I looked around the bar. There were few patrons, certainly not enough to fill the place. Noah’s words hit me—finally.
The Phair Theater Festival brought in boatloads of tourists, but only for one week in the year. The Marshall Theater Players, however, brought in tourists year-round, except for when the theater was dark. But the theater went dark only three times a year, for a four-week interval each time.
People raised families here, led lives, and made livings that were only possible because of tourism. The Marshall Theater was the lifeblood of Phair. Noah had multiple Double Shot bars scattered all over the country, but this location depended on Phair’s local economy not falling into collapse.
And apparently, keeping the entire town of Phair alive depended on me writing a brilliant script.
Fantastic.
Lucas finished his drink, straightened his bolo, and stood. “It just occurred to me what’s wrong with this draft.”
I stared questioningly at Lucas.
“Noah is Andy Rich. You are Caroline.”
I sat, perplexed. “What could possibly bring you to that conclusion?”
He nodded at both me and Noah. “Everyone can tell you two have history.”
Neither Noah nor I had made any secret that my brother was his best friend. But what did that have to do with my script? “And your point would be…”
Lucas shrugged. “The tension between the two of you is palpable. Like the tension between Andy Rich and Caroline. You two are those characters.”
No way. I took a step back, putting space between me and the bar. Between me and Noah. Lucas was dead wrong.
I pointed at Noah. “He is not the inspiration for my lead character.” Not even Noah Blake was as damaged as Andy Rich. And I certainly wasn’t the wannabe bad-girl, Caroline.
“I’m sure you patterned the characters’ dynamic around your dynamic with Noah subconsciously,” Lucas said. “But if you could manage to bring the same fire I’ve been witnessing between the two of you over the last few months to this play, we’ll win the Phair Theater Festival for Best in Show. Even if Anderson Jones is a judge.”
I was so not buying Lucas’s observation. Yeah, Noah and I snapped at each other from time to time. Well, I snapped at him and he ignored me—all the time.
Lucas pulled out his wallet and laid cash for his drink on the bar. “Tell you what. I’ll agree to stay the course and keep you on as playwright, but only if the two of you agree to work together.”
Noah’s chin lowered. “What exactly are you asking, Lucas?”
Yeah, really. What was Lucas asking?
“Spend time together. Help her flesh out what’s missing on paper between these two characters.”
“What?” Rattled, I raked fingers through my hair.
“That’s insane,” Noah said.
For once, Noah and I agreed on something.
“I’m not talking about just hanging out in the Double Shot, pretending to talk,” Lucas said, rubbing his chin the way he did when new ideas came to him. “I’m talking scene enactment, and maybe some real-world situations. Improvisation.”
But that would mean spending one-on-one time with Noah. Not just the occasional run-in at the Double Shot. I’d done my best to ignore Noah since I’d discovered his bar was my across-the-street neighbor, and could handle encountering him while I sat at the bar with a tumbler of gin in my hand, but this was too much. I felt pinpricks of panic work their way across my skin. “Lucas, no. Absolutely not.”
“My decision is final, Ashlyn. Work on scene enactments and improvisation with Noah, or I’ll assign another playwright to finish the script.”
But this play was my chance at Broadway. It was also my chance to prove to my dad I could succeed in this business. I gulped back panic.
“There’s no way I have time to play pretend with Ashlyn so she can finish her script,” Noah said, scowling. “I have a business to build. I’m not playing babysitter.”
Lucas turned to Noah. “According to you, the success of this Double Shot location depends on the success of the theater, which depends on The Marshal Theater Players winning the Phair Theater Festival. And you’re the one who convinced me Ashlyn was a brilliant playwright in the first place. Looks like you don’t have an option, either. You will both do this my way, or…” “Or what?” Noah demanded.
I made a last-ditch plea. “Lucas, forcing us together will only hurt the situation, not help. Noah isn’t even a writer.”
A gleam entered Lucas’s eyes. “He might not be a writer, but for this play, he’s certainly your muse.”
Fair Play is available now!
About the Author
When she’s not writing novels, Tracy is a Lifestyle blogger at Totally The Bomb, a chauffeur, a maid, a short-order cook, a coach, a psychic/intuitive who always finds what her husband loses, a reformed yoga nut, a mango margarita connoisseur, and a really bad dancer. She would love to hear from you! You can follow Tracy at:
www.tracyaward.com
Facebook: @tracyawardauthor
Twitter: @tracyaward
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