“How do you know so much?”
“I collect gossip for a living, Lauren. You know me. Flip on an episode of Access Hollywood once in a while. TMZ can be fun.”
“Gotcha,” Lauren said, numbly. While learning that the ill-advised kiss wasn’t public information provided Lauren a small measure of relief, the photo wasn’t exactly fantastic news. That kind of cozy relationship with her lead actress wasn’t the image she wanted out there. Her cast would see that, not to mention the wider world. “Can I see it?” She had an Instagram account but rarely opened it these days.
It took Trip only a few seconds to produce the image. “It’s not…awful,” he said, clearly doing his best to minimize the perceived fallout. “Actually, it’s a really hot photo of the two of you. People will talk about it for a few days and then move on to something else.”
She looked down at the photo on Trip’s screen. She was crouched over Carly, their faces very close together, their bodies touching back to front. It looked like she was speaking quietly into Carly’s ear. Carly was smiling. Wonderful, Lauren.
“They should fire me now,” she said with a sigh and tossed the phone onto the table in front of her.
Trip abandoned his task and headed over. His hair seemed sympathetic, having lost its festive bounce, and that helped.
In favor of the larger issue, she shoved aside the other things that viewing the photo did to her, the tightening of her stomach muscles, the warmth that started at her hairline and moved rapidly down her body, making her fingers tingle and dance nervously. She’d never really had to deal with dancing fingers before.
She remembered the moment itself clearly, how Carly’s blond hair had tickled Lauren’s collarbone as she’d spoken quietly. She swallowed.
“Lauren, my noble leader, you’re blushing profusely.”
She glanced up. “Am not.”
“And now you’re telling outright lies, and it’s me.” He turned a chair backward and sat next to her as if in down-to-business mode. “Lala, you have a thing for Carly Daniel? You wouldn’t be the first in this life, so it’s not at all a surprising thing. Let me tell ya. She’s a lesbian. You’re a lesbian. Sometimes lesbians get together and do lesbian things.”
“Please, Trip. I was drinking and trying to be…I don’t know, fun?” She sighed. “Look where it got me. Definitely not a mistake I’ll make again. I need to keep my distance. Decided.”
“Stop it right now, or I’ll hurl this chair through a window like Patti Lupone in a rage.”
“Dramatic.”
“When it comes to this? Yes. I loved that you came out with us. It’s been a while since you’ve attended any kind of gathering outside of the ones that come with formal invitations, and you’re not a nun. Yet.”
Trip’s pep talk fell flat, ineffective in the face of her own minor freak-out. Lauren blinked several times, waiting for her emotions to settle. Any moment now. When they did, she would take full grip of the reins, and conquer this situation the way she did all others. She was type A for a reason, damn it.
Because she didn’t respond, Trip punched her in the arm. Hard.
“Ow,” she said, rubbing the spot. “Why are you beating on me, you lunatic?”
“Because you need to snap out of it. We have a rehearsal to get to, and we can’t do it without you.” A pause. “Our resident Casanova pool shark.”
She gasped in outrage as Trip bounded away. His upbeat, lighthearted demeanor helped alleviate some of her stress. As did his hair.
It didn’t last long.
Ten a.m. came, and with it, the entire cast gathered. Well, except for one. Carly was MIA again, and this time Ethan seemed to truly take notice. “Why are we waiting on her again?” Ethan asked Lauren with an unusual bite in his tone. Even he was growing weary, which said something.
“I’ll call,” she said, offering him an apologetic glance. Not that this was her fault, but stage management often took the brunt of the disdain for rehearsal not going according to plan. That came with the gig. Carly didn’t pick up her first call, or her second, nor her third either. It was now forty minutes into rehearsal, and her understudy, Nia, had taken over to keep them from losing any more valuable time.
“Shall I go bang on her door?” Trip whispered in Lauren’s ear. Normally, that would be the protocol. She’d keep things moving in the room, and her ASM would search out their problem child. Today felt different. Already angry and resenting the hell out of Carly’s presence after what happened this weekend, this behavior only multiplied her frustration.
“No. This is her fourth late arrival, and this one is flagrant. I’m going personally.”
Trip’s eyebrows touched his hairline. He hadn’t expected that response, and she hadn’t expected to give it. “Gotcha. I’ll take over here.”
“I appreciate it,” she said, quietly, scooping up her bag.
Ethan moved to her, having overheard their discussion. “And Lauren? Make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
“I hear you,” she said, swallowing her hatred for this day, and it wasn’t even noon.
She was familiar with the apartments the theater retained for housing out-of-town talent. She hopped in her Mini, blasted the radio, and headed there. She rode the elevator to the fourth floor of the building, stared down the number 406 that matched the paperwork she had on Carly, and knocked three times with maybe a little extra force. No one answered. Wonderful. She knocked again, this time vigorously, and when that didn’t work, she knocked with her key to the theater, generating a much louder, grating sound.
“What the hell?” Carly said, swinging the door open, bleary-eyed. She stared at Lauren, then craned her head around the corner and stared down the hallway. Then back to Lauren.
“Carly, you’re an hour late to rehearsal, and that’s if we were teleported to The McAllister right this moment.”
More blinking. Carly ran her hand through her hair, which was tousled, but in that shampoo commercial way that only certain people—people who were not Lauren—could pull off. When she opened the door more fully, Lauren took in her whole outfit. A tank top and what appeared to be a baby-blue thong. She looked away from the expanse of skin available to her gaze.
“Fuck. I didn’t mean to oversleep.” She glanced behind her for answers, flashing a bare cheek at Lauren. “I was up late and probably didn’t set an alarm.”
“Probably?” Lauren asked and turned back to Carly, because thong or not, this irresponsibility at work was unacceptable.
“Yeah. Sorry about that. Let me get myself together.” Lauren nodded and folded her arms. “What? You’re just going to stand there? Is your plan to escort me?”
“I thought we’d ride over together, yeah.” Damn right she was going to escort her. She was not walking back into that rehearsal hall with word that Carly would be there soon, while they all watched the door and crossed their fingers.
“Lauren,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “I’m a successful adult. You don’t have to babysit me.”
“Apparently, I do.”
“Fine,” she said coolly. Carly let the door fall open as she headed back inside. “Then do so inside. Less weird that way. Plus, it might help you relax.”