Read Online Jaine Austen 2 - Last Writes by Laura Levine - Free Book Online
Authors: Laura Levine
Ads: Link
was nowhere in sight.
That was the good news. The bad news was that I was not alone. For the first time I realized there was someone else crouched down behind me. I turned and looked at my companion.
It was Stan.
All the color had drained from his face. Obviously, he’d heard everything. I waited for him to say something, to read me the riot act, to fire me.
But all he did was reach for his Evian bottle.
Chapter Eight
“H ow delightful to see you again, my dear,” Wells Dumont said, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips for a moist kiss.
It was four o’clock, and we were down on stage waiting for what’s known as the “run-through” of “Cinderella Muffy” to begin. On most sitcoms, the actors run through the script at the end of the day, so the writers can see what’s working, and what needs to be fixed.
Of course, what with all the real-life drama in the air that day, everyone had pretty much forgotten about my script.
Everyone except Wells.
“What a charming script,” he said. “As I was saying the other day, it brings to mind a production of Love’s Labours Lost I once starred in, back in England. That was right after my successful run as Macbeth in London’s West End. And right before I came to America to play the Scottish thane on Broadway.”
How pathetic, I thought. From Macbeth to Muffy . Talk about your downhill career slides.
“Perhaps some day you’ll allow me to show you my scrapbook.”
“That sounds great,” I said, smiling wanly.
What was it with me and older guys, anyway? First Mr. Goldman, and now Wells. For some strange reason, old coots seemed to find me wildly attractive.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said, “I think I’ll go get some coffee.”
Tongues were wagging at full speed as I made my way across the stage to the buffet table. The production staff stood in gossipy clumps, shooting covert glances at Vanessa and Quinn.
The happy couple were sitting side by side on the sofa in the living room set, Vanessa pushing back her cuticles and Quinn whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Every once in a while, Quinn would glance over at Audrey, as if defying her to stop him. Once again, Audrey had reverted to Ice Queen mode. Whatever emotions were roiling inside her were invisible to the naked eye.
Not so for Zach Levy-Taylor, who could barely contain his rage at the sight of Quinn sitting thigh to thigh with his beloved Vanessa. Zach stood at the edge of the set, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists.
I poured myself some coffee, then eyed the buffet table, hoping to find some sticky buns left over from the actors’ breakfast. Alas, there were none. All that had survived from breakfast was a bowl of dusty apples. Which was a blessing, actually. I’d have a nice healthy apple, only a hundred calories, with nary a fat globule.
I was just about to reach for one when I saw Danny, the production assistant, walk by with a chocolate chip cookie as big as a frisbee.
“Hey, Danny,” I said. “Where’d you get the cookie?”
“Vending machine,” he said. “Backstage.”
I could practically read the thought bubble over his head: Whoa, Tubby. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.
I smiled lamely. “It’s for Kandi.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, nodding as if he actually believed me.
Danny’s thought bubble was right, of course. The last thing I needed was a chocolate chip cookie as big as a frisbee. Absolutely the last thing. For once, I’d show a little restraint. I’d have a lo-cal apple, and that would be that.
Yeah, right. The minute Danny was gone, I sprinted backstage, tripping over cables, looking for the damn vending machine. I finally found it tucked in a dark corner. And there, in slot number C6, were the frisbee-esque chocolate chip cookies.
I fed a dollar bill into the machine and it spat out my cookie. I was just reaching down to retrieve it when I heard, “Those are my favorite.”
I looked up and saw Stan, smiling shyly. He put in his
That was the good news. The bad news was that I was not alone. For the first time I realized there was someone else crouched down behind me. I turned and looked at my companion.
It was Stan.
All the color had drained from his face. Obviously, he’d heard everything. I waited for him to say something, to read me the riot act, to fire me.
But all he did was reach for his Evian bottle.
Chapter Eight
“H ow delightful to see you again, my dear,” Wells Dumont said, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips for a moist kiss.
It was four o’clock, and we were down on stage waiting for what’s known as the “run-through” of “Cinderella Muffy” to begin. On most sitcoms, the actors run through the script at the end of the day, so the writers can see what’s working, and what needs to be fixed.
Of course, what with all the real-life drama in the air that day, everyone had pretty much forgotten about my script.
Everyone except Wells.
“What a charming script,” he said. “As I was saying the other day, it brings to mind a production of Love’s Labours Lost I once starred in, back in England. That was right after my successful run as Macbeth in London’s West End. And right before I came to America to play the Scottish thane on Broadway.”
How pathetic, I thought. From Macbeth to Muffy . Talk about your downhill career slides.
“Perhaps some day you’ll allow me to show you my scrapbook.”
“That sounds great,” I said, smiling wanly.
What was it with me and older guys, anyway? First Mr. Goldman, and now Wells. For some strange reason, old coots seemed to find me wildly attractive.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said, “I think I’ll go get some coffee.”
Tongues were wagging at full speed as I made my way across the stage to the buffet table. The production staff stood in gossipy clumps, shooting covert glances at Vanessa and Quinn.
The happy couple were sitting side by side on the sofa in the living room set, Vanessa pushing back her cuticles and Quinn whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Every once in a while, Quinn would glance over at Audrey, as if defying her to stop him. Once again, Audrey had reverted to Ice Queen mode. Whatever emotions were roiling inside her were invisible to the naked eye.
Not so for Zach Levy-Taylor, who could barely contain his rage at the sight of Quinn sitting thigh to thigh with his beloved Vanessa. Zach stood at the edge of the set, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists.
I poured myself some coffee, then eyed the buffet table, hoping to find some sticky buns left over from the actors’ breakfast. Alas, there were none. All that had survived from breakfast was a bowl of dusty apples. Which was a blessing, actually. I’d have a nice healthy apple, only a hundred calories, with nary a fat globule.
I was just about to reach for one when I saw Danny, the production assistant, walk by with a chocolate chip cookie as big as a frisbee.
“Hey, Danny,” I said. “Where’d you get the cookie?”
“Vending machine,” he said. “Backstage.”
I could practically read the thought bubble over his head: Whoa, Tubby. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.
I smiled lamely. “It’s for Kandi.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, nodding as if he actually believed me.
Danny’s thought bubble was right, of course. The last thing I needed was a chocolate chip cookie as big as a frisbee. Absolutely the last thing. For once, I’d show a little restraint. I’d have a lo-cal apple, and that would be that.
Yeah, right. The minute Danny was gone, I sprinted backstage, tripping over cables, looking for the damn vending machine. I finally found it tucked in a dark corner. And there, in slot number C6, were the frisbee-esque chocolate chip cookies.
I fed a dollar bill into the machine and it spat out my cookie. I was just reaching down to retrieve it when I heard, “Those are my favorite.”
I looked up and saw Stan, smiling shyly. He put in his
Similar Books
