Page 54 of Second Act
She dropped her head to his shoulder while the aftershocks spun through her in exquisite succession. As she sat splayed over his thighs, she wondered idly how Hugh managed to short-circuit her good judgment, her modesty, and her sense of self-preservation. Yet she couldn’t regret the indulgence. It had been too long since she’d felt this kind of soul-searing abandon. Since she’d given him back his ring, in fact.
That thought made her sit up.
“What’s the rush?” Hugh asked, putting his palm behind her head and pressing her back toward his shoulder.
“I need to visit the ladies’ room.”
“Of course,” he said, his hands going to her waist to lift her off his lap and set her on her feet. He traced down her cheek with one finger. “The line should be gone by now.”
She stood a moment to take in the length of him sprawled in the spindly chair, the black silk shirt hanging open from his shoulders to expose his sculpted chest, his fly unzipped with his still partially erect cock resting in the nest of dark hair, his eyes glinting with almost bemused satisfaction. Any photographer would sell his soul to capture Hugh Baker in this pose.
Grabbing her panties, she dressed quickly. “How long until the play starts again?” she asked as she scooped up her purse.
Hugh glanced at his watch. “Maybe another five minutes. It depends on what’s happening backstage.” He smiled. “That’s the fun of live theater. Disaster is always imminent.” He began to button his shirt. “You don’t have to worry. When you’re in a box, you can come and go at any time.”
“I don’t want to miss a minute of the play, though.” She opened the door as little as possible to slip out, just in case anyone was lurking in the corridor, hoping to spy a famous audience member. When she dashed into the bathroom, what she saw in the mirror made her swear. Her whole face and neck were rosy with the flush of sexual satisfaction, her lips were swollen and her lipstick smeared, and her hair was a crazed mass of waves. Anyone who saw her would know exactly what she’d just done.
After a glance around to make sure no one in the restroom was paying any attention to her, she repaired the damage to her hair and makeup. There was nothing she could do about the glow that colored her skin or shone in her eyes, so she stayed in the shadows as she darted back to the box and knocked on the door.
“I missed you,” Hugh said, capturing her in his arms as soon as he let her in. He was bending to kiss her when she put her hand across his mouth.
“I put all my face paint back on so I don’t look like I just had sex in a theater box. Don’t mess it up,” she said.
He chuckled against her palm and then flicked it with his tongue, the warm, moist touch sending a tingle down her arm.
“Stop it,” she said, pulling her hand away.
“Tempted?” he asked with a wicked look while he slid one hand down to squeeze her behind before he turned to open the inner door.
The curtain music ended just as they sat down.
Jessica felt guilty, because Hugh didn’t respond to the play as he had in the first act. Instead he was attentive to her reactions, which led her to focus on the show more closely.
By the time the curtain came down again, she had tears streaming down her cheeks. “That was amazing,” she said, accepting the little package of tissues Hugh pulled from his breast pocket so she could mop her face. When the audience surged to their feet for a standing ovation, Jessica joined them. Hugh stood as well but faded back into the shadows of the box so his face was hidden.
The actors were still bowing when Hugh seized her wrist midclap. “I’ve arranged for us to go backstage, so we need to leave now.”
Sure enough, the usher was hovering near the box door when Hugh opened it. She led them to the same secret elevator and sent them back down into the bowels of the building, where another escort took over. By the time their companion said, “In here,” and pulled open yet another door, Jessica had no idea where she was in relationship to the stage. “It’s Ms. Jocanda’s dressing room,” the stagehand said, standing aside to let them pass. “She said to treat it like your own.” He closed the door behind him.
“Wow! Rose Jocanda offered you her dressing room.” The British actress was the top marquee name in the play. Famous for her versatility and ability to convert quirky roles into star turns, she had won a couple of Oscars and earned several Tony nominations. “I guess it would be uncool to ask for a selfie with her.”
“Ask away,” Hugh said. “She’s used to it.”
Jessica looked around the small, tidy room. The most prominent feature was a large mirror framed by lightbulbs hung over a Formica countertop loaded with cosmetics and a couple of wig stands. A rolling rack filled with colorful costumes stood against one wall, while a small sofa spanned the other. On the table in front of it, a vase of yellow roses added an extra pop of color.
“It looks just like I imagined a theatrical dressing room would,” Jessica said. “Only neater.”
Hugh sat down on the sofa. “Rosie’s famous for her tidiness. She says it’s too unsettling to have things jumbled up in her private space.”
Jessica was fascinated by this glimpse into the actress’s psyche. “What else does she say?”
“About what?” Hugh patted the cushion beside him.
“Anything.” Jessica sank down beside him. “Acting.”
“Acting? I’m not sure I’ve ever talked with her about it. I can tell you about the time we finished shooting a scene and decided to go swimming in—”
The door flew open, and Rose Jocanda strode in, yanking her blonde wig off as she walked. She perched it on one of the empty stands and turned, her dark hair still pinned flat to her scalp. “I had to get that dreadful, itchy thing off my head.” She held out her arms as Hugh and Jessica rose. “Hugh, love! So good to see you!”
