threw himself onto the platform next to her, nearly kicking Max. Gil yawned, his hair and clothes appearing sleep-rumpled. Her Bottom settled in front of her – the small spoon to her big spoon, cutting Nicola off from Max.
Lachlan appeared, smelling of cigarette smoke as he stood behind her against the platform.
"What line are we starting from, Rita?" Max asked.
Nicola felt seasick, her gut writhing as Max and Lachlan kept knocking into the flimsy platform. Their jarring movements were minor, hardly anything, but her body was already unsettled, her insides flailing in anticipation.
It was worse having kissed him so recently because she didn't have to think back across years to remember how good he was, how he tasted, how his arms felt . . .
She rolled her weight over, trying to find a position on the rough wooden platform that didn't hurt. She counted lines in her head, trying to figure out where Rita would put the kiss. You're a professional. Suck it up. It doesn't mean anything. You can kiss Max.
Every day. Sometimes twice a day for the matinee performances. All summer.
The thought was far more horrifying and far more exciting than it should be.
Rita stopped the Oberon and Puck dialogue and began flipping script pages. "All right, Maxim, you keep all the business the same, but on your line, 'wake you, my sweet queen' we have a kiss."
Max cleared his throat, and his weight thudded against the flimsy platform. "A small kiss or . . . "
"You hold the kiss for three seconds, I think," Rita said. "Your wife has just been with her lover. You are trying to make an impression. Reclaim your wife. We try it, mijo. Yes?"
Oh good. I'm being 'claimed.' Nicola lay down on the platform, making sure her body was cheated out so the audience could see her face and so that – sigh – Max would have easy access for the kissing.
He delivered his line and bent toward her. "Sorry, Nic," he whispered. His breath stirred against her face, but his lips barely brushed hers even as he held for the required three seconds. She fought every instinct, every bit of lingering muscle memory which told her to open her mouth against his and deepen that kiss.
Still, when he pulled back she couldn't help but feel . . . unsatisfied.
A breathless moment passed, her body tingling with heat.
"It's your line, darling," Lachlan said above he
r, his rich voice vibrating with laughter.
Nicola blinked her eyes open. "What?"
The stage manager cued her in a flat monotone, "'My Oberon. What visions have I seen.'"
"Right." The scene went on even after Max kissed her. The world went on – even after such a flat, lifeless kiss as that. "Sorry." Nicola turned to Max, making her voice go breathless with wonder, "'My Oberon! What visions have I seen! Methought I was enamour'd of an ass.'"
"'Silence awhile – '"
"Hold, Maxim." Rita lifted a hand, staring at her script. "We add another kiss there, I think. Yes. Make a note, everyone."
Casting Nicola a dry glance, Max pulled his pencil out his pants' pocket, and made a quick note in his script. She was pretty sure she knew what his look meant; she wasn't going to forget they were supposed to kiss. The fact Max felt at least as awkward as she did with this whole thing wasn't much comfort. But it helped.
"All right, we run the scene again," Rita declared. "And, Maxim-mijo, can you put some enthusiasm into the kiss this time? Some fire, eh?"
"Sure, Rita."
I'm in hell. Nicola flattened herself against the bed platform and waited, defenseless, for her ex-boyfriend to kiss her.
This next time, his lips had barely brushed hers before Rita charged onto the stage, swearing in Spanish and then, "Nononono. Ugh." The director's bracelets set up a clinking racket as she flung her arms in the air with exasperation. Rita was a little breathless after her rant. Violet the stage manager started for her but Rita waved the woman off. "Why did I cast you two if I am going to get such lifeless kisses? I want deep. Long. Claim her, Maxim."
Max blinked, looking stunned.
Lachlan chuckled.
Nicola wet her lips and reclined on the box. She squeezed her eyes closed. "Just do it, Max. It's fine."
The other actors reset.
The scene began again.
"'Wake you, my sweet queen.'" Max's voice rumbled above her, the resonance of it causing flutters in her belly. Minty breath stirred on her face, and she smelled him, felt his bulk and heat. She shifted on the platform, rising toward his nearness.
He kissed her.
A Midsummer Night's Fling (Stage Kiss Series Book 1) Page 8