Now in the music hall Ella was glad when her new friends on the crew agreed they’d have to have breakfast again with her soon, and she headed to the stage, her knees wobbly.
The chair backs all had nametags taped to them. Ella sat down on hers. Then Hank went over to his chair, on the opposite side of the circle.
Good. The farther away, the better.
But then he pulled off his tag and came straight over to her. She felt her face flush. Calm down, she chided herself. It’s just Hank trying to be friends.
She really wished he wouldn’t. She needed to focus on her part. And she didn’t need that old crush feeling to rear its ugly head and send her right back into the tailspin she’d experienced a decade ago.
She deserved better. She’d earned better. And anyone who wanted to be in her trusted inner circle needed to merit that space.
But Hank removed the tag on the chair next to hers on the right anyway. It belonged to someone named Ida. He brought Ida’s tag to his old chair. Then he came and sat down next to Ella. He crumpled his nametag and tossed it into a nearby trash can.
Slam dunk.
Did anything go wrong for him?
“Hi,” he said, his eyes warm, his whole body exuding positivity.
All around them, people were finding their seats, laughing, talking loudly.
“Hey,” she said lightly back.
“You’ll do great.” His gaze was a little too perceptive, as if he could sense all her rattled feelings. About the movie. About him.
She prayed he couldn’t sense any of the latter. That would be too humiliating. Let him think she never gave him a moment’s thought. “Thanks,” she said. “You’ll do great too.”
There was an awkward pause.
“Tonight—” he began.
“After this is over—” she started to say.
And they both clammed up.
“Go ahead,” he said.
She shifted in her seat. “I was just going to say that after the read-through, I’m going to my office for lunch then coming back for a costume fitting this afternoon. If you want to come and see where I work.”
She instantly regretted the offer. But it was too late, and the truth was, she’d spoken impulsively because she wanted him to see how successful she was, how her own heartbreak hadn’t held her back from becoming who she wanted to be.
“I’d love to,” he said, “but I probably won’t be able to. We’ll see. For the next week, I’ll be booked from seven a.m. to somewhere around eleven p.m., probably.”
“Wow.” She had to admit to herself—she was disappointed.
“Pammy knows she won’t see much of me,” he said. “But a little is better than nothing.”
Against her best judgment, Ella was thinking the same thing. Catching a glimpse of Hank was better than not seeing him at all. But then she struggled to remember—and succeeded!—that she’d be so much better off when he flew back to New York. She could go back to her normal life. Her safe life.
“Thanks for asking, though,” he said. “I’d love to see your office.”
“Maybe someday. What were you going to say about tonight?” She shoved aside the very reckless hope that they could hang out again and tried to focus on how she should find something to do that night apart from him, so he’d see she had a whirlwind social life. Not that she did lately, apart from her theater activities.
“I was wondering if—” He had to stop again.
Isabel had started to yell at someone on the phone. She was standing in the middle of the circle. “I’ve had it, Saul. Get your grandmother on the line. Now.”
“Her teenage son acts out a lot,” said Hank under his breath.
Ella looked back over her shoulder toward the agitated director and saw Samantha behind her, looking at Ella and Hank, her mouth grim. Ella worked up a smile and waved at her. Insecure, that was all Samantha was. She wasn’t a mean girl. Mean girls were getting their comeuppance these days, thank God, and most women were hyperaware of that fact and doing their best not to be part of the problem.
Most women. Hopefully, Samantha had gotten the PSA message that kindness was in and girl power was, well … empowering!
Samantha gave her a limp wave back, and Ella’s heart lifted. See? She wasn’t so bad. The woman named Ida sat to Samantha’s left—Hank’s original chair. She had really cute corkscrew curls. She waved at Ella too. So Ella waved at her.
Everyone was making nice. And it was a huge relief.
“Okay, people!” Isabel said above the chatter. “Let’s get going.”
And the reading took off. Ella was enthralled. It was a great script, and she kept getting goose bumps. This movie was going to be good, really good, maybe worthy of awards if the script was anything to go by.
She felt so lucky to be a part of it!
As compelling as the lines were, she couldn’t help being very aware of Hank’s thigh so close to hers. And once their knees even bumped. She flinched and moved away. He didn’t seem to notice because it happened right in the middle of one of his best lines, when he was telling Samantha’s character he’d stolen half a million dollars from her closet—money she’d stolen from her dying sister—and used it all up gambling in Vegas.
The tension between the two stars, both of them playing people who’d made very bad choices, was riveting, Ella thought. And she could tell everyone else did, too, by the way they followed the dialogue between Samantha and Hank, swiveling their heads as if they were at a tennis match.
And now … now Ella realized why Hank had moved his seat. It wasn’t because of her. It was because he wanted to be able to look directly across the circle at Samantha. And she looked directly at him. When they spoke their lines, it was like an invisible electric current snapped and sparked between them. If they had sat next to each other, it would have been awkward, almost impossible, to maintain eye contact without bumping legs and shoulders. And the full dramatic effect of owning the entire stage between them would have been lost.
With each passing minute, Ella felt smaller and smaller. She wished she could move to another chair. She’d been stupid to think Hank wanted to sit next to her for any reasons other than professional ones. She was acting like a freshman in high school, really. What was she expecting next, for him to pass her a note asking her to meet him behind the bleachers?
She should be relieved he was all about his professional concerns and not about her.
And then, inexplicably, she started thinking about a very strong memory she had of them at their apartment in New York.…
“Ella!” Isabel’s voice came to her, sharp, almost annoyed.
Ella looked down at the script and nearly jumped out of her skin. She’d missed her line! Hank’s character had left the scene—which was in Samantha’s character’s apartment, and now Ella’s character had shown up to give Samantha’s character her undivided cousinly attention.
Ella didn’t have time to berate herself. Instantly, she became an ex-con from Texas. “It’s been too long,” she told Samantha, “way too long. Got any wine?”
And the scene proceeded. Ella had three more lines. She and Samantha read them well together, so that was encouraging.
Even so, Ella’s face was burning. What would Hank, the director, Samantha, and all the cast think of her daydreaming during the read-through and missing her line?
She’d nearly forgotten her screwup by the end of the reading because the script was that good. So she didn’t even remember that she should probably slink offstage. She was too exhilarated. The final page, which was totally owned by Hank and Samantha, had made her tear up and laugh, all at the same time.
“So,” she said to Hank with a grin, “wow.”
He grinned back. “I know. Pretty incredible, huh?”
“I’d say. I’m glad the other guy…” She intentionally didn’t say Frampton’s name and lowered her voice. “What I mean to say is, I’m surprised they didn’t call you first.”
He leaned in a little closer. “They did, and I said I wasn’t interested.”
“Really? But it’s such a great script!”
“Think about it, Ella.” He picked up his folding chair and hers, put them in a nearby stack, then turned to look at her. His expression said it all. He hadn’t been interested in taking the part because he knew it was filming in Charleston, and she was here.
“Oh,” she said, her stomach dropping.
He walked back toward her.
“But you shouldn’t have—” she began. What else could she say? It was his business.
“It’s a moot point, isn’t it?” he said. “I’m here. I got a second chance. And this time, I said yes.”
“I can see why you’d take it. This script is incredible.”
“It wasn’t the script,” he said. “As I told you when I arrived.”
“Hank.”
“I gotta go.” And he did. He was pulled away by the costume designer and the producer. And then Isabel joined the group. They were walking with great purpose to the exit to the lobby, probably to head outside, down the street, and to Hank’s trailer on the set, where they could chat in private about whatever it was they needed to talk about. And then Hank stopped. Pulled out his phone.
Ella’s phone purred. Please let it be Hank, she thought. No matter how wrong it was to feel that way, she did. Sure enough, Ancient History was on the line. “Yes?” she asked, striving to sound cool.
He looked over at her. “I meant to ask you earlier if tonight you can hang out with Pammy. I got the impression from her last night that you two are already bonding. She really likes you. And I feel like this is a great opportunity to, you know, have her listen to someone smart she respects.”
“Sure. We’ll talk. Maybe we’ll do something very Charleston-y together.” Ella couldn’t help feeling disappointed he wasn’t going to be there.
“Aw, that’s nice,” he said. “I have something I need to go to tonight, or I’d try to tag along.”
Oh, she’d have liked that! The mere idea left her a little short of breath. “Won’t you have movie stuff to do every night?” It was silly that they were speaking on the phone while they were looking at each other from across the music hall floor.
But it was romantic, too. She couldn’t deny it. And at that moment, she didn’t want to.
Hank didn’t seem to care that he was holding up Isabel, the producer, and the costume designer. “My schedule is tight,” he admitted. “And you’re going to have some late nights on the set too. You can’t be with Pammy all the time.”
“It wouldn’t be good for her, anyway,” Ella said. “She needs to make her own friends.”
“True. But anyway, thanks. At least for tonight “
“My pleasure,” she said, using the same words he had last night.
He shot her a long look.
She stared back, fluttered her fingers at him the way Miss Thing waved. Had she wanted to tease him with My pleasure? Sure she did. But maybe she was also mocking him since he’d told her the exact same thing the evening before and had left her alone in the dark to have illicit thoughts about him.
Let him think whatever he wanted.
He and his cohorts disappeared through the swinging doors that led to the lobby.
Samantha appeared at her elbow. “What were you thinking, Ella?”
Ella, flushed still from chatting with Hank, turned to her. “I’m sorry?”
Samantha lofted a brow. “Your line. The one you forgot to say. What were you thinking?”
“Oh.” It all came back to her. The cringey moment. So Samantha was going to go there. Ella didn’t deserve a break, but still, it wasn’t easy to be called out by the female lead. “I’m really sorry.”
Samantha laughed. “Darling, I don’t care that you forgot your line.”
“You don’t?” Ella regrouped. She’d had hopes Samantha was going to be, if not a friend, someone she could really admire and look up to. Maybe she still could.
“It was only a read-through. Everyone misses a line now and then. I only want to know what was going through your head. You had a look on your face.…”
“Oh, what was I thinking … literally.” Ella laughed. And then a low-level hum of embarrassment ran from her head to her toes. She’d been thinking about making love with Hank, the last time they had. She remembered it in great detail, the dress she’d worn (red, with lace-up strings down the back), and the night (they’d attended a concert given by her favorite male solo performer at Madison Square Garden). When they’d returned to the house, Hank had shut the front door behind them and immediately grabbed the strings at the back of her dress and started unlacing. She’d laughed.
He’d said, “When you think about other guys the way I know you were tonight, it’s sexy as hell. And I get very jealous.”
She’d said, “You don’t need to be. Silly.” She’d turned to him then, filled with such love for him, and that wonderful longing to be one with him, to show him with her body what she couldn’t say in words because sometimes words weren’t enough.
They’d had the bawdiest coupling they’d ever had right there by the front door, against the wall. But it had been so much more than great sex. Way more. It had been about love too, real love, the kind she never knew existed until she’d met Hank.
Now, with Samantha, she gave a little laugh. “I was thinking about a concert I went to once.” She smiled and shrugged. “I know that sounds weird. I mean, why in the middle of a read-through? I think I heard one of the guy’s songs right before I got here this morning.”
Samantha narrowed her eyes, but she was smiling too. “It must have been an amazing concert,” she murmured.
“It was,” Ella said, and felt like an idiot.
“Who was it?”
“Justin Bieber.”
Samantha clapped her hand over her mouth and stifled a very girlish giggle. “No.”
Ella laughed. “Yes. I’m a big fan. Still.”
“Who did you go with?” Samantha asked, her tone bright.
Ella’s face fell. She was a good actor but a rotten liar. “I-I can’t remember.” She swallowed. “No, I do. A couple of girlfriends from high school.”
“Ah.” Samantha gave her a lingering look. “Perhaps I should start listening to Justin Bieber.”
“He’s awesome,” Ella said, and laughed. Nervously. Like she’d been caught in a big lie, which she had. Not about Justin, who would always hold a special place in her heart, something Hank had been amused by but had never made fun of. He’d bought her those tickets, after all. But she’d lied about whom she’d gone with.
She suspected that somehow, Samantha was on to her.
But how could she be?
And why would Samantha want to know what she was thinking, anyway?
Samantha laughed too. “Do you have plans for lunch? Want to join me in my trailer?”
Oh, God. Samantha was reaching out to her. Ella was astounded. But she had to go to Two Love Lane at lunchtime. Miss Thing had said she’d had to talk to Ella about something very, very important, but she wanted to tell Ella in person because it was so mind-blowing. She hinted that it involved baking, which seemed the opposite of mind-blowing to Ella. So she was more intrigued than ever.
“I wish I could,” Ella said. “But today I can’t. I have to get back to the office for a quick meeting.”
“Oh, that’s right,” said Samantha. “You have a regular job as a matchmaker.”
“It’s Monday through Friday—and sometimes weekends—but I wouldn’t call it regular,” Ella said with a wry grin. “No day is ever the same. And talk about drama.”
“I can imagine,” said Samantha. “Another time, then. I wanted to ask you a few questions about Hank. You two are friends, and I thought perhaps…” She trailed off, but she had a rather wistful smile on her face, which Ella instantly recognized.
Samantha liked Hank. Like-liked Hank. As in she was already crushing on him. And she was confiding in Ella. The matchmaker. Duh.
“Oh,” Ella said, having put two and two together. None of this attention had been about Samantha wanting to take her down a notch—thank God—but neither had it been about them forging a friendship. Samantha, it seemed, was looking for an alliance of a different kind. “You want to talk about Hank? In terms of…?”
Samantha gave a little shuddering sigh. “You don’t know how much I campaigned for him to be in this film. And when Frampton had to leave, I was thrilled Hank finally said yes.”
She had it bad.
Ella scratched the side of her nose. She couldn’t very well ask Samantha to uphold the principles of girl power and not practice them herself. She wished she didn’t have to, because she was violating Hank’s privacy—he hadn’t disclosed the true nature of their relationship to anyone on the set—but shouldn’t she tell Samantha about their romantic past? Wouldn’t it be weird not to? Samantha might feel foolish if she found out later, especially since she was confiding in Ella about her crush on Hank.
Ella was a matchmaker, so that was like wearing a big sign on her chest saying, Tell me your deepest secrets.
But did professional matchmakers have to divulge their past to their clients?
Ella didn’t think so … unless the client wanted to date your old boyfriend. Not that Samantha was an actual client. But still, Ella never thought she’d run into a problem like this.
There was no way around it. She had to tell Samantha. Hank’s privacy would be compromised. But there was girl power. And Hank would survive. She didn’t owe Hank anything anymore, and she—and he—needed to remember that.
“Samantha,” Ella said. “I have to tell you something.”
“Yes?”
Ella took a mental breath. “I used to date Hank. I lived with him, in fact, ten years ago. Not long, and we were pretty much still kids, now that I look back on it—”
“I know all that,” Samantha said, chuckling.
“You do?”
“Sure.” Samantha lifted a shoulder and dropped it. “Hank might think he lived in a vacuum before he got famous, but he didn’t.”
“You mean—”
“I Googled him,” Samantha said. “I mean, my private detective did. Doesn’t everyone do that?”
Ella nodded slowly, remembering how Pammy had Googled her. “I guess so. Maybe not with the private detective…”
“I make no apologies about my snooping,” Samantha said. “I do it to all my costars. I prefer to call it practicing good security measures.”
“I understand you’re in a unique situation,” Ella said.
“Unique, no,” replied Samantha. “I’m not the only famous person—”
“I meant, unique in that you’re part of the point zero zero zero one percent of the population that is an A-list movie star,” said Ella.
“Right.” Samantha folded her arms over her chest. “There are a few of us around. Mainly in L.A. and New York, and London, and Paris, and the French Riviera, and Monte Carlo. Occasionally, we’re found in Nashville. We do exist.”
Ella knew that. And now the rare species was roaming in Charleston, and quite frankly, they were wreaking havoc in her life. “Okay,” she said, “so you don’t care that I dated Hank.”
“Yes, I do care. I lobbied to bring him here because he’s an amazing actor I’ve always wanted to work with, but little did I know I was playing Cupid, too, by insisting he come.” Samantha waggled her brows.
Ella laughed out loud. That was one expression she’d never seen on Samantha on the big screen. “You’re playing Cupid? How?”
“You and Hank,” Samantha said with a soft smile. “He obviously still adores you. In fact, I’m sure you’re the reason he’s here. He’s putting on a good front about the movie, and he’s a professional, so he’ll do an outstanding job. But he and I have been in the business long enough to have figured out that taking home an Oscar isn’t as fulfilling as having a happy personal life.”
“Samantha,” Ella actually chided her. “Please don’t try to get involved. I’m not interested. Hank and I have too much history.”
Samantha sighed. “Darling, let’s have a little slumber party. Divulge all your secrets to me. I’ll sort out your issues with Hank, I promise. What have you got to lose?”
“A lot,” said Ella. “My peace.”
“Overrated,” said Samantha. “You’re young. Go wreak havoc.”
Ella chuckled. “You’re very sweet, but even with the friends I have now, I don’t tell them intimate details about my past relationships.”
Which was a white lie. Greer, Macy, and Miss Thing knew an awful lot about Hank, things that would make him blush, but they were her very closest friends, and Hank would never know.
“All right,” said Samantha, clearly disappointed. “But I can’t forget that photo.”
“What photo?”
“The one of you two at an ice cream shop in Manhattan. You were young, as you said. The Facebook caption read, ‘Ella and I on our first date.’”
Ella blinked to hold back the sting of tears. That picture had been taken by a food server at Serendipity 3 the day they’d met up for their first date, four years after Hank had asked her out. She’d put it on social media a few times—so had he. She loved that picture. But it also reminded her that her father had died her senior year at the College of Charleston, and when she’d returned to New York after graduation, things weren’t the same. She went out on auditions, knowing Papa was looking down with approval from wherever he was. But she really struggled with the decision to go or not to go to Serendipity 3 to meet Hank. She’d been afraid to return to a place filled with so many memories she’d shared with her father. And she’d remembered what he’d said the last time they’d been there together: Don’t let any man get in the way of your dreams.
But she’d wanted to see Hank.
So she’d done it.
And look what had happened as a result. Her whole life since Hank flashed before her eyes. She was alone, she had a job she adored—
And she wasn’t an actor on Broadway, television, or in the movies.
Papa, she thought now, and turned away from Samantha for a second.
“Are you all right?” Samantha asked.
She nodded and turned back. “I’m fine. I was about to sneeze, is all.”
“Very well,” said Samantha. She sighed again. “At least we got everything out on the table. And I’m here to help, if you need me.”
“Thanks.”
“Goodbye, Ella. Until our next scene.”
“Goodbye, Samantha. See you then.”
Samantha walked away, then turned around. “You’re sure I can’t meddle?”
“Yes.”
Samantha seemed surprised. “You don’t care that he’s gorgeous and rich and an international celebrity?”
“No.”
Samantha shot her a soft smile again. “That’s nice. He’s more than that, isn’t he?”
Ella nodded. “Much more.”
“You don’t mind that we’re going to have two sex scenes? And lots of kissing in between?”
Ella shook her head. It killed her, in a way, as it had when she’d seen his previous movies with love scenes, but what could she do?
“I hoped you’d be jealous,” Samantha said.
“Oh, I am.”
“Don’t be.” Samantha waved again dismissively—she had a tendency to do that. “We’ll be surrounded by camera people and hot lights. It’s torture.”
Ella laughed.
Samantha left, and Ella realized they’d been the only two people still in the music hall. Everyone else had gone back to the set.
She needed to get to Two Love Lane and find out Miss Thing’s idea. She hoped it was good. Usually, Miss Thing’s ideas were outlandish. She lived to be outlandish. It was her whole vibe. Ella was nervous the idea would be too far out. As she walked to her office, she decided to remain calm and pessimistic.
She also thought about how Samantha was going to kiss Hank. And have fake sex with him.
“It’s not your business,” she told herself, and walked through the front door of Two Love Lane. When she approached Miss Thing’s desk, the office manager threw down her pink feather duster—she’d been dusting her keyboard—and started applying lipstick, which she always did before she was going to make a big pronouncement.
“What’s so important?” Ella asked her.
Miss Thing tossed her lipstick into her top drawer. “I know what to do,” she said, “about Roberta Ruttle.”