Nightingale: Drama Games, #2

By Arielle Morisot

Dashing British stage star Hugh Davidson abandons his heart attack recovery in London to return to Rachael Reed, the love he left behind in New York City. While he's been absent, she has stepped into the role of stage manager at the Classique Theatre off-Broadway, but her life isn't exactly a dream come true. Her estranged husband, Danny, is stalking her around the city, trying to convince her to come back to him, and she can't seem to shake him off. As Hugh gets jealous and protective, Rachael begins to worry more and more about the condition of Hugh's heart, her own strong feelings about both Hugh and Danny, and what her next steps are going to look like. 

Set against the backdrop of a romantic Shakespeare production, Hugh and Danny vie or Rachael's attention, until tragedy strikes and Rachael is forced to come to terms with a difficult truth; she can't forge ahead with her future until she spends some time dealing with the past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Arielle Morisot
• Release date: May 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223446972

Book preview

Special thanks to the brilliant and patient editors who worked so hard on this book:

Elizabeth Bryan

And

Andrew Joseph Perez

Chapter One

Nearly three months after the abrupt and somewhat tragic end of all our hard work on Measure for Measure, it was Christmas Eve, and I was opening another show.

This time, it was a special, limited, one-weekend run of everyone’s favorite or least favorite timeless tale, A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. Jeremy was in the director’s chair again, and Gordon had taken on the role of miserly old Ebenezer Scrooge, a role which he’d apparently played before with great success to audiences in both Boston and Houston two years running.

Actually, this was now the third show that we’d all done together. We were beginning to form a little theater family, to the point that Diana, Gordon, Jeremy, Katelyn and myself were now starting to refer to each other as the Company. The fact that the Classique was known for doing classical pieces, and that therefore most of our scripts were in the public domain was doing something to help recoup the losses that we’d suffered when Measure had shut down, but it was still touch and go in terms of finances and funding.

It was never totally certain that any of us, even me, would have work from week to week, but that pretty much came with the territory.

Ten minutes to fight call, I announced, sticking my head into Gordon’s dressing room. Are you ready to-! Gordon, what the hell?

Gordon was sitting at his makeup table, glowering at himself in the mirror and fidgeting aggressively with the makeup brushes in front of him. His face was completely bare. He had no makeup done at all, and not even any work done on his hair.

She didn’t show up, he snarled.

Who? I don’t know why I asked that question, since it was pretty obvious who he meant. Kirsten didn’t show up? Why did nobody tell me about this?

Gordon opened his mouth to reply, but I didn’t bother waiting for his answer.

Turn towards me, I ordered him, letting the door slam shut behind me as I took two steps to the makeup table and began searching through the bottles. Shut your eyes and open your mouth.

Gordon, who was a professional for all that he was a bit of an asshole, did exactly what I told him, and I began applying the liquid foundation that needed to go down before I could begin drawing the age lines.

Kirsten’s never even been late before, I muttered, more to myself than to Gordon. I hope she’s okay. Did she say anything to you about...uh, anything? Don’t answer that, stay still.

Gordon rolled his eyes at me, but otherwise didn’t move.

Once I’d finished the age lines around his nose and brow, I smoothed them in with my left thumb while using my right hand to pull out my phone and scroll through my text messages. Kirsten, Gordon’s makeup assistant and dresser, hadn’t messaged or called, and I wondered if maybe she’d contacted Jeremy or the box office to let them know she couldn’t make it.

I’m sure she’s fine, Rachael, relax, muttered Gordon. Probably just flaked out, they do that.

They, I reminded him, raising an eyebrow, almost never just ‘flake out,’ Gordon. All our people are professionals, and nobody around here is going to pass up a paycheck for no reason. I’ll have Candace call her at home. Can you do your own hair?

Gordon eyed the hairspray doubtfully, and I took that as a probably not, so I gave his head a quick spray and a pat down.

Rachael! Someone was calling for me in the hallway. As I turned around and stepped through a cloud of grey-tinged hairspray fumes, the door opened and my sound guy, Rusty, looked in and stared at me with wide-eyed alarm.

Uhhh, Rachael, he mumbled, we need Gordon for fight call, and, um, actually we can’t find Tiny Tim’s cane. Peter says he left it onstage last night, but nobody saw it there, and Candace said she didn’t clean it up, so do you think maybe he took it home by accident? He says he didn’t, but-!

It’s okay, I’m coming, we’ll find it. Turning back quickly to Gordon, I added, Right. Fight call, okay? Then I followed Rusty out to help search backstage for the missing prop.

As soon as I got backstage, I ran into Diana and Katelyn, both dressed warmly in their Victorian coats and skirts, dangling faux-fur mufflers from their wrists as they stood directly in the way of the busy stagehands and chatted happily as though we weren’t mere minutes away from opening the curtain.

Rachael! Katelyn waved to me just as I was triumphantly pulling the missing cane from underneath a large  mound of fake snow. Are you excited?

What? I glanced up at her, then nodded. Yeah, of course. It’s gonna be a great show.

She means about the ball, you dumbass, Diana informed me without malice. Dumbass was an affectionate nickname, apparently.

Oh. I sighed. Yeah, about that...do I really have to go? I mean, don’t I have something else I should be doing? I’m sure I could find something that needs cleaning.

No. Diana looked almost amused at my discomfort. We’ve been through this, Rach. If I have to go, you have to go. We’ll be miserable together.

Right, agreed Katelyn, smiling her sweetest, most innocent smile. Attendance tonight is part of the price of this month’s rent, after all.

Diana barked out a laugh, and I knew that they had me. Katelyn had been letting me crash in her spare room for the last three months for very, very reasonable rent, which was absolutely the best deal that I was going to get in New York City, no question. If she said jump, I asked how high. If she said I was going to this party, then I was going, and that was that.

Fine, I muttered. Just...yeah, okay, fine.

Tonight’s Christmas Eve masquerade ball and benefit had been the bright idea of one of our major donors, and the proceeds were all going to go towards helping recoup the losses that we’d taken when we had to close Measure for Measure two months early. We’d sold one hundred special VIP tickets for tonight’s performance, offering purchasers the opportunity to attend the show and then to enjoy an evening of dancing, drinks, and industry schmoozing in the extra room that we usually used for emergency rehearsals or prop storage. Rusty and I had spent most of the week cleaning the damn thing out to make it ready for the big party.

Of course, there had to be a theme, so this ball was themed after famous classical characters, and everybody was supposed to arrive dressed up as someone from a Shakespeare play, or a Marlow play, or...well, several of us were just going in costumes from A Christmas Carol, since that was quick, convenient, and didn’t involve stretching the budget.

If anyone came back with food or drink stains on their costumes, though, I would have to murder them. That was pretty much understood across the board. Those things weren’t cheap; the muffs themselves were seventy-five dollars apiece.

I was not enthusiastic about this party, not because I didn’t like a good party, but because fancy dresses and flattery wasn’t really my scene. I didn’t do costumes and masks, and I didn’t do characters. I was one of those rare theater enthusiasts who had never dreamed of being an actor, not even once, unless you counted a couple of my worst nightmares.

Still, this was part of my job, and I did my job well. I’d do this well, too, but I didn’t have to like it.

More than once since we’d started selling tickets to the ball, I’d thought about how much Hugh would have loved this. This was absolutely his kind of thing, and he’d have reveled in the chance to be a secretive, dashing hero in a romantic disguise. It was a real shame that we couldn’t have had this event back when he’d been part of the Company, however brief that time had been.

Thinking about Hugh actually made me sort of sad. I hadn’t spoken to him in days.

When he’d first flown back to London, we’d talked on the phone all the time. The five-hour time difference had made things complicated, but not impossible. As time went on, though, and I got busier and busier, we had a harder and harder time finding opportunities to take a break and chat. I’d started going straight from rehearsals to work with my lawyer on various divorce-related paperwork issues, and Hugh’s doctors had started insisting that he keep very specific, limited hours to help himself heal from the heart attack.

For the past few weeks, we’d ended up texting each other a few times a day to say hello or to share a funny photo, but there hadn’t been much real conversation. This week, it had been hard to think of things to say, and subsequently there’d been nothing but radio silence from both of us.

I felt guilty, and a little bit lonely. I kept promising myself that I’d call, but somehow, it never seemed to be the right time. Quite frankly, I’d been so preoccupied lately with my own messy life that I barely had time to miss him or to wonder if he missed me.

Obviously there was the Classique to worry about, and all the subsequent work I’d been getting, which was fantastic. On top of that, I was trying really hard to move forward with my divorce from my husband, Danny Reed. Danny, in turn, was handling that badly by renting an apartment in New York City and calling me every week to try to get me to go out with him.

My social life, at least, had certainly improved since I’d first moved to the city. Diana, Katelyn, Gordon, Jeremy and I went out together a lot, and I never had to spend a solitary evening in if I didn’t want to. The constant social engagements could get exhausting and sometimes felt like a little much, but I was also having the time of my life, really enjoying my friendships for the first time in over a year, and certainly for the first time since Danny had started drinking again.

I wondered what life was like for Hugh, and if he’d found himself something to do while cooped up at home in London. Then again, the words cooped up and London hardly went together in my head. I mean, if there was one city outside of New York that I’d always really wanted to visit, it was probably the home of the West End...or possibly Tokyo. Tokyo would have been cool, too. Anyway, how could anybody get bored in the greatest theater city in the world?

Hugh couldn’t be that bored, and it had been long enough now that he’d probably be able to get back to work sooner than later. For all I knew, he might be in talks already to get started on a new show on the other side of the pond.

Something about that realization frustrated me, and again, for probably the hundredth time that day, I thought about taking out my phone and shooting him a quick text, just to check in.

Places for the top of the fight, announced Ellen, the fight captain, as Gordon moved into position to practice the final moment when Tiny Tim jumped into his arms. Ready, Peter? Okay, let’s hear the cue line.

With part of my mind still lingering on the delicious Hugh Davidson, I used the rest of my mind to watch the fight call. Once the actors began leaving the stage, I locked eyes with Ellen, then switched on my headset, settled it over my ears, and announced into it, Okay, kids, it’s go time. Places for the top of the show!

Sweet! Katelyn clapped her hands enthusiastically and offered Diana a high-five. Break a leg, beautiful.

You too, hot stuff. Diana grinned at her. See you on the other side.

They both turned, smiled and waved at me, and then finally darted out of sight. The rest of the rather large cast of A Christmas Carol were milling around backstage as well, grabbing last minute props and trying to find a spot to huddle in that wasn’t already full of someone else’s body.

I repeat, I said into my headset, Actors to places, places for the top of the show. Then I walked back out into the hallway, listening to the sounds of a throng of eager audience members murmuring excitedly in their seats.

As I headed for the booth, I passed Jeremy just leaving one of the dressing rooms. He nodded at me.

Showtime, Rachael, he said. Thanks for your hard work.

I signaled for Erin to dim the houselights, and as everything went dark and the audience fell silent, that familiar little pre-show thrill rocketed through my soul and left me grinning all over my face like a kid with a crush.

Man, no matter how many openings I worked, I knew this would never get old.

IT WASN’T JUST A GOOD opening night, either; it was a FANTASTIC opening night. Gordon’s deadpan was genius, Katelyn’s grieving was desperately tragic, and Diana struck fear into the hearts of all present as not just one, but all three of the ghosts of Christmas.

Once the applause had died away, however, and when the audience had finally cleared out of the theater, I knew that the hard part was yet to come.

Ready, Rachael? asked Jeremy as I crossed towards the dressing rooms. Aren’t you going to get dressed up?

I sighed.

Yeah, I said. Katelyn lent me one of her old ren faire costumes. It’s hanging up in the booth, so I’ll go change once I’ve locked everything down for the night.

Okay, replied Jeremy. Well, don’t be long. I don’t like the idea of anyone being alone in a dark theater at night. I know, I know, he added, holding up a hand to stop me as I opened my mouth to protest. You can take care of yourself, don’t I know it, but better safe than sorry, okay? If you’re not at the party in ten minutes, I’m coming to look for you.

With that ominous but well-intentioned pronouncement, he left, and I dragged my heavy costume into Diana’s now empty dressing room to get ready.

It was heavy because it was the real deal; a gorgeous, well-made brocade and velvety thing that must have been absolute hell to wear in the hot August sun that usually accompanied the Ithaca Ren Fest. When Katelyn had originally offered to lend me something for the party, I’d honestly assumed that it would be something skimpy or sparkly, something that maybe gave the impression of Shakespeare while still being effectively clubwear.

I should have known better.

Of course Katelyn had connections with costumers, and they’d hooked her up with the good stuff. I could have worn this on set for any romantic, fantasy-esque period-piece film and fit right in.

The gown was emerald green, which wasn’t exactly my color, but Katelyn had said she was sure it would look stunning on me. As I deftly laced up the bodice and rearranged the layers of skirts, I had to admit that she knew what she was talking about, and that maybe I should get into the habit of wearing green more often. It would probably be fun to see the looks on everyone’s faces when I walked in, since the fanciest thing any of them had ever seen me wear was my favorite little black dress, and that admittedly gave off a more vamp vibe, while this dress was more romantic elegance.

Of course, since this was a masquerade, I had to wear a mask. I’d actually made the mask for myself after an exciting visit to the local craft shop, from which I’d returned with paint, glitter, ribbons, lace, and just about every other kind of embellishment you can reasonably imagine.

Look, I know what you’re thinking. Yes, glitter is essentially a kind of insidious parasite, and yeah, of COURSE I’m supposed to hate glitter and not want it anywhere near me or the stage, but honestly it’s shiny and exciting and I’m not entirely against it. Anyway, I’m a professional, so I know the secret to cleaning up glitter, and I’m not going to share it with you because that information is proprietary. If just anyone could do it, I’d be out of a job.

Now, fully dressed and resplendent in probably the brightest colors I’d worn in years, I had to figure out who I was supposedly dressed as, just in case anyone bothered to ask. The party would be absolutely full of Romeos and Juliets, so that was out of the question. Lady Macbeth seemed like a fun choice, but the outfit didn’t really give off deadly manipulative murderess vibes.

No, the costume I was now wearing belonged to a character who was opulent, feminine, a big fan of making an entrance and probably not evil. Evil characters tended to wear darker colors, sharper angles and starker lines. I wasn’t sharp or stark. In this outfit, I was floaty like a fairy princess.

That was it, then, I decided. I would be a fairy princess, or rather, I would be Titania, the queen of the fairies from the famous comedy A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Perfect.

Satisfied that I now had the details down, I hiked up my skirts and swished off to the ball as elegantly as I could manage.

As soon as I entered the room, two magnificently dressed women in matching white wedding gowns and veils hurried over in my direction.

There you are, announced Diana. Jeez, thought you were gonna sneak away after all.

You look absolutely sumptuous, purred Katelyn. I should just let you keep that dress; it looks much better on you.

Uh, no, no thanks, I mumbled. You’re sweet, but I will definitely never have a reason to wear this again, so really, it’s all yours. Who are you guys dressed as?

Beatrice and Hero from Much Ado About Nothing! Katelyn giggled. We thought of doing Rosalind and Celia, but this look is more...dramatic. Seemed appropriate, right? And who doesn’t want an excuse to wear a wedding gown?

Diana just shook her head and grabbed my arm.

Listen, she hissed, "he’s here. I saw him over by