Chapter 24
“And I noticed that he didn’t tell me about himself, so I was curious.”
—Gertrude Chandler Warner, The Boxcar Children
Dancy’s heart went out to Clint. He needed help the same as anyone with a high-stress job, but until he accepted that, he’d
keep suffering. She prayed she’d pointed him in the right direction.
When she took Watch out the next morning, she saw no sign of Clint, and she hoped he’d leave without trying to see her again.
It was too hard. She had an entire day to get through before tonight’s workshop. An entire day to figure out what was wrong
with the show and fix it. That’s all she would let herself dwell on for now.
She retreated to the cupola and looked for places in the script that could be tightened, but several hours later she’d done nothing more than move a few lines around and make herself more paranoid.
Who did she think she was to portray all these amazing women?
All she really knew how to do was look good.
And thoughts of her conversation with Clint kept intruding.
She needed to push all that away. She couldn’t scrub him out of her heart, but she could scrub him out of her brain. She had to.
She gladly accepted Erin’s invitation to lunch. “The audience is lined up,” Erin told her after they were seated in the dining
nook of her house with iced tea and chicken pesto wraps. “Twenty of my friends. Now it’s all they can talk about, trying to
figure out what this mystery event is and hoping I’m not asking them to donate more money to the school. I can’t wait to see
what you’ve done.”
Dancy gazed at her plate. “If you expect me to eat, we have to change the subject.”
“Nervous?”
“Beyond nervous.”
The ice clinked in Erin’s glass as she took a sip. “I was surprised Clint’s in town.”
Dancy couldn’t talk about him, not even to Erin. “He has a couple of days off and wants to spend them at the lake house. Tell
me more about the new kindergarten teacher you hired. You said she’s from Alaska?”
Erin took the bait and didn’t ask any more about Clint.
Shane sat hunched behind his steering wheel watching from a distance as Flynn came out of Erin’s house and got into her car.
He’d known something was up when he’d heard Erin had invited a bunch of people to some kind of event at the theater tonight,
but he’d never imagined it would involve Dancy Flynn. He hadn’t seen the woman in months.
Last night he’d watched Flynn carrying all kinds of costumes into the theater.
She was staging some kind of fucking strip show, for all he knew, and Erin was going along with it, not giving a thought to how it would look for her to be involved with somebody like Dancy Flynn.
Erin was the most naive person he knew, and if she wouldn’t protect herself, Shane would do it for her.
Finally, it was time to get ready. Dancy took a hot shower in the gym and washed and dried her hair. As she began doing her
makeup for the stage, her hands shook so badly, she had to keep redoing her eyeliner. The butterflies that had been fluttering
inside her all day were on full rampage. She told herself it was only a workshop, but that didn’t help.
She pulled on the skin-tight, strapless, nude-colored bodysuit that formed the base for all her costumes. It was cut high
at the thigh, and, at a glance, she looked naked. She slipped a robe over it and began packing her tote: extra makeup, a brush,
her script, more hair ties, a hand mirror, water, wet wipes, tissues, mints. She added a second bodysuit in case something
happened to the one she was wearing. Finally, she fed Watch and shut him up in the caboose. “This is the last time.”
She nearly rear-ended a Honda Civic on her way to the theater, and it took three tries to unlock the stage door. As she walked
around the backdrop and onto the dark stage, she felt dizzy. Why was she doing this to herself? She wasn’t a stage actor.
The last time she’d been onstage was during her junior year in high school, when she’d played Sandy in Grease.
Her footsteps echoed on the stage floor. It’s only a workshop. Dancy kept repeating the words to herself. Only a workshop. Twenty people. This was a safe space, far from the glare of LA. No producers, casting directors, critics, or tabloid gossips
would see her. If she bombed, she’d never do the show again. But she only grew more nervous.
Her armpits were sticky with sweat as she double-checked her costumes to make sure they were still hanging in proper order.
She did the same with her props. She was moving the chair closer to center stage when she heard footsteps. Leo and Mia were
early.
But when she looked up, Roth was walking down the center aisle. “A one-woman show, Dancy?”
He was dressed in Cole Legend black, from his tight-fitting Henley to his boots. “Roth? What are you doing here?”
“The better question is what are you doing here?” He stopped in front of the stage, cool and cocksure, Cole Legend in charge.
“You’re too intelligent to expose yourself like this.”
She wanted to smack his smug face. How had he found out about the show? Not even Sebastian knew what she was doing—only Willow
Reese, the seamstress who’d made her costumes and she had promised to keep it confidential. But Dancy should have known. Of
course she couldn’t resist spreading the news. “Willow Reese,” she said.
“She needs work. You know how it is in LA.” He walked to the steps and came up on the stage. “You should have talked to me
first.”
She tightened the sash on her robe, even though she’d begun to sweat underneath it. “How exactly was I supposed to do that
when you refused to answer any of my calls? You’re a rat, Roth. I hope you know that.”
He ignored her comment and gestured toward the stage. “You’re not a stage actor. I’m worried that you’re setting yourself up to fail.”
“Is that what you think I’ll be doing? Failing?”
“I’m concerned.” He inspected the small glass jar on the desk that was serving as an ink bottle. “Nasty trick you pulled with
my bikes, by the way.”
Sweat trickled between her breasts. Seeing him here filled her with dread. She kept her voice steady. “The museum is forever
grateful.”
“I have surveillance footage. I should have you arrested.”
“But you won’t. Too many people would ask questions.”
He set down the glass jar. “Fortunately, I’m prepared to overlook what you did. I’m also a big enough man to admit I made
a mistake with Gillian Mays. She’s a sweet kid, but she’s in over her head.”
“You’ve just now figured that out?” Dancy felt no satisfaction, only a pressing urgency to get rid of him. “Look, you’ve got
to leave. My crew is arriving any minute.” Her crew of two seventeen-year-olds.
He propped his hip on the edge of the desk. “We both know I acted badly, but then you stole the bikes, so I’d say we’re even.”
He offered his patented half-smile, as if his own betrayal had been nothing more than boyish mischief. “I want you to take
over Lucinda.”
Her breath caught, and her already unsettled stomach took another dive. “Lucinda?”
“You were made for that part. I knew it at the time, but I let other people influence me.” He rubbed his thumb against the
corner of his mouth. “Call Sebastian. Despite what you may think, I only want the best for you.”
That wasn’t true. He wanted the best for himself. But she reached for her phone.
Sebastian picked up on the first ring. “Dancy! You’re a mind reader. I just finished talking to Valerie Evers. They’re getting
ready to dump Gillian Mays and want you to take over the part. I forced a bonus out of them for the way they screwed you over.”
Dancy barely listened as he dealt out the generous terms of the deal. “I’m emailing you the contract now,” he went on. “Give
it a digital signature and shoot it right back.”
She cut off the call. Roth was studying the costume rack. She flipped to her email and watched the contract come in. It was
legitimate. She had the part. A pulse pounded in her throat. “Yes . . . okay . . .” She looked up from her phone to see that
Roth had settled in the desk chair. “Does Gillian know she’s being fired?”
“Valerie will break the news to her this afternoon, as soon as you’re signed. Gillian knows she’s out of her element, and
she might even be relieved.”
Dancy’s life had been turned upside down, and she tried to get her bearings. Roth rubbed his hands together as he stood. “My
plane’s at the airport. We can stop for your things on the way. I’ll get someone to drive your car back. Let’s go.”
“Right now?”
“Why not?”
Everything was falling into place. Her show had been unrealistic from the beginning, an overestimation of her talent. Now
she had the perfect excuse to walk away with no risk to her reputation and no possibility of another public humiliation.
Except . . . If she ran from the show, she’d never find out if she had the courage to test herself. She’d never feel pride in who she was. She had to do this. “I need a few hours,” she said. “As soon as the show’s over, we can leave.”
“Not possible.” His smile grew charmingly apologetic in a way that made her wary. “I have an early call tomorrow, and we need
time to go over changes in the script. We have a lot of work to do on the plane.”
Her palms had begun to sweat. “The show is barely ninety minutes long. I’ll be ready to go before ten.”
It was as if a curtain had fallen over his face, wiping away all his bogus charm. “Not an option. I need to get back.”
“I need to finish what I started. A few hours can’t make that much difference.”
His lips thinned. “Don’t be stupid. Lucinda is exactly the part you’ve always wanted. You’re not going to turn your back on
the chance of a lifetime for some little vanity project.”
“That’s not what it is. The show is important to me.”
“And the film isn’t?” He sauntered toward her. “I’m saying this for your own good. Just because you know how to take apart
a script doesn’t mean you have the kind of talent that makes a star.” He stood too close. “Lucinda is made for you. You’re