Acting Up (39 page)

A glimmer of a smile appeared. “So, you're not kicking me out?”

“Apparently not,” Addison said in a dry tone. “For some reason I feel sorry for you. Maybe I've gone soft.”

With an excited cry, Lisa jumped up from the ugly couch, squeezing Addison hard enough to cut off her air supply.

“Easy, easy,” Addison said, disentangling herself.

With a sheepish grin, Lisa stepped back. “You won't regret this. I'm going to be the best Bree Summerville ever. I'll be so good no one will even notice Michelle. Besides, everyone knows the villain is always the better role.”

Okay, so there was still some work to do where Queen Bee was concerned. Addison supposed it would take more than one heart-to-heart to retrain Lisa's thinking.

You're not going to be here to retrain anything, Addison
, a tiny voice whispered to her conscience.

She told the voice to shut up.

****

Aunt Ruth was watching television when Addison arrived home. A knitting basket was next to her easy chair and needles were clicking at a rapid pace.

“Hi, dear,” Aunt Ruth said. “I saved some dinner for you.”

“Thanks. Where is Aaron?”

“Studying at Lori's house.”

“Again?” Addison grumbled as she flung herself onto the love seat. “We're going to have a merit scholar on our hands soon.”

A delighted chuckle filled the room. “I think they're cute together. How did the dress rehearsal go?”

“Horrible.”

The knitting needles stopped moving. “Surely not?”

“Worse. I found out Lisa Turney was behind all the sabotage.”

“What?” She laid aside her sewing. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes. Lisa was upset about not being cast as the lead, so she tried to stop the whole production. A new take on if ‘I'm not happy, nobody's going to be happy'.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. She's still in the show.” Addison wiped a hand over her face. “Do you think I'm the biggest pushover ever? I should have been harsher, right? Strung her up by her toenails or something?”

Aunt Ruth resumed her knitting. “Depends on why you decided not to punish her.”

The matter-of-fact response made her smile. “Believe it or not, I understand why Lisa did it. I understand her,” Addison said. “She's so driven to be the center of attention. I know what it's like to want stardom at any cost. I never sabotaged anyone else to get attention, but I've played dirty at times. For a part, for recognition, for financial gain.”

The needles clicked as Aunt Ruth worked, her concentration seemingly centered on the sweater forming in her lap. “Yes, you always needed to be noticed.”

“I hated being invisible in my own home.”

The needles stopped. Aunt Ruth pinned Addison with penetrating eyes. “Honey, you were
never
invisible to God. He loved you when you were Alice Jones. He loves you now, but until you accept His love you are always going to be chasing dreams that are guaranteed to leave you empty in the end.”

“Ms. Covington, in Scene Three do you want me to pivot on my right foot or my left? Because if I pivot right I can move downstage quicker—”

“Right, Peter. You pivot right,” Addison said, cutting off the string of panicked questions. “I told you yesterday.”

A crease formed between his eyes. “You did?”

“Five times.”

“I'll never get this right,” he said, letting out a groan of despair.

Addison laid a hand on his arm. “Hey, at least you aren't crippling your cast members anymore. Try to relax and everything will come to you.”

“Okay.”

Peter shuffled away, only to be replaced by Nina Walters. “Ms. Covington, the strap on my dress broke.”

“Go see Mrs. Lewis. She's handling wardrobe.”

From somewhere down the hall, a cry of dismay went up. “Oh, no!
No, no, no, no, no!
”

Addison and Nina both jumped. “Take care of your costume,” Addison said, giving the younger girl a push. “I'll go find out who died.”

The horrible wailing was coming from the girls' dressing room. When Addison got there, she found Amanda staring into the makeup mirror, doing a good impression of Munch's
Scream
.

“What?” Addison shouted.

“Look!” Amanda gestured to the enflamed red blemish on her forehead. “It's like Mount Olympus has taken over my face.”

“Mount Olympus was from Greek mythology.”

“It was?” Amanda asked, momentarily distracted from her abused pores. “What's the name of the volcano that buried the city in Italy?”

“Vesuvius,” Addison said, grasping the girl's chin and turning her face toward the light. “It's not the worst I've seen.”

“It is, too.” Amanda's chin wobbled as her eyes filled. “They're gonna' see this from the back row and say, ‘Look at Amanda with Mount Vespas on her face'.”

“Vesuvius.” Addison reached into her pocket and pulled out a silver tube. “Put a dab of this on and let it absorb for a minute.”

“What is it?” the distraught teenager asked, even as she snatched the tube.

“You wouldn't believe how many pimples showed up on my face right before I was supposed to go on camera or do a photo shoot. I experimented until I came up with a magic potion.”

Her eyes widened. “What did you put in it?”

“State secret. Make sure you style your hair so it covers your forehead.”

Robin Bradley barreled through the dressing room. “The doors are open and we have thirty minutes to curtain!”

The announcement brought forth a flurry of renewed activity accompanied by more screams.

Robin made a pass through the room, repeating her thirty-minute warning. She screeched to a halt by the makeup table, eyes trained on Amanda's forehead. “Whoa, major pimple. You poor thing.”

“Robin,” Addison said, grabbing the girl's arm. “Not helping.”

“I knew it.” Amanda's chin started wobbling again. “I look like a freak.”

A chagrined expression flashed across the stage manager's face. “Don't worry. It's not so bad.”

Amanda's wails increased.

“Still not helping.” Addison ushered the other girl toward the door. “Amanda. Stop blubbering. Use the cream, then finish your makeup and get dressed.”

Addison had just sent her stage manager on a mission to double-check all the prop tables when Lisa approached. The junior saboteur's steps were hesitant, as they had been every time she got within thirty feet of Addison.

Before the girl could say a word, Addison stopped her. “Lisa Turney, if you thank me one more time, I am going to kick you out of the show. Even if it means
I
have to take over your part.”

“But I—”

Two hands went out this time. “No. I mean it. Forgiveness has been granted. You have been absolved, my child. Be healed.”

“Maybe with you,” Lisa said. “No one else will talk to me.”

“Can't help you there, princess. You have to expect cold shoulders after everything you pulled. You betrayed your friends, and it will take time to earn back their trust.”

Lisa let out a gusty sigh and trudged away, as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders.

Left alone for the moment, Addison glanced around, taking in the activity. She felt as if she'd come home. Ordered chaos had been the norm on the set of
House of Fashion
before a taping. Actors running through their lines or receiving last minute script changes ten minutes before they went on the air. Wardrobe people trying to repair ripped hems. Set decorators dressing the stage. She'd missed this feeling so much. The surge of adrenaline, the rapid pulse, the buzz running through her veins.

Over the last few months, Addison had tried to suppress the need in order to maintain her sanity. The desire was still there, however. No matter the reasons she'd gone into show business, it was in her blood now, and she couldn't walk away forever.

Any further deep musings were cut off as Marjorie hurried down the hall.

“The house is already filling up,” she said. “You wouldn't believe the crowd outside. I've never seen this many people come for a production before. There are camera crews all over the place, too. I think I even saw someone from an entertainment channel.”

“No cameras in the theatre.”

“Absolutely not.” Marjorie paused to give Addison a long once-over. “How do you handle this pressure? I'm so nervous I can't stand it. I feel like I'm the one who'll need a paper bag.”

“Believe it or not, all the chaos feels normal.”

“You're inhuman,” Marjorie said.

Ha! If only she knew.
“Keep an eye on the entrances and even the back doors,” Addison said. “Especially those cameras. If a reporter wants to come in, he or she buys a ticket.”

Marjorie saluted and spun on her heel. Addison continued her tour of the backstage area. She knocked on the door of the boys' dressing room next.

“Everyone decent?”

A chorus of yeses floated back.

Brad was slipping into a denim shirt. Peter was next to him. He was wearing the shoestring again.

“Pete, it's time to take the training wheels off,” Addison said. “Lose the string.”

The boy gulped. “I can't.”

“Repeat after me,” she said, looking into his reflection in the mirror. “You're going to do fine.”

“You're…
I'm
going to do fine.”

Addison patted his cheek and moved on. Luke Mitchell was sitting in a chair staring into space. He seemed a little green around the gills, like a hapless victim of seasickness.

“Everything all right?” Addison asked.

“The guys from the team will be here tonight. They'll probably be chucking tomatoes on the first note.”

“They're going to be so jealous after they see how the girls in the audience react to you.”

Luke relaxed enough to chuckle. “Don't tell Michelle that.”

“I wouldn't dare.”

Addison made a circuit of the room one more time. “Everyone, meet in the Green Room in fifteen minutes for warm up.”

Back in the hallway, she passed Robin Bradley inspecting the prop tables. Then a flash of color caught Addison's eye as she walked by the storage closet. Gazing into the darkened space, she could barely make out the figure huddled on a stool.

“Michelle?” Addison said, stepping into the closet. “What are you doing?”

“Having a meltdown.”

Addison knelt in front of the girl. “You can do this.”

“I can't remember a single line,” Michelle said, her voice so faint Addison could hardly hear her. “My knees are about to give out, and I feel like I'm going to throw up.”

“All very normal. Once you're out on stage, everything will come back and you'll be fine.”

“I kept having a dream last night of tripping down the stairs during the prom scene.”

“Won't happen.”

“Maybe you should let Lisa do my role after all.”

“Stop it!”

The sharp words brought the girl's head up.

“You've practiced for months,” Addison said. “You know every line. Every step. Every note. You were
made
for this role. You are Ellie, and
no one
else can play her as well. Now, take deep breaths and be in the Green Room in ten minutes.”

Michelle took a deep breath. “Wow, harsh.”

“Do you want me to coddle you? Or maybe I should go ahead and give your role to Lisa?”

“No,” Michelle said, a bit of her resolve returning.

“Good. Pull yourself together and be ready to warm up in ten… no, make it seven minutes now.” Addison stood up. “Oh, and Michelle?”

“Yeah?”

“If you need to throw up, do it before you go on stage.”

Leaving Michelle to gather her courage, Addison headed back into the hall and barreled right into someone's chest. Her senses registered Ethan, and her arms went around him.

“I hope not just anybody would do right now,” Ethan said, tangling his hands in her hair.

The rhythmic thumping of his heart eased her anxiety like nothing else could. “Only yours.”

The rumble of laughter bouncing off his ribs felt nice, too.

He started to pull back, but Addison held fast. “Not yet.”

“What's this?” Ethan cradled her face. “Where's my in-control Addison?”

“Are you kidding? I'm not in control of anything. Peter's back to wearing a shoelace. Luke is flipping out about his teammates throwing tomatoes — which is a distinct possibility, considering the dress rehearsal, by the way. My female lead is hiding in a closet with a barf bag, and Amanda has a giant zit on her face.”

Ethan's mouth quirked. “I have no idea what you just said.”

“It's crazy back here.”

“You love craziness,” Ethan said. “You've worked hard with the kids, and they're going to be great.”