pretty sure it’s not.”
“Hear me out. You can cut off an arm of a starfish. It hurts, and the poor thing doesn’t like ambling through tide pools missing a limb. But then it grows back. Right now, you’re limping along without him. It’s hard. It hurts. Just remember, though, that in a few months, he’ll be back.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” The words surprised Jack. He’d tried not to voice that particular fear even to himself. “Maybe things have to change. I don’t know.”
“Gram always said that you shouldn’t worry about what you can’t control.”
Right. That old adage probably hadn’t given the woman much comfort as cancer ate away at her. “Well, at least I can control this show. I’ll whip it into shape.”
“I have no doubt. I really have been watching you. Noticed the way you talk to the actors like people, instead of barking orders. How patient you were with Marty when he barged in with that half-finished manger.”
“The old guy?” Jack knew an institution when he saw one. The whole cast had treated the wizened man in the too-big cardigan with deference. “Trust me, I wanted to yell at him for interrupting rehearsal. But he looked so frail I was scared I’d give him a heart attack. Dealing with paramedics would just put us further behind schedule.”
“Save your bad-tempered bluster for someone who’ll believe it. ’Cause I see right through to the real Jack Whittaker.” Becca drilled her finger into his sternum. “The award-winning director who made a point of telling that Roman soldier with no lines that he ‘portrayed military stoicism well.’ You care, Jack. Don’t bother trying to hide it.”
“A production is only as good as its weakest link. I think Napoleon said that about his army, but it holds true.”
Laughter burbled out of her glossy pink lips. “Napoleon said that an army marches on its stomach.”
“Well, that’s true of a show too. Actors—even the super-skinny Hollywood types—jump at any excuse to eat. Ty and I used to buy pizza any time we accidentally shot past midnight. We bought a lot of pizzas. Even when we were barely scraping by.” It was a good memory. But remembering the good times made the stark absence of Ty here and now even more painful.
Becca winced. “Sorry, but I’m quite sure our budget doesn’t run to midnight pizza. You’ll have to find another way to keep morale up if rehearsals go late.”
Damn it, that wasn’t his job. Or it didn’t used to be. “Ty always did that. Glad-handed the cast and crew, kept everyone on an even keel. I miss Ty not just as my friend, but as my partner. This is the first thing I’ve ever directed without him.”
Jack could do it. They’d traded duties back and forth enough that each could hold their own on any aspect of a production. But working solo felt so different. Not having Ty there to joke with, to pick his brain, to... “Damn it to hell, I am a starfish.”
She picked up the end of her braid and tickled his cheek. “Told ya.”
The silken hair set off a chain reaction in his body. Blood pounded south in great, galloping leaps and bounds to pool in his crotch. Jack hadn’t experienced an insta-hard-on like that in years. He quickly shifted the black script binder across his lap.
“You’ve changed, Becca.”
“Since high school? I would hope so.” Then her lips pursed. “Okay, you’ve piqued my curiosity. Exactly how have I changed?”
“You’ve grown from a pretty girl into a beautiful woman.”
“Oh.” Her pale cheeks turned the color of ripe strawberries. It made Jack wonder if her nipples were the same color. Or would turn that color after he used his lips on them. “Um, thank you. And let me just say that adding a few pounds of pure muscle didn’t hurt you any, either.”
Interesting. Might as well push a little harder, see what developed. “Here I thought you were going to comment on my righteously masculine goatee.”
As if lifted by marionette strings,
“Hear me out. You can cut off an arm of a starfish. It hurts, and the poor thing doesn’t like ambling through tide pools missing a limb. But then it grows back. Right now, you’re limping along without him. It’s hard. It hurts. Just remember, though, that in a few months, he’ll be back.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” The words surprised Jack. He’d tried not to voice that particular fear even to himself. “Maybe things have to change. I don’t know.”
“Gram always said that you shouldn’t worry about what you can’t control.”
Right. That old adage probably hadn’t given the woman much comfort as cancer ate away at her. “Well, at least I can control this show. I’ll whip it into shape.”
“I have no doubt. I really have been watching you. Noticed the way you talk to the actors like people, instead of barking orders. How patient you were with Marty when he barged in with that half-finished manger.”
“The old guy?” Jack knew an institution when he saw one. The whole cast had treated the wizened man in the too-big cardigan with deference. “Trust me, I wanted to yell at him for interrupting rehearsal. But he looked so frail I was scared I’d give him a heart attack. Dealing with paramedics would just put us further behind schedule.”
“Save your bad-tempered bluster for someone who’ll believe it. ’Cause I see right through to the real Jack Whittaker.” Becca drilled her finger into his sternum. “The award-winning director who made a point of telling that Roman soldier with no lines that he ‘portrayed military stoicism well.’ You care, Jack. Don’t bother trying to hide it.”
“A production is only as good as its weakest link. I think Napoleon said that about his army, but it holds true.”
Laughter burbled out of her glossy pink lips. “Napoleon said that an army marches on its stomach.”
“Well, that’s true of a show too. Actors—even the super-skinny Hollywood types—jump at any excuse to eat. Ty and I used to buy pizza any time we accidentally shot past midnight. We bought a lot of pizzas. Even when we were barely scraping by.” It was a good memory. But remembering the good times made the stark absence of Ty here and now even more painful.
Becca winced. “Sorry, but I’m quite sure our budget doesn’t run to midnight pizza. You’ll have to find another way to keep morale up if rehearsals go late.”
Damn it, that wasn’t his job. Or it didn’t used to be. “Ty always did that. Glad-handed the cast and crew, kept everyone on an even keel. I miss Ty not just as my friend, but as my partner. This is the first thing I’ve ever directed without him.”
Jack could do it. They’d traded duties back and forth enough that each could hold their own on any aspect of a production. But working solo felt so different. Not having Ty there to joke with, to pick his brain, to... “Damn it to hell, I am a starfish.”
She picked up the end of her braid and tickled his cheek. “Told ya.”
The silken hair set off a chain reaction in his body. Blood pounded south in great, galloping leaps and bounds to pool in his crotch. Jack hadn’t experienced an insta-hard-on like that in years. He quickly shifted the black script binder across his lap.
“You’ve changed, Becca.”
“Since high school? I would hope so.” Then her lips pursed. “Okay, you’ve piqued my curiosity. Exactly how have I changed?”
“You’ve grown from a pretty girl into a beautiful woman.”
“Oh.” Her pale cheeks turned the color of ripe strawberries. It made Jack wonder if her nipples were the same color. Or would turn that color after he used his lips on them. “Um, thank you. And let me just say that adding a few pounds of pure muscle didn’t hurt you any, either.”
Interesting. Might as well push a little harder, see what developed. “Here I thought you were going to comment on my righteously masculine goatee.”
As if lifted by marionette strings,
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