"And you . . . oh." Cassie's face fell as she read down the page.
Nicola hissed a breath out through her teeth. She didn't even need to glance at the script; she remembered how her MASH game had gone. "Married to Max," Nicola murmured. "Living in a mansion. Three kids."
"That's a pretty good fortune. Did you cheat?"
"Of course. I needed it to land on Max."
Cassie closed the script, her voice mock-hearty. "Shame about the job, but I'm told being a pooper scooper at the zoo can be very fulfilling."
"I think I'll stick with acting." Nicola lifted the script out of Cassie's hands and set it in one of her 'to keep' boxes. She didn't want to bury the past anymore, but she couldn't quite live with it in her future. Her engagement ring was in the bottom of the same box. "I'm happy with where I'm at."
"Are you?"
Nicola gave Cassie a wobbly smile. "Most of the time."
"I thought you and Max were pretty good together. You were happier with him than I've ever seen you. What happened?"
"It's difficult to explain," Nicola said.
"I fucked up," Max said, and slammed the door behind him.
Nicola gaped at him.
"We didn't lock that?" Cassie said.
Max pulled the door open again. "Want to throw me out, Nic?"
"What are you doing here?" Nicola's brain was functioning at half-speed. A wild tumult of string instruments and harps and Shakespeare quotes was spinning inside her head, taking up all the space for thinking. A riotous chorus of inchoate joy she was powerless to silence. Max. Here.
"I fucked up. I was hurt and stubborn and stupid." Max eased the door shut and walked toward her. "I'll go on tour with you, Nic."
"What?" She gasped. "You can't leave the RSF."
"Who says? If the only way we can be together is for me to follow you then . . . lead on." He knelt beside her and caught her hand, clasping it over his heart. She knew she should pull her hand away. They were done. Kaput.
Instead she turned her fingers around to clasp his hand. "Max, I can't ask you to leave the RSF."
"OK. We compromise. We make long-distance work. Or you stay here. We trade off. Whatever you want. Because I'm all in, Nicci." He gripped her hand, his gaze searing as it met hers. "Are you?"
"Max – "
"Are you?" He pulled her to her feet with him. "Because it doesn't have to be all or nothing here. I'm willing to bend to make this work." He threaded his fingers into her hair, staring into her eyes. "You said you loved me. Don't you want to be with me?"
Cassie made a squeaking noise. Nicola glanced over at her, and Cassie slapped a hand over her mouth and waved her hand as if to say, Ignore me. But happy tears were brimming in her friend's eyes.
Nicola swallowed, her own throat thick with emotion. She was shaking. He was offering her everything. A future together. A partner. A life.
He kissed her hand then let it go, his fingers trailing against hers until the last possible second. "You don't have to say anything now. Go on the tour if you need to. Take some time. Think. Figure shit out."
He was at the door, and he held it open as he gazed at her. "But, Nic, if you say no this time, if you walk away, it's not because of me. Or us. It'll be because of you. Because you're too scared to try." He waved at Cassie. "Nice to see you again, Cass."
"Uh, bye."
He closed the door.
Cassie grabbed Nicola's shoulders, whipping her around and giving her a tiny shake. "Nicola, what are you going to do?"
Nicola could only blink, her head was whirling, her heart was thudding, she was dizzy. "I think I might throw up."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Max lingered outside Nicola's door, then he lingered on the stairs walking to his car then he lingered over starting his car. But before he could linger in his driving, his phone buzzed with a text from Tierney, It's an hour until call time. Where the HELL are you Mr Director? And where the hell is Nic?
Tier, he typed, grab Nicola's understudy, put her in the Titania get-up.
His phone chimed almost at once with a return text from Tierney: WHAT'S WRONG WITH NIC?!
Max frowned. Had Isabelle not told Tierney that Nicola was quitting? Great. With a bitter sigh, Max cast a regretful glance at Nicola's apartment building. He finally had to admit to himself that if she was going to come running out into his arms she would have done it by now.
Just get the understudy ready, he wrote back to Tierney. He punched the steering wheel then started the car. He had said Nicola could have time to think. He was kind of an asshole if he didn't actually let her have that time.
Because of traffic, he arrived at the theater about fifteen minutes before curtain and managed to sneak backstage without running into Isabelle or Tierney. Although he did glimpse one familiar face as he rounded down the path to the theater. Seeing silver bracelets glinting and white hair in stylish spikes, Max slid to a stop on the path. "Rita!"
She and her wife Quinnie waited by the stage door. Rita was leaning on her wife but otherwise looked damn good. Because the doctors had caught the stroke so early she had avoided permanent paralysis and, if her energy levels weren't fabulous, she still had her bright spark of personality. "Maxim!" Beaming, she pulled him down by the ear so she could kiss his cheek. "I hear you are saving my play from that bitch Judith."
"Trying to."
"Oh, mijo, I am so proud. And I cannot wait to see you and Nicola on that stage. You were always so good in rehearsal, you will be magnificent onstage together."
Max swallowed and opened his mouth to make some reply. He wasn't sure what.
But then Quinnie patted Rita's hand. "We should take our seats, sugar."
"Yes, yes." Rita twinkled up at Max. "Isabelle put our seats next to the gorgeous Peter. So even if the play stinks – which will be your fault of course, mijo, because me, I am brilliant – then at least I will have a good view."
Chuckling, Max kissed her forehead. "See ya later, Rita."
"Break a leg, my darling, and kiss Nicola hello for me."
"I – yeah, sure, Rita."
The two women circled around to enter the house.
Max stood there for a long, endless minute, trying to move when it felt like his heart was being pulled out of his chest. How could he do this without Nicola? How could he go on without Nicola?
He scraped a hand over his face and leaned against the theater wall. You just do. He'd fallen apart last time, destroyed his life, but even that hadn't made him forget her. He'd sunk to some pretty wretched depths and even those hadn't been more painful than the deep, painful cut of losing Nicola.
So . . . go on, Max. Live your life. Miss her.
And yet . . .
The show must go on.
He scoffed, laughing at himself. Melodramatic, Max. With a side order of trite.
But as for an inspirational speech – he could do worse.
'I cannot wait to see you and Nicola on that stage together . . . ' Well, he hoped the star-sighting of Peter would be enough to counteract Rita's disappointment.
He got into his make-up and Oberon get-up in record time and still had a spare minute to check in with the sound and lighting booth to make sure everything was smooth.
He did well enough, carrying bravely on and all that. It was only in the few lulls when thoughts of Nicola intruded that he was ready to collapse. As he stared at the empty stage right before curtain rising, the hollow place in his heart throbbed. His mind's eye could populate the space with her so easily, recreating her every word, every movement.
When he got word they had opened the house doors and let the audience in, Max snuck into the wings to peek out and see how full they were. Previews, especially the first preview, were typically lightly attended. An understanding existed among veteran theater-goers that previews were still dry-runs for the play, one step up from dress rehearsals. Costumes might be unfinished (though not on Tierney's shows), sets might still be unpainted, lights might be wrong. Most preview
audiences were friends and family only.
When Max peeked out, every seat in the theater was full.
"What the – " Sweat popped out on his lip, in the small of his back. So many people. And the girl who'd be playing Titania hadn't even had a rehearsal. And this whole show was his baby now, his problem. And Rita was in the audience. And Peter and – "Shit."
"You missed call time," Isabelle said, right behind him.
He wheeled around, still shocked, and stared at Isabelle. "This? For a preview?"
She so casually examined her fingernails. "Word got out your brother might be in the audience."
"Uh-huh. Did you put it up on Twitter yourself or did you have one of the interns do it?"
Isabelle wrinkled her nose at him then sighed. "You've done a good job with this, Max. I've known directors with three times your experience who couldn't have handled all the madness thrown your way this week." She patted his cheek. "I'm proud of you."
First Rita, then Isabelle. Still, it didn't become less nice to hear with repetition. "Thanks, Isa."
She folded her arms, studying him in her usual disconcerting way. "I wanted to talk to you about Henry V. Not – " She held her hand up, "about playing the lead. Christ, that part is so tainted now I can't cast any of the men in the company. You or Lach especially." She sighed and adjusted her arms. "No. I was thinking of putting you in the director's chair."
"Me? Direct Henry V?"
"Yes." Her bee-stung lips curved with amusement. "You've pretty much been Rita's right hand man for the last two years. You've saved Midsummer. You've already proven your loyalty to the company. It's time I gave you more responsibility. A real chance to shine. Besides, after everything that's happened, I think our directing track needs new blood."
Max wet his lips and reached for her hand to shake. "I say yes, Isabelle. Thank you."
She gave his hand a firm, quick shake. "Good. We'll talk more later. I've got an interesting prospect for the lead I want to talk to you about."
Max stifled a groan. It's probably Peter. Well, Max could put up with a lot for the chance to direct his own show.
Perhaps reading his face, Isabelle waved her hands in the air, wiping the slate clean. "We'll talk later. For now, good show. Break a leg, Oberon."
"Thank you, Isabelle."
She left him and he stood there, frozen, vibrating with excitement. Henry V. Directing. He couldn't wait to tell Nicola –
That thought stopped him cold. What if she didn't want to be with him? What if he never saw her again? Spoke to her again? For an endless breath of pain, his heart hurt so badly he couldn't breathe.
"Hey, boss," Lachlan said. "The rabble want you to lead warm-up tonight. Are you up for it?"
Max beamed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Of course."
"Where's Nicola? I didn't see her in the dressing room."
Max swallowed. "Something came up . . . she can't . . . Allie's going on for her."
Lachlan's brows drew down in a deep frown, but something in Max's face must have told him not to ask questions. Lachlan gave a slow nod instead, and, after that, he must have spread the word among the cast because no one else asked Max where Nicola was.
Max led the warm-up, then the show started. The opening fight between the Amazons and Theseus' men went over great. They were getting laughs. Sound cues on time. The props were in the right place. The costumes looked stellar.
As the first scene ended, the girl playing Titania that night scurried past him with a shy smile. She had to do a quick change from an Amazon to Titania, and Max wasn't sure she'd make it.
Max watched the girl go and restrained another painful sigh. Not Nicola.
Doing his first Oberon scene tonight was going to be an act of physical torture. To go through the motions, say the lines, do the blocking, the kissing with someone who was not Nicola. The thought of it felt wrong, an affront. Nevertheless: the show must go on.
Whee. He assumed his position in the wings to wait for his cue. Lachlan gave him a squeeze on the shoulders before he entered. "It'll be all right, mate."
"I know. Better go." Max spared a smile for his friend.
Lachlan entered to get his flirt on with a friendly fairy.
Max adjusted his cape, checked the gold circlet on his head, rolled his shoulders to get some of the stiffness out. But it was no use. Without Nicola, the tension wasn't going anywhere, the sick empty place in his stomach wasn't going anywhere. Ever. But, hey, the show had to go on, right?
Fuck the show. I want Nicola.
Lachlan turned his way and pointed. "'But, room, fairy! here comes Oberon.'"
Max let out a deep sigh, then swept onstage, drawing himself up and fighting to hold onto the character, the kingliness.
The girl fairy was facing the other direction. She pointed and exclaimed, "'And here my mistress. Would that he were gone!'"
Max held his breath. Titania should already be entering as the fairy said that line. But Titania's understudy, Allie, was nowhere in sight.
He craned on tiptoes and, at his most haughty, ad-libbed like his life depended on it. "Where is thy mistress, girl?" he asked the fairy.
She gave a visible gulp and shrugged. "I, uh, I thought I saw her."
The audience burst out in laughter.
Everyone onstage cringed.
FUCK! Max screamed silently in his head. It must have been the quick change holding Allie up. Asking a girl to go from a buck-skinned clad Amazon to an ethereal fairy queen in a few minutes was a lot to demand. She was probably still backstage hopping around half-naked.
But that knowledge didn't help because the scene couldn't start without a Titania.
All the actors onstage sort of whipped their heads over to him with a collective, quietly petrified What do we do? look. He sighed to himself. Why did I want this job?
He motioned Lachlan over. "Puck, go you and find your mistress. Bring her here to me. I would have conference with my wayward wife." That sounded suitably Shakespearean, right?
Lachlan bowed at the waist, and stole one of his later lines for an ad-lib, "'Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so.'" He dashed offstage and Max stood on tiptoe to watch Lachlan plunge into the wings in search of the missing Allie.
Lachlan returned almost at once, shuffling forward, a shocked expression on his face.
Max restrained his impatience. Did he see Allie's boobs backstage or something?
Lachlan shook himself to get into character. "My lord, I have . . . found her. Um . . . " Lachlan stepped back, making a sweeping flourish, bowing at the waist toward Titania.
Toward Nicola.
Max's breath left him in a small puff of air as she glided toward him.
"'What, jealous Oberon!'" she drawled, stepping right up to him. In the real blocking, she was supposed to turn at this point and start walking off. Instead she stayed put and half-turned over her shoulder to address her handmaidens. "'Fairies, skip hence: I have forsworn his bed and company.'"
Max caught her by the upper arms, terrified she would turn and leave the stage. In fact, he was scared she wasn't even real and this was a sign of his impending psychotic break. But her skin was silk under his fingers, and when he dipped his head to kiss her, her lips were soft, her mouth sweet and perfect.
She threw her arms around his neck and bent her body into him, twining her tongue with his. They weren't Oberon and Titania anymore, or Romeo and Juliet, and who would even want to be when they could be Max and Nicola?
She came back. He pulled away and stared at her, wondering, grateful, and so, so happy.
"Ah, my lord?" Lachlan said, nudging him with his toe, basically saying to Max, What about the play?
Max grinned at Nicola. "'Tarry, rash wanton: am not I thy lord?'"
Nicola gave a happy, delighted laugh which broke in the middle with a sob. "'Then I must be thy lady!'" She beamed at him, her eyes brimming with joyous tears. She lifted her hand up, her left hand, where his opal glinted on her ring finger. Yes
, she mouthed to him. Yes, Max.
Max didn't even know it was possible to feel this happy. He thought his chest might break from the ecstatic beating of his heart. "Nicci," he murmured against her lips and kissed her.
"Ah-hem," Lachlan said, desperation leaching into his voice. Please, guys.
Nicola ended the kiss and pressed her forehead against Max's. "I love you," she whispered so only he would hear.
"I love you," he murmured.
She drew a long, deep breath then pushed him out at arm's length, the Titania character snapping into place, "'But I know when thou hast stolen away from fairy land . . . '"
Out of pity for the rest of the actors onstage they finished that scene without any more ad-libbing or extra kisses. But it was one of the hardest things Max had ever done not to catch Nicola in his arms and whirl her around in elation.
And then, Shakespeare and fate being cruel masters, she exited the scene but he was still stuck onstage. Then, as soon as he could exit, she had to go onstage and fall asleep to do her Bottom scenes. She was onstage asleep, out of reach for the next two full scenes and then, again, as soon as she had exited, he had to go on as Oberon. He'd never noticed before how much they kept missing each other in the damn, stupid play. Fate, Shakespeare, and the blocking cruelly conspiring to keep them apart. Nicola. I want Nicola. Damn Shakespeare.
Finally, finally, Nicola was offstage waiting, and Max was about to be. "'But, notwithstanding, haste; make no delay,'" he said to Lachlan. "'We may effect this business yet ere day.'"
Max ran offstage, and Nicola threw herself into his arms, kissing him furiously. He was the director; he should worry about screwing up her make-up, her hair, her costume.
He really didn't.
"You came back. You came back," he whispered again and again, grateful, kissing every inch of her he could lay lips too, her hair, her cheek, her ear, her throat. She cupped his face and swept her tongue into his mouth, kissing him like they hadn't seen each other in years.
"I'm never leaving," she whispered, and kissed him again. "Never." Kiss. "Never." Kiss. "Never."
He cupped her head, holding her in place while he ravished her mouth.
A Midsummer Night's Fling (Stage Kiss Series Book 1) Page 30