Acting Up (Center Stage Book 1)

by Adele Buck

  Some internal warning signal began to warm up and wail softly inside Paul’s head. “I have a production meeting. Save it for rehearsals. That’s what they’re for.”

  Looking at him with disbelief in her eyes, Susan blinked. “But… I was really hoping I’d get to work more closely with you.” Her eyes shone with a not-so-subliminal invitation and Paul wondered what he had ever seen in her all those years ago. Her entitled air was an utter turn-off.

  Paul folded his arms across his chest, choosing to ignore the innuendo. “You’re going to get to work as closely with me as any other actor. I don’t play favorites.”

  “But I’m your lead.”

  Paul waved at the empty sidewalk. “And James is my other lead, but I don’t see him accosting me on the street.”

  “Paul.” Susan smiled coquettishly at him.

  The internal warning wail grew louder and the irritation that had been compounding since her early arrival in Connecticut, her request that he put her up for the night, her interference with his set design meeting, her needling of Cath…it all got the better of him. “Rehearsals,” he said, his jaw tightening. “Really. I expect better of an actress of your experience.” Susan’s eyes flicked over Paul’s shoulder and then rolled in exasperation. Paul turned his head to see Freddie coming up the sidewalk with a cardboard tray of coffee cups.

  “Is one of those for me?” he asked Freddie, forcing a smile.

  Shoulders hunched, Freddie nodded, her nervous glance taking in Susan’s all-too-obvious ill temper.

  “Well then. After you. Tell the others I’ll be right behind you.” Paul pulled the door open and held it for Freddie, who scuttled into the theater, ducking her head under his arm. “Susan, I will see you at nine. If you want, write down your thoughts about Molly. We have a tight rehearsal schedule and while I’m happy to review your ideas outside rehearsals, I will need to do it on my own time. I can’t inconvenience the rest of the crew for your sake.”

  Giving Paul a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, Susan gave him an exaggerated salute. “Aye-aye, Captain. Whatever you say. You want my written notes on Molly? Do you want me to journal her? Maybe do some freshman scene study exercises? I didn’t know that by working for you I’d have to go back to the most basic of basics. But I guess any artist needs to be ready to be humble.”

  Paul straightened his spine and squared his shoulders, letting the theater door swing closed as he turned to fully face her. “Susan, if we have this big of a problem this early, I suggest you let me know if you really want this part by your call time. I need an actress who is willing to be professional. To work and work hard. This role isn’t a joke. If I am going to have to replace you I need to know now.” Gratified by the look of real alarm in her eyes, he went on. “I have a production meeting that,” he said as he checked his watch, “I am now late for, thanks to you. I don’t know what is making you behave this way, but maybe you should consider whether or not you really want this part.”

  Susan nodded, her motions jerky and stiff. She cleared her throat. “I do.” She laughed in a way that was probably meant to be airy, but came off stiff and forced. “Have a good meeting. I’ll see you at nine.”

  Paul watched her turn and retreat down the sidewalk, curls bouncing on her shoulders. Good grief. Is she ready for this?

  Am I?

  Cath had never experienced a first rehearsal with Paul that went quite this badly before.

  Arriving with a flounce dead on time, Susan had flashed a superior smile at Paul. Cath had been unable to keep an incredulous expression off her face, and it had only deepened as the rehearsal progressed.

  Paul was pushing Susan hard. Too hard. Harder than Cath had ever seen him do with any actress before in such an early rehearsal. Instead of letting her find her feet in the role, he was challenging her for immediate, specific character decisions.

  Susan was rattled. She was gripping her script tightly and instead of paying attention and responding to James, her performance was directed almost entirely at Paul. James, for his part, was watching the byplay between his director and leading lady with increasing concern, a frown furrowing his forehead.

  Cath called for a union-mandated break and the look Paul shot at her could have melted steel. “Paul? A moment?” she asked, ignoring his expression. Susan, James, and Freddie hightailed it out of the rehearsal room as Cath said, “Fifteen minutes,” before shutting the door softly behind them.

  Taking a deep breath, Cath turned and said as calmly as she could manage, “Want to tell me exactly what is going on here?”

  Paul dug both hands into his hair, gripping tightly. “You may have been right. Hiring Susan might have been a mistake.”

  Cath’s eyebrows lifted in surprise and her eyes widened. “What? What brought this on?”

  “She’s impossible.” Paul paced to the end of the table, removing his hands from his hair and shoving one into his pocket, his fingers fiddling noisily with a handful of coins.

  Cath watched his fidgeting and took a deep breath. “Well, unless you have been paying absolutely no attention to her shenanigans, you’ve known that for years. What’s changed?”

  “Well, I thought she took the work seriously.”

  Cath considered Paul’s face. His high cheekbones were flushed and his blue eyes were bright. What sort of number has that woman done on you this time? The sound of hammering and a circular saw ripping through lumber emanated from the scene shop at the other end of the theater, a reminder that the rest of the machinery of the production continued to move forward.

  Stepping toward him, Cath laid a hand on his arm and his fidgeting stilled. “Stop. You’re not acting like yourself. Take a breath and think. You’re treating Susan as if this was the second week of rehearsals, not the first day. I never thought I would say this about Susan Vernon of all people, but you’ve got to give her a chance.”

  Paul inhaled deeply, covering her hand on his arm with his own. Warmth seemed to radiate from his clasp into her entire body and Cath’s toes curled. She forced herself to meet his eyes.

  He took another deep breath and closed his eyes. “You’re right. Absolutely right. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Nerves, maybe.”

  “Nerves? You? On day one?” Cath’s eyebrows pinched together in a frown. Her eyes swept over the planes of his face—this close she could see a spot on the angle of his jaw where his razor had missed that morning, a tiny patch of roughness that she wanted to drag her fingertips across.

  “Yeah. For all my talk about how big this play could be, what it could mean to our careers, it really hit me today. You know?”

  No, I don’t. How much of this is the play and how much of this is Susan?

  There wasn’t enough time for that conversation, even if Cath was brave enough to have it. Reluctantly, she pulled her hand away and moved over to re-open the door. When Susan and James returned, Susan’s eyes flicked nervously from Paul to Cath and back to Paul again. The rehearsal resumed and Paul relaxed, conducting himself more normally. Susan’s brittle, mannered performance became more natural and when they finished the rehearsal, Cath felt good about their progress.

  Susan opened her water bottle and took a long pull. “That’s feeling okay, then,” she told Paul with a broad smile. “You had me worried there, especially since you ran out on me this morning.”

  Ran out on you? Paul froze. What is she talking about? Gathering control of his temper with an effort, he took a deep breath and looked at Susan. “Can I have a word?”

  “Sure.”

  Avoiding Cath’s eye, he strode into the hallway and down away from the doorway, Susan following him. When he turned to face her, her expression was innocent and expectant. “Will you please explain to me why you are behaving like a needy ingénue in her first summer stock role?”

  Susan looked at him as if she had been slapped, shock swiftly shading into anger. “What are you talking about? What did I do now?”

  “Intimating that we sle
pt together?”

  Susan folded her arms across her chest, her eyes flat and hard. “You’re going to have to be more specific. I don’t recall saying anything of the kind.”

  “Saying that I ‘ran out on’ you this morning? Come on. Don’t be obtuse.” Paul realized he had crossed his own arms, unwittingly mirroring Susan’s body language. Disliking the idea that he would be following her lead, he settled his hands on his hips.

  “Seriously, Paul? You did run out on me this morning in front of the theater when I wanted to talk. If you or anyone else is going to infer something sexual out of what I said, that’s not on me.”

  Paul looked steadily at Susan, watching for any sign that she was prevaricating. She didn’t shift, her eyes were fixed on his. There was a possibility that he had misconstrued what she said. A small one, but still.

  He could hear Cath moving around, getting ready for the next scheduled rehearsal. The show—all too literally—had to go on.

  “Fine. If I misunderstood, I misunderstood. But watch what you say in future.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You need to think before you speak. I’ve never slept with an actress working for me and I’m not about to let your loose talk give anyone the impression that I do.”

  Susan gave him a look of utter disbelief. “Well this is just great. I’ll just take a vow of silence until the rest of the world grows up and stops seeing innuendo in anything and everything anyone says.”

  “That would be just perfect.” Yes, do shut up, you daft diva.

  Clipping her lips together, Susan stalked back into the room, picked up her bag and her water bottle and left.

  Paul rubbed his hand across his face then scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “That woman is going to be the death of me if I don’t murder her first,” he muttered, walking back to his chair. Looking around, he realized he was alone in the room with Cath. “Where’s Freddie?”

  Cath appeared to be engrossed in the call sheet in front of her. “I sent her to the lobby to make sure the rest of the cast didn’t come in until you had gotten yourself together. I figured you might need some time to compose yourself.” Her voice seemed normal, calm, and it irritated Paul that Susan’s careless words didn’t seem to have had any effect on Cath.

  “Cath.”

  “What?” Cath kept her eyes down on the table in front of her, moving her attention from the call sheet to the first lines of scene two of the play.

  “Look at me.” Did that scene between Susan and me hurt you? His heart twisted at the idea of causing Cath pain. Then twisted again with the possibility that she wasn’t hurt at all by Susan’s careless words.

  Paul watched as Cath folded her lips into her mouth, then deliberately looked at him. Her wide green eyes held no emotion.

  Cath’s gut was roiling, her brain filled with static as she made herself look at Paul, hoping that her face didn’t give anything away. He looked stern and angry.

  Well, Cath figured that if she had slept with an actor and he had joked about it in public, she would be pretty angry about it too.

  Maybe this means that’s the end of the affair for the two of them.

  “Are you ready to proceed?” Cath forced herself to ask the question, even though the last thing she wanted was to deal with another actor, another rehearsal.

  Well, that’s show biz, girl. You should be used to it by now.

  Paul’s light blue gaze bored into her. It made her want to lean toward him, cup his lean cheek in her palm, kiss that clever mouth, despite everything. Even despite Susan. Instead, she clenched her teeth and looked back at her script, pain twisting in her chest.

  “Cath, are you okay?”

  The question nearly brought tears to her eyes, but she just nodded. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He paused for a long moment, considering her face, then finally sighing and turning away. “Okay, then. Let’s get Freddie to let the cast in.”

  To: Alicia Johnson

  From: Susan Vernon

  Subject: Directors. Can’t live with ‘em can’t…

  Paul is being SUCH A JERK. I mean, the man can’t handle a little innuendo after a rehearsal? I made a joke. Just blowing off steam. Of course, I had to pretend like I didn’t mean it that way. Better that he think I’m innocent and he’s the one with the dirty mind.

  But for crying out loud, who gets into theater to have no fun? Paul Mainwaring, I guess. He’s been around stuffy kitty-Cath for too long. He used to be at least a little fun. But those two are tighter than ever and more alike than two people should ever be. It has to be unhealthy.

  Dying here in the sticks. Send word of civilization!

  —Susan

  To: Susan Vernon

  From: Alicia Johnson

  Subject: RE: Directors. Can’t live with ‘em can’t…

  Oh, what a bummer, hon. I’ve never worked with Paul, but he doesn’t have a reputation as a stuffy guy. And honestly, Cath doesn’t have that rep either. Serious, yes. Stuffy, no. You sure you’re not the littlest bit jealous of them? Because it seems half your emails are about them.

  On the other hand, maybe he’s still into you and that’s causing him to overcompensate. Hard to tell from here.

  Commercial films in a week. Just a couple of days’ work and I’m getting restless. Still no word on the Shakespeare…I’ve been Shake-speared by the waiting!

  Xo—Alicia

  Chapter 5

  Paul sat at the little dining table in his apartment, reviewing his notes from the day’s rehearsal. The disaster of the morning had been mitigated somewhat by more productive work on scene two, which didn’t include Susan. When she had returned for an afternoon call, she was professional, if a little subdued.

  In an interesting development, James appeared to be emerging as the actor that the rest of the cast looked to for cues on how to behave. It always happened, a de facto leader emerging from the group. Before today, Paul would have put his money on Susan being that leader. At this point, he was just happy the cast had swung in James's direction. For all his reputation as a heartthrob, James appeared to be a serious, thoughtful actor who appreciated the collaborative process of creating a play.

  Collaboration. That was the essence of theater, one of the major reasons why Paul loved what he did. So many people coming together to create a unified, ephemeral piece of art. So many people working so hard at their craft, whether the audience recognized their contributions or not. Like the proverbial duck, seeming to waft in serene unconcern across a pond, while all the work happened under the surface of the water, unseen feet paddling like mad.

  Putting his pen down, Paul rubbed his eyes. His sinuses were throbbing and he guessed a thunderstorm was brewing, the atmospheric pressure bearing down inside his head. Unbidden, the idea of Cath’s cool fingertips smoothing the tension out of his face flowed through his mind. Back in college, she had been known for her ability to massage tight muscles, loosening up their actor friends for auditions, giving them calm and courage for the ordeal ahead. He could use a little of that right now.

  Cath’s centeredness, her serenity, had always been a resource for the more mercurial personalities around her. She provided a safe haven for the volatile artists they worked with. But her calm tortured Paul now. The memory of her emotionless face after Susan’s crass innuendo had set him off gave his stomach a sick twist.

  Cath doesn’t want you, you idiot. She’s your best friend, your professional collaborator, nothing more.

  But what if she could be more?

  Paul considered the idea and shook his head. Cath would never go for it. She hardly dated because she refused to date other people in the industry and she worked so hard she hardly ever met anyone else. A relationship with Paul? Her almost constant collaborator? Not going to happen.

  Paul opened his eyes and tried to refocus on his notes, picking up his pen. His own handwriting looked like gibberish. What time is it, anyway? Almost ten? Why hadn’t he heard
Cath come in yet?

  After rehearsal, she had taken the keys to one of the theater’s donated cars—a Honda from the 90’s—saying she had some errands to run. How safe would a car like that be? How long would those errands take, anyway? Should he be worried? Some well-to-do jerk had donated that car as a tax write-off. How well had it been maintained by the jerk? How well had the theater maintained it since? Was she stranded somewhere? Worse?

  Rising to his feet and throwing his pen down again, Paul paced the tiny living room, arms swinging. Cath’s a grown woman with a functioning brain and a working cell phone, he reminded himself.

  It didn’t help.

  Cath turned the little car down Churchill’s main street, parking in the alley behind the theater. Sighing, she turned the ignition off and grabbed the clutch of shopping bags on the passenger’s seat.

  Today had played out like her college-aged self’s worst nightmare, and Cath had done what seemed like the only logical thing to recover: flee to a local mall to drown her sorrows in unnecessary purchases. Roaming through the generic stores and buying small things like cosmetics and little gifts for her family had been soothing, distancing herself from the situation with Susan and Paul.

  Susan and Paul. Again.

  Cath had built her relationship with Paul on the inviolable fact that they were friends and collaborators. Just that. Nothing closer. They had been doing this for over a decade now. Whatever fantasies Cath had had as a college student about her gorgeous friend Paul had been just that. Fantasies. Nothing to indulge because they weren’t real. What she and Paul had—friendship, professional collaboration—that was real. She’d made it that way for the better part of a decade. Now, with Susan back in their lives, all of that was erased and she was back at gawky college student Cath again, complete with her inappropriate crush on her best friend and collaborator.

  Lugging her shopping bags, Cath got out of the car and locked it. She would return the keys to the theater in the morning.