Over the next ten minutes, members of the eight person cast filed in one at a time along with members of the design team, who would sit in and make individual presentations to the cast. She watched as Ethan Moore took a moment to greet each person with either a warm handshake or a hug. He’d worked with some of them before, she realized, listening in on their small talk. Her initial meeting with him, after finally taking the gig, had left her with a strong impression of him as both an artist and a director. Each director was different, and understanding how they worked helped Lauren anticipate problems on the road ahead. Ethan seemed the type to know exactly what he wanted and, beyond that, came with a strong vision for the show. She didn’t pick up on any hothead vibes either, which was a blessing. God, Lauren loathed working with short-tempered directors motivated by ego. No, this guy gave off a kind, thoughtful, warm vibe that made Lauren feel like he was going to be a good guy to work alongside. Plus, his creative reputation preceded him. He was a visionary.
“What’s your favorite part of the process?” Ethan had asked her toward the end of their coffee meeting a few days prior. They’d already gone over all the logistics of how he wanted the rehearsals run and how she would notify him of union-required breaks, and laid out the rehearsal calendar, among other agenda items.
She took only a moment to think on her answer. “For me, it’s always been about off-book day, where the scripts are tossed away, and the actors face each other fully. That magical connection from one character to another is established for the first time and…I don’t know. You can feel it in the room.” She shook her head and lifted her shoulders. “I just don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that.”
“That’s a pro answer. That earns you big points.” Ethan ran his hand through his sandy blond hair. He had it short on the sides but longer on top, which allowed the curl to take hold. She had him pegged in his late forties. Maybe the type who’d been married a couple of times, but who really knew? “You’re somebody who gets it, then, Lauren.”
“You say that now,” she said, playfully.
“Ever done any acting?” he asked, casually. “You have that look about you. You look like an actress.”
She had no idea what that meant but answered honestly. “Back in the day, sure. I auditioned full-time for a year, ate ramen, and pounded the pavement.”
“And what happened?”
She shrugged, feeling the pang all over again. “The time limit I gave myself before moving on finally arrived. My acting career hadn’t gone anywhere, and I’m a realist.”
“Ouch. You just gave up? How is that possible?” he asked, with a challenging smile.
“I don’t think of it as giving up. I evaluated the situation and made the best call. I’m type A. What can I say?” She shrugged.
“Do you miss it?”
God, did she ever. “Once in a while,” she said, downplaying the reality. “But I found my calling in a stage manager’s booth one night and never looked back. It’s a better fit for me anyway. My refrigerator is in alphabetical order.”
“Fuck me.”
“Yeah. I’m a bit much when it comes to processes and procedures. They get my fur up.”
“I guess that’s good for me, right?”
“You just hit the lottery. I keep it all together, so you don’t have to,” Lauren said, with a proud grin.
“A former actress turned stage manager on crack. What the hell will they think of next?”
“You ready to do this thing?” She gathered her belongings as he did the same.
“More than you know. See you soon.”
“I’ll be there. Early.”
“I had a feeling.” Ethan smiled, picked up a second coffee to go, and headed out. She had a feeling this professional relationship was going to be a valuable one. If this was the guy Wilks wanted to keep happy, she didn’t think it was going to be too terribly difficult.
Well, until one of their two lead actresses was late for the first damn day of rehearsal. Really? The drama had started already? Lauren surveyed the long table she’d assembled for the first read-through and the polite, smiling faces gathered around it, all with scripts in front of them, ready to go. So where in the world was Carly Daniel? She checked her watch. It was five past. Nothing to panic about yet, but it wasn’t ideal. She exchanged a look with Ethan to see what he wanted to do. He mouthed back, Let’s give her another five. Lauren nodded and listened to the polite getting-to-know-you conversations happening all around her. She said hello to an actor she’d worked with before. At twelve minutes past, she did what any good stage manager would do—she excused herself and placed a call to Carly’s cell phone, which rolled to voicemail.
“Hi, Carly. This is Lauren Prescott, stage manager for Starry Nights. Checking in on your estimated time of arrival, as we’re now at thirteen past our go time. Please check in with me when you receive this voicemail, so I know when to expect you. See you soon.”
She clicked off the call and headed back to her seat where she looked to Ethan, who was seated to her left. “Why don’t we get started and Ms. Daniel can join us when she arrives,” Lauren said quietly to Ethan.
While it was ultimately Ethan’s call, it was Lauren’s job to make suggestions that would keep rehearsal running in a timely manner, and putting any more of their allotted time on hold for a late actress was not in the production’s best interest. Ethan nodded his agreement and opened rehearsal. He introduced himself and allowed the cast of eight, well, seven in its current state, to introduce themselves. When they got around the table to Evelyn Tate, the other lead actress in the play, the door to the rehearsal room opened with a noticeable bang and none other than Carly Daniel appeared. She wore distressed jeans, heels, a V-neck white T-shirt with a short floral kimono top hanging open, all accentuated with a long silver necklace. She was gorgeous, a vision straight out of a magazine. Her blond hair fell several inches past her shoulders, and she had large sunglasses perched on her head. In her right hand, she carried an oversized iced coffee, halfway consumed. Everyone swiveled in awe. While it wasn’t Lauren’s first choice to pause the introductions for a late arrival, it seemed Carly had the entire room’s attention regardless, which meant Lauren needed to pivot from her plan of plowing forward.
She turned to the table. “Ladies, and gentleman, Carly Daniel. Thank you for joining—” But Lauren didn’t get to finish her sentence because the cast burst into happy applause, and Carly did a makeshift curtsy, extending the iced coffee outward as she lowered her body.
The applause seemed to encourage her, and she beamed as if greeting her adoring public. “Hi, everyone. I’m Carly, and I’m so thrilled to be here, to meet each one of you and make this the best experience possible.” Most of the room beamed right back at her, honored to be in her sunshiney presence, and nodded in welcoming agreement. All but one, that was. Evelyn Tate sat tight-lipped and sour, as if waiting for the moment to pass.
The little late ball of sunshine that was Carly Daniel was going to be a force to wrangle. Lauren could already tell. People clearly adored and responded to Carly, and she was used to that kind of lavish attention. In a production like this one, where ensemble work was so important, Carly might not blend. Something to take note of. Plus, Lauren had done her research since taking the job. The headlines hadn’t been forgiving. “Carly Daniel Delays Production,” “Studio and Director Argue Over the Costly Decision of Daniel,” and her personal favorite, “Carly Daniel Billed 10K in Hotel Room Party Fiasco.” What in the world had gone on in that hotel room that had cost ten thousand dollars? One could only guess, as the article didn’t say. Lauren had let her imagination run wild, cringing at each possible scenario.