Read Online The World is a Stage by Tamara Morgan - Free Book Online

loose and ducked right under her arm, wobbling quickly to the stage and trying, unsuccessfully, to climb up it. “Help me up, young man, will you?”
    Larson, the most useless security personnel on the face of the planet, obeyed, his eyes wide as Rachel’s mother grunted her way to two feet.
    “Who’s in charge here?” she demanded.
    By now, even the most adoring Indira Longfellow fans had taken her measure. Molly was nowhere to be seen, and Rachel could only assume she was off pouring her heart into her boyfriend’s shoulder.  
    For once, Rachel was grateful to him. Getting rid of a post-divorce decaying actress returned to the scene of her former glory wasn’t going to be pretty.
    Her mother had somehow leeched herself onto Dominic’s arm and was peering into his too-close-together eyes as if to take the measure of his soul. That was what she’d always taught them growing up, in place of more worthy conversations regarding birds, bees and the propagation thereof.
    “A man’s worth lies not in his heart or in his pants,” she would announce. “It’s in his eyes.”
    Which meant, of course, that she pressed her face up against the nose of every man she ever met, reading his irises like they were folio paper. As a Tony Award winning actress, it had been a quirk, an eccentricity. Charming, even. As a poorly aging divorcee with breath this side of Hades, it was only the good manners of the men she met that kept them from vomiting onto her shoes.
    “I think I like you, young man,” she announced some awful minutes later. “All right. I’ll do it. I’ll be in your show.”
    Rachel rushed forward and disentangled her mother, doing her best not to meet Dominic’s eyes. Could there be anything worse for their show than Indira Longfellow’s bosoms on display, crinkled with age and hanging to her waist?
    “I’m so sorry, Dominic. I’ll just need about an hour to get her home and get her quiet. I promise this will never happen again.”
    Behind her and to the right, someone laughed. A few feet farther to the left, another person started whispering. Without even turning around, Rachel could place each voice, envision the clusters of people talking and pointing and seeing so much more of her life than they should.
    No, not just people. Her peers . These were the people she worked with every single day of her life. They looked up to her. Respected her.
    Okay, maybe not respect. That was hard when they’d all seen each other practically naked. But still .
    “No, Poppy.”
    The use of Rachel’s childhood nickname, infantile and flimsy just like the bright red flower, only infuriated her more. Her mother knew how much Rachel hated that name. “I am going to do it, and you can’t stop me. It’s like being alive again. It’s like being young again!”
    Her mother twirled in circles, her arms opened wide, embracing her audience.
    Except her audience feared for their safety.  
    People dove out of the way, one woman even tucking and rolling toward the wings. Rachel, on the other hand, couldn’t move. She could only watch, frozen like one of those women in a horror flick who fail to see the gun lying just within arm’s reach.
    Her mother lost her balance and careered toward the end of the stage. Rachel sprang forward, but she was too late. Indira’s heel caught on the edge of the floorboards and she dove, headfirst, toward the auditorium floor.
    “Whoa, there.”
    As if out of nowhere, Michael grabbed hold of her mother and pulled her back to safety, lifting her as if she weighed no more than a child.
    Indira wasn’t even fazed. She immediately looked up into the face of her rescuer and started to read his eyes.
    Oh, dear God. Not that man.  
    Finally moved to action, Rachel ran over and pulled the two of them apart, as much as a five-foot-nine, one-hundred-fifty-pound woman could move a man made of obstinate stone.
    He put Indira on her feet, steadying her with one of his giant man hands while holding Rachel