Love Lyrics Read online

  “Oh, sure. Nice man.”

  “Uh-huh. That nice man has put a very large sum into that nice show.”

  “Why, Zachary! You mean you didn’t advise him against it?”

  “No, I didn’t advise him either way. I simply pointed out the facts.”

  “Which are?”

  “That only about five percent of the musicals produced ever repay the initial investment, and a significantly lower percent actually earn a profit.”

  “And that didn’t dissuade him?”

  “Not by a long shot. Joe’s entranced by show biz. He’s even got a couple of friends interested in putting money in a comedy that Jerry Jerome plans to produce. In fact, Joe’s asking me to work with them on the legal angles, since I’m becoming such an expert.” His words were well coated with sarcasm.

  Emily laughed. “My goodness, do you mean to say my staid brother is getting sucked into the world of theater?”

  “More than I want to, that’s for sure. As if that weren’t enough. Jerry Jerome’s roped me into handling a lawsuit that’s been hanging for a couple of years. Some joker who claims he was the actual author of Criminals. You know, the drama that won all those awards? Claims the idea was stolen.”

  “Doesn’t Jerry Jerome have a lawyer?”

  “Of course. But he’s not sure he’s trustworthy. I asked him how he could be sure I am, and he said, ‘I dunno how I know. I just know.’” They both laughed. “They’re a different breed, no doubt about it.”

  She took the last spoonful of her chili. “Umm, good. Tell me, are you going to?”

  “Going to what?”

  “Look into the lawsuit for Jerry Jerome.”

  “As a matter of fact, I’ve already made some inquiries. He was right to be nervous about his lawyer. I’ll bet that guy could play both sides of a tennis game.”

  Emily laughed aloud. “A little shifty, eh?”

  “I still can’t believe what I’m finding. He’s with one of the best-known firms. He’s savvy, he’s expensive and he’s as slippery as a buttered eel.”

  “Sounds like Mr. Jerome made a smart move when he got you involved.”

  Zach stood up, his expression closing off the way it did when he’d finished with a subject. “Maybe he did. But I haven’t made a smart move yet. I have the feeling I’m trying to get free of the bog by walking across quicksand. All through? Come on, sis. Let’s go ski.”

  With a knowing smile on her face, Emily followed him toward the exit.

  Ashley scooted down in her seat and laid her head back. It bumped painfully on the narrow wooden rim. With a grunt of irritation, she rolled up her jacket and put it under her neck. She was so tired she simply couldn’t sit upright any longer. Would this rehearsal never end?

  The only good thing about the mad schedule was that it was leaving her no time to think. Thinking was about the most hazardous thing she could do right now; her brain, given even a half-inch of free space, crammed an unbelievable number of reminders of Zachary before her mind’s eye.

  She must have dozed off, because she came to suddenly, aware of loud voices raised in argument. With great reluctance, she opened her eyes and sat up.

  Claire Hanston, the costume designer, was holding a couple of bolts of cloth in front of her while she yelled at the lighting designer, Buzz Crawford. “What do you mean, I can’t use it!”

  “Judas priest, Claire, have you any idea what my lights will do to that color?”

  “Oh, you’re impossible! You always, always, always light the scenery instead of the costumes. The show is supposed to be dominated by the actors Mr. Crawford.”

  Ashley flinched. She knew Claire was really heating up when she began to get formal. If only there could be one day without a blowup! She pushed herself out of the seat. “What’s the matter?”

  “I’ve chosen all my material for the gowns in the formal dance scene and this man tells me I can’t use it! Just because he insists on focusing attention on the scenery.”

  “I am not focusing on the scenery. But it would be just slightly complicated to light one without touching the other.” He turned to Ashley. “Tell her to calm down, will you? She’d really be furious if I let her make all those costumes and then showed her what happens when the spots hit!”

  “Dammit, Buzz . . .”

  Ashley held up her hand. “Wait a minute, Claire, please. Why not let him show you? It’s better to know than to make a wrong guess. The scenery’s all painted for that scene. There isn’t much we can do about that without undue expense.”

  Clair, with a grunt of displeasure, followed Ashley and the grim-visaged lighting expert into his studio. “Okay Claire,” Buzz said, “Lay both bolts out on that table. I’ll show you every gel we’re using in that scene.”

  Ashley stood quietly, sympathizing with the flustered costume designer as the first spot fell on the fabrics. The bright color faded out to a sickly pastel.

  Claire gasped. “Oh, my goodness!”

  The next two gels were even worse; they washed the shades completely. “See what I mean, Claire? And at this point there’s nothing I could do to salvage it. I wanted you to know before you went any further.”

  Claire rolled up the cloth, heaving a big sigh. “And they’d have been so lovely.” With one last grimace of sorrow, she turned to Buzz and gave him a hug. “Thanks for rescuing me in time. It would have been a calamity. Expensive and time-consuming — and we can’t afford either.” With a wide, forgiving smile, she headed for the door, humming one of the jump tunes from the show.

  Buzz grinned at Ashley. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to how fast her mood can swing.”

  “I know. At least she admits it when she’s wrong, and she never holds a grudge.”

  “True. Well, guess I’d better get back to work. Have to double up on some of the lighting cues, ’cause some of what I’ve got for Broadway will never happen in Boston.”

  “Have you done a show in the Colonial?”

  “Three. Not a bad theater, but limited.”

  She nodded, still feeling like a newcomer in this business; it was kind of depressing. But then, so were a lot of other things. In all regards, her mood was anything but joyful. Whenever she thought of Zachary, a dull, aching hurt spread through her. Their last confrontation, the day he and Joe had come to rehearsal, had left her terribly shaken up. Why had she reacted so angrily to a perfectly reasonable invitation? Was there more than a little truth in Zachary’s allegations? She thought about Claire and Buzz. What would have happened if she hadn’t been there, hadn’t acted as arbitrator? The truth tactlessly bobbed to mind. They’d have settled it themselves. But, in any case, going to Stowe with him would — rather than helping — only have made the impossible situation between her and Zach more difficult. The more unforgettable experiences they shared, the harder the inevitable breakup would be. All things considered, there was ample cause for despair. The problems and emotions they’d walked away from three years ago were right back in place, stronger than before and just as insoluble.

  She wondered if any addiction could be more powerful than her craving for Zachary. And sometimes the choice seemed so easy; all she had to do was say yes to have the sort of life most women dreamed of: a handsome, wonderful husband, a beautiful home, servants, travel, a full social life. Why would any woman in her right mind turn that down?

  She had reached the side door to the theater. After a moment’s hesitation, she went inside. She shut the door quietly behind her and stood there, silently, as the distinctive aura engulfed her. As she watched the leads on stage, singing her lyrics, working through her dialogue, a thrill of accomplishment ran through her. A yes to that bucolic life with Zachary would include a no to Broadway theater. She let the idea sink in, opened herself up to the full impact of that alternative. Unimaginable. She’d have to walk away from this, and she wasn’t at
all sure she’d survive that separation. And it wasn’t the success and the fame and the money. Thrilling as they were, she could leave all of them without a backward glance. But writing shows wasn’t just a job, a way to make a living. It was more than that. It was a way of life. Love of the theater ran through her like blood, sustaining, fueling, feeding her. She didn’t blame Zach for being mystified by it; everyone who wasn’t part of it was.

  So there it was, the unsolvable conundrum. She had to have her career and she had to have Zach and she couldn’t have both. The whole thing made her want to run — nowhere special, just hard and fast and away. She longed to take flight, to hide out. . . .

  She closed her eyes and leaned back against the door, trying to stop her thoughts, to give her overworked mind a rest. Ironically, it was a product of her own trade that denied her escape, a song lyric that sang its refrain in her head, one more of life’s truths set to music: “No matter where I run, I meet myself there. . . .” So here she was, once again, back in an impossible situation with no visible means of escape.

  “Ashley?”

  Her eyes snapped open. Craig stood before her, a quizzical expression on his face. “I thought maybe you’d fallen fast asleep standing up! Not that I’d blame you, but it is a precarious position for snoozing.”

  “Oh, boy.” She ran her hand over her eyes. “I think I could sleep in any position right now.”

  “Couldn’t we all! Everyone’s been feeling down the last few days, but that’s always the case in the third week of rehearsal. The songs seem a little stale, the jokes aren’t funny anymore and the whole show begins to feel like a flop.”

  “Umm, that’s right, I’d forgotten the third-week slump. I can’t remember, Craig, does it get worse or better?”

  He smiled and patted her arm. “Better. Have faith. The chorus and the dancers join the leads tomorrow and that’s always a big boost for everyone. They all provide each other with a new audience. That reminds me. I’ll have to be sure to put a check mark next to all the jokes the ensemble laughs at.”

  “Why?”

  “Ashley, one thing you’ll learn when you’ve been in this game as long as I have is that there are some irrefutable facts, one of which is that whatever the cast laughs at the audience won’t. Never seen it to fail.”

  “Oh, God, now I’ll really be a wreck tomorrow.”

  “Don’t panic. Just hope they don’t laugh at everything.”

  “That’ll be the first time I ever hoped my material would lay an egg!”

  “Everyone’ll be back on high by tomorrow night. I promise.”

  She managed a weak smile. “I don’t know how you do it. You keep your equilibrium through smooth runs and absolute disasters.”

  “Better than throwing tantrums. There’s always plenty of those, in any case. Everyone involved wants the show to be a hit; we’re all pulling together.”

  “It doesn’t seem like it sometimes when the actors start biting off each other’s heads.”

  “Some folks handle stress well and some not so well. And every last one of us hates to be wrong, so trying to pass the buck is, I fear, all too human.”

  Glancing over Craig’s shoulder, Ashley whispered, “Uh-oh. Speaking of tantrums . . .”

  He turned to the young man who had just left the stage and was now approaching him. “Hi there, Sammy.” Sammy Kirk, who played Christo, was the main lead in the show. At twenty-five, he had an impressive number of stage and screen credits, a sizable roster of fans and a mammoth ego that required constant stroking. Craig’s face tightened, just slightly, as he came forward.

  “Craig. Ashley.” Sammy’s face, as usual, was a blueprint of discontent. “Craig, that damned broad is still upstaging me in that last scene. How the hell am I supposed to sing my song to her and project to the audience when she keeps drifting a couple of steps behind me?”

  Ashley watched Craig’s expression, searching for signs of annoyance, which she didn’t find. Sammy was, increasingly, a pain in the butt. He was infuriated by the attention being paid his co-star, Kelly Adams, who was a relative unknown. Kelly’s electrifying voice shook the rafters, and she was displaying an acting ability that was startling in a youngster of twenty with precious few theatrical credits. On top of that, it was more and more evident she had the elusive “star” quality that caught the eye the moment she set foot onstage. Sammy was being upstaged by talent, not footwork.

  “Now Sam, she’s just following directions. I want the audience to see her crying as she leaves you. Having her back off is very effective. You’re only turned away from the audience for a few seconds, and your voice is carrying just fine. That scene is coming across beautifully; it’s very poignant.”

  Sammy stared at his feet, visibly fighting for control. He was egotistical, but not stupid. Craig was the best director on Broadway, and most actors would kill for a chance to work with him. Even a hotshot like Sammy thought twice about cussing him out. Ashley figured the air inside his head must be bright blue by now.

  “Yeah, well, tell her not to milk it so long. And keep that jerk, Lyle, off my back. I don’t need his dumb suggestions.” He looked straight at Craig while he said, “I get enough of those as it is.”

  There wasn’t a hint of anger on Craig’s face. In fact, he appeared to be having a tough time concealing a smile. “Yeah, Sam, we’ll see if we can mellow out old Uncle Hermie. What could he teach you, anyway?”

  Sammy’s hauteur wavered for just an instant, as he searched Craig’s face for sarcasm. Finding none, he nodded curtly. “Okay. I’m not in the next scene, so I’m going across the street for a Coke.”

  Craig’s worried eyes followed the young man’s swagger as he left, then came back to meet Ashley’s. “Sure wish I was dead sure he meant a soft drink.”

  “Amen. I keep trying to remember why we signed him for the lead.”

  “Because he’ll deliver a good performance and pull a sizable audience. God, why do some of these young punks have to take themselves so seriously? Lyle Baker has so much to teach him, but he figures he already knows it all. Too blown up with his own importance to recognize a master at work.”

  “Lyle is a master, isn’t he? Every time I see him do a scene I’m impressed all over again. He’s so good! This is the first time I’ve been lucky enough to see him in rehearsal.”

  “Quite a privilege, isn’t it? The really great stars don’t just rely on their talent to pull them through, they work harder than anyone else. That young gal, Kelly, I’d be willing to bet she joins the greats before she’s through. I have to all but throw her out to make her quit practicing.” He snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot! Speaking of greats, Jerry wanted me to tell you that your friend, Zachary, was a wizard. I’m not sure how it all came about, but evidently Jordan’s on the way to having that old lawsuit thrown out of court. You know, the one that’s been hanging over Jerry’s head for some time.”

  “Zachary? I wonder how he got involved with that?”

  “Dunno. But he’s in it now. You know Jerry when he latches onto someone good. Tenacious as a barnacle. And from what he says, Zachary Jordan is one fine lawyer.” Craig laughed. “More amazing still, I understand he’s an honest lawyer.”

  She tried to look like someone responding to good news about a friend rather than fighting galloping trauma from the mention of a name. “Yes. He’s both of those things. Good and honest.” And enough to drive her out of her mind with longing.

  “Evidently he’ll be in town tomorrow to tie up loose legal ends. We’ll probably see him sometime during the day.”

  Ashley’s nerves leapt to attention. Tomorrow. Would he come, or would he deliberately stay away? “That’s nice.” She barely got the two words out, her mouth was so dry.

  “Well, better get everyone back to work. See you later.” Craig walked toward the stage, shouting, “Okay, onstage for scene 8!”

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nbsp; Ashley’s legs gave out beneath her and she sank into the aisle seat. Damn. This was going to drive her bonkers. Why couldn’t she fall in love with someone in the same screwy business? Matt, for instance. That stopped her musings in mid-thought. The idea of trying to live with Matt as well as work with him was absurd enough to tweak her somnolent humor. About two weeks of that, and they’d be writing for Loony Tunes!

  She stood up and walked toward the exit. She was too pooped to be of any help to anyone tonight. At least she’d made a firm decision about something: She was going home to bed.

  Unfortunately, alone.

  Zachary stood just inside the back door of the theater, his eyes searching for Ashley. He didn’t see her, and the sense of disappointment was acute. What the hell was he doing here, anyway? He should grab the opportunity to disappear and get himself back to Boston where he belonged! The conversation with Emily had been unnerving. It had brought him right around circle to the same old conclusion. He and Ashley were poles apart, and no matter how much they wanted each other, he didn’t see how it could work. One big problem was that the minute he got near her, he forgot that fact. Just as he was about to take his own advice to leave, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned his head and found Matt standing just behind him. “Hi there, Zach. Come to watch the zanies?” All traces of sarcasm had vanished from Matt’s voice, and Zachary was amazed at how pleased he was by the friendly tone. He smiled at Matt and replied, “No zanier than a few of the legal beagles I’ve been tangling with today. And they’re not supposed to be playacting.”

  “Oh, yeah, I heard about your taking on that weirdo, the one who sued Jerry. Thank God that wasn’t our show — I’d’ve been a wreck. I’m never entirely sure my stuff is original, and I live in dread of someone saying, ‘Hey! That’s my song!’ because they just might be right.”

  Zachary looked at him with keen interest. They’d been at sword’s point with each other so much of their acquaintance that Zach had never had an opportunity to know Matt. In truth, he’d never wanted to know him, he’d just wanted him out of his life — or, more precisely, out of Ashley’s. Jealousy, he acknowledged, was not only destructive, but limiting. “Do you really worry about that?”