by Adele Buck
“Insatiable,” she murmured.
“Sated. For now,” he whispered against her ear, then moving to kiss the back of her neck. He smiled to himself as she sighed deeply and slipped into sleep, relaxing against him.
Colin stayed awake for a long time, savoring the rhythmic rise and fall of Alicia’s breathing against his hand and chest until he finally succumbed to slumber.
Epilogue
The wedding march always made Alicia tear up. It was ridiculous, but it was true. Looking up at the clear blue autumn sky, she clenched her jaw and tried to will the moisture out of her eyes.
Rising to her feet, she turned to see Mari coming down the aisle between the rows of white folding chairs. Her curly copper hair had been tamed—mostly. A few ringlets fell charmingly around her round, freckled cheeks. Instead of her father, who had died some time before, her sister Ellie escorted her. Ellie’s dark auburn hair was pulled into a smooth chignon, and her large, brown eyes were bright with unshed tears.
As the two moved down toward a stunned looking Brandon, stiff in his tuxedo and supported by Ellie’s husband Ed, Alicia felt Colin’s large, warm hand wrap around her own. The wedding guests turned as a group and settled to their seats again as Mari reached Brandon’s side, handing her bouquet off to her sister so she could clasp his fingers in her own.
The service was brief and unusual. Alicia was sure she had never seen a wedding that had a reference to the television show Ted Lasso in it, but it seemed to suit the pair somehow. When it was done, the couple kissed and surged back up the aisle hand in hand to a string quartet playing the closing theme from The Return of the King in place of the usual recessional music.
Alicia pulled her wrap around her shoulders as the guests stood again, wending their way over toward the tent that covered a dance floor and dinner tables. White lights wrapped in ivory tulle wound around the supports of the tent, ethereal and twinkling in the cool early evening.
“Chilly?” Colin asked, tucking her fingers into his arm and walking her across the wide green lawn.
“Not so much,” she replied, leaning into his solid, warm bulk. They paused as a waiter approached them with a tray of champagne flutes. Colin handed her one then took another for himself.
“To Mari and Brandon. And us.” Tapping his glass gently against hers, they each sipped a bit of the wine.
“Oh, Colin…there you are.” Alicia stiffened at the sickly-sweet tones of Mrs. Lloyd-Hudson. Colin winked at Alicia before he addressed the older woman who had arrived with her husband in tow.
“Hello Mrs. L-H, hello Will. You remember my fiancée? Alicia Johnson.” His voice had a forced heartiness, but his large, warm hand pressed reassuringly against Alicia’s back and she managed to direct a smile at the other couple.
“Fiancée?” Mr. Lloyd-Hudson faltered for a moment, then directed a false, cheery smile at Alicia. “That’s fantastic. Congratulations.”
His wife looked like she had swallowed a bee. “How lovely.”
“Thank you.” Alicia smiled without letting it reach her eyes, mirroring the older woman’s expression. Then Alicia let her eyes drop to the sandals she wore—shiny red straps around her toes sporting a black pedicure. When she lifted her eyes again, Alicia thought that the older woman now looked like she had swallowed an entire hive.
Mr. Lloyd-Hudson seemed to recognize the tension between the two women. “Let’s get you some champagne, my dear. Colin, Miss Johnson. Congratulations again.” Tugging at his wife’s elbow, he moved away toward the nearest waiter.
“I told you there was nothing to worry about.” Colin’s voice rumbled low, and he took her hand, rubbing his fingertips across the sapphire and platinum band on her ring finger. “You okay?”
“I admit, I was dreading seeing them.”
“And now?”
“What did Mari say at the gala? ‘Ding dong, the witch is dead.’”
“Not dead, but I think she’ll be checking the weather report for her own personal housing forecast. Tornadoes ahoy.”
Alicia laughed and looked out across the rolling expanse of the country club’s golf course and shook her head. “I can’t imagine what this must have cost.”
Colin’s hand moved to her waist, pulling her close. “Don’t even try. Unless you want something like it. Then we’ll have to face those budget numbers together.”
“God, no. It’s beautiful, but it’s not my style.”
“What would you like?” he asked.
“What would you like?” she retorted.
“I asked you first.”
She looked at him. “I just want…you.”
“Well, that’s easy then. You have me. Forever.”
Enjoyed Method Acting?
Sign up for my newsletter for a special bonus chapter featuring Alicia and Colin!
https://bit.ly/methodacting_bf
And if you’re so inclined, please leave a review on your favorite book vendor’s site, Goodreads, or wherever you review books. Even a sentence can help a reader find a book. Thank you for reading, and keep reading for a sneak peek at what happened to Freddie and James after Acting Up, coming soon…
Acknowledgments
Many, if not most, authors will tell you that they had a long road to publication. I am no different. There are so many people who believed in me, gave me critique, and just flat-out loved me in this long journey of mine and I apologize up front if I have left anyone out.
This book is dedicated to my Miss Fisher fandom gang, especially Rosemary Quinsey. It’s your fault that Alicia’s book came next. I had no plans to even write a book about her until you said, “I think she’s up to something” after I finished Acting Up.
Mr. B: Always.
Mom: my fondest critic and fiercest ally. I love you, Marmee.
Pamella Pearl: you were ready to answer any and all questions about tv production at the drop of a Facebook messenger query and you’re a goddess for it.
My editor, Jennifer Johnson-Blalock: thank you for your keen eye, humor, and insight.
My writing sisters: Diana Biller, Rachel Kellis, and June Hur. You are all rockstars and I adore you. Amy Bishop, who brought us into each others’ orbit: you know I owe you for far more than that.
Ainslie Paton, queen of blurbs, dispenser of knowledge, source of wry wisdom and humor—and all from the other side of the planet. Thank you.
Jayce Ellis. Oh. My. God. My once and future co-writer, my friend and fierce ally, I adore you.
The Lisas: Lisa Lin and Lisa Catto. My writing commiserator and my conference roommate. You are both incredible, incendiary minds and talents.
Lynn Turner: you’ve been such a wonderful friend ever since I first wrote this book. Thank you.
Lucy Parker and Suzanne Brockmann, you’ve both been incredibly supportive and fantastic and I can’t thank you enough.
To the entire Twitter crew I call pocket friends: you helped me do this. Thank you so much. I owe you more than I can express.
Author’s Note
While the Folger Theater is a real place in Washington, D.C. where Mr. B. and I have enjoyed many a play, its regular season ends in the spring, so the summer setting of Method Acting makes this very much a work of fiction. If you are interested in finding out more about this incredible cultural institution, please visit https://www.folger.edu/folger-theatre.
Chapter 1 of Acting Lessons
Want to get a sneak peek of Book 3 in the Center Stage series? Check out this preview of Freddie and James’ second chance.
Ever since that summer in Connecticut, Freddie Alves promised herself she’d never work with Susan Vernon again.
“I know.” Cath’s low voice was hard to hear over the buzz of conversation and the hiss of the machines in the coffee shop and Freddie pressed the phone to her ear so hard it hurt. “Susan is a world-class problem and Michael was an idiot to hire her.”
“Right. So you’re saying I need to say no.” Relief washed through her.
“No, th
at’s not what I’m saying…this is a really big opportunity. I wouldn’t blame you if you eventually said no, but you need to at least talk to Michael first. He’s a good guy and a great director.”
Freddie squeezed her eyes shut. “Susan aside, it’s a musical. I’ve never stage managed a musical. I only ever assisted on one, and that was in college.”
“Yeah, it’s daunting. But you can do it. Didn’t you tell me you danced as a kid? It’s not like you have no sense of timing or rhythm and that’s really what you need. Nobody’s going to ask you to get up and sing and dance yourself.”
“Yeah. I did dance and gymnastics in school,” Freddie said, opening her eyes and staring at nothing.
“Well, then you will be great.” Cath’s voice sounded bracing and confident. “Meet with Michael. See if you click. I think you’ll work well with him. He’s very experienced and used to dealing with volatile musical theater types. He should handle Susan just fine.”
“Easy for you to say,” Freddie grumbled. “You’re not the one looking at her treating you like a piece of furniture. At best. Again.”
“Just talk to Michael.” Cath’s voice held that commanding tone she had sometimes used back in the days when Freddie had worked for her as her assistant stage manager. When Cath had been in charge. Which sounded…kind of nice right now. Not having to make decisions. “Don’t decide before you have more information.”
“Fine.” Freddie sighed. “If you’re going to be reasonable about it. I’ll give him a call and set up a time to talk.”
“Good.” Cath was out of “compelling” mode and back into “bracing.” “This could be a great career move for you. I’m glad you’re considering it.”
After hanging up, Freddie sat for a few minutes, sipping her coffee until the moment where the drink went from “cool but still acceptable” to “utterly disgusting.” Putting the cup down, she tapped her fingernails on the screen of her phone, not picking it up off the table.
She almost laughed when she remembered the youthful crush she had had on Susan Vernon. Susan had once been her number one lust object. Freddie had seen the actress play Maggie the Cat in a revival of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof when Freddie was still in college and the thought of Susan prowling around in a satin slip for the better part of two hours was still hot.
But then Freddie had actually worked with Susan.
Her budding infatuation with the woman behind the actress had been killed within days by Susan’s selfish, predatory behavior.
But that wasn’t really why Freddie was procrastinating now.
Susan was always going to make her think of James.
#
James Martin stepped out into the baggage claim area of Kennedy airport and heard the click of a shutter almost immediately. His jaw tightened and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes, even though they were hidden behind his mirrored aviators. Striding out a little more quickly and tightening his grip on the strap of his leather duffel, he didn’t look to the left or the right, keeping his eyes on the door as he walked. He heard another few clicks and saw light glint off the lens of the camera out of the corner of his eye.
Slow day for the paps, I guess.
He hadn’t seen anybody more recognizable on the flight out from Los Angeles, so he guessed he was this poor bozo’s consolation prize. Getty or one of the other photo wires might buy a picture or two of him on the strength of his new gig, he supposed.
It wasn’t like his last two years in L.A. had been a roaring success.
His career had started in television, then moved to theater and then television had called again, luring him out to Hollywood. He had kept his career puttering along out there, but never seemed to get anything more sustained than a three-episode guest spot on an established show. Finding himself longing for something more stable, he had started to fantasize about getting back on stage. About going back to New York. Fantasies turned to plans as the months went on and the one- and two-episode guest roles trickled through.
And then just as he was getting ready to kiss off television forever and try for Broadway, television went and handed him a supporting role in a new superhero series. A last-minute replacement for the original actor in the pilot. Shooting in New York.
An all-expenses paid ticket out of Los Angeles? Yes please and thank you.
He sold his car, sublet his apartment, had a crew pack his belongings into a truck, and practically sprinted for the airport. Los Angeles hadn’t been bad, but it had never felt like home the way cities on the East Coast had. And now he was back.
Stepping up to the line for a taxi, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and rubbed the screen with his thumb, thinking. He hadn’t talked to Freddie in months and wondered if she’d be thrilled or peeved at his sudden, unannounced arrival in New York.
He also wondered if she was seeing anyone.
#
Michael Balducci’s handshake was strong and sure as he welcomed Freddie into his tiny office in the Hatbox Theater in TriBeCa.
“Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice. Cath can’t say enough good things about you. Says she wanted to keep you as her assistant stage manager forever, but I know she’s too fair to hamper your career like that.” Michael’s warm smile made lines fan out from his deep-set brown eyes. “And I value her opinion. I even tried to lure her away from Paul once to do a show with me. But that was shortly before they got engaged, so I suppose that was a vain hope.”
Freddie nodded. She had worked for Cath that summer. The summer of Susan. The summer of James.
“Cath was a great mentor to me,” Freddie said. “She taught me a lot.”
“I don’t doubt it. And you have that same calm, competent demeanor that she has. It’s part of what makes me hope you’ll consider taking this job.”
Freddie leaned back in her chair, relaxing her tight, upright posture a little bit. She wasn’t used to being offered things on a platter like this. Her gaze roamed over Michael’s desk. Two framed pictures had pride of place. One showed Michael and another man, Freddie supposed this was his husband, both suntanned and standing with their arms around each other and their backs to the ocean. The other was of a snaggletoothed, shaggy little mutt who looked as if it existed in a permanent state of bafflement.
“What happened to your original stage manager?” Freddie asked, her eyes flicking back to Michael’s face. The production was halfway through rehearsals. “Losing a stage manager at this point in rehearsals…”
“Must be either a misfortune or carelessness?” Michael asked, paraphrasing Oscar Wilde, and Freddie suppressed a smirk. Cath and her husband Paul were forever quoting plays at each other. She wondered if she would eventually pick up the habit as well. “Neither, I’m afraid. Carolyn Tanner’s mother became gravely ill. Carolyn is an only child and was, unfortunately for us, the only person available to step in and take care of her.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” Freddie reflected on her large, chaotic family. At least she would never be on her own like that if something happened to her parents. She had once been the one everyone counted on, the go-to girl in the midst of her four brothers. But they all still lived in the former fishing town where her parents did, where her Portuguese ancestors had plied the sea. Whereas she had made the decision to leave. While she would always help out where she could, she felt sure she could count on her brothers to figure things out.
“So…what do you say?” Michael’s voice broke in on her irrelevant thoughts and his heavy brow made his intent expression even more compelling. “Can you bail us out?”
Freddie thought about her bank account. And then about Susan. She considered the resumé credit this project would represent.
And then she considered Susan.
She took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before answering. “Can you give me a day or two to think about it?”
Michael leaned back in his chair, considering. “I can give you twenty-four hours. Honestly, I shouldn’t even do that. I’m
hoping you’ll say yes, but I’ll continue to get the word out. I need someone and I really need them yesterday, Freddie.”
“That’s fair,” Freddie said, rising. “I just have a few things to iron out. Thanks for being flexible.”
Shaking hands again with Michael, she headed for the theater door. Her phone chimed in her bag just as she reached the sidewalk. Pulling it out, she stared dumbly at the text message on the screen. A text from James.
Hey. Back in NYC. Drink?
Speak of the devil.
#
James fidgeted, checking Twitter on his phone, glancing at the door, swiveling on his bar stool.
You know Freddie better than this. She’s always punctual.
And James had shown up twenty minutes early. He was always too eager with Freddie, it seemed. He had asked her to move to Los Angeles with him, but she had panicked at the thought. She had been too young, too intent on building her own career. She couldn’t imagine what she might do on the West Coast except be James Martin’s girlfriend, and she had wanted more than that.
Your own fault you have to wait. James decided to answer a few tweets while he waited. The new show had raised his profile and activity in his mentions had picked up. He scrolled through the feed. Compliment: reply with thanks. Troll: block. Request for birthday wish…
“When you’re done with your adoring fans, can an old friend get a hello?”
James dropped the phone on the bar, his head whipping around to trace the sound of Freddie’s voice. The sight of her was a physical blow, a soft whump to his solar plexus.
“Hey stranger.” The husky voice that James had gotten used to hearing on the phone was even sexier paired with her face. Freddie hated cameras, which pretty much left out video chatting on FaceTime and Skype, so their infrequent, sometimes lengthy conversations after they had gotten past the hurt of the breakup and stitched their friendship back together had been voice-only. James had appreciated the intimacy of just that voice in the dark, but looking at her now, he remembered how much he had been missing.