The World is a Stage (6 page)

As Rachel made her way along the trail out of the cemetery, one of the little old men raised a hand in farewell, his papery hand cheerful despite the fact he hunched over the grave of a wife gone ten years.

Add it to the list.

Caffeine. Alcohol. Drugs. Love. Men.

Rachel didn’t need any of it. Especially that last bit.

“Nope. No way. No how. Never again.”

Michael tested his leg before lifting the empty wooden keg.
So far, so good.
Other than a tightness along the back of his knee, he was fine. With a roar, he hefted the barrel so it was level with his chest and started running, making it a good fifty feet through the shorn field before turning around and heading back.

“Good speed on that one, Mikey,” Julian said. Then he promptly stepped up and beat Michael by at least ten seconds.

“Show-off,” Michael said with a laugh. “I was hoping all that sitting for magazines in your underwear you’ve been doing now that you’re some fancy Scottish Games mascot would slow you down. Some guys have all the luck. You’re up, Peterson.”

“Won’t you even think about it?” Peterson stretched his arms and bent at the knee to get his arms around the full width of it. The barrel wasn’t in the lineup of their usual tricks—the hammer throw, the caber toss and the weight over bar—but it was one of the events in the upcoming Top Warrior Race.

Also, it was really fun.

“Wait—wait.” Michael paused, watching Peterson make his round, the barrel falling to his feet about halfway so that he had to resort to a roll for the rest of the lap. That was ten points off. Already, Peterson was slipping.

“Okay. There. I thought about it.”

“And?”

“Still no.”

Julian laughed as he watched the way Peterson’s face fell. “I still don’t understand how you could have failed that bad, Mikey. What exactly did you say to this woman?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered. I was full of compliments and charm, but she was wound up tighter than a nun’s habit—and a hell of a lot less fun to talk to. I think Peterson is trying to have me killed. Oh, I’m sorry. Not Peterson. Eric. He goes by Eric now.”

Peterson flipped him the bird before leaning heavily on his barrel, the bottom of it digging a circle into the hard-packed dirt. “It’s only for a few weeks. All you have to do is show up and volunteer to be a bouncer with me. You saw those ushers Dominic hired—there’s no way they could stop some jerk trying for a little more than a peep show.”

It was true. But Michael was not a man to stick his nose in other people’s business.

“Come on,” Peterson persisted. “They could use the help. I could use the company. And Molly says you’re the perfect distraction.”

“More like the perfect sacrifice,” Michael said. “Why should I be the moving target for that woman’s rage while you and your girlfriend go make out in all those dark corners backstage?”

“I already explained it, Mikey.” Peterson looked pained. “Molly’s sister is crazy overprotective, and she’s hell-bent on getting me out of the way. Apparently, she’s the sort of woman who will hire a private investigator…and dig up enough dirt to bury me alive. Molly says Rachel’s done it before.” His voice lowered. “You know I can’t risk stirring that up. Not with Sammy and Pris at home.”

It wasn’t fair, and Peterson was all too aware of it, the bastard. He wouldn’t even look Michael in the eye.

They were none of them saints, but Peterson’s sins ran a little bit deeper and darker than the rest of theirs. Michael didn’t know all the details, but there had been something across state lines in Idaho a few months ago involving Peterson’s brother, Nick, and a bar fight that sent a man to the hospital for weeks. If he remembered correctly, no arrests had been made, but not for lack of trying.

He’d have to ask Peterson about that later.

“Molly and I just need you to distract her sister,” Peterson added. “Keep her occupied until I can find a way to win her over, explain away a few things so she won’t turn around and go batshit crazy all over my life. Please, Mikey?”

“This girl means that much?”

First Julian, now Peterson. His bros were falling, one by one.

Peterson nodded, and Julian clapped him heavily on the back, sharing a look that seemed a lot like a giant pussy whip dipped in romantic comedies and trimmed with lace.
 

Turning to Michael, Julian added, “How bad can it be? All you really have to do is be nice to a woman who, according to Peterson here, is pretty fucking hot.”

Michael perked up a little. She
was
pretty fucking hot. He wasn’t going to lie—he’d much rather sleep on a bed of nails with that Jillian woman than poke Rachel with a stick from a distance of a hundred feet, but he could still appreciate the finer points of a well-built woman. And it had been fun making her so angry the muscle along her temple looked like it was going to explode.

He gave it one last try.

“But volunteer for a naked Shakespeare play, Peterson? For a woman who wants to eat my soul and shit it out in bricks? I do have a reputation to uphold.”

Not to mention a lively interest in keeping all his favorite parts intact.

Julian laughed. “What reputation? This is the first time I’ve seen you near a field in weeks, and Kate says you never called back that friend of hers she set you up with. What else have you got going on right now?”

“You can tell Kate it was not my fault,” Michael said mulishly. “That woman she set me up with only wanted me for my body. I refuse to be treated like a piece of meat.”

He got the obligatory laughs, glad when the men’s conversation moved in the direction of an action flick they’d all been to see the day before. The sad truth of it was he
wasn’t
doing a whole hell of a lot of anything right now. A gentle workout that didn’t strain his knee. Food. Sleep. Repeat. A few more weeks of this and he’d be begging for a woman to spit in his face and trample him in stiletto heels.

“You’ll do it, right?” Peterson asked later as they packed up their stuff, ready to call it a day. Michael wanted to go out for beers, but Julian had a date, and Peterson had mumbled something about a babysitter and exorbitant rates. “They’re starting the tryouts for
Antony and Cleopatra
next Monday. Dominic already likes you, and we can offer to do it for cheap. Please? I need this.”

Michael sighed. “Yeah, man. You know I’m there.”

Peterson grinned.

“But I refuse to wear one of those pointy hats.”

“Of course.”

“Or tights.”

“I’m pretty sure bouncers don’t wear costumes.”

“You better hope you’re right, Peterson.” With those weird theater people, Michael wasn’t taking any chances. “Or I’m making you eat the tights.
After
I wear them.”

Chapter Five

An Ass-Head

Rachel loved the first day of a new play.

Because the Shakespeare After Dark production catered to a rather debauched crowd, it showed only four nights a week, which meant it could be a year-round production and not strain the actor’s limits. They mixed up the shows every couple of months to keep things fresh.

Hamlet
had gone well, aside from the debacle the other night, and the next show they were doing was
Antony and Cleopatra
, one of Rachel’s favorites. She was a shoo-in for the lead role. Sexy Cleopatra. She could totally pull that off.

“Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite redhead.”

Rachel’s eyes closed at the sound of that voice.
That voice.
Mocking, condescending and so supremely full of self-importance she wanted to scream just to cover it up.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to ask any obvious questions about drapes and the rug. I can tell you’re a natural.”

With more control than she thought was humanly possible, Rachel opened her eyes and smiled, her lips spread about as thin as they could go. Michael-the-Mule stood just inches away, all casual and at his ease, actually looking halfway decent in a white polo shirt and tastefully faded jeans, his arms crossed over his chest. Rachel felt her heart pick up and her body growing warm at the sight of him.

It wasn’t her fault. They were big arms. It was a big chest.

“I think you might be lost,” she said coldly, forcing herself to look up at his big, bovine eyes instead. “Auditions here are by invitation only.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve been invited. It’s just about the best day of my life—well, aside from that time I had a layover in Denver. Did you know that when you’re at higher elevations, a man can actually—”

“Stop right there. I don’t want to hear another word.” Rachel flipped through the pages of her clipboard until she came to the end, where Dominic had scrawled in the last-minute entries.
Michael O’Leary. Eric Peterson.
The Mule and the Skeazy Boyfriend. God help her. They were little better than stalkers, infiltrating Molly’s life, taking over everything until all her ties to the outside world were severed for good.

She knew that story. It didn’t end well.

Eric came up behind Michael until he caught sight of her and veered a wide path in the opposite direction. At least
he
knew what was good for him.

“Who did you sleep with to get on here? You can’t just waltz in and expect to be treated as an equal.”

Michael thumbed over his shoulder to where Dominic bent over a stack of screenplays near the front of the stage. “Oh, Peterson thought it might be fun, so we stopped by a few days ago to have some beers at Dom’s house. I even got his fire hose up and running again.”

Rachel narrowed her eyes. “Is that a euphemism?”

“If by euphemism you mean completely awesome, then yes,” Michael said with a grin. God, he had a lot of teeth when he smiled, all flashy and…there. Just like a mule. “Did you know the manual hydraulics on one of those older models can get the water just as far as the pump systems today? It’s amazing.”

“So let me get this straight.” Rachel tucked the clipboard under her arm and did her best to look like the authoritarian backstage manager she technically wasn’t but might as well be. “You got asked to participate in a professional Shakespeare production without a scrap of experience because you played squirt guns with the producer?”

He chuckled and spread his arms wide. He must have had the wingspan of a raptor. “I might not know all those fancy words you love to spout, Red, but I believe the kids today call that networking.”

“Aaaarrgh!” was all she could come up with on short notice.

Her jaw clamped down so hard she felt something pop up near her temple as she tried again. “You know this doesn’t make you an actor, right? You’ll most likely end up moving a few pieces of scenery and sitting around chewing your cud all day.”

“That sounds right up my alley,” he said, grinning harder—if such a thing was possible. “It just so happens I like to keep my mouth in good shape. You have no idea how much better a man is at—”

Rachel didn’t stay to hear the rest of his low-brow and most likely off-color statement. Throwing the clipboard on the ground with a resounding and satisfying slap, she stormed toward the bathrooms. The ladies room, at least, was one place the Mule couldn’t follow her.

Although she wouldn’t put it past him to try.

“This is going better than I hoped.” Molly let out a squeal and wrapped her arms around Michael’s midsection. Her arms didn’t go all the way around, but that didn’t stop her from giving him a warm squeeze. “I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to do this. She hasn’t been like this in a long time.”

“Throwing things and screaming is a good sign?” Michael was confused. He’d come over here expecting Molly to yell at him for pissing her sister off in less than fifteen minutes, not look at him with those adoring eyes, the same color as her sister’s but oh so very different in the way they measured a man.

“It’s the best sign. I don’t think I’ve seen so much emotion out of her in, well, about a year.”

Molly’s smile faltered a little, but she tucked her arm confidently in his and led him toward Dominic. “She didn’t even look twice at Eric being here. It’s like when you’re around, every last bit of her rage is funneled right into you.”

It was a dubious honor, and Michael was about to say so, but she gave his arm another squeeze.
 

“It won’t be forever, I promise. She just needs to take a little time to get to know Eric, that’s all.”

“Hey, Michael. Molly.” Dominic nodded absentmindedly and handed them both a fat stack of papers. “Find the part you want to read for and tell Gretchen, who’s coordinating all the auditions this time around.” When he saw Michael’s stricken face, he laughed. “Don’t worry too much about it. Just say the lines how it feels natural. I have a good idea about casting already, so this is a formality.”

“But I’m here to help with backstage and security stuff. You know, the muscle?” He flexed.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Molly’s face was stricken. “We have such a small production crew that everyone has to have an acting role. Even if it’s just as an understudy.”