Acting Up Read online

  James rubbed his palm over his head. “New England can be pretty…overwhelmingly white, frankly. I’ve had some weird experiences in Boston.”

  Cath nodded, her mouth twisting. “Sad to say, I think I know what you mean. I’m from Maine originally.”

  James chuckled bleakly. “I have a cousin who went to college there. She was the only Black woman in her class. Granted, it was a small college, but…”

  “Yeah.” They continued to walk in silence for a few moments, discomfort prickling over Cath’s skin.

  “Anyway.” James turned and smiled at Cath again and the abrupt break from the uncomfortable moment almost made her giggle with relief. “That wasn’t awkward or anything. Next topic: how did you decide to become a stage manager?”

  Cath thought back to the similar question she had had from Paul and the subsequent argument. “Oh, just wanted to run away and join the circus but didn’t have the talent for the trapeze,” she said.

  James cocked an expressive eyebrow at her. “More like you were better at simultaneously wrangling all three rings, including the one with the lions, and were smart enough to avoid getting in the clown car.”

  A startled laugh emitted from Cath’s chest. “Is that how you see acting? Clowns?”

  “As much as I enjoy it, it can be pretty ridiculous, to be honest,” he said as they reached the sandwich shop. James held the door for her and Cath wondered when was the last time a guy had made a chivalrous gesture like that. Shoving the thought aside, she pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and scanned the chalkboard over the service counter, assessing her options. James stood beside her, also reading the board, and she was almost painfully aware of the depth of his chest, the width of his shoulders, the way his biceps strained against the sleeves of his tee shirt.

  “How much do you work out, anyway?” she blurted as they stepped forward to order, then covered her mouth with her hand, embarrassed.

  James's deep laughter boomed. “Two hours a day, at least. More if I’m going to have to have my shirt off for something. HD television is murder on the ego.”

  “Wow.” They ordered, the girl behind the counter looking at James as if he couldn’t be real, and giggling when he smiled and thanked her. Taking the wooden cube chiseled with their order number, he led the way to a small café table against one wall.

  “I don’t think you of all people should be impressed by my workout,” he said as they sat.

  “Why is that?” Cath’s eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown.

  His dark eyes seemed to pin her to the back of the booth. “Because I’ve seen you run. You’re a goddamn gazelle.”

  “Well,” Susan said, turning to Paul with a brisk sort of lightness. “If they’re going to abandon us, it appears we will have to go to lunch together.”

  A dull anger mounted inside Paul. Cath was out with James. A lunch date. No, no date. Just lunch.

  Fine.

  Reining in the unhelpful emotion he said, “Sure.” She turned to gather her things and he asked Freddie, “Want to come with?”

  Freddie’s eyes grew round. “No thanks,” she said, her eyes darting to Susan, who had straightened with a snap when Paul issued the invitation.

  “Traitor,” he mouthed at Freddie, who just shook her head and held out her crossed index fingers as if warding off a vampire, glancing again at Susan’s rigid back. He couldn’t blame Freddie. In the few days they had been rehearsing, the assistant stage manager had turned from Susan’s biggest fan into someone who avoided her at every turn.

  Paul didn’t exactly want to spend time with Susan either. But he knew he would stew over Cath and James if he was left to his own devices. Not to mention he was pretty sure Susan would need to have her ruffled feathers smoothed down. Despite the fact that she had caused him to lose his cool at least twice in the last week, it was his job to deal with her, get her on board with the rest of the production. He had promised Cath he would deal with it. And it was past time to just sit down and have a serious talk with her about professionalism.

  Oh, this will be fun.

  “Shall we?” Waving a hand at the doorway, he followed Susan out and through the darkened wings. The theater smelled of fresh-cut lumber from the raw wood framing the set carpenters had erected. Laurie and Karl were standing under the proscenium, conferring about something. Laurie, shorter than average, and positively diminutive next to Karl’s bulk, was sighting up Karl’s finger pointing at something in the flyspace. The working lights shone off of the dark skin of his shaved head. Paul stopped to confer with them, perversely pleased that this seemed to irritate Susan, who made a show of looking at her watch and crossing her arms across her chest.

  “Need anything from me, guys?” Paul asked.

  Laurie shook his head. “No, darling. Just making sure this great lummox and I are on the same page.” Humor twinkled in his eyes, turning the words into a gentle tease, and his crisp London accent rang like cut glass.

  “Laurie, that’s not a nice thing to say about the man you love,” Paul said.

  “As long as I’m his lummox, I don’t mind,” Karl rumbled, winking.

  “Of course, poppet.” Laurie’s dark eyes softened as his gaze rested on Karl’s face.

  “If you’re quite finished chatting, can we go?” Susan’s annoyed voice rapped out.

  Paul flashed a tight smile at Karl and Laurie and Laurie arched an expressive eyebrow. “Later, gentlemen. Duty calls.” Turning to follow Susan through the dim house, he watched her loose curls bouncing on her shoulders. Cath wasn’t wrong. Susan was beautiful. But her personality was like a disease, canceling out whatever allure her physical features might have.

  Stepping into the lobby, Paul waved at the woman working in the box office. The woman waved back, glancing at Susan, who kept her eyes straight ahead, never noticing.

  Stepping out onto the street, Paul glanced each way. He could see James and Cath further down the sidewalk, Cath’s hair fluttering in the light breeze as she turned to say something to James. Clenching his teeth, Paul forced himself to look at Susan. “So. Where would you like to go?”

  Susan’s eyes were also fixed on the backs of the retreating couple, but she blinked and directed an artificial smile at Paul. “Oh, anyplace will do. Anyplace that is in that direction, that is,” she said, pointing down the street away from Cath and James.

  “Fine. Shall we just walk until we see something that looks good?”

  “Yes.”

  “A gazelle?” Cath laughed so hard she snorted, blushing hot with embarrassment as James laughed also. “Yes,” she said when she could get her laughter under control. “Clearly I am the embodiment of grace. Class, too.”

  James chuckled. “Seriously, though. Like I said, I’ve seen you run. You must do a very fast mile.”

  Cath hadn’t thought her face could get any hotter, but the compliment taken together with his warm grin, lines fanning out from those huge brown eyes made her feel like an awkward teenager.

  “Cut it out. You’re embarrassing me,” she said, lifting her glass of ice water and pressing it against her cheek.

  “You need to learn to take a compliment, lady.” Another grin. Cath’s toes curled.

  “And you need to learn how to turn down the wattage on that thing. I’m going blind over here,” Cath said, pulling her sunglasses from the crown of her head to cover her eyes as if to ward off the glare of his smile.

  James pressed his lips together firmly. The resulting smirk was almost as charming as his grin, and Cath made a show of lifting her sunglasses slowly and carefully, squinting at James and making sure the scene was safe before resettling them on top of her head.

  “You’re pretty funny, Cath De Courcy.”

  Susan sure thinks so. “Funny, yup. That’s me. The funny recorder of blocking, prompter of lines, and general dogsbody of the theater. Hilarious.” Cath plucked napkins out of the container, creating a little pile on the table in front of her and smoothing it with her palm, co
ncentrating on the task as if it had been assigned to her.

  James lifted one eyebrow. “Seriously? You’re scary competent. That’s no bad thing. But you’re also funny as heck. I’ve caught some of the comments you and Paul whip back and forth. The quotes from plays you bat around. You’re like a comedy team.”

  Cath shrugged, the thought of Paul—of their connection and their long friendship and their silly quotation game—making her miserable.

  “What did I say?” James's voice was soft and Cath glanced up to see all traces of his smile were erased, replaced by a concerned frown.

  “Nothing!” Cath waved a hand and internally rejoiced that the star-struck counter girl arrived at that moment with their sandwiches. Welcoming the distraction, she swapped misdirected plates with James when the girl turned away and handed him half of her pile of napkins. Carefully smoothing one across her lap, she took a potato chip from her plate and bit a small piece from it as James lifted his sandwich and wolfed a large bite.

  “Come on,” he said, after chewing and swallowing. “That looks amazing. Don’t tell me you’re just going to nibble. I’ve already said I have seen you run. I know you need the calories.”

  Cath gave him a wry, sideways smile and lifted her sandwich: crusty sourdough bread topped with rosemary containing savory roast beef with a tangy horseradish mayonnaise. Biting into it, she struggled to keep her eyes from rolling in pleasure. Chewing and glancing at James, she saw that he was looking at her appreciatively.

  “That’s what I like to see,” he said cryptically, handing her a paper napkin and pointing at her lips.

  “Mayo on my mouth?” She asked after swallowing and dabbing at her face.

  “No, a woman who really enjoys food.”

  “Susan, I don’t care if you join me or not, I’m going to eat here.” After Susan had stopped with him in front of three restaurants and, having perused the menus, rejected them out of hand, Paul’s temper had snapped. Pushing the door open, he realized that he half hoped she wouldn’t follow him. With dreary perversity, she did.

  Of course.

  Inhaling the scent of curry, Paul smiled.

  “Indian food is full of calories. So much clarified butter. So many carbs.” Susan trailed behind him, her voice rising almost to a whine.

  “Don’t eat, then. I’m starving.” Catching the eye of the hostess, he held up a reluctant two fingers. He was pretty sure Susan would join him, regardless of her objections and complaints. Sliding into the booth the hostess gestured to, he watched as Susan sat across from him and inspected the silverware, her motions finicky as a cat’s.

  Taking the offered menu, he held it up in front of him, not proud of the fact that he was literally hiding behind a piece of laminated paper, but unable to cope with Susan’s complaints and tantrums for one moment longer. How many more weeks of rehearsal?

  A manicured finger hooked over the top of the menu, drawing it down. Paul glared at Susan, whose mouth was drawn sideways in what he was sure she thought was an adorable moue. It wasn’t adorable. It wasn’t even attractive. Tugging the menu sideways out of her grasp, he looked again at the offerings. Making a rapid decision, he set it aside and looked straight at Susan, who hadn’t picked up a menu at all. Instead, she was looking at him with a look he couldn’t identify. He took a deep breath. He supposed he should feel flattered at the baited hook that sat across from him.

  Wrong hook. Wrong woman. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

  He took a deep breath. Held it for a count of five. “So. Susan.”

  “Yes, Paul.”

  “You want to tell me what you’re up to with these shenanigans?”

  Susan’s eyes widened. “Shenanigans? Sorry.” She looked sideways, then back at him. “It may be a cliché of a line, but I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

  Paul’s fingers drummed on the table. “You need me to spell it out? Fine. The sniping at Cath. The near-tantrums. The sniping at James. You do realize there is more to a play than just a lead actress, right?”

  Susan’s large eyes grew subtly larger, then managed to convey injury and innocence to Paul.

  How do they do that?

  All the years he had worked with actors and he was still unsure how exactly they managed that feat of hardly moving and somehow expressing a tidal wave of emotion at the same time. Still. It wasn’t like he had to fall for it. He pointed a finger at her face.

  “For all your derision about television, that was a camera-ready reaction. Very subtle.” Paul wished he didn’t feel quite so satisfied as Susan’s face hardened at this crack.

  The waiter arrived on the heels of his comment, glancing nervously from Paul to Susan and back again. Paul ordered saag gosht, Susan gave precise instructions as to the collection of vegetables she would like prepared. Steamed. Without sauce. A tiny bit of rice “on the side.”

  Paul kept his eyes fixed on a point over Susan’s head in an effort to make sure they didn’t roll with derisive sarcasm. Returning his gaze to Susan’s, he said, “So. Let’s talk. What exactly is the problem?”

  Chapter 8

  Cath considered James for a moment, then opened her jaws wide and took a huge bite of her sandwich. He laughed and Cath felt her eyes crinkle in a responsive smile as she chewed.

  “You like to see me eat.” She mumbled around the bite, her jaw muscles straining to chew the large mouthful, and swallowed. “So. Yeah. I eat. You?”

  James continued to chuckle and contemplated his own lunch. “I’m not sure I can top that,” he admitted.

  Swallowing and nodding her chin at his plate, Cath said, “Eat up, pretty boy. You work out at least two hours a day. You…what did you say to me? You need the calories.”

  James nodded, then slowly raised his clenched fists up and flexed his biceps at his lunch, fixing his gaze on his meal with exaggerated attention like a predator ready to pounce. Cath collapsed in helpless laughter as he lifted the sandwich to his mouth and took a bite.

  “And you.” Cath gasped. “You say I’m funny?”

  “Mmmph,” James said, chewing. “Ys. Mmmfunny. ’S true,” he added through his food, continuing to laboriously chew and swallow.

  “I think the two of us are just the unsung comedy geniuses of Churchill, Connecticut,” Cath said, taking what she hoped was a more civilized bite and smiling, her lips pressed together as she ate.

  “I’m starting to think we’re among the few rational people in this entire production,” James said, raising his eyebrows as he looked at her.

  Cath scanned James's face intently. “I hope you don’t include Paul in the irrational category,” she said.

  James considered this question for longer than Cath felt comfortable. His eyes flicked up to her face and then down to his plate. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said, putting down his sandwich and wiping his fingertips on a napkin. “Paul’s clearly incredibly talented. Despite what happened on the first day of rehearsals, I can already tell he’s got the potential to get great performances out of everyone.”

  “But…” Cath heard herself drop the one word like a stone between them.

  Taking a deep breath, James plunged ahead. “Susan. She’s trouble. But aside from the first day of rehearsals, he seems to treat her like she’s…untouchable? I don’t know how to express it. Something’s going on there.”

  Cath took a deep breath and set her sandwich down, all appetite extinguished. “Yeah,” she said, misery pooling in her stomach, robbing her of whatever appetite she might have.

  “You guys all went to college together, right?”

  Cath’s eyes flew up to his face. His expression was solemn.

  “Um. Yes. But we, I mean Susan and Paul…and I…the three of us never worked together before. Paul never worked with Susan in college, even. He didn’t know her like I did.”

  “But you and Paul have worked together a lot, huh?”

  Feeling like she was under a microscope, Cath gritted her teeth. “Yeah. I’ve managed almost all of his
productions.”

  James picked up his sandwich, took a bite, chewed it slowly, swallowed. “You two seem to be very close.”

  “He’s my best friend,” Cath said, the simplicity of her declaration almost undoing her with its truth. And how much of the truth it concealed.

  “And his relationship with Susan?”

  Cath folded her lips into her mouth and thought. “Unknown,” she said after a few moments.

  James put his sandwich down and wiped his fingers on a napkin. “You’re his best friend and you don’t know?”

  Cath shook her head, eyes closing.

  James took a deep breath, holding it briefly before exhaling explosively. “Jesus. Leading lady sleeping with the director?”

  “Normally, I would say absolutely not. He has rules about that. But…”

  “But what?”

  Cath considered, then decided on complete candor. “But I don’t know if Susan is…grandfathered in, so to speak.”

  “Ah. There is a history.”

  “I’m pretty sure there is.” Cath said, crumpling the napkin on her lap and dropping it to the table next to her plate.

  “But again…you’re not sure?”

  Cath forced herself to meet James’s gaze. “Not a hundred percent. But pretty sure.”

  James’s eyes narrowed and he bit his lower lip, considering. “I’m sorry if this is too personal, but how is that possible if you guys are so close?”

  Cath lifted one shoulder. “The first time it happened was back in college. It was awkward then. We didn’t talk. The idea of bringing it up now? Even more awkward. I wouldn’t know how to broach the subject.”

  Not without letting him know how much I care and ruining everything.

  “Hey.” James's hand covered hers, and she looked up, startled. His brown eyes were warm, worried. “You really care about him.”

  “Well,” Cath tried to smile, felt the muscles in her face stretching her mouth, knew it wasn’t convincing. “We’ve worked together for a long time. Been friends for a long time.”