Loveplay

“You wanted this part,” he reminded her with a frankly cruel smile.

She glared at him through the glitter of tears. “Stupid me,” she ground out. “I should have let them put me in jail instead!”

“Save the emotion for your part. You’re going to need it.” He turned away, leaving her to follow, and picked up his script from one of the prop tables. He threw himself down into a chair and crossed his long, powerful legs. He ran his hand restlessly through his already disheveled hair. “All right,” he said gruffly. “It starts breaking down here, on page thirty-six, where you’re explaining your pregnancy to David.”

“Cul, I’m doing it the way you wanted it done in Atlanta,” she began.

His green eyes flashed angrily. “This isn’t Atlanta. And I’ve told you for the last time that I won’t have old ashes dredged up!”

“God forbid!” she agreed with a wild toss of her red-gold hair, her eyes flashing darkly. “I’m a little more choosy these days myself!”

He slammed the script onto the floor and stood up, towering over her. “You haven’t changed,” he said under his breath. “Not one bit. You’re still the same undisciplined, impulsive, maddening little brat you used to be. But while you’re starring in my damned play, you’ll follow my direction, is that clear?”

Her pride felt as if he’d ripped it open. By her sides, her slender, graceful hands clenched until they hurt. “Yes, sir,” she said in a hushed whisper.

His eyes studied her face quietly. “You’ve got more than your share of pride, haven’t you? And much more than your share of temper. You always were passionate.”

He couldn’t have chosen a better way to hurt, and this time she couldn’t stop it from showing. Her eyes closed and tears ran helplessly down her cheeks, although she didn’t make a sound.

“Bett…” he ground out.

She turned away, dabbing at her eyes. “I’m very tired, Cul,” she said with the last fragments of pride she could find. “Please, let’s get on with it.”

He hesitated for a long moment before he picked up the script and sat back down. When she took off her coat and turned, her face was composed, but very pale. He didn’t miss that. His eyes narrowed as if it bothered him.

“I’m sorry,” she said unexpectedly. “I should have gotten a job waiting on tables or something. I’m sorry I came here.”

“So am I,” he said curtly, “but it’s too late to do anything about it now. I can’t afford to lose any more time. As for the way you’re playing the part, it’s been six years. Will you try to remember that my outlook has changed, that my interpretations of the play have changed, and work with me instead of against me?”

She sighed wearily. “Yes.”

“Then, let’s start from your first line on page thirty-six,” he said, leaning back.

She ran through it again, remembering the way he’d coached her earlier, and he nodded as he listened, his lips pursed, his eyes narrowed as he took in even her body movements.

“Much better,” he said when she finished. “Much better. You understand now, don’t you, that I want as much emotion as you can drag up. I want the audience to cry buckets when you give that monologue about not giving up the baby.”

“I understand.” She pulled her coat back on, lifting her long hair out of the way. “You never used to like so much emotion in the monologue.”

“I’m older.”

“So am I,” she said quietly. She picked up her own script and tucked it under her arm along with her purse. “You do a lot of plays about pregnancy these days,” she observed. “And yet you’ve never married. Don’t you want—”

“It’s late,” he said shortly, checking his watch, “and I have a late date. I’ll drop you off by your apartment.”

“No!” she said quickly, for some reason not wanting him to see where she lived. “I’ll get a cab.”

He scowled, but he didn’t pursue it. “Suit yourself, darling.”

If he’d known how that careless endearment hurt, she thought miserably, he’d probably have used it ten times as much. Once he’d used it and meant it, so long ago.

He hailed a cab and put her into it, turning away immediately, and she forced herself not to watch him walk away. Minutes later she was back at her apartment and in her bed. She fell asleep the minute her head touched the pillow.

* * *

Bett slept badly, and dragged into rehearsal a half hour early with a cup of black coffee clutched in one slender hand. David Hadison was sprawled in one of the metal chairs, glaring at his script, when she slid gracefully into one nearby.

He looked up, saw who it was, and grinned. “Just running over a little problem spot,” he confessed.

“Is that what you’re doing?” she queried with pursed lips. “I thought you were cursing the dia- log.”

He sighed. “Well, actually, I was. It isn’t a very meaty part, darling. You have the only good lines.”

“Want to trade?” she asked with a slow grin. “I’ll let you borrow that big brown maternity dress I wear for the role.”

He chuckled delightedly. “Cul wouldn’t like it. I’m much too tall.”

“How sad.” She sipped her coffee slowly. “I’d offer you some, but you don’t look like a coffee drinker.”

“I’m a Coca-Cola man,” he agreed. He put down the script, folded his arms, and stared blatantly at her. “Has anyone ever told you…” he began predictably.

Before he could finish, she stood up, threw her scarf royally over one shoulder, and fixed him with her best sharp scowl. “My good man, have the decency not to stare, if you please,” she intoned with the crisp British accent she’d perfected. “We do not like our subjects making free with their eyes on our person.”

He roared, clapping. “You do it with panache, darling,” he said. “Elizabeth to the ruff.”

She curtsied deeply. “We are pleased that you think so.”

“How many times have you played her?” he asked as she sat back down.

“At least ten,” she confessed. “Once in a nude play—I talked the director into letting me wear a corset.”

He shook his head, studying her exquisite facial features—the dark eyes that were oddly gray, the flaming hair. “I’ve never seen such a resemblance, and I’ve been in the theater for ten years. You must be marvelous.”

“I enjoy it, but it gets a bit tedious after a while,” she confessed. “Although, she was a character. I doubt a woman’s ever lived who was her equal, in statesmanship or just pure grit.”

“You started out in Atlanta, didn’t you?” he asked. “I saw you play in this very production about six years ago, just one time. You were magnificent.”

“What were you doing in Atlanta?” she asked, curious.

“Trying to get a job in summer stock.” He shrugged. “I didn’t. I wound up in New York instead. It was a good thing, too.”

“You’re very good,” she said genuinely, sipping her coffee as she studied him. “But aren’t you Shakespearean, primarily?”

“By jove, yes, madam,” he said with his own British accent and laughed. “I’ve done all of Shakespeare’s plays at one time or another. But I’m trying to branch out.”

“If the two of you can spare the time,” a harsh voice rumbled behind them, “I’d like to start.”

They got to their feet in a rush, noticing that the rest of the company was already assembled on stage, and Cul was nothing if not impatient. He glared at them as they joined the rest, and his mood didn’t improve all morning. He snapped at Bett more and more, until by the end of the day she was practically in tears.