Frank Nester, the show’s director, paced back and forth across the stage, obviously irate. “Where the hell is Miss Westcott,” he asked, glaring again at his watch.
“Hung-over and still sleeping I suspect,” Carrie whispered to the girl standing next to her.
“Oh boy. It’s almost noon.”
“True, but it is her.” Carrie knew she was being snarky, but honestly didn’t care at the moment.
Frank looked over the cast then pointed to Tayla Mars, Angela’s understudy. “You, get into costume, you’re our new Guinevere as of right now.”
“Oh my god,” Tayla gasped.
“Dean, take her and pin her into the damned dress if necessary. Just make certain she’s back here in five.”
“Ten,” Dean told him as he headed to the costume shop with Tayla in tow.
“You’re really firing Ange just because she’s late?” Malcolm asked Frank, frowning.
“Since she’s already had two warnings, yes I am. Enough is enough. We have a show going up in less than a week and I’m over her game playing.”
Carrie turned to Jim, for a moment savoring how sexy he looked in his costume before saying, “How stupid can she be, doing this?”
“Very stupid apparently. I hope it was worth it to her.”
“We should at least call her.”
“How come you’re suddenly so concerned?” Jim asked.
“I’m not, really, but still I am surprised at her. She’s never pulled a stunt like this so close to opening. Despite all her faults, she’s always been fairly professional when it comes to the job. It’s one thing to be late a couple of times in the beginning, but this is something else.”
“You have a point.” Jim took out his phone, ran through his numbers until he found Angela’s and dialed. He frowned, muttering, “That’s a crock,” before hanging up. When Carrie asked he told her, “Ange’s number was fine yesterday but now it’s saying it’s no longer in service.”
“Strange. I wonder if she broke it or something.”
“I’m sure we’ll find out when she finally shows up. She’ll probably blame being late on her phone alarm’s not waking her in time.”
“Probably,” Carrie agreed before saying, “Wow.”
Jim turned to look and had to agree. Tayla had just returned and she looked every inch as the young Guinevere should look. “Now if she can carry it off I think we’re going to be good,” he said.
It was obvious everyone else agreed, although Malcolm seemed a bit put off by what was happening. He didn’t have a chance to voice an objection however, as Frank clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. When he had it he started the rehearsal.
When she headed back to the dressing rooms to wait until she was due on stage, Carrie passed Dean heading out to the auditorium to take notes. “Whoa,” she said, looking at his face. “Who’d you get in a fight with?”
Dean sighed. “Second most asked question of the day, after ‘where’s Ange?’, and she’s the one who caused this.” He touched his bruised cheek. “She packs quite a wallop when she’s pissed off.”
“Let me guess. She came on to you again and you shut her down.”
“Yeah, and not too politely I’m afraid. She didn’t like it.”
“She was on a roll. She put the moves on Jim last night at Red Moon, too, and almost every other male in the place, if I don’t miss my guess. Oh well, chances are she found someone who took her up on it, since she’s late today. Hope it was worth it to her, all things considered.”
“As long as it means she stops hassling me. Speaking of which, if I don’t get out there Frank’s the one who’ll be doing that.”
Carrie laughed, patting his arm. “Go, do, and hopefully all the costumes are perfect.”
“Hey,” Dean said in mock outrage, “I designed them, of course they are.” Then he chuckled. “I hope so too. I’ll have enough to do before tomorrow just redoing all Ange’s costumes to fit Tayla.”
“For you, easy peasy,” Carrie said to his back as he hurried away.