To the Moon and Back Read online

  God, she couldn’t wait for this trip.

  She’d earned this vacation. Dreamed about it. In forty-eight hours, this production would be another successful entry on her already impressive résumé, and The McAllister would bring a new show to the main stage, and enter rehearsals for another. The system was in constant motion.

  “Mona—the dresser for the princes?—hit on me tonight,” Trip said, leaning against her table in the booth. “She grabbed my ass, and it hurt like hell. Mona has traumatized me.”

  “Do you want me to write it up?” Lauren asked with a sympathetic grin. She was also the first step to Human Resources for such claims, before the union got involved. “Call it aggressive ass grabbing?”

  Trip rubbed his right cheek. “I do not. This time.”

  “I’d do that for you, Trippy. I’ll say Mona’s an ass grabber.”

  “Nah. Maybe next time. I just want my boss and friend to sympathize with me.”

  She offered him puppy dog eyes and blinked slowly. “I’m so sorry your ass is sore, and that Mona thinks it’s so cute she has to harm it.”

  “That’s it,” he said, nodding, warming to the characterization. “I have a harmed ass. I’m glad you’re finally acknowledging my pain.”

  “Always, Trip. Always. Want to go home now? Cuz it feels like it’s three a.m. and I’m close to death.”

  “Quarter to midnight, but yes, please,” he said, snapping out of martyr mode. A thought seemed to pop into his brain. “Excuse me. Lala?”

  “Yes?” Lauren asked, smiling at the use of the nickname he’d assigned her years ago.

  “Will you be at the after-party tomorrow night? Please don’t say you need to have lonely wine time at home. Lonely wine time is really sad wine time, and you don’t want to be that lady.”

  She nodded and ignored his judgmental observation. “I’ll be there. I’m exhausted, numb, and ready to clock out of this one, but it wouldn’t feel right to skip out, you know?” She’d never missed a closing party and didn’t plan to now. There was something important about the cast and creatives coming together socially to say their good-byes, and send the show off into the history books as a united group. Say what you would about a drama-filled production, but once the curtain was down for good, everyone forgot the tumultuous details and fell in love all over again. The glory of theater.

  “Perfect. I’ll need you to keep me from flirting with Gregory. It’s your job.” Gregory played Rapunzel’s Prince in the show, and Trip had been drooling over him since they’d started rehearsals. Gregory, however, was the love ’em and leave ’em type, and Trip was more the fall in love and get married type, so Lauren had done her best to run interference.

  She raised an eyebrow. “We’re still on that?”

  Trip covered his heart. “Can you support my endeavors sans judgment?”

  “I can.” He bowed, and she laughed. “Now get out of here, so I can finish my paperwork by five a.m.”

  “You mean midnight.”

  “It’s whatever. I’m barely alive.”

  “One day more!” he sang loudly, giving her his best Les Mis. She had the decency to grin. When he disappeared from sight, she heard several more voices join his chorus. She laughed quietly. Theater people, man. Their world was a unique environment, full of unique individuals who Lauren happened to love, flaws and all.

  Just before leaving The McAllister that night, Lauren paused to watch one of her most favorite rituals. A stagehand placed the ghost light center stage and wandered away. Gorgeous. She folded her arms across her chest and let the image affect her. There was no visual she loved more. Something about that solitary light keeping watch over the theater, until they could come back and tell more stories the next day, stole her heart. She leaned into her goose bumps, offering herself a small hug. She stayed another minute and stared at the light, internalizing it, appreciating it, before packing up her bag and heading out. When she arrived in the staff parking lot, she turned back and regarded the looming white building with four long regal columns in front. The amount of theatrical history inside those walls was not lost on Lauren. She carried a great deal of reverence for the theater, and never tired of its demands. They were friends, she and The McAllister. She leaned back against her car. She’d once dreamed about performing on that stage herself. She didn’t dust off those old dreams too often, because why harp on the past, you know? She wasn’t meant to be an actress and clearly understood that now. But there were times when she allowed the twinge of envy to creep in, when she saw others doing what she once longed to do herself and felt the loss. She batted back those wistful thoughts before they got too far along. Hell, she was Lauren Prescott, and holding everything together was her specialty. No time for those kinds of indulgences.

  She stood and gave the theater a final nod good night. She’d be back in just eleven short hours for the final Sunday matinee. That meant older patrons and children would cram the house in a jumble of red wine and peanut M&M’s.

  First up, her after-show celebratory wine gulping, when she could put her feet up, relax into her own life, and leave the stage management professional on the shelf for another day. Bring on her real world, namely: her dog, her house, and her leggings purposefully purchased one size too large for this very occasion.

  * * *

  Whoa. Carly Daniel lowered her banana-razzmatazz-kale smoothie and set it on her white marble kitchen counter in sunny Los Angeles. The man servicing her infinity pool stared at her in her baby blue bikini through the automated open wall between her backyard and kitchen. She turned away from him, killing his view, and stared at her phone’s readout in disbelief. Her agent was calling for the first time in months. She wasn’t calling Alika. Alika was calling her. At long fucking last. She picked up without hesitation, hoping silently for an offer, an audition, anything to get her feeling like she was working again. Alika Moore had been dodging her calls for weeks, so to have her reach out now had Carly’s heart hammering with anticipation.

  “Hey, Alika. Just catching some rays.” Carly forced a smile because she knew it would make her sound happier. She always made a point to sound breezy and successful, even though they both knew her career was circling the toilet. “How’s your day?”

  “Been busy out there,” Alika said. She had a lot of clients, and Carly was now probably low priority after her star had fallen so publicly. She was lucky her agent hadn’t dropped her altogether. “I’m calling because, wonder of wonders, we have an offer on the table.”

  Carly closed her eyes and thanked heaven above. “Tell me it’s Barrow’s latest film. I don’t even mind auditioning for him, which we both know I haven’t had to do in a while. Plus, he loves me, so it would just be a formality.” She and director Jay Barrow had been talking about working together for the past two years, and his new film had the perfect role for her. She’d read the script three times, reveled in the dialogue, the rich characterization, and the fantastic plot twist toward the end that would have audiences talking for weeks. She was ready to report when and where they needed her.

  “I called on it already. They passed.”

  Carly started to speak and stopped. She turned around and stared at her white cabinets with the glass insets. That didn’t make sense. Jay told her she was a favorite actress of his and he was dying to work with her. “Did you tell them I’d audition? I’ll prove what I have to prove.”

  “I told them you’d audition. I told them you’d be in bed every night by eleven. I told them they could have your firstborn. They passed, Carly. They’re all passing, and if we don’t do something to turn this around, this whole hands-off Carly Daniel policy that’s circulating the studio system is going to be permanent.”

  Carly frowned. She’d behaved badly, partied too hard, and taken advantage of her status in Hollywood, imagining she’d be solid no matter what she did, including holding up production when she’d failed to make her call times. She’d fallen into the Valley of the Stupid and was paying for it mightily. I
t wouldn’t have been such a big deal if that hotheaded director hadn’t run to every media outlet who would listen and exaggerated all that had happened. It didn’t matter how sorry she was, or how vehemently she planned to be different moving forward. No more late partying. No more late arrivals, no more pushy opinions, and definitely no more hookups who would tell all to the tabloids. She truly regretted that one night with the Norwegian woman who sold compromising photos of them to The Inquirer. Her kingdom for a time machine. Yet she’d been on the straight and narrow for months now, and no one cared. Well, maybe until now. She backtracked to the important part, leaving the Barrow news in the past. “But there’s an offer?”

  “Not one you’re going to be thrilled with, but if you ask me, we’re lucky to get it.” There was a weariness in Alika’s tone, and the words themselves didn’t bode well, either.

  “Okay, I guess. Tell me about it?”

  “The McAllister Theater in Minneapolis is mounting a production of a new play, Starry Nights.”

  Carly squinted and noticed absently her tan was in great shape. That was a bonus, at least. “Like the Van Gogh painting?”

  “The script is inspired by the painting, yes, and I’ve gotta be honest with you, it’s good. The director, Ethan Moore—no relation, by the way—has offered you one of the two lead roles.”

  Carly shook her head, picked up her smoothie, and walked. “But stage work? Think about it, Alika, no. That’s not who I am. It’s not what I do.” She sighed dramatically. “If this offer was Broadway, then maybe. I could at least think of it as a bonus on the old résumé, but some dusty old regional house?”

  “It’s not just some regional house.” Alika seemed frustrated again. “It’s the fucking McAllister. Well respected. Coveted in artistic circles. It attracts top echelon directors, actors, and designers, all because everyone wants to work at The McAllister at least once in their career. Don’t just blow this off, Carly. I can’t guarantee there’ll be another offer.”

  “You honestly think I should do this?”

  “If you want to reestablish yourself, this is a fantastic way to do it.” Alika had put on her serious voice, the one she used when she tried to get Carly to see things from her point of view. The serious voice tended to be right, so Carly paid attention. “Go back to basics. Act your ass off in this play, and let the reviews sell you to Hollywood all over again for the credible work you did. Remind them you’re an actress and not a headline.”

  Carly dropped her head back and stared at the ceiling. Not only did stage work not appeal to her, but she’d never done any theater. Zilch. Not even in her tiny high school back in Oregon. Her first audition had been for a television guest spot when she was nineteen, and that had quickly led to her first film cameo at twenty. Since then, the water had been warm in Hollywood, and her star had continued to rise until she was the name selling films. Nine years later, as she approached her thirtieth birthday, she could definitely say that star had fallen. And hard.

  On the other hand, how hard could it be to transfer what she did to a live performance, right? She was a good actress. She knew that much, and acting was acting. “Can I think about it?”

  “You can, but why?” Alika drew out the last word. Carly could imagine Alika’s hair vibrating the way it did when she was frustrated. “Would you rather float around in your pool some more and sip mimosas? I can let you get back to that. I have other clients who are interested in working.” One of Carly’s favorite things about Alika was that she rarely sucked up and instead told it like it was. “Or we can begin building your career back to what it was, one brick at a time. The McAllister is a brick, baby girl.”

  Why did Alika have to be so tell-it-like-it-is? Carly sighed and tapped her countertop about eight hundred times. Her pool guy stole another glance at her in her bikini, and she closed her sheer cover-up tighter around her body. “Fine. Take the offer. There’s a dude gawking openly at my breasts, and I’d like to say something positive happened today.”

  “Gawking at you? What else is new?” Alika chuckled. “Report his ass to his supervisor immediately. Also, as your friend, I’m happy you see the light. I’ll send over the contract as soon as I have it. This is the right move. The McAllister is big.”

  “When do I have to be in—I’m sorry, where the hell am I going, again?”

  “Minneapolis. They want you there for the first rehearsal next week. The theater will be in touch to arrange your travel once we’ve signed. Start flexing that acting muscle again.”

  “On it. Maybe you’ll visit?”

  “Doubtful. I must wheel and deal so we can all eat.”

  Carly sighed as she tried to keep up, tried to imagine waking up in Minneapolis next week, and tried not to swear in frustration at her agent, who was merely the messenger. “Alika. Level with me. Is this whole thing really necessary? I mean, can’t we just send Warner Brothers a fruit basket and hope they tell the others?”

  “Baby girl, if you want to see your career ever again, then I’d say yes, you need to pay some dues. Fruit baskets can be for later.”

  It wasn’t how she’d imagined she’d spend the next three months of her life, but then when had life ever been predictable? She’d go to Minnesota, of all places, hang out at an old boring theater, and show everyone in show business that, after everything, she was a safe bet. That was right. Carly Daniel would play ball, and she’d play it well. Maybe she’d even make a new friend or two in Minneapolis. That part, she’d never had trouble with.

  She harnessed all her energy. “All right. Next week it is. Do you have a script for me?”

  “I’ll send it right over. And Carly? This is the right move. You gotta trust me on this. It’s a desert out there for you. You’re crawling on your hands and knees in search of water.”

  “Jesus, that’s a depressing image.”

  “It’s your life. Seek out that oasis. It’s in Minneapolis.”

  Carly clicked off the call and caught her reflection in the glass. She pulled her blond hair from the clip holding it back and felt it tumble down past her shoulder blades. She stared out at her infinity pool that overlooked all of the Hollywood Hills. It was August. She had maybe six months until she couldn’t afford this house any longer, unless something changed. Life was about to shift dramatically for her, but Carly was up for it. She wondered what Minneapolis was like in the fall.

  * * *

  Ten minutes to actor call time and every single last one of them had already signed in. What had Lauren done to deserve such a smooth final performance? Her little stage manager heart swelled with pride. No phone calls to make. No one to track down. No tardy entries on that performance report. She celebrated the victories when they happened.

  Following today, Into the Woods would fade into history and Lauren had some time off. She would take a weekend trip to Cancun, lie on a beautiful beach, take in the crystal blue waters, and who knew? Maybe she’d meet a nice woman at a bar for some after-hours fun. The other resident production stage manager, Matthew the Great, would take over the driver’s seat as PSM on a new play going into rehearsal at The McAllister, Starry Nights, scheduled to run for four weeks in the fall. She’d return to PSM the Christmas show, which would go into rehearsal in just over a month, once Starry Nights moved to the stage. Between now and then, she’d find out what it felt like to be a person again, a real live one with a life.

  “Got a sec, Lauren?”

  “Hey, Wilks.” Nolan Wilks was the artistic director of The McAllister and responsible for keeping the whole engine moving. In other words, her boss, and a very capable one. “What’s up? I’m approaching half hour so I don’t have a ton of time to talk, unfortunately.”

  He straightened his polo shirt as if it were a tie. She smothered an affectionate grin. “You’re going to hate me, but you might just have to hate me. Are you ready to hate me?”

  She stared at him, checked her watch, and held up one finger to place him on hold. She pressed a button on the microphone in th
e booth and leaned toward it. “Ladies and gentleman, half hour until curtain. This is your half hour.” Refocusing on Wilks, she prepared herself. “Please don’t make me hate you. I much prefer celebrating you as headmaster over all of Hogwarts.” She smiled at him but wondered what in the world was going on if he was storming the booth at half hour.

  “I need you for Starry Nights.”

  She swallowed. “No, you don’t. You and I both know I’ll be on that much needed vacation. That means me, a beach, and the tiniest of umbrellas in my glass. Picture it, and please don’t say any more. This is my time away, and I’m in love with it. We’re getting married.”

  “Time you very much deserve.” He paused. She stared. They repeated the process. “But I need you, and you know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t that important.”

  She took a moment. “I don’t understand. Matty’s on it. Matty is fully capable.” Matthew the Great was a decent enough production stage manager. Reliable, focused. True, he didn’t always know the best way to defuse a hot-button situation, but his organizational skills had earned him his nickname. His series of personally developed charts and spreadsheets had changed Lauren’s PSM life for the better. Plus, Matty could track a prop’s journey onstage like no one she’d ever met.

  Wilks rubbed his forehead. “I’m not sure he’s right for this one. We have a high-profile cast member, and I need someone with a delicate touch.”

  Lauren frowned. “But that’s not at all unusual. Pretty much every other production has someone famous headlining. We’ve worked with Meryl Streep, for God’s sakes. Matty can handle famous.”

  “It’s not unusual, no,” Wilks said. “But from what I’ve read this morning of Carly Daniel, she can be a handful.”

  Lauren blinked. Carly Daniel? Of course she knew of her. She’d been a much talked about film actress who was everyone’s favorite in Hollywood until recently. It all came back to her. Sometime last year, a series of articles about her misbehavior on sets swarmed the gossip rags, and as a result, she’d been MIA onscreen. Lauren looked to Wilks, incredulous. “Who’s directing Starry Nights?” The real question was who the hell had cast a party girl to come and headline at a show at the esteemed McAllister Theater, of all places?