Acting Up Read online

  Cath looked around the coffee shop, fearing to see Susan or…no, that was it. Her one fear was seeing Susan. But the actress wasn’t in the shop. Looking back at Paul, she let the weird moment go as they joined the line to order.

  “So, you didn’t want to be an actor. What did you mean by that comment?”

  Paul cleared his throat. “I just meant that I learned to dissect something I don’t do well, like playing soccer. I realized I could analyze it and help the people who really had the skills and help them do it better.”

  Cath tilted her head, thinking. As long as she had known him, she had never considered this aspect to how he worked before. She knew he had entered college already knowing he wanted to be a director, but she realized they had never talked about how he had come to that decision.

  “How did you know you didn’t want to act?”

  The line moved forward and Paul scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “Well, I thought I might, at first. Or at least I tried it.”

  “And then?”

  “I found that when I was cast in something in high school, I was always more interested in what was going on over on the production side. What were the overarching decisions? Where did the supposedly technical meet the supposedly artistic and how do they create magic?”

  Cath nodded and stepped forward to order. Moving aside to wait for Paul, she thought about her own early experiences in the theater.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  Cath received her coffee with thanks and turned a quick sidelong smile at Paul. “I never wanted to be an actor, that’s for sure. All that attention? No thanks. Behind the scenes is the place for me.”

  “So why stage manager and why have we never talked about this before?”

  Cath shrugged as she headed for the door of the coffee shop. “I can’t answer the second, but as to the first…I knew I loved the theater. The energy. The collaborative process of it. And I knew I had no desire to be the one up there on stage. It was a matter of seeing where I fit, where I made sense. Where I could contribute.”

  Paul nodded, then sipped his coffee as they continued down the street toward the theater. “You sure found the place where you fit.”

  Perversely, Cath felt the compliment as a slap. “Yeah. The un-creative. The business side of what we call show.”

  The bitterness in Cath’s sarcastic comment seemed to surprise Paul.

  “Un-creative?”

  Cath sipped her coffee and avoided his eyes. “Yeah.”

  “What the hell does that have to do with anything? You know that the show wouldn’t get produced without you. You’re the glue that holds everything together.”

  “Yeah. Stage directions, blocking, and making sure the union’s rules are met. Very sticky stuff.”

  Paul stopped, his hand shooting out to grasp Cath’s arm. “You don’t mean to tell me you internalized any of that Susan Vernon bullshit at the read-through, do you?”

  Cath looked down and he shook her gently. “No,” she said, her eyes still lowered, her throat thick.

  “Look me in the eyes and tell me that,” he said.

  Raising her head, Cath met his eyes, glaring. “Okay. Normally, I don’t have issues about my role. In fact, I’m usually proud of it. I know I’m good at my job. For some reason, I have been…insecure lately.” Her eyes slid away at this admission, looking to the side and then down at the coffee cup in her hand.

  “That reason would be Susan.” Paul didn’t bother to soften the blow and Cath winced, but she raised her eyes to meet his again.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Cath’s heart pounded harder as she seriously considered Paul’s question. Why would Susan have the ability to knock her legs out from under her? It was absurd, and yet it was also true. Cath realized she could stare at her résumé credits until her eyes crossed and it wouldn’t matter one iota. Susan would somehow still know the soft spot to poke a long fingernail into, the sore toe she could “accidentally” tread on.

  And the history that Paul and Susan had? That was a wound that didn’t need any poking to have it open up and bleed. Her mind, as usual, shied away from the topic. The very idea that Paul might relate the details of whatever he had had—or still had—with Susan made Cath sick.

  “I don’t know,” she confessed. “Is there anyone in your life, in your history, who just seems to have the ability to get under your skin and seems to enjoy doing it? Makes a kind of sport of it?”

  Paul sipped his coffee and resumed walking to the theater, Cath falling into step beside him. He seemed to be mulling over her question.

  “Maybe my sister?” he said after a few moments. “But she’s family and family does that. Susan is just someone we went to college with. I always knew you didn’t like her but I thought it was just that she was difficult. I didn’t realize it was so personal. Why did you never talk to me about it before?”

  Before you slept with her? Because I was young and stupid and I wanted you to notice without being told. After? Right. Like that was going to happen.. Cath shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “This about you being self-sufficient? Not needing anybody to help you with anything?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I still don’t get why she would do it. It’s pointless behavior.”

  The corner of Cath’s mouth twitched up in a cynical half-smile. “I don’t say I get it either. I just know it’s a thing that exists. Susan always seemed to have it in for me.”

  Paul looked at her, one eyebrow drifting upward. “That sounds a little paranoid, Cath.”

  Blinking, she turned to continue walking down the sidewalk, the coffee in her stomach souring. “Fine. Don’t believe me. It’s not like I’m a reliable witness to my own experience or anything.” Cath’s heart hammered in earnest now and she could see Paul in her peripheral vision, but she couldn’t look at him now. She started to walk faster, trying to outdistance him. How hadn’t he seen all those jabs? The comments? The constant drip, drip of petty sniping that made up so much of everything Susan said to Cath?

  “I’m not saying I don’t believe you.” Paul jogged to keep up. “But it’s not like she’s a walk in the park for anyone else either. Maybe you’re overly sensitive to her for some reason.”

  Cath stopped walking and whirled to confront Paul. “Oh. So now it’s my fault? Unbelievable.” Stomach churning with nausea, Cath turned away again and started walking as fast as she could toward the theater, leaving Paul standing on the sidewalk.

  Paul gaped as Cath strode away from him, her long hair bannering behind her in the summer breeze.

  What just happened? What the hell did I do?

  Well, whatever it was he did, he knew one thing: he needed to apologize. Immediately.

  “Cath, wait.” Breaking into another jog, he caught up with her and touched her arm with his free hand. Her head whipped around and she looked from his outstretched hand to his face, fury making her eyes look like green granite.

  Okay, another mistake.

  He raised the hand that he had touched her with, lifting his coffee cup for good measure in a “don’t shoot” gesture and backed away a step. “Cath. I’m sorry. Look. I’ll watch Susan. Maybe I just haven’t paid attention. If she causes you issues, I’ll step in.”

  Nobody messes with my best friend.

  Not that he could say that. She would just hand his ass to him for being possessive, for not letting her fight her own battles. Her need to take care of herself bordered on the pathological.

  “If you’re going to dismiss this, don’t bother going any further,” she said.

  He winced at the hurt in her eyes. “I know she’s a problem. I know she’s said some snarky things specifically about you and your role in the production. I don’t know if it’s personal or if she just can’t see past her own nose to view the play as a whole. But either way it’s a problem. My problem. And I will deal with it.”

  Cath’s scowl relaxed a trifle. “She’ll probably s
ense you’re watching her and be on her best behavior.”

  Paul suppressed a smile. “Then everybody wins, don’t they? Except Susan, who has to keep a lid on her worst self.”

  “No, then I’d look like I was exaggerating or creating drama. And there is no best self where Susan Vernon is concerned.” Cath sighed. “She’s all worst self all the time.”

  “Come on, Cath. She is a brilliant actress.”

  “And therein lies the problem.”

  Paul cocked his head, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  Cath gave him a look that told him he was being more than usually dim. “Come on. If she was a mere mortal, she wouldn’t be allowed to get away with a fraction of the crap that she does. If she wasn’t a talented actress and so gorgeous that she has every straight male within sight of her tripping over their tongues…”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “Oh, really?” Cath tilted her head, a disbelieving smile on her face. Paul drew back, a little insulted.

  “Really.” Paul paused, honesty making his treacherous tongue continue. “I mean, yes. I will concede that Susan’s very pretty.”

  Cath’s smile grew incredulous. “Paul. Call a spade a fucking shovel. She’s stunning.”

  Paul laced his thumb under the strap of his bag and shrugged. “Fine. Whatever. But I don’t take that into account when I’m working.”

  “So, you’re completely unaffected by her looks?” Cath’s expression was skeptical.

  “You’re obviously not going to believe me, but no.” Flustered, he realized he had misspoken. “I mean, yes. I am unaffected by her. I’m her director, not her suitor.”

  “Suitor. That’s an interesting term to use.” Cath sipped her coffee and raised her brows.

  “Well, whatever. I’m not interested.”

  “If you say so.” Cath turned and continued to walk toward the theater.

  Paul scrubbed his face with his hand. He wasn’t going to win this one, he could tell. At least not today.

  Chapter 7

  “Right. Let’s start from the beginning and run it.” Paul rubbed a finger across his lips and stepped back to observe.

  Cath followed the progress of the rehearsal, moving her pencil down the page to keep track of her blocking notes. She noticed James was precise about his movements, going to the exact same places on the floor as they ran through the scene. In contrast, Susan fluttered and wandered, changing things up, trying new ideas.

  “Okay, let’s stop for a minute. James.” Paul’s voice was authoritative but understanding as he moved to stand in front of the actor. “Loosen up. You can take some liberties with the blocking. Now’s the time to play a little. Find new things in the material. We’re not locked in here.”

  James rubbed his hand over his closely-shorn hair, looking at the floor of the rehearsal studio, frustrated. Susan walked over to a wall of mirrors behind a ballet barre and pulled the concealing curtain aside, contemplating her reflection and running a finger under one eye to tidy her makeup.

  “Sorry, Paul. I haven’t done theater in a long time. I guess I’m too used to television.” James rolled his head and shrugged his shoulders to loosen the tension in his neck.

  “You don’t have to hit marks here. There’s no camera to focus. Let’s try this again.” Looking up, Paul appeared to notice that Susan had wandered away, adding with gentle irony, “Susan, when you’re ready to join us.”

  Susan’s head snapped around and she twitched the curtain back over the mirror. “As long as we’re sure the television actor is ready.” Cath’s brows flew up and she saw that Paul’s face had gone taut.

  Looking over at James, Cath was surprised to see that he was looking straight at her. His large, dark eyes clearly said, What the actual fuck? Cath raised one shoulder in a microscopic shrug and slid her eyes toward Paul.

  James, following her lead, also looked at Paul. Actually, Cath realized, they were all looking at Paul. Cath could see Freddie out of the corner of her eye, mouth hanging slightly open, gaping, waiting to see what he would do.

  Paul inhaled deeply and looked at Susan, rubbing his chin. “Do we have a problem?” he asked quietly.

  Susan shot a glittering smile at Paul. “Why would we have a problem?”

  Because you’re being a rabid bitch, maybe? Cath bit her lip and looked down at her script, wishing she was anywhere but where she was.

  “Just making sure, Susan. You seem a little…on edge,” Paul said.

  “Oh no.” Susan waved an airy hand. “Take all the time you need with James.” The subtext was clear to Cath. The poor man needs it. Glancing at James, Cath saw it wasn’t lost on him and she felt a pang of sympathy. He was working hard. He deserved his co-star’s support, not her derision. But he would never get support from Susan.

  Paul cleared his throat. “Okay then. From the top.” Moving away from James back to where Cath and Freddie sat, his fingers tapped and skated over the table’s surface as he watched James and Susan return to their starting positions for the scene. Silently, Cath closed her hand around his, stilling its restless, distracting motion.

  Paul hadn’t been aware that he was fidgeting until he felt the warmth of Cath’s hand wrapping around his own. Starting slightly, he looked down, first at her hand, then at her face. She was giving him a pointed look. He gave her a small, sheepish smile and she removed her hand, picking up her pencil and returning her attention to the rehearsal. He immediately missed the touch, the warmth. Glancing at her again, he noticed how her long fingers lightly held the pencil, imagined those fingers running over his body.

  Get. A. Grip.

  Looking again at the rehearsal, he saw that James was taking a few liberties, not as concerned with the precision of his positioning on the taped-out simulacrum of the stage. As a result, he was paying closer attention to Susan and responding more organically to her performance. Even with their scripts still in their hands, Susan and James had chemistry: that indefinable but immediately identifiable spark that made them compelling to watch. Susan was responding to the renewed focus James had on her like a thirsty plant being watered.

  The scene concluded with the two of them facing one another, Susan’s hand pressed to the center of James’s chest. The two actors’ eyes locked on each other, and it almost looked as if they would kiss.

  “Great job, guys. That was excellent,” Paul said, applauding briefly. James turned away from Susan, his face transforming from rapt attention to all business. Susan’s eyes narrowed at his sudden defection.

  “Thanks, Paul. I’m not so sure about the cross upstage during Susan’s monologue. It’s not too distracting?”

  Paul glanced at Susan, who seemed slightly mollified by James’s words. She would be. Anything to have the focus on her.

  “No, as long as you’re paying attention to her, reacting to what she’s saying, the movement won’t distract. This is the kind of play that can get too static and airless. Motion is helpful, as long as it is focused motion. The key is to have clear intention with everything you do.”

  “That makes sense. Thanks,” James said.

  “Okay.” Paul checked his watch. “Good progress. I think we can end here and break for lunch a bit early.”

  Cath smiled. “Paul, really. ‘Do you call that an ending? With practically everyone on his feet?’”

  Her quote made a bubble of pure joy run through Paul. “Rosencranz and Guildenstern are Dead,” he said and James laughed. Susan looked baffled, eyes darting from Paul to Cath and back again. What actress doesn’t know one of Stoppard’s most famous plays? Good grief.

  Cath quirked an eyebrow at Paul and looked down to consult her rehearsal schedule. “James, you’re in the next scene, so please be back here by one. Susan, you’re free until three.”

  Paul noticed that Susan seemed to be waiting to catch James's attention, but James had turned away from her to pack his script and water into a backpack. When he straightened up, sliding one strap over his shoulder, Susan’s expressi
on became expectant and she stepped towards him, but he didn’t seem to notice her. Instead, he walked over to Cath and quietly said something which appeared to surprise her. Paul glanced at Susan, who was standing straight, fists clenched at her side, her expression thunderous.

  Looking back at Cath, he saw that she was smiling and gathering her things together. Stunned, Paul watched as she turned to say, “See you at one, Paul,” and left the rehearsal hall with James.

  “What just happened?” Paul asked dumbly. Freddie had a wistful smile as she gathered her own things in preparation to leave.

  “James just asked Cath if she would go to lunch with him,” Freddie said.

  Susan’s voice trickled like acid. “And apparently she did.”

  James held the door of the theater open for Cath and she smiled her thanks.

  “Where did you want to go?” he asked as they stepped out into the bright sunshine.

  Cath dug in her bag for her sunglasses and slid them on, glancing up and down the street. “Um…have you tried the sandwich shop a couple of blocks down? I know it doesn’t sound like much, but their food is actually pretty mind-blowing.”

  James smiled, and a prickle of awareness of his attractiveness rippled through her. His white smile was broad. His chin had an appealing dimple. His dark skin stretched smoothly over prominent cheekbones. As accustomed to actors as she was, she was normally immune to the lure of the genetically blessed, but in the past few days, Cath had noticed that James was not just handsome but genuinely nice.

  The combination, she admitted to herself, was lethal.

  He brought that similarly lethal grin to bear on her and she melted a little. “No,” he said, “but I’ve heard great things. Let’s go.”

  Turning to fall into step alongside him, Cath cast about for a topic of conversation. “How are you liking Churchill so far?”

  “It’s a nice town,” he said. “I was a little worried at first, but so far so good.”

  “What were you worried about?”