A Midsummer Night's Fling (Stage Kiss Series Book 1) (24 page)

Free drinks to struggling actors were always welcome. Max could duck out, but if he did duck out he could kiss
Henry V
goodbye. Judith's cool gaze did not give the impression this evening out was optional.

"Does Judith realize she quoted Bilbo Baggins?" Nicola asked from beside him.

"What?" Max asked, still distracted with his bad mood – and also, suddenly, by the delicious smell of Nicola's hair.

"'I don't know half of you half as well as I should like,'" Lachlan murmured beside Max. "'And I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.'"
 

Max glanced at their new director. "I wouldn't put it past her." He sighed.
Once more unto the breach
. . . "Who wants a ride to the pub?"

***

On their way to Max's car, Nicola's cell phone jangled with "Money, Money" from
Cabaret
. The ringtone for her agent. "Sorry, guys." She fumbled her phone out then stepped from the path, slightly apart from the others. "Hi, Willa. Long time no hear."

"Hiya, hon, how's tricks?" Nicola's agent, Willa, had a throaty, Lauren Bacall sort of voice. In real life she was a plump grandmother of three, but Nicola remained convinced Willa's sex siren voice was what made her such an effective wheeler and dealer. People wanted to get Willa on the phone simply to hear her talk.
 

"Things are all right," Nicola started. "
Midsummer
is – "

"Good, good. Honey, I have got
fabulous
news."

Bitterness flooded Nicola's mouth. Her adrenaline spiking. "A part?"

"The
Anything Goes
national tour. They want you to be one of Reno's Angels."

She frowned, trying to remember the musical and the breakdown of parts. "The Angels? Aren't they just the female lead's back-up singers?"

"Yeah, but the producers want you to be the first swing for Hope Harcourt and second swing for Reno. The two female leads!"

Nicola sighed. "The understudy. I'm the
understudy
for the female leads." She shouldn't be so disappointed. Even being the
understudy
on a national tour was a big deal. Good money too. Playing Titania had spoiled her, though. She liked
having
the part,
being
the character. Returning to understudy work and the ensemble was going to be difficult. As an understudy you got all the work and labor of perfecting the part, but you only got to perform it maybe once or twice. All the responsibility of being the star, none of the glory.

Willa must have sensed her non-enthusiasm. "Hon, understudy work leads to bigger things. You're paying your dues. Getting polish and experience."

"Yeah." Nicola restrained another wistful sigh. "When does it start?"

"That's the thing. They want you in rehearsals end of July at the latest."

Nicola swallowed. "
Midsummer
doesn't close until August."

"But, hon, this is a great opportunity for you. A national tour!"

"I've already done
three
national tours."

Willa kept talking as if Nicola hadn't spoken, "And I'm sure Isabelle Elton would let you go for
this
. Besides, the RSF hasn't asked you to be in any of the shows for next season, have they?"

Blood pounded in Nicola's temples, a pulsing ache. She rubbed her forehead. "Can I think about
Anything Goes
?"

"I can buy you maybe a week, but then they'll want an answer."

"All right." She said goodbye and hung up then stared at her phone with disgust. She'd wanted another job, been desperate for one. But
another
national tour? Ensemble and understudy work instead of a real, juicy part?
 

But it was insanity to say no. Actors don't say no to work, that was Gospel.
 

But there was also the question of Max.

"Everything OK?" Max patted her shoulder, and her skin seemed to go
whee
at the contact, a dizzy sort of thrill.
 

Max
. If she accepted the tour job then that was it for them.
Again
.
 

Did she want to run from Max? Leave him again?

But, if she gave up the tour to be with him, wasn't that the same problem all over again? Living his life instead of having her own?

"Nic?" He was frowning.

"Let's go," she said. "I need a drink."

***

Nicola looked strange to Max, worried, but a pack of people surrounded them and his car was crowded not only with Nicola but also with Lachlan, Tierney, and the other Bunkhouse inmate Abe Tully. As soon as they hit The Bore's Head, the group scattered.
 

Despite Nicola's protests, Tierney carried her away to some far corner. Max and Abe headed to the bar for drinks, and Lachlan made a beeline straight for the table where Judith was holding court with several of the young (male) members of the company. The chance to talk to Nicola alone had evaporated.
 

Abe watched Lachlan go then wheeled to give Max a speculative glance. "Don't you want to kiss the Queen's ring?" Abe nodded toward Judith.

Max grunted. "Later."

Abe stepped up to the bar to procure his Judith-funded first drink, a Guinness. Max moved to stand beside him and ordered a drink which he dropped his own money on the bar for. Iced tea.

Abe curled his lip in disgust at Max's drink and wandered to sit at a booth with some of the other older actors – character types, every mother's son. Max scanned the crowd. Normally if he came to the bar he'd be hanging out with either Lachlan – who was at that moment turning the full wattage of his charm on Judith, or Max would be sitting with Tierney. But Tierney had run off with Nicola, and Max didn't think he'd be welcome crashing girl-time.
 

"Hullo, Max."
 

He rolled sideways against the bar to face Isabelle, staring in surprise. "Hi, Isa. What brings you to The Bore?"

She shrugged and pulled a strand of wildly curling, red-gold hair away from her face. "Jude invited me. And I need a drink tonight."

"Is it Rita? Have you heard – "

Isabelle patted his arm. "No, no. She's fine. I talked to Quinn half an hour ago. Rita's going home in another day. She's making progress."

Max puffed out a breath and shot her a sidelong glance. "Why does Madame Artistic Director need a drink then? Should I be worried?"

Isabelle made a
tch
sound and shot him a,
As if I'm going to tell you
look. Her drink came and she took a long swallow, her eyes snapping closed as if she wanted to shut out the world.

Max touched her shoulder. "Isa, what's wrong?"

But before she could so much as open her mouth to reply, Judith was there, slinging an arm around Isabelle's shoulders and reeling her in for a half hug. "You came!" Judith cried, her speech slurred.
 

Max eased back to give the friends privacy, but Judith released Isabelle and moved on to him. Judith caught his wrist and squeezed, beaming. "I'm glad you came too, Max. I thought you were wonderful in rehearsal today. You're right on track with Oberon."

"Thank you, Judith."

Judith crinkled her eyes at him, happily buzzed.
 

Max bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

Someone else came through the doors and Judith let out a happy cry and careened off to greet them, abandoning Isabelle and Max.
 

"Good ol' Jude," Isabelle murmured, taking a sip of her dirty martini. Her face was stiff, tension quivering in her muscles. Isabelle had been this way for months, like a rope unraveling, each thread in her coming loose with a
twang
which seemed to reverberate through the whole company.
Twang
. Judith's the co-artistic director.
Twang
. Judith's running
Midsummer
.
 

What was next? And could Max make it to minimum safe distance before Isabelle's cord snapped all the way?

She polished half her drink in one swallow then smacked her lips, her black cherry eyes flicking over to him. "I'm glad I gave you a shot all those years ago, kid. You done good."

A grin blossomed on his face, and he bumped her shoulder with his. "I'm glad you trusted me. I don't know where I'd be if I wasn't in the RSF."

"Me either." She scoffed out a bitter laugh and polished off her martini.
 

"What's bugging you?" There were plenty of morose drunks around – this was a bar for actors, after all – but Isabelle wasn't usually one of them.
 

Isabelle's next drink arrived, and she stared at the glass for a second then took another gulp.
 

Max frowned, really worried. "Isabelle?"

She set the drink down, her eyes bleak. "I don't know where I'd be without the RSF."

"I don't get it."

"Where
would
I be? Broadway? The Oscars? I was thirty when Mama died and left me the company. I had offers for Broadway, TV shows, films. I was at my peak. I could have done anything. Instead I stayed here. And now I'm old."

"Isabelle, you're what? Thirty-nine?" In the interests of diplomacy, he low-balled her age by about five years. "You are not old."

Isabelle jiggled her head in denial, the mass of her curling hair quivering with the motion. "Stuck. I am
stuck
, Maxim. All those auditions I've been going on? Nada. Zip." She hit the 'p' sound hard, smacking her lips. "I'm over the hill. I can't even get a part in my
own
shows anymore. Rita wouldn't let me play Titania."

Max squeezed her arm. "You played Cleopatra in the fall. You were nominated for an Ovation award."

She flapped her hand. "Shakespeare. I am so
sick
of Shakespeare." Isabelle drained her second martini and signaled the bartender. Fortunately, the bartender was still occupied at the other end of the bar serving Abe and his cronies. Isabelle seemed to be doing fine on two martinis. Max would do what he could to stop her from having three.

Isabelle slapped the counter and sighed. "That's why I brought Judith on. She's over the hill too. Scared of it. Which is why she's so awful to Nic." Isabelle chuckled and shot him a sideways glance. "And why Judith's all over you. She wants to prove she's still got it. Seems like it'll backfire to me, though. Don't date someone younger than you if you're trying to feel less old.
I
learned that the hard way."

Max restrained a groan. And he'd thought
Nicola
was a lightweight when it came to drinking. He craned around, wondering where Tierney had gone.

"Judith wants to take over the entire company," Isabelle muttered wistfully. "Make it her own. Then I could be free to do whatever. I could start singing again. Musicals. Broadway. I was
made
for musicals. Mama didn't like them much. She was all about Shake-speah."

A horrible constricting sensation filled his chest. Isabelle gone? Judith running the RSF?
Fuck
. "Isabelle, tell me you said no. Tell me you aren't considering that."

Isabelle shot him a grimace and sank her chin into her hand. "Oh, I thought about it, Maxim. Save myself
and
my kid."

"Your kid?"

"Yeah. Tierney shouldn't be lassoed to this sinking leviathan anymore than I am."

"Tierney loves the company. She
wants
more responsibility. There are days when I swear she's planning a bloody coup d'état just so she can take over the RSF."

Isabelle waved this away, nearly smacking Max in the face with her hand. "She's a kid. She doesn't know what she wants yet. And I'm gonna make sure she doesn't get near the artistic director job. She's not gonna get stuck like me."

Max gritted his teeth.
Tierney wants to be stuck
. He didn't bother saying that. Isabelle was in her rut, and she would stick to it until she'd dug all the way to China it seemed. The guts and determination which had made Isabelle a star and a world class talent were also what made her such a stubborn ass at times. "So, what are you going to do?" he said, fighting to keep his voice even. "About the RSF? There are options besides Judith. Or Tierney."
 

I
wouldn't mind more responsibility
, but he didn't say that out loud. He
did
want more, but he wasn't sure he could handle it.
 

Max with no formal training? Max who'd never directed? Max who still, years later, couldn't get a job outside the RSF? Max the reformed drunkard? Max the Fuck-Up, the Marvelous Wreck, as Co-Artistic Director?

Ha. It is to laugh
. He sipped his iced tea, the sweet sticky booze smell of the bar burning his nostrils like a bad memory. He had a new sympathy for Isabelle, though: being stuck, wanting things she couldn't have, wasn't suited for anymore.

Isabelle puffed out a deep sigh, clinking her empty drink against the bar surface like a glass drum. "Oh, don't worry, Maxim. I'm stuck and stuck good. Judith's not working out quite the way I'd hoped. She didn't used to be such a bitch to the actors."

"She's not Rita."

"Ha. No. I'm also a little worried she'll get up to her old tricks again. Do you know she used to – " As if realizing who she was talking to, Isabelle broke off and shot him a shifty glance.