Love's Encore Series (Books One and Two)

by Miranda MacLeod

  “Well, what do you think? Will it work?” Cecily asked nervously.

  Rorie swallowed and nodded, her throat suddenly too parched to speak. She wished she hadn’t finished the last of her iced tea already. “Where did you get that top?”

  “Oh, you mean the bustier? It was under my blouse. I put it on this morning to surprise Chet and never bothered to change. Lucky, huh?”

  Rorie laughed, “Not for him, it’s not.”

  Cecily giggled. “His loss, right? But what do you think, will your friends believe we’re on a date?”

  Rorie studied Cecily again, taking in the full effect. The change in her appearance was remarkable. In addition to the uncharacteristically sexy wardrobe, even Cecily’s hair and makeup were edgier. If she’d been afraid her friends wouldn’t believe that she was interested in Cecily before, now her fears were the exact opposite. “I’m not sure. I don’t think they’ll believe I managed to score such a hot date!”

  Cecily laughed, her cheeks flushing pink. “Isn’t that sweet?”

  “How did you manage all this so quickly—magic?”

  “I’m an actress, remember? This isn’t much different than creating a character in one of my improv classes. Choosing the right costume is a huge part of creating a believable character. I haven’t quite figured out all my motivations yet, but mainly I think it’s to make your cheating ex good and jealous!”

  “Sounds like a good enough motivation to me!” Rorie stood, grabbed her keys from the hook, and opened the front door. “Shall we?” she asked, offering Cecily her arm.

  Cecily giggled again. “So chivalrous, for a Yankee!” she teased in her thickest southern accent.

  Rorie felt a surge of pleasure at her words, and a nervous flutter in her stomach as Cecily slipped her own arm around hers.“Well, you’ve gone out of your way to be the perfect envy-inspiring date, the least I can do is play my part.”

  At this rate, she’d have to remind herself frequently that a part was all it was. Nothing but make-believe. Even so, as they walked arm in arm out the door, Rorie couldn’t contain the fervent wish that their date could be more than a charade.

  Chapter 14

  Cecily closed her script and smiled. She’d made it through her first read-through with minimal trembling and was feeling very proud of herself. The fact that she’d been sitting around a table helped, and she suspected that if she had to recite the lines from memory on a real stage, she’d black out immediately. Still, it was progress.

  “Good job today,” Bailey said, lingering after the rest of the cast left the room. “Seriously. If we weren’t friends, I might start to worry you were going to sabotage me on opening night, just to get your shot at stardom.”

  She said it lightheartedly, but Cecily knew that was exactly what she’d accused Bev of just last week, which had resulted in her assignment as the new understudy to begin with. Cecily decided it was safer to set the record straight before Bailey’s paranoia went too far. “You don’t have to worry about me. The truth is, I have terrible stage fright. I’d do pretty much anything to make sure you’re fit and healthy for opening night!”

  Bailey grinned, patting her on the back. “I knew there was a reason I liked you! Stage fright, huh? That’s too bad. You’re a good actress.”

  Cecily felt a cold lump form in her stomach. Rorie had said almost exactly the same thing when she’d confided in her about her fear, only in her case, she hadn’t said it as a compliment. The memory of that encounter still made her squirm. Even though she and Rorie seemed to have reached an understanding at dinner this weekend, she could conjure up enough awkward memories to feel quite certain that when Rorie talked of second chances, she meant a polite acquaintanceship at best.

  “I’ve certainly improved from watching you,” Cecily said, correctly guessing that when it came to dealing with Bailey, flattery was usually the best approach.

  “Aren’t you the sweetest?” Bailey replied. “And I meant it about you doing a good job. There’s just one little tip I have for you.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s your southern accent. It’s not bad, but it could definitely be better. Here, like this.”

  Bailey picked up the script and read a couple of Blanche’s lines in the exaggerated accent that Hollywood insisted was authentically southern, though exactly where in the south it was supposed to hail from, Cecily had never figured out.

  “There. Did you hear the difference?” Bailey asked. “I auditioned for the pilot of a new police procedural a few month ago that was set in New Orleans and I worked with a dialect coach for a couple of weeks to really get it right.”

  Cecily nodded politely, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “That was … really something. Did you get the part?”

  “Yes and no. I was hoping for the female detective lead, but they decided to bring me on as a guest star instead.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s still pretty good, right? What was the role?”

  “The victim. I got murdered before the opening credits were done.” Bailey sighed. “The truth is, Cecily, my agent was right about one thing. This whole Phinn controversy has gotten me lots of job offers. They’re just not always flattering. I’ve been murdered three times, fired at least twice, and one time I spent the day having a pie smashed in my face for a laundry detergent commercial. Just thinking about blueberry pie makes me queasy now.”

  “That sounds terrible,” Cecily told her with the utmost sincerity.

  Bailey shrugged. “America hates me and loves to watch me suffer. But they know who I am! And, it pays the bills.” Bailey glanced around the modest rehearsal hall, “Even though the Oakwood isn’t exactly a Broadway theater, this role was a real break for me. It’s the first serious part I’ve been offered since the finale of my show aired. So maybe America’s obsession with Phinn is starting to mellow.”

  “Speaking of Phinn,” Cecily said, “have his fans calmed down at all? And did you ever have a chance to speak with him about the threats you’ve received?”

  “I did, actually. And he was quite the gentleman about it.” Bailey paused a moment, looking puzzled. “I’m not sure what to think about it, frankly. I wasn’t expecting him to be as nice to me about it as he was. It’s brought a lot of old feelings to the surface that I don’t know what to do with.”

  Cecily nodded. She knew exactly how Bailey felt. Rorie was being much nicer to her than she’d expected as well, and it left her feeling equally out of sorts. She’d been prepared for hatred, or stony silence. She’d hoped for forgiveness, but hadn’t considered it likely and had assumed, if it happened at all, it would be offered moments before Rorie disappeared from her life again forever. This extended period of polite interaction was something she hadn’t counted on, nor had she anticipated how strongly she’d begin to wish for their friendship to resume. There had been several times already today, like when she finished her read-through, where her first impulse had been to find Rorie and tell her all about it. Like Bailey, she had no idea what to do with the old feelings that were bubbling to the surface.

  “You’ll figure it out,” Cecily said, reassuring herself as much as Bailey.

  “Still, I’m a little nervous about the gala on Friday night. It’ll be our first semi-public appearance together. At least you’ll be there for moral support!”

  “Gala?” This was the first she remembered hearing of any such event.

  “Sure. The big to-do for the donors? You should have gotten an invite by now. Go talk to Bev about it.”

  Cecily nodded, but planned to do no such thing. She loathed those types of events. As an Oakwood patron, she received an invitation every year, and promptly threw it in the trash. No doubt she had done the same this time. As long as she avoided Bev or Susan for the next few days, she should be able to skip it without anyone noticing. She was pondering this plan as she exited the rehearsal hall, when a voice called out from down the hall.

  “Mrs. Parker?”

  It was Bev. Ceci
ly groaned. Now that her memory had been jogged about the gala, she had no doubt why Bev was approaching her so eagerly. At least she’d had just enough warning to pull off a plausible excuse for why she couldn’t attend.

  “Mrs. Parker, I’m so glad I caught you!” As always, Bev’s demeanor was impossibly perky. “I just need to confirm your menu choice for Saturday. Staff is limited to chicken, but of course as a donor you’re welcome to choose the shrimp, if you’d prefer?”

  She struggled not to laugh at the absurdity of it. For a mere half a million dollars, she’d earned an upgrade from poultry to seafood! She'd lived through enough political fund raising dinners that the whole thing left a bitter taste in her mouth, but she was almost positive that Bev was too earnest to understand her gallows humor. Instead, Cecily arranged her face into as somber an expression as she could manage.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be able to make it on Saturday. I have a schedule conflict.” Cecily felt a tickle of guilt as Bev’s face fell at the news.

  “Oh, dear. I knew you hadn’t RSVPed, but I guess I just assumed.” She bit her lip, fighting back tears. “Susan’s going to kill me. I already assured her you were coming, and she’s really counting on you to talk to some of the other donors about your experience as a volunteer.”

  The tickle of guilt became a sharp stab, and Cecily felt her resolve begin to sway. “Let me just double-check my calendar.” She knew that the only thing planned for Saturday night was a bubble bath and a bottle of wine, but she made a show of pulling out her phone and checking the calendar all the same. “Well,” she said after staring at the empty calendar square, “I guess I can move around a few things, if it’s that important.”

  Bev’s face immediately lit up in a wide grin. “That’s fantastic! I’m so relieved. So, I’ll put you down for the shrimp, then?”

  Cecily had barely managed a nod in reply before Bev bounded back down the hallway, her mission accomplished. She glanced toward the scene shop. I wonder if Rorie’s still here. She’d get the joke about the half-million-dollar shrimp, for certain. Cecily was several steps down the hall before she stopped herself, forcing her body away from the shop and back in the direction of the parking lot. Their relationship was tenuous at best. The last thing she needed to do was put a strain on it by seeking Rorie out when it wasn’t necessary.

  She headed to her car with a heavy heart. It didn't seem fair. She'd started volunteering at the Oakwood to make a change in her life. She was so tired of the pettiness of shallow people that had surrounded her for so long. But instead of spending her time with normal people and getting a chance to work with her hands, she was stuck babysitting a spoiled celebrity and being fawned over at exactly the type of fancy party she most loathed. And the one person who could've made all of this worthwhile was completely out of her reach.

  She drove the few miles to her empty house feeling lonelier than she had in a long time.

  The clicking of a keyboard echoed outside Rorie’s office. She’s here, Cecily thought, questioning again whether it was wise to interrupt. She’d almost gone in to talk to Rorie three times this week already, only to decide against it and continue on her way. Now it was Friday afternoon and she was about to slink away for a fourth time when she heard Rorie’s voice.

  “I can see you out there, Cici. Each time you've come by, in fact. So you might as well come in this time.”

  Sheepishly, Cecily entered the office. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you if you’re working on something important.”

  Rorie shrugged. “Not really. Just cleaning up a few renderings to make them easier for the crew to follow.”

  “May I see?” Cecily craned her neck to get a better look at the screen, where a drawing of the Oakwood's stage had been populated with the very set pieces Cecily had noticed on her walks through shop. “Nice! It's starting to look just like that out there, too. Wait,” she added as a vibrant image caught her eye. “What’s that one there, the thumbnail sized one?”

  “This?” Rorie asked, pointing to a small picture with her mouse.

  She clicked on it and the image enlarged to fill the screen. It was a montage of locations: the interior of an apartment, an old fashioned diner, a park with a gazebo, and half a dozen others. They were common enough places, but the designs were anything but. The style elements, the colors, a certain darkly quirky aesthetic, were completely engrossing, and totally Rorie.

  “It’s a concept drawing for a project I’m starting when I get back to LA next month. A television series for cable. It's set in a small town, but it's a little … I don't know, unusual? Here, I’ve got a few more,” she said, scrolling through the pictures.

  “Rorie, these are amazing.” Tears stung the corners of her eyes and Cecily blinked them back rapidly, hoping Rorie wouldn’t notice. “I can look at these and know exactly what the show is going to be. No wonder you won an Academy Award. It’s just…”

  She blinked again and felt the moisture pool in the crevice between her eye and the bridge of her nose. Damn it, don’t start crying! She pretended to rub her eye, hoping the movement would brush the tear away before it could dribble down her nose. “You were talented in college, but you’re a master now.” And it took an awfully long time to develop talent like that, and struck her again just how many years of each other’s lives they’d missed.

  She’d leaned in to get a closer look at the screen, and her body tingled as Rorie turned her head toward her and she realized they were mere inches apart. Rorie studied her for a moment without speaking, and she could feel her pulse race under her gaze. She leaned back, increasing the distance between them again and plastered as much of a smile on her face as she could manage. “Anyway, I just dropped by to see if you were going to this gala thing tomorrow night.”

  Rorie chuckled. “Are you kidding? You don’t honestly think I could get away with skipping it, do you? Susan would have my head. She’s pulling out all the stops this year. In fact, she even asked me if I could bring my Oscar with me to show everyone.”

  “What, did she think you brought it with you?” Cecily giggled at the thought. “Although, if I had one, I’d probably pack it wherever I went.” She gave a little shrug. “Just being honest.”

  “You know, I do regret not bringing him with me, just a bit. He’s very shiny and would brighten up that dreary hotel room they've got me in.”

  “You could set him on top of the mini fridge.”

  Rorie laughed heartily at that, and Cecily was filled with satisfaction. She’d always loved the way Rorie laughed at her jokes.

  “Careful, you don’t want Susan to find out how funny you can be. She’s so nuts with the Gala right now, she might assign you to do an improv comedy routine.”

  “I knew there was a good reason I tossed out that invitation! I’ve never gone before,” Cecily admitted. “I get invited every year, but I never go. They make a big fuss over the patrons and I hate being the center of attention like that. I guess as a volunteer it’s different though. I thought Bev was going to cry when I told her I couldn’t make it.”

  “Oh, so you won’t be there?” There was a hint of disappointment on Rorie’s face. “And here I thought we’d get the chance to dance.”

  Cecily felt her cheeks flush. She remembered all too clearly the last time they’d danced, and where it had led. She could hardly believe Rorie had the nerve to bring it up. “Dance? I haven’t done that since college … at your friend's party.”

  “Oh really?” Rorie eyed her slyly. “I’m not sure if I remember.”

  You’re a terrible liar, Ms. Mulloy, Cecily thought. There’s no way you’ve forgotten that night.

  “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter, since you won’t be there on Saturday,” Rorie added.

  “No, I’ll be there,” Cecily said with a groan. “Bev had already added me to the guest list by accident and I didn’t want her to get in trouble by having to tell Susan she’d made a mistake.”

  Rorie snorted. “I doubt it was
an accident, or that Susan didn’t know all about it. You’re forgetting that Bev is almost as good an actress as you.”

  “You think she was lying to me?” Cecily was shocked. The thought had never crossed her mind.

  “I know Susan. She can be ruthless when she wants something, and right now what she wants is undying loyalty from her minions. She’s under a lot of pressure trying to prep the Oakwood’s application to become a member of one of the major regional theater organizations. It’ll be a big step up for the theater, but not everyone’s thrilled with the changes she’s made, and this year’s gala is her way of trying to win over as many as she can.”

  “You mean the staff’s unhappy?”

  “No, the actors and crew are all on board, as far as I know. Once the Oakwood is a member institution, it brings more prestige, and usually higher pay, too, but it also requires new union contracts, which mean no more handing out leading roles to big donors. Susan already started to implement it, and some of them were more than a little displeased and had threatened not to give any money in protest. And Susan needs their money.”

  “Yeah, I’d heard of a few who’d bailed.” And good riddance to them.

  “Yes, until they found out renewing their pledges would get them seats at the gala at the same table as Bailey and Phinn.”

  “Amazing. What kind of shallow people are swayed by something like—oh, God.” Cecily felt her stomach lurch as it hit her. Polly and the rest of the Mean Mom Brigade would be at the gala on Saturday night. “I know who these donors are that Susan’s trying to impress, and let’s just say we don’t get along.”

  “Well, look at the bright side, at least you can look forward to dancing with me. Plus, I hear they’re serving shrimp.”