A Midsummer Night's Fling (Much Ado about Love #1) (24 page)

“That was relatively painless,” Nicola muttered as she packed her bag up in the greenroom after rehearsal.

“I’m glad,” he said. “I’ve never worked with Judith before. I wonder if she’s always this…”

“Bitchy?”

“I was going to say
demanding
.”

“That’s because you’re a gentleman.” Nicola cupped his cheeks and stood on tiptoes to kiss him. “But, trust me, Judith’s a bitch.”

“She’s not a bad director, though.”

“No.” Nicola sighed heavily. “She’s using the forest in interesting ways. I love the new opening where Hippolyta’s Amazons fight with Theseus’s men down the hill. It’s a really energetic way to start the show.”

“Yes.” He understood. It would be much easier for Nicola to deal with Judith’s animosity if the director were a no-talent hack. That Judith knew what she was talking about a lot of the time made it more difficult for Nicola to dismiss the director’s criticisms of
her
.

“She’ll do interesting things with
Henry V
, I think,” Nicola said.

“Yeah.”

“Well, do you know how you want to play Henry? Your take?”

“I was thinking, that play is so concerned with performance, with reminding the audience they’re watching a play.”

“Right. There are all those lines from the Prologue, ‘
For ’tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings
’ where Shakespeare’s reminding the audience they are in a theater, these are actors, that
we’re pretending
.”

“Exactly,” Max said, warming to his subject. “But I think that carries over to the Henry character too. In the previous history plays, when he was prince, he was pretending to be a wastrel, and now he’s pretending to be the great king, but it’s
all
an act.”

“Fake it ’til you make it.”

“Fake it ’til you beat the French, at any rate.” Max rubbed his jaw, his blood firing with that same rush, that prickle of anticipation he always got when he thought of
Henry V
. “So I guess he starts as a hollow king, a play-actor, cynical, manipulative. But before the final battle, he sort of realizes how empty the
role
of the king is, how heavy the weight of responsibility. So he goes into the speech at Agincourt having realized the only way he can redeem himself is to die with his men and see the battle through. He’s not
playing
the king anymore, he
is
the king.”

“You’re good at that, you know,” she said.

“What?”

“Breaking the play down, finding the hidden crunchy stuff. Nuances.” Her eyes twinkled. “It’s pretty sexy.”

“Oh yeah?” He glanced around the greenroom, saw the place was empty, and banded his arms around her waist to pull her closer. “What would you say to some extracurricular rehearsal tonight? I don’t think we’ve got the kissing bits quite right yet. We need practice before dress next week.”

“Lots of practice?”

“I hope so.”

“Hmm.” She nodded thoughtfully. “You may be right. Do you think I should schedule some time with Gil too? Make sure the Bottom and Titania kissing comes out right?”

Max growled and tightened his arms around her waist, lifting her off her feet. She squealed and clung to him in a way that was achingly familiar. Pain and joy jammed together in his chest like clashing tectonic plates, shaking his very core.
A fling
. Not forever, not even for a while. He closed his eyes and kissed her, sweeping his tongue into her mouth, savoring the taste of her.
Moments
. That was all they had.

And he intended to treasure every one.

“Ah-
hem
,” Peter said from the doorway.

Nicola sighed and ended the kiss. Max reluctantly set her down and turned to his brother. Not wanting to hear the
No kissing Nicola
spiel, Max said, “How’d you like rehearsal, Petey?”

“Good, good.” Peter had his arms crossed and one hand against his mouth, rubbing his lips in Peter Fiesengerke’s patented handsome-man-lost-in-thought gesture—as seen in such films as
Fortune’s Fool
,
Psyche + Cupid,
and
Will Scarlet
. “I think I’m going to suggest Lachlan to the director for a part on my next movie. His Puck is
incredible
. I mean his
voice
, man. I got chills when he did ‘If we shadows have offended.’ I’m doing this World War II movie next. Nic, you’ll love it. Can Lach do an American accent?”

Max gritted his teeth. “Yes, he can.”

Peter wasn’t paying attention. “Have to get my hands on Lach’s audition reel. See if he has an agent. He’ll be cheaper than the guy the producers want. Better actor too. But don’t say anything to Lach yet.” Peter held his hands up in a
slowdown
motion to both of them, as if they were the ones who’d been babbling ecstatically. “Have to talk to the producers, and I don’t want Lachlan’s hopes up if I can’t swing it.”

A black sludge sort of oozed into Max’s gut.
Everyone
got to have a film career but him. Everyone got to have success but him.

Nicola jiggled his arm, digging her nails in. “Hey, you were wonderful today. You
are
a wonderful Oberon. You’re going to kick ass as Henry too.”

“Of course you were good.” Peter blinked free of his distraction and grabbed Max by the shoulders, shaking him. “I thought your greatness went without saying. I was right to pass on playing Henry. You’ll do it better than I ever could. You make a damn fine king, baby brother.” He gave Max a rousing slap on the arm and beamed.

Max felt silly being so cheered by his brother’s praise, but then he sort of shrugged to himself, said
fuck it
, and let himself enjoy the recognition.

“Yes,” Judith said, walking into the room. “Well done. You were born to be a king.” She glanced at the other two, then said, “Max, could I talk to you in private?”

When the director says jump
… “Sure.” Max pressed Nicola’s hand in parting, then stepped out of the greenroom. “What’s up, Judith?”

“I wanted to work with you on
Henry V
a bit. I’ve set a meeting with Isabelle for early next week. That will be your audition, and I’d like to work with you on the part before we present you to her.”

“Sure. When?”

“Can you do it tonight? With tech next week for
Midsummer
, this is the only night I can put aside for this. I need all day Monday to review Rita’s notes.”

But Nicola. Moments. Kissing practice!
Max gritted his teeth and forced out a grin. “Sure. But I gave Lachlan and Nicola a ride in today. Let me make sure they can get home.”

“Of course. I’ll see you in Rehearsal Room Two.”

Max ducked into the greenroom, trying to keep his wail of frustration internal. Yes, he would miss the kissing.
But how bad do you want Henry?
He thought of Lachlan costarring in his brother’s next blockbuster, of Nicola and their “fling,” of all the waste and missed chances in his life up ’til now. And he swallowed.
Pretty damn bad
.

“What’s up?” Nicola asked.

“Your car’s still in the parking lot, right? Can you drive Lachlan and Peter to the Bunkhouse? Judith wants to work on Henry with me before I audition for Isabelle.”

“That’s great! So the Henry part is pretty much yours?”

“Seems like it. Isabelle had her heart set on that jerk,” he pointed at Peter, “but now he’s bowed out, I’m the man to beat.”

“I’m so happy for you.” Nicola threw her arms around him.

He cupped her head and turned his face into her neck, breathing heaven off her skin. “I don’t know how long Judith plans to keep me. But will you wait for me at the Bunkhouse?”

“Kissing practice, huh?” Her arms banded around him, an affectionate squeeze. “I think I’ll run home to get some clothes. My car hasn’t been driven in two days, and, as lovely as your wardrobe is”—she pinched the fabric of her borrowed Placebo shirt between two fingers—“I want my own clothes.”

“It’s Sunday. Our day off is tomorrow. Are you planning to stay at the Bunkhouse tomorrow too?”

“Would you like me to?”

“Hell, yes.” He kissed her. A whole day with Nicola tomorrow, and two whole nights with Nicola too. “So you’ll be there at the Bunkhouse tonight? Wait for me?”

“Of course, and I’ll try out that fancy shower of yours. I might even forget to put clothes on afterward.”

“Thanks. I’ll be thinking about you wet and naked all night. I’m going to have a boner while I try to do the speech at Harfleur.”

She giggled. “Kind of gives whole new meaning to ‘Once more into the breach, dear friend.’”

He groaned and kissed her, then firmly stepped back. If he didn’t let her go now, he never would, and Judith was waiting.

N
icola was always
aware that Lachlan and Peter were big men. How could she forget when both of them (and Max) were a full head taller than her. Somehow, though, having two out of the three big men squashed into her tiny compact car really hammered the point home. Nicola shuddered, thinking what would have happened if she’d had Max in the car too. She shifted into gear and pulled out of the theater parking lot. Peter seemed thoughtful, and Lachlan sat with his arms crossed and his jaw rigid. Anticipating an awkward silence, she flicked on the radio.

She had the car windows rolled down as they cruised through Pasadena toward the Bunkhouse. Fragrances from people’s gardens and homes scented the chill, evening air. A hint of BBQ smoke tickled her nostrils, mixed with the smell of irises and pine. She breathed deep.

Home
. This was home. This was the way evening was supposed to smell, to feel. California was the default setting her world ran on. The feel of the sun gilding her skin during the day. The brisk chilliness that always descended after the sun had set.

She’d been all over the country on tour, and although she’d seen beautiful cities, enjoyed the weather and the culture, Southern California still felt “right,” as if her inner compass had set this place as true north. Nowhere else so effortlessly centered her, told her where she belonged.

And you’re going to leave soon
.

July
. It sounded so horribly near. Then it would be the tour again. Suitcase living and an endless round of airports or buses. Staying nowhere longer than a week,
maybe
two weeks if it was a big city. Rehearsals, and show after show after
show
. Sore feet and an aching throat. Hotel dinners. Fluorescent light stabbing into her eyes instead of rich, nurturing sunshine. Loneliness and an empty bed instead of Max.

Images, feelings from that morning brushed over her like a caress, nudging at her brain. His breath in her ear, his hands on her body, his mouth. His warm, happy smile that always wrapped around her heart like an embrace.

A series of soft, lyrical guitar chords filtered out of the radio. She blinked, recognizing the opening of the Dire Straits’ song “Romeo and Juliet.”

“Ugh.” Peter lurched forward and flicked her radio to a different station, cutting off the Dire Straits.

“
Hey
.” Her heart was hammering, and she wasn’t quite sure why.

“Sorry. I can’t stand that song. They used it in too many teen movies in the ’90s. Then Max put the final nail in its coffin—” Peter closed his mouth with an actual
snap
sound.

“Max?” she asked.

Peter scratched his nose and peered out the window. “He used to listen to it a lot. After. Um. I think it reminded him…well.”

“Right.”

“He missed you, Nic.”

“I know.” After all, she’d missed Max like a piece chipped out of her heart.

Over her many breakups with Max, she had tortured herself with Jane Austen’s
Persuasion
, flogging her heart with the poignant tale of lovers reunited. With her ridiculous photographic memory, one particular passage had seared itself into her mind, her heart: “
Now they were as strangers; nay, worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted. It was perpetual estrangement
.”

After she and Max had broken up for good last time, when she had started dating again, she’d kept hoping to find a man who could compensate for the lack of Max in her life. But she’d never found anyone who even made her miss Max less. No other man had ever made her perpetual estrangement from Max bearable.

But for five years, Nicola had fought to figure out what she wanted, who she was without Max. She couldn’t throw that away to go backward. She wasn’t the girl who’d give up college to get more snuggle time with her boyfriend anymore.

If she gave up the
Anything Goes
job, stayed only to be with Max, wasn’t she returning to that old, destructive pattern? Or was she starting a new and worse pattern by walking away from him?

“Um, Nic?” Peter said. “You drove past the Bunkhouse.”

“Right. Sorry.” She flipped a U-turn and parked in front of the house.

* * *

M
ax hustled
to Rehearsal Room Two but found it locked when he tried the door, then Judith was fifteen minutes late. She jogged over, her breathing labored, the most disheveled he’d yet seen the director.

She slapped her thighs and sighed. “I’m sorry, Max. I thought they left these rooms open. When it was locked, I ran to Admin to find someone with a key, but they’d all gone. Is there somewhere else we can work tonight? Your place?”

Max thought of the Bunkhouse. Crawling with people. With
actors
. Lachlan. Peter. Abe, if he’d managed to tear himself away from his hunky boyfriend for the night. With so many people kicking around, he couldn’t imagine they’d get much work done. And he needed to knock this audition out of the park, needed the alone time with Judith to work on Henry. “Uh, what about your place?” He felt awkward suggesting it, but other directors didn’t mind opening their homes to actors. Rita had often held get-togethers and working sessions in her and Quinnie’s condo.

“That would seem to be our only option.” Judith scribbled her address on a business card and handed it to him. The two of them walked through the empty theater grounds toward the parking lot.

“So, how do you see Henry?” Max asked as they walked. “What do you think his character arc is?”

Judith waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, he’s your typical Golden Boy. The Chosen One. Noble as hell. Righteous.”

“But what about his internal struggles? And what about all the references to acting and pretending in the play? Don’t you think, I mean, aren’t those significant?”

“You mean all the stuff with the Prologue? I was thinking of cutting those bits altogether. They aren’t necessary to understand the plot.”

Max’s throat went dry.
Cut the Prologue?
The Prologue had some of the best lines in the play! And she wanted her lead to play Henry V as straight-up noble?
Everything
at face value?

Max frowned. “But what about all the lying Henry does? I mean, the whole war with France is one big land-grab dressed up in clean linen.”

Judith laughed and patted his hand. “You’ve got some ideas, I see. We’ll discuss them. I promise.” They had reached the parking lot. He opened Judith’s car door for her, and she beamed up at him. “See you at my place.”

Max walked to his own car, shaking his head.

* * *

N
icola rushed
home to her apartment after dropping off Lach and Peter.

Gazing around, she should want to linger at her place. She hadn’t been home in what? Two days? But as she wandered through, digging in the trash bags of clothes for outfits and PJs, a sort of anxious bounce filled her body. All she wanted to do was
go, go, go
, get out and get back to the Bunkhouse. Also, the half-sorted boxes littering every surface were depressing. A reminder she would be leaving for the tour before she’d even unpacked.

Yeah, Nicola really didn’t want to stay at her apartment.

Once she’d fought her way through the snarl of rush-hour traffic, she thought Max might have beaten her back. But when she rang the doorbell and heard the dulcet chimes echo through the house, it was Lachlan who opened the Bunkhouse’s door for her. “Hullo, my petal.”

“Hiya, Lach.” She hoisted the gym bag full of clothes—about three or four days’ worth, including rehearsal clothes, sleep clothes, and, hopefully, what would turn out to be date clothes—over her shoulder and pushed past him. She’d even torn through four bags of packed clothing to find her old swimsuit. Max had a pool. She was damn sure going to take advantage of that.

“Where’s Peter?” she asked as she made her way upstairs.

“He went out. He’s doing dinner with a producer. Won’t be back until late.”

“Ah.” In the hallway, she hesitated between dumping her things in the empty guest room or Max’s. But then she noticed Peter had already moved his luggage into the guest room and, anyway, who was she kidding? She tossed her bag onto Max’s bed. “Is Abe around?”

Lachlan leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed. “Nope. Off with the boyfriend. Ah, young love.” He pursed his lips. “Or rather, middle-aged love and his cute young love.”

“Is the pool useable right now? I thought I might do some laps before it gets dark.”

“Peter always keeps the pool up. Enjoy.” He gave her a dashing smile and swung the door closed.

Nicola skinned into her swimsuit, then hit the linen cupboard in the hallway and grabbed a beach towel with a cartoon dinosaur on it. Another relic abandoned by Max’s mother?

The pool area resembled a hotel more than a home: red brick tile, lounge chairs under large umbrellas, a small cabana and bar area with a shade tent. The pool itself was a long rectangle with clear, uncanny blue water. The lone touch of whimsy or real personality was a small statue of a naked lady at the end of the pool which someone—maybe Abe—had dressed in a fake bikini T-shirt.

The water was chilly, a slap to the skin when she cannon-balled in, but once she’d adjusted and started doing her laps, it was fine. This was another thing she missed about California: pool weather.

She did an hour of laps, saying hello to the statue in her pink bikini every time, but then Nicola’s feet and hands started going pruney.
I should get out
. Instead, she flipped onto her back and just lazed around, the water cool, a breeze drifting over her front.

“Did you want dinner?” Lachlan asked.

She startled and nearly drowned herself thrashing in the water before she slapped her hand to the poolside to catch herself. “Don’t
do
that,” she wheezed.

He chuckled and crossed to sit beside her. He was wearing cargo shorts and a ratty greenish-blue polo shirt. His skin was fair, the hair of his legs pale blond as he dunked his feet into the pool. She noticed the dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks for the first time. “Dinner?” he said again.

She draped her forearm over the side of the pool, floating by the wall next to him. “Max should be home anytime. Shouldn’t we wait?”

“Judith may keep him a good long while. You know how she gets about speeches.”

“Yeah. Hey, where did you and Max disappear to at rehearsal today? I kind of lost track of you while Judith had me running scenes with Gil.”

He leaned back on his elbows, kicking up waves with his feet. “We worked with Isabelle on the fight choreography for the school program next week.”

“Ah. Is it a new fight?”

“It’s the same fight choreography Max and I did at the end of
King Lear
. Isabelle decided today, though, that the dialogue in
Lear
is too ‘talky’ for high school kids. We’ve switched to using dialogue from…” He peered around as if paranoid, then dropped his voice to an ominous rumble, “
Macbeth
.”

“Who’s playing who?” she asked. A cool breeze drifted over the pool, lashing across the droplets on her bare shoulders, freezing her skin. She shivered.

He frowned. “Shouldn’t you get out?”

“I love swimming. I’m always the last one out.” But she shivered again, her bones rattling. He had a point. But…
pool
.

Lachlan drew his legs out of the water and crossed to the lounging chair where she’d dropped her T-rex towel. “You are now the last one in the pool, and it’s time to get out.” He fluffed the towel out and held it open for her.

“All right.” She hoisted herself over the side, up and out. She reached for her towel, but Lachlan dropped it on her shoulders instead.

His hands lingered against her skin, but, before she could say anything, he sort of fell sideways into a lounge chair and spread his length out. “To answer your question, I’m playing Maccers and Max is playing Macduff.
Of course
.” He rolled his eyes.

She understood Lachlan was upset about losing Henry V to Max, but his black mood seemed to run deeper than that. She wrapped herself in the towel, then sat in the other lounge chair beside him, folding her knees up to sit Indian style. “Why ‘of course’?”