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

back with the other. “She’s all right. Just give her a moment to get her balance.”
    Rachel’s jaw went tight. He had to be the only man on the face of the planet not able to recognize a woman who was drunk off her ass. He probably preferred them that way.
    “She’s not all right, but it’s not really any of your damn business, is it?”
    “Nope. It’s not. My apologies.” He backed away.
    Finally. At last, he was reading her cues in the manner in which they were intended. Go away. Not interested. In fact, annoyed beyond all recognition.
    “C’mon, Mom,” Rachel said, quieter this time. “Let’s go home.”
    “But it’s time for my audition! Young man—young man, surely you won’t turn Indira Longfellow away without giving her a chance to read?”
    Dominic shrugged apologetically. “We, ah, don’t really—”
    “You do know who I am, don’t you?”
    “Of course, Ms. Longfellow. I can’t tell you what an honor it is—”
    “And you do know that, however retired I may be, I still have friends in high places? Much, much higher than you could ever hope to look?”
    Rachel’s stomach tightened. Each of her mother’s successive husbands had been a little bit less important, a little bit less rich, a little bit more like Plumber Harry, the last one. Even he’d realized his mistake a few months in—and he cleaned septic tanks for a living.
    Rachel had to get her out of here. She needed Molly. She needed someone. She needed help .  
    “Absolutely,” Dominic said smoothly, his professional charm on high. “Of course you can read for a part. Why don’t you do it right now?”
    “Yes. Yes, I think I will. What are we doing, anyway? The Tempest ?”
    “ Antony and Cleopatra .”
    “Lovely! Perfect! I’ll read for Cleo, naturally.”
    Rachel had to grip the back of a nearby chair to keep herself from falling. Her mother, the Nile Queen herself. Rachel could practically see the marquee now.
    “Of course, Ms. Longfellow. Act I, Scene III? With Antony?”
    “Excellent!” Indira clapped and hiccupped at the same time. “Who will read with me?”
    Silence.
    Crickets.
    Just about everyone involved in the production was in the room, either circling upstage or standing in the aisles of the auditorium. They watched, like vultures bent on amusement, no one speaking up or volunteering to stand opposite her mother. Not even for the prestige of saying they once read with the great Indira Longfellow.
    “Kevin?” Dominic asked, indicating one of the men standing in the wings, a nicely formed twenty-something who couldn’t act very well but looked amazing without his shirt on. He wasn’t their lead actor, but he had aspirations headed that direction.
    Not even a request straight from their fearless leader’s lips moved him from the spot. He shrugged and became intensely interested in his script.
    “Johnson?”
    “Thanks but no thanks, boss,” the stagehand replied.
    “Well, hell. I’ll do it.”
    At the sound of that last voice, pleasant and warm, Rachel’s stomach plunged so far she wasn’t sure it was still attached to the rest of her. Why did that man insist on tormenting her so?
    “You’ll have to forgive me, Ms. Longfellow,” Michael said, swaggering up like he owned the stage. “I’m a piss-poor actor, and I can’t say that I’ve spent a lot of time reading over Shakespeare’s shoulder, but I’d be honored to try.”
    “Oh, lovely!” Indira cleared her throat and struck a pose, the wavering of her uplifted arm the only indication that she wasn’t in full possession of her faculties.
    “Do you, ah, need a script?” Dominic asked. The director had moved to Rachel’s side, creeping closer and closer as if he wanted to wrap his arms around her. Rachel stepped away, her jaw tight. She didn’t want his pity. She wanted the stage to open up and swallow her.
    “Of course not,” Indira snapped. “I am sick and sullen.”
    “Would you like to sit for a few minutes first?” Michael