Passion and Peril

Chapter Four

THE AIR IN the community-theater auditorium was cool compared to the outside warmth of the sunny spring morning. It smelled like sawdust and paint, musty curtains, a little bit of sweat and a whole lot of excitement.

It smelled like a show.

Maggie smiled and waved to friends from past productions as she put her gym bag down on one of the seats in the first row.

There was an audition sign-up sheet posted on the apron of the stage, and she signed in.

“Sign me in, too.”

She looked up to see Matt leaning over her shoulder to look at the list. His hands were on the stage, on either side of her, effectively pinning her in.

His teeth flashed white and perfect as he grinned at her. He was standing so close, Maggie caught a whiff of the spearmint toothpaste he’d used, probably right before leaving his house. He was wearing all black—a snugly fitting T-shirt, sweats and a pair of jazz shoes that had clearly seen a lot of use. Howard Osford, the slightly balding, slightly overweight tenor who usually won the romantic leads out of lack of competition didn’t stand a chance today.

“What are you singing?” she asked as he watched her add his name to the list.

Matt shrugged, straightening up and freeing her. He followed her back to her gym bag, throwing himself casually into the seat next to it. “Want to do a duet?” He stretched his long legs out in front of him, and looked up at her, a glint in his eyes.

Maggie stopped taking off her street shoes to glare at him. “That always really pissed me off.”

“What?” He grinned, knowing darn well what she was talking about.

“The way you could come into an audition totally unprepared and walk away with the lead.”

Matt tried not to be obvious about watching her as she pulled off her T-shirt and adjusted her sports bra. She was wearing tight black pants that flared and a colorful dance top that left her midriff bare.

“You should get a belly-button ring,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Ouch. No thanks.”

“You know, it’s been more than three years since I’ve gone on an audition,” he said. The room was filled with dozens of hopeful singers and dancers. It didn’t matter the town or the state—the hope that hung in the air at an audition was always the same.

“Are you scared?” she asked.

Matt tried to look frightened. “I won’t be if you sing a duet with me.”

She just laughed. “Not a chance. I, for one, worked hard to prepare a song.”

“Then let me use you as a prop.”

Maggie crossed her arms. “Come again?”

Ooh, he loved it when she put on a little attitude. Sweet Maggie had a backbone beneath that soft outer layer. “A prop,” he repeated, working hard not to smile. “You know, a warm body to sing to. I always do much better when I’m not up onstage all alone.”

She laughed in his face. “Tough luck. That’s what an audition is all about—being onstage all by your little old self. You can sing to me all you want, but I’m going to be right down here.” She shook her head in disgust. “Prop.”

“Okay,” Matt said.

“That’s it? No fussing? No begging? No whining? Just, okay?”

He tipped his head back and smiled up at her. “It’s only an audition.”

“I hate you,” she said, and walked away.

Ten minutes later, the first trembling victim stepped onto the stage, and Matt joined Maggie at the back of the room.

“I’m up twentieth,” she whispered. “You’re twenty-first. Have you decided what to sing?”

He nodded yes. “I’m doing something from my favorite show.”

“What is your favorite show?”

“West Side Story. It was the most fun I’ve had onstage in my entire life.”

Maggie looked at him, perplexed. “You mean, back in high school?”

“Yup.”

He looked up at the stage, watching as the director cut the singer off midsong. Maggie studied his profile, remembering the turmoil of his senior year.

Another singer mounted the stage and made it through about sixteen bars before being stopped and thanked for coming.

“Sheesh.” Matt glanced at her. “This director is brutal. They’re dropping like flies. He doesn’t give anyone time to warm up. At this rate, you’re going to be up there in less than a minute.”

“He is pretty harsh,” Maggie agreed, then asked, “How could West Side Story be your favorite show? You were miserable the entire time. You had that big fight with Angie....”

“As Matthew I was miserable,” he told her. “But I sure loved being Tony.”

He had a funny little half smile on his face and a look in his eyes that made her heart beat faster.

He looked back at the stage, and Maggie watched him watch the auditions.

“Maria was a great part,” she told him softly. “But it was very hard each night to watch you die.”

He glanced at her, and the look on his face was one she absolutely couldn’t read.

“Maggie Stanton,” a stout woman with cat-eyed glasses and a clipboard finally called. “You’re next.”

Yikes.

Matt caught her arm as she started for the stage, pulling her into his arms for a hug. “Break a leg, Mags.”

She looked up at him and the realization hit her hard, leaving her feeling weak. She wanted him to kiss her.

He was handsome and vibrant and so very alive and she wanted him to kiss her.

He wasn’t Angie’s boyfriend anymore and she wanted him to kiss her.

And he did.

On the cheek.

She swallowed her disappointment as she walked down the theater aisle toward the stage. Those sparks she’d thought were flying all over the place must’ve been only in her mind.

Or else he would have really kissed her, wouldn’t he?

He saw her as a friend, a buddy to hang with.

Which was a good thing. Matt had never been cut out for anything but short-term, intensely passionate flings. True, they wouldn’t leave his bedroom for a week, but after that week, it would probably be over. Any kind of romance with him would definitely be a mistake—particularly since she was going to be working with him.

She was going to work with him.

She’d called her boss at A&B this morning and he’d accepted her resignation gracefully. In fact, he’d told her he didn’t even need the usual two-weeks’ notice. Times were tough all over, Maggie knew, and business had been off lately, even at the big law firms.

She just had to go in some time next week, clean out her desk and drop off the company cell phone.

She handed her music to the accompanist with a smile, moved center stage and nodded to the director. He was someone she’d never worked with before, someone who didn’t know her from Eve. She could see him glancing through her resume, and she turned back to the piano player and nodded.

As the first strains of music surrounded her, Maggie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting herself become the character—a thirtysomething dancer pleading for a second chance on the stage.

As Maggie started to sing, Matt looked up from his search through the piles of sheet music that had been tossed on a table in the back of the auditorium. God, she was good. He’d forgotten how good. He’d never understood why she hadn’t studied acting, gone professional.

He had to laugh. Yeah, he’d met her parents many times. He did understand. And it was a shame.

She sang the first part of the song standing absolutely still, but with tension in every part of her body. When she reached the refrain, she exploded, both in volume and movement. She was fantastic, her voice clear and true, her body graceful.

Matt moved closer to the stage and sat on the arm of a chair. He could see the back of the director’s head, and the man hadn’t moved once since Maggie started singing. He grinned as the director let her sing the entire song, right down to the very last note.

The entire room burst into applause, and Maggie—typically—actually looked surprised. She blushed—also typical—and bowed.

“Very nice,” the director called, his usually bored voice actually showing interest. “Don’t go anywhere. I want you to read for me.”

She collected her music from the piano player and went down the stairs as Matt went up. He gave her a high five.

“Your turn to break a leg,” she said.

“You’re a hard act to follow.”

Maggie sat down in the front row, feeling the last surges of adrenaline leaving her system. Matt came center stage and looked down at her and smiled, and somehow the adrenaline was back, making her heart flip-flop.

The music started and Maggie recognized the song instantly. “Something’s Coming.” Of course. Matt had always loved that song. It was all about hope and excitement and limitless possibilities. She had to smile. It was practically his theme song.

“Hold it,” the director called, and the accompanist stopped. “Matthew Stone?”

“That’s me,” Matt said.

“From Los Angeles?”

“Yeah, I lived there for a while.” Matt squinted slightly, looking past the bright lights at the director. “Dan Fowler? Is that you?”

“Yes. Thank you. Next,” the director said in a bored voice.

Matt’s eyes flashed. “What, you’re not even going to hear me sing?”

“I don’t want you on my stage,” Fowler said.

The room was dead silent. No one so much as moved.

Maggie stared up at Matt, holding her breath, waiting for him to explode. But he merely crossed his arms.

“Mind telling me why not?” he asked, his voice almost too calm.

“Because the last time I cast you in a show, you disappeared off the face of the earth halfway through rehearsals. That screwed me up pretty badly.”

“I called,” Matt countered. “I apologized. But I had to go into the hospital.”

“A detox center, wasn’t it?” Fowler challenged.

“Detox?” Matt laughed. “Yeah, I guess it kind of was.” He looked out at the director. “That was three years ago, Dan.”

Detox. God. Maggie had always known that in the past Matt had lived recklessly, always pushing the edge. It wasn’t hard to believe that somewhere down the line he’d become addicted to either alcohol or drugs.

“It’s still fresh in my memory, Stone.”

“I’m not leaving this stage until you let me audition.” Matt said the words easily, evenly, but in such a way that left no doubt in anyone’s mind that he would not give in.

Fowler scowled. “You can audition until your face is blue. I’m not going to cast you. You’re wasting everyone’s time.”

Maggie stood up, grabbing her gym bag. “Matt, let’s go. There’ll be other shows—”

“Hold it,” Fowler said. “Maggie Stanton?”

There were a few moments of whispering as Fowler leaned over and spoke with his producers and assistants.

“Come here for a sec,” he finally called.

Maggie looked uncertainly at Matt, who nodded to her, telling her to go ahead. He then sat as if unconcerned, on the apron of the stage.

She left her bag on the seat and made her way to the director. She was outraged at the way he was handling this situation. To publicly humiliate someone like this was unprofessional. It was rude, inexcusable...

Dan Fowler was about thirty-five years old, but he had streaks of gray in his full, thick beard that made him seem at least fifteen years older. His eyebrows were large and bushy, making him look as if he had a permanent scowl. He didn’t speak until Maggie stood directly in front of him.

“You with him?” he asked quietly, motioning up to the stage and Matt.

“Yes,” she said tightly. “I don’t know what happened three years ago, but right now he’s clean.”

Fowler tapped his fingers on the table in front of him, looking from Maggie to Matt and back again. “Will he agree to urine testing?”

“For drugs?” Maggie asked in amazement.

Fowler nodded.

“You can ask him,” she said, “but I doubt he’ll go for that.”

“Hey, Stone,” the director called. “I’m willing to audition you if you consent to drug testing.”

“I meant, ask him privately,” Maggie hissed, throwing up her hands in despair. She risked a look at the stage, fearful of Matt’s reaction.

But he pushed himself to his feet and looked out at them serenely.

Only Matt knew how difficult it was to appear that calm. Inside, his blood boiled. He may have played hard and fast at one time with drugs and alcohol, but that had nothing to do with his admission into the hospital. But he wasn’t about to go into those details here. Not in front of a crowd, and especially not in front of Maggie.

He looked out at her. He could tell from the tightness of her shoulders that she was mad as hell. But he knew that she really wanted this part—she deserved this part—and he didn’t want her to lose it on account of him. And if he walked out of there, she’d go with him. He knew that. On top of that was the fact that he desperately wanted to play opposite her again....

“Okay,” he said, keeping his voice light.

“Good,” Fowler said. “Sing your damn song and get your ass off my stage.”

Matt snapped out a count and the accompanist played the introduction. He started to sing, his eyes following Maggie as she moved down the aisle, back to her seat. He could see the shine of unshed tears in her eyes, and he knew she’d realized that he’d let Dan Fowler push him around because of her. And she would, no doubt, chalk it all up to friendship. He was just her good old pal Matt, doing something nice for his buddy Maggie.

And yet there was attraction simmering between them. Although if it scared her even a third as much as it terrified him, was it any wonder she kept trying to ignore it, to push it aside?

But, God, imagine if she could let herself love him....

She looked up at him, and he channeled everything he was feeling into the music. Like most actors, he could be supercritical of his own performance, but this time... Well, even he would have cast himself.

He stopped the song halfway through, looking out at the director. “That’s enough, don’t you think, Dan?”

“Thank you,” came the standard reply. Then, “Stick around to read.”

Victory. He was going to get a chance to read lines. Whoopee.

Matt swung himself gracefully off the stage to find Maggie waiting for him. She silently took his hand and pulled him down the aisle to the back of the auditorium, ignoring all the curious eyes that were on them. She led him out the closed double doors into the lobby and started for the door to the street.

“Whoa,” he said. “Where are we going?”

“We’re leaving.”

He planted himself. “No way.”

“Yes way. That man is a creep.” She was seriously angry.

“He’s a good director, though. Wait and see.”

Now she was angry with him. “You’re only doing this for me, aren’t you?”

Yes. And he’d do far more for her, too, if she’d only let him. “Nope,” Matt told her. “I’m doing it for myself.”

Maggie didn’t buy it. “Matthew, you’ve had enough crap dumped on you from your father—with the will and everything. You don’t need to deal with this, too.”

“Hey!” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her gently. “It’s okay. Really. It’s just my lurid past catching up with me. It happens. I don’t mind drug testing—”

“Liar.”

Matt laughed at the look of intense indignation on her face. God, she was wonderful.

“Well, okay,” he admitted. “It sucks. But life’s not always fair, and it’s no big deal.” She started to react, and he put one finger on her lips. “Really. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past few years, it’s to know the difference between big problems and little problems. And Dan Fowler is definitely a little problem.”

The woman with the clipboard and the cat glasses poked her head out of the door. “Stone and Stanton?” she said. “He’s looking for you. Onstage, to read.”

“I want to do this,” Matt said, looking into Maggie’s eyes. “Let’s do this, okay?”

Maggie nodded, letting him drag her back into the auditorium. He took the bag from her shoulder, put it onto a seat and pushed her up the stairs to the stage.

“Take a few minutes to read it over,” Fowler called out from his throne behind the bright lights, a benevolent monarch lazily granting the peasants some crumbs from his table.

Maggie quickly skimmed the scene. And oh, God. She could feel herself start to blush. Of course. It had to be this scene. She glanced up to meet Matt’s eyes. He raised an eyebrow at her, then looked back at his script.

Oh, God.

“Whenever you’re ready, boys and girls,” Fowler’s indolent voice commanded.

“I read the entire play last week,” Maggie quickly told Matt. “This scene is part of a fantasy that my character is having. She’s just imagining that you’re there in her bedroom, okay?”

“Got it,” Matt said. He looked out toward the director. “We’re ready, Dan.”

“Quiet,” Fowler roared, and suddenly the room was still.

Sieg heil. Maggie couldn’t believe they were still here, auditioning for this tyrant. But then Matt read his first line, and she thought of nothing but the script.

“Lucy, are you still awake?” he read.

“Go away,” Maggie read, with weariness and annoyance in her voice.

“Hey,” Matt read, throwing up his free hand. “I don’t really want to be here. I’m just part of your overactive imagination. You want me to leave, you have to imagine me gone.”

“All right. I will.” As the script directed, she squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating for a moment. When she opened her eyes, he was still standing there, of course. “Oh, damn,” Maggie read.

“Cody Brown, at your service,” Matt read.

“What kind of name is Cody, anyway? It’s a ridiculous name for a man born in Manhattan. You sound like a cowboy or a rodeo rider. What were your parents thinking?”

“Aha,” Matt read. “So that’s why I’m here. You want to insult both me and my parents. Well, go for it, Luce.”