Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set by Gigi Blume (ebook reader with highlighter txt) 📕

“No,” said Jane. “I asked him if there was someone else. I wanted to give him my blessing if there was. To give me closure. But all he said was, ‘There’s no one.’ Those are the only words he’s spoken to me since he returned.”

Jane fell into a wash of fresh tears and covered her face with two full sheets of Costco-brand paper towels. The stiff material stuck out like angel wings on either side of her face, and all I could see was the nest of golden locks from behind the white barricade and her thin hands scrunching the towels in the middle.

I was determined to find out the truth somehow. I regretted not befriending Bing earlier, so I could hear his thoughts on the subject. I couldn’t exactly approach him in rehearsal and casually ask why he was acting like a dirtbag. I refused to believe Bing would let himself become influenced by the stellar way Will treated women.

14

What Is This Feeling?

Will

Bing was asking for it. The only reason I agreed to do this ridiculous production was to help him in his career. He had the ‘It’ factor. I could spot it the first time I saw him rehearse. He’d been an emergency replacement the last month of the tour for a swing who took the old saying ‘break a leg’ a little too seriously. Bing auditioned and took his place immediately. One would say he lucked out. But there was something special about Bing. He was a talent you don’t see very often. He had all the requirements for a successful Broadway career, but I knew, with the right connections, he could make it in Hollywood. He was green and needed some leading roles on his resume. The acting experience would be helpful for when he auditioned for films. I could help him with that. And now I regretted this whole stupid business. He was incredibly sulky all the time and that affected his performance. I hoped his poor attitude didn’t reflect on me. The musical director Fitz Hanlon and I were old friends. We’d known each other forever. We were cool. Cole Forster was another story. I suppose I only cared what he thought of me for Stella’s sake. Besides, Cole knew everybody in the theatre world. He could make or break Bing’s Broadway ambitions.

But Stella—she was special to me. She’d known me since I was a child, having starred in a heist film with my father and later cast him as her first guest star in the premiere of The Gardiner. She was more than a colleague. She was almost family. So when she’d called me asking for help with her charity event, I couldn’t refuse her. But I did have one condition. “Come see this guy perform,” I’d said, “and if you like what you see, maybe you’ll have a role for him in one of your plays.”

She agreed to fly out to Atlanta to watch the show, saying she wanted to see it anyway, but I knew she was there to reciprocate my favor. Turned out she did in fact have a part for Bing. In Pirates of Penzance. There was one more caveat to the deal. I had to play The Pirate King. I protested at first, arguing that I couldn’t possibly fit it in my schedule. My agent Tobias had been badgering me to sign on to do another Fast and Dangerous film. It was a twenty-million-dollar contract and rumor had it, Rick “The Brick” Savage was attached to the project.

Tobias got in the habit of sending me texts twice a day. Didn’t that guy have any other clients? I knew I was putting him and the studio off.

But something deep down inside had me dragging my feet. Something about the theatre, I suppose—the immediate gratification of the audience’s laughter and applause, the quickening in the stomach when the overture began. Something Rotten was the only show I’d heard of to get a standing ovation in the middle of the first act. Granted, I wasn’t in that particular number, but it was a great feeling all the same. Just to be part of a production like that—I’d have been happy just sweeping the floor. Nah, who am I kidding? I loved playing rockstar Shakespeare.

Now I was playing a similar role. I’d traded in my codpiece for a pirate hat. The quill for a sword. And leather-clad backup dancers were exchanged for a rag-tag band of orphaned pirates. And maidens? There were always maidens. But one in particular was a distraction I had to do something about. I needed to get a grip—or a drink. Every few minutes, I felt my eyes drawn to her like a five-car pile-up on the 405. I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t help it. And as much as I hated to admit it, she was funny. The part of Edith was generally not a very prominent role. She had a couple of solo lines and that’s it. But what Beth did with those few lines and limited blocking was brilliant. She had a talent for filling every pause with natural, physical comedy.

I told myself I only watched her for the entertainment factor. After all, millions of people subscribed to the foolish artistry of entertainers such as Miranda Sings and Carrot Head because they were funny. I fixed my eyes on Beth because she was likewise funny—and not necessarily because I ogled her curves in those tight leggings or admired how adorable she looked in that vintage Star Wars t-shirt.

But the way she glared at me when she caught me watching her—the admiration wasn’t mutual. What was it instead? Fear? Trepidation?

“Loathing.”

I was startled back into the present. She speaks!

“I’m sorry, what?”

Beth crossed her arms and glowered at me, raising her chin to level her eyes on me the best she could from nearly a foot below in height.

“I’m sure you have better things to do, Your Majesty, but we