Acting Up Read online

  Praise for Adele Buck

  Remember what it feels like to put on a show? Whether your experience was in high school, college, community theatre or pro, there’s nothing like joining a found-family, inclusive community of like-minded and quirky people to create live theatre. Adele Buck’s Acting Up, the first book in her Center Stage series, captures the very essence—the warmth and heart—of that world in this charming friends-to-lovers story. I can’t wait for more!

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  Suzanne Brockmann, New York Times bestselling author

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  With wry humor and innate warmth, Acting Up pulls you into a world of rapid-fire banter, relatable challenges, and very human reactions—and a gorgeous romance that you'll still be thinking about long after the final page. Buck has an adept handling of both internal and external conflict, and the knack of writing characters who immediately jump out and come to life as real people—they make mistakes, they sometimes react out of tiredness, or jealousy, or fear, but they take ownership of those actions and they grow together. The intricate layers of characterization, the emotional arc of a heroine and hero navigating the transition from friendship to forever love, and a setting that plays out with almost cinematic detail—it all leads to a profoundly satisfying, rock-solid happily-ever-after, in the hands of a very talented writer.

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  Lucy Parker, Author of Act Like It and The Austen Playbook

  Acting Up

  Book 1 in the Center Stage series

  Adele Buck

  Quiet Competence Press

  Copyright © 2021 by Jill A. Smith

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Lyrics from Britt Connors’ Fine used by permission.

  Ornamental scene break: Theater by Dmitry Mirolyubov from the Noun Project.

  Cover design by Marika Bailey.

  For Mr. B, my very own romance hero.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Enjoyed Acting Up?

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1 of Method Acting

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Cath De Courcy picked up her pen, opened her notebook to a blank page, and wrote in her tidiest handwriting:

  Bitch.

  Returning her attention to the audition, she tapped her pen against her upper lip and watched Susan Vernon act. She knew why Paul leaned on the table beside her, clear blue eyes intent on the performance, hair disheveled from raking his fingers through it. Cath couldn’t stand the woman, but even she had to admit the actress’s skill. Susan’s responses to the assistant stage manager’s cues had a fragile intensity even though Frederica’s delivery was stammering and nervous. Poor Freddie had been goggle-eyed and awkward from the moment Susan walked in. Instead of being gracious and soothing, Susan had ignored the other woman’s obvious distress, only making it worse.

  Susan Vernon had an artist’s appreciation for the effect she had on people and no desire to lessen anyone’s discomfort.

  Cath looked down at her notebook again. Underlined the single word. Darkened the dot over the i.

  Susan spoke her final line, staying in character for a beat before she turned to beam at Paul, the rusty folding chair she sat in giving a faint groan as she moved. Cath flipped her notebook shut and rested her palm on it, attempting to smile back when Susan turned a slightly lower-wattage expression her way.

  “Thank you, Susan. We’ll be in touch.” Paul threaded restless fingers through his hair again, further disordering it. As usual, he needed a haircut. Just now he looked like a men’s cologne ad crossed with an absent-minded professor.

  Susan extended a hand for him to shake. “No, thank you for the opportunity, Paul.” She continued to hold his hand as she turned to Cath. “It was great seeing you both again. Who would guess we all would end up in the same room again after so many years?”

  Cath looked at the actress, her eyes narrowed in suspicion, but Susan’s smile was innocence incarnate. “Thank you, Susan.” Cath’s voice sounded strangled, even to herself, but Susan just picked up her large shoulder bag and sashayed out of the room, skirt swirling around her thighs. “Freddie, do you think you could give us a moment?” she asked the assistant stage manager.

  “Sure—should I get some coffee for you and Paul?” Freddie’s equilibrium—not to mention her voice—was restored as if by magic with Susan out of the room. Freddie gathered up her script as Cath nodded and thanked her.

  Cath and Paul waited until the door closed behind Freddie and Paul turned, grinning. It wasn't fair, him looking like that—those blue eyes and high cheekbones framed by that messy hair. Adonis escaped from the Muppet Show.

  She never could resist him—professionally, she hardly ever had to, their tastes were so similar—but when it came to casting Susan Vernon? Cath gritted her teeth and readied herself for battle.

  Surveying her set expression, Paul leaned forward and said in a cajoling tone, “Come on, she’s perfect.”

  “Paul, she’s Susan fucking Vernon.”

  “Exactly.”

  Cath closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “It isn’t an exaggeration to say the woman is a menace.”

  “She’s a star.” Paul drummed his fingers on the table in front of them, and Cath knew he was five seconds from pacing the room, nervous energy flowing off of him in palpable waves.

  “If she’s such a huge star, why would she want to do regional theater in Connecticut? She barely acknowledges the existence of Brooklyn.” Cath’s eyes flew open and she stared at Paul, willing him to see things her way.

  “Why wouldn’t she want to do it? It’s a great part. In a fantastic new play.”

  “It’s Connecticut.”

  “You just never liked her.” Paul’s voice rumbled low and sympathetic, coaxing.

  “No. No, I don’t. I didn’t. You didn’t know her like I did. You never had to work in a production with her before.” Cath was getting flustered, her cheeks heating. “As the man said, ‘Certain women should be struck regularly, like gongs.’”

  “Private Lives,” Paul replied, his gaze steady. “Don't try to distract me with Noel Coward.”

  “But…she’s so awful.” Cath struggled for the words that could describe what should be obvious.

  “Cath.” Paul ducked his head in an apparent attempt to hold her eyes, which darted around the windowless, dingy room, looking anywhere but at him. “College is history. You’ve got to let it go.”

  That did it. Paul stiffened as Cath’s attention focused on him, her gaze like a smoky-green laser, pinning him to his chair.

  “It’s not like I haven’t run into her in the intervening years. Many times. And in addition to my own horrific experiences with her, she’
s got a reputation,” Cath said.

  Smiling with what he hoped was winning assurance, Paul said, “Yes. As a fantastic actress.”

  Cath frowned. “As someone who leaves a trail of emotional wreckage wherever she goes.”

  Paul pushed away the memory of a drunken escape from Susan’s room amid the din of a college cast party their senior year of college. Seeing Cath in the hallway. Her seeing him. The disappointment on her face as he buttoned his shirt. Paul had expected trouble from that incident, but Cath had never mentioned it. They should have talked about it then. They talked about everything. Endlessly. With anything else they would have cleared the air, would have laughed about it, would have moved on.

  Well, they had moved on. Susan hadn’t been an issue since then. They had parted ways from Susan after graduation and just hadn’t discussed it. So, it wasn’t like he could bring it up without intense awkwardness now. If he did, it would be as if he thought she had been hurt by that incident. But why would she? This was Cath, his best friend, his partner, his most trusted ally.

  He forced the thought out of his head, his throat constricting as he swallowed. He resisted the urge to get up and pace. Instead, he focused on Cath’s face, looking for any sign that she was relenting.

  Nothing. Where he was all explosive, positive energy and restless optimism, Cath was solid and steady, pragmatic to the point of pessimism sometimes. The counterbalanced nature of their personalities was one of the reasons they made such a great team.

  But she could also be stubborn as hell.

  He decided to take another tack. “You know how I feel about this play. The Catalyst is astonishing. I feel like I’ve stumbled on to a member of the playwriting pantheon. Like I’ve discovered Stoppard before Rosencranz and Guildenstern Are Dead. Mamet before the name meant anything to anybody. Talfourd is an incredible talent and this play deserves a cast that is more than just competent.” He paused a moment to let his words sink in, looking for a sign that he was getting through to her. No dice. Her face remained stony. “This could be a theater landmark, a turning point in both our careers. It could open so many doors for us.”

  Cath looked at him for a long moment, then flipped open her notebook and paged through it, dark, silky hair slipping out of the bun she’d haphazardly secured with a pencil. His fingers itched to tuck the errant strand behind her ear. As she looked down, the sunglasses she had perched on top of her head fell and she caught them without looking away from her notes.

  There’s my Cath, Paul thought with approval, though his stomach still clenched with the tension of trying to get her on board. He wasn’t used to seeing her off balance or on edge. He wasn’t used to them being so opposed to one another.

  He needed her to be his rock, his steady right hand.

  “Alicia Johnson,” Cath said, looking back up at him, pointing her sunglasses at his chest like a fencer en garde.

  “She was okay,” Paul said, shrugging one shoulder.

  “She was better than okay.” Cath replaced the glasses on top of her head and lifted an eyebrow, making him squirm. Alicia’s audition had been excellent.

  “Susan’s reading was far closer to the conception I had of the character, though.”

  Cath’s eyebrow arched, skeptical. “That’s what directing is for, Paul. Are you getting lazy in your old age?”

  “Of course not, but why not start with someone who’s already part of the way there?”

  An obstinate expression hardened Cath’s long, sensitive face. “Does it have to be Susan?”

  “Can’t you work with her? I thought you could work with anyone.”

  Cath shook her head, her eyes closing. “Don’t do this to me.”

  “Do what?”

  Her eyes reopened and she looked at him. “Don’t appeal to my professionalism when I’m busy hating her.”

  Paul’s solemn gaze bored into Cath and she squirmed, her face heating.

  “Well, I need you,” Paul said, his voice quiet and gentle. “And the play needs an actress of Susan’s caliber. But I don’t want to make your life miserable.”

  Cath eyes narrowed as she stared at Paul. “What does that mean? You won’t hire her, or you’ll fire me?”

  Paul sighed and closed his eyes, raking his fingers through his hair, sending the curls into a fresh spasm. “I want Susan.”

  Sure you do. Everybody does.

  Paul raised his eyes to her again. “I want Susan for the role, but I need you for the production. You don’t have to worry about anything. You know I would never allow anyone to hurt my stage manager.”

  “Your stage manager? You don’t think I can take care of myself?” Cath’s teeth clenched as if she could bite the words back. She wasn’t sure she could take care of herself around Susan. Her pride was going to get her killed one of these days. She could see the obituary: Cath De Courcy died today, trampled by a toxic narcissist. And her own pride.

  “Sorry. I know you’re a rock. A monument. A self-sustaining ecosystem. Pardon my momentary complete loss of brain function. It won’t happen again.” Paul’s hand flew out in an apologetic gesture, sending the stack of head-shots in front of him spilling across the table.

  Sighing, Cath moved to gather the stack of photos together. Paul got to his knees to retrieve the ones that had fallen on the floor and handed them to her with another murmured apology. Cath swallowed and tapped the photos on the table to square them.

  “Back to the decision at hand,” she said, her gut churning.

  Climbing to his feet, Paul took a few laps around the tiny room, rubbing his chin. Cath sifted through the photographs to keep her from looking at him as he roamed. Now was not the time to be distracted by his rangy body, his faded old jeans molding to his backside.

  Coming to a stop next to the folding chair where Susan had sat, he said, “How’s this—like I said, I need you.”

  Cath’s belly gave a little flutter at the word “need.”

  He means professionally, you idiot. Get yourself together.

  Paul went on. “So, I’ll give you veto power. If you really can’t work with Susan, then we’ll go a different direction.”

  Damn you for being so reasonable. She could resist him as long as he resisted her. Capitulation, though, this was playing dirty. Cath sighed and her shoulders sagged. “Fine. If you want Susan so badly, hire Susan. I’ll do my best to work with her.”

  Paul clapped his hands and strode back to Cath, bending over to hug her and kissing her on the cheek. “You won’t regret it.”

  “Right. Sure. That’s really likely,” she said, sitting stiff and still as his fingers squeezed her shoulders. She was uncomfortably aware of the pull of his intense blue gaze and the way it was making her imagine very unprofessional things about him. Things that involved running her own fingers through that messy, too-long hair, tugging his mouth to hers…

  Cath gave herself a mental shake. Damn Susan Vernon, anyway. Having her—him—the three of them in the same place together seemed to knock Cath off balance, making her feel more like the awkward college student she had once been than the competent professional she had become, digging up the inconvenient attraction for Paul that she’d kept buried for years.

  The door opened and Freddie came back in, her eyes focused on a cardboard tray of paper coffee cups in one hand. “Okay, Cath—black, one sugar. Paul—cream, no sugar. Me—always the diplomat. Cream and sugar. I don’t play favorites.” She looked up at them and her grin faltered. Paul dropped his hands from Cath’s shoulders. Embarrassed, Cath tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Thanks, Freddie,” Cath said with a mechanical smile, reaching for the cup that was extended toward her. Taking a long sip, the caffeine added an immediate extra zing to her already tense mood. When was the last time I ate, anyway?

  Sitting back in her creaky folding chair, Cath took a few deep breaths, seeking her usual calm center. She leafed through the stack of head shots in front of her and drew Susan’s from the pile, placing
it on its own in the middle of the table. “Okay. So, we’re offering the part of Molly to Susan Vernon.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Freddie nodding as she sipped her coffee. Et tu? Poor Freddie, so recently savaged by the actress’s disdain, was still Team Susan all the way.

  Cath took a deep breath. “Second choice in case Susan turns us down?”

  Paul pulled at his lower lip, deep in thought.

  “Alicia Johnson,” he said. “Hopefully we don’t have to turn to a third choice, because…” Cath silently concurred. Susan and Alicia were so much better than the rest, the pool for third “choice” seemed dire in comparison.

  “Okay,” Cath said. “So, for Molly’s long-suffering husband, Hugh? Where did you want to go there?”

  Paul’s eyes darted to Cath with a measuring expression she recognized. He wanted her approval. Warmth spread through her chest at the familiar feeling of their team status. “Maybe this is controversial given his relative lack of stage experience,” he said, “but I really thought James Martin killed it.”

  “Not controversial at all, Paul. He totally did.” Cath pulled the actor’s photo from the pile and placed it next to Susan’s, looking from the handsome, glowing grin to Susan’s more secretive, seductive smirk.

  Great. So now I have to work with Susan the Seductress and James the television hottie. This won’t be an awkward summer. No, not at all.