Page 2 of To the Moon and Back

“Perfect. I’ll need you to keep me from flirting with Gregory.It’s your job.” Gregory played Rapunzel’s Prince in the show, and Trip had beendrooling over him since they’d started rehearsals. Gregory, however, was thelove ’em and leave ’em type, and Trip was more the fall in love and get marriedtype, so Lauren had done her best to run interference.

She raised an eyebrow. “We’re still on that?”

Trip covered his heart. “Can you support my endeavors sansjudgment?”

“I can.” He bowed, and she laughed. “Now get out of here, so I canfinish my paperwork by five a.m.”

“You mean midnight.”

“It’s whatever. I’m barely alive.”

“One day more!” he sang loudly, giving her his bestLes Mis. She had the decencyto grin. When he disappeared from sight, she heard several more voices join hischorus. She laughed quietly. Theater people, man. Their world was a uniqueenvironment, full of unique individuals who Lauren happened to love, flaws andall.

Just before leaving The McAllister that night, Lauren paused to watchone of her most favorite rituals. A stagehand placed the ghost light centerstage and wandered away. Gorgeous. She folded her arms across her chest and letthe image affect her. There was no visual she loved more. Something about thatsolitary light keeping watch over the theater, until they could come back andtell more stories the next day, stole her heart. She leaned into her goosebumps, offering herself a small hug. She stayed another minute and stared atthe light, internalizing it, appreciating it, before packing up her bag andheading out. When she arrived in the staff parking lot, she turned back andregarded the looming white building with four long regal columns in front. Theamount of theatrical history inside those walls was not lost on Lauren. Shecarried a great deal of reverence for the theater, and never tired of itsdemands. They were friends, she and The McAllister. She leaned back against hercar. She’d once dreamed about performing on that stage herself. She didn’t dustoff those old dreams too often, because why harp on the past, you know? Shewasn’t meant to be an actress and clearly understood that now. But there weretimes when she allowed the twinge of envy to creep in, when she saw othersdoing what she once longed to do herself and felt the loss. She batted backthose wistful thoughts before they got too far along. Hell, she was LaurenPrescott, and holding everything together was her specialty. No time for thosekinds of indulgences.

She stood and gave the theater a final nod good night. She’d beback in just eleven short hours for the final Sunday matinee. That meant olderpatrons and children would cram the house in a jumble of red wine and peanutM&M’s.

First up, her after-show celebratory wine gulping, when she couldput her feet up, relax into her own life, and leave the stage managementprofessional on the shelf for another day. Bring on her real world, namely: herdog, her house, and her leggings purposefully purchased one size too large forthis very occasion.

* * *

Whoa.Carly Daniel lowered her banana-razzmatazz-kale smoothie and set it on herwhite marble kitchen counter in sunny Los Angeles. The man servicing herinfinity pool stared at her in her baby blue bikini through the automated openwall between her backyard and kitchen. She turned away from him, killing hisview, and stared at her phone’s readout in disbelief. Her agent was calling forthe first time in months. She wasn’t calling Alika. Alika was callingher. At long fuckinglast. She picked up without hesitation, hoping silently for an offer, anaudition, anything to get her feeling like she was working again. Alika Moorehad been dodging her calls for weeks, so to have her reach out now had Carly’sheart hammering with anticipation.

“Hey, Alika. Just catching some rays.” Carly forced a smilebecause she knew it would make her sound happier. She always made a point tosound breezy and successful, even though they both knew her career was circlingthe toilet. “How’s your day?”

“Been busy out there,” Alika said. She had a lot of clients, andCarly was now probably low priority after her star had fallen so publicly. Shewas lucky her agent hadn’t dropped her altogether. “I’m calling because, wonderof wonders, we have an offer on the table.”

Carly closed her eyes and thanked heaven above. “Tell me it’sBarrow’s latest film. I don’t even mind auditioning for him, which we both knowI haven’t had to do in a while. Plus, he loves me, so it would just be aformality.” She and director Jay Barrow had been talking about working togetherfor the past two years, and his new film had the perfect role for her. She’dread the script three times, reveled in the dialogue, the richcharacterization, and the fantastic plot twist toward the end that would haveaudiences talking for weeks. She was ready to report when and where they neededher.

“I called on it already. They passed.”

Carly started to speak and stopped. She turned around and staredat her white cabinets with the glass insets. That didn’t make sense. Jay toldher she was a favorite actress of his and he was dying to work with her. “Didyou tell them I’d audition? I’ll prove what I have to prove.”

“I told them you’d audition. I told them you’d be in bed everynight by eleven. I told them they could have your firstborn. They passed,Carly. They’re all passing, and if we don’t do something to turn this around,this whole hands-off Carly Daniel policy that’s circulating the studio systemis going to be permanent.”

Carly frowned. She’d behaved badly, partied too hard, and taken advantageof her status in Hollywood, imagining she’d be solid no matter what she did,including holding up production when she’d failed to make her call times. She’dfallen into the Valley of the Stupid and was paying for it mightily. Itwouldn’t have been such a big deal if that hotheaded director hadn’t run toevery media outlet who would listen and exaggerated all that had happened. Itdidn’t matter how sorry she was, or how vehemently she planned to be differentmoving forward. No more late partying. No more late arrivals, no more pushyopinions, and definitely no more hookups who would tell all to the tabloids.She truly regretted that one night with the Norwegian woman who soldcompromising photos of them toTheInquirer. Her kingdom for a time machine. Yet she’d been on thestraight and narrow for months now, and no one cared. Well, maybe until now.She backtracked to the important part, leaving the Barrow news in the past.“But there’s an offer?”

“Not one you’re going to be thrilled with, but if you ask me,we’re lucky to get it.” There was a weariness in Alika’s tone, and the wordsthemselves didn’t bode well, either.

“Okay, I guess. Tell me about it?”

“The McAllister Theater in Minneapolis is mounting a production ofa new play,Starry Nights.”

Carly squinted and noticed absently her tan was in great shape.That was a bonus, at least. “Like the Van Gogh painting?”

“The script is inspired by the painting, yes, and I’ve gotta behonest with you, it’s good. The director, Ethan Moore—no relation, by the way—hasoffered you one of the two lead roles.”

Carly shook her head, picked up her smoothie, and walked. “Butstage work? Think about it, Alika, no. That’s not who I am. It’s not what Ido.” She sighed dramatically. “If this offer was Broadway, then maybe. I couldat least think of it as a bonus on the old résumé, but somedusty old regional house?”

“It’s not justsomeregional house.” Alika seemed frustrated again. “It’s the fucking McAllister.Well respected. Coveted in artistic circles. It attracts top echelon directors,actors, and designers, all because everyone wants to work at The McAllister atleast once in their career. Don’t just blow this off, Carly. I can’t guaranteethere’ll be another offer.”

“You honestly think I should do this?”

“If you want to reestablish yourself, this is a fantastic way todo it.” Alika had put on her serious voice, the one she used when she tried toget Carly to see things from her point of view. The serious voice tended to beright, so Carly paid attention. “Go back to basics. Act your ass off in thisplay, and let the reviews sell you to Hollywood all over again for the crediblework you did. Remind them you’re an actress and not a headline.”

Carly dropped her head back and stared at the ceiling. Not onlydid stage work not appeal to her, but she’d never done any theater. Zilch. Noteven in her tiny high school back in Oregon. Her first audition had been for atelevision guest spot when she was nineteen, and that had quickly led to herfirst film cameo at twenty. Since then, the water had been warm in Hollywood,and her star had continued to rise until she was the name selling films. Nineyears later, as she approached her thirtieth birthday, she could definitely saythat star had fallen. And hard.

On the other hand, how hard could it be to transfer what she didto a live performance, right? She was a good actress. She knew that much, andacting was acting. “Can I think about it?”

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