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“So, what did you think? We aren’t terrible.”
She sucks in a breath and avoids my gaze. “You were great. I can’t believe the kids were so professional. And whoever rearranged the music to let Elsa sing the lower harmony instead of those high notes was a genius.”
The pot clicks off, and I grab the handle and pour. “You noticed that? Paula is a good singer, but that ending is a bit out of her range.”
“It was a good compromise.” She takes her cup and wanders to the sofa. “You have to work tomorrow, right? When does school get out?”
I bring my cup and sit on the other end of the couch. The intimacy of the play sent my romantic subconscious into a dream land where we’re a real couple, but obviously she’s not interested. I don’t know whether to curse Stella or thank her.
I clear my throat. “Thursday is the last day of classes, but I don’t get summers off at Lockheart. Although the whole place shuts down for a week—just in time for SommerFest. It’s Lockheart’s way of contributing to the community, he says. I think it’s because he’s married to the director.”
“The director? Dame Edith is married?” She finally meets my eyes, her brows up in surprise. “How did I not know this?”
I shrug. “It’s a closely held secret. Well, not really. They’ve been together for decades. But she spends a lot of time in England, and his work is here. It seems to work for them.”
Setting her cup on the coffee table, she pulls out her phone and starts clicking. “There is nothing online about this.” She waves the phone at me. “Nothing.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.” Or why it matters so much to her. Although after the media circus surrounding her father’s wedding, maybe the idea of a publicity-free relationship is attractive. “Anything new from your dad?”
She shakes her head and leans forward to grab the mug again. “I’ve been texting all day, but he doesn’t reply. I think Justin blocked my number. I’ll go up there tomorrow. And I’ve talked to my brother. He said Dad isn’t replying to his texts either. He’s contacting Dad’s lawyer to see if there’s anything we can do.”
Without thinking, I put a hand over hers. Her fingers are cold, despite the mug clenched in the other hand. I wrap both of mine around hers in wordless solidarity.
She glances at me from the corner of her eyes, then pulls her hand away to remove the tea bag from her mug. “Do you have any sweetener? Something low calorie?”
“Sure.” I jump up to grab a glass bottle from the table. “Is stevia okay? Eva likes it in her coffee.”
Nica nods and takes it without looking at me. As I sit, she shifts away from me. She’s been blowing hot and cold all evening. Sometimes flirty, sometimes distant. I should probably try to stay aloof, but I can’t seem to help myself. Having her in my home is like living in one of her movies—kind of unreal. I turn to face her, pushing myself into the corner of the couch, giving her as much space as possible. “Thanks for filling in tonight.”
“My pleasure. I’m glad everyone joined in on the songs—it’s been a long time since I’ve done any real singing.” She settles herself in the opposite corner, so we’re face-to-face across the expanse of the sofa. “Did you find out what’s going on with your friend?”
I blink for a second, trying to figure out what friend she’s talking about. Then it clicks. “Stella? She’s not answering my texts, but her husband said everything was fine. Then he said Stella has a migraine.” I sip my chamomile. “I’ve known Stella and Mick for over ten years, and she’s never had a migraine before.”
“Maybe she panicked at the idea of taking over the role? I hope she didn’t burn any bridges with Dame Edith.”
“I don’t think so. Stella’s been itching to step in. She’s been complaining about Hannah since the roles were announced. And there’s no one else who can catch up quickly enough. The last two women to play the role have moved away. And no one wants April back again. Talk about a scene stealer!”
“Well, then I hope she gets over her migraine—real or imagined.” She stirs her tea for a few seconds, her eyes focused on the spoon swirling the pale liquid. “Although she’s a bit old for the part.” I start to protest but she holds up a hand. “I am, too. Maria is supposed to be in her twenties.”
I suppress a grin. “I thought you were supposed to be in your twenties, too.”
She snickers and looks away. “Early twenties. I guess that’s the difference between stage work and Hollywood—you can play much younger on stage. No one gets close enough to see the crows’ feet.”
“You don’t have crows’ feet. I’d believe early twenties.” The response comes out before I think, but it’s true. Even with the stress of her father’s illness and the separation, she looks beautiful.
“You’re hardly an objective third party.”
“I’m a fan, and that’s who matters, right? We’re the ones who decide if your next movie is successful or not.”
She holds up a finger. “Only if the casting directors give me a chance first. Once they decide I’m too old, it’s all over.”
“Then transition to something new. Start playing Frau Schraders instead of Marias. Not that I think you’re there yet, but someday. Lots of actresses stay relevant as they age.”
“Putting aside the inherent unfairness of the dual standard between men and women, you’re right. And that’s the plan, someday. But for now, I need to focus on my dad and my PR campaign. Sylvia wants me to grab some videos around town and talk about my upcoming movie. Any suggestions on locations?”
I give her a list of the most unique and photogenic locations around town. “That’s probably enough to start. There are some stunning views up on the mountain—I can take you up there this weekend, if you want.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
