Chapter 17 INT. BACKSTAGE ON THE WAVERLEY SET
Chapter 17
INT. BACKSTAGE ON THE WAVERLEY SET
Cole shifted in his seat. “I can see what you’re getting at, but I’d never thought about whether Geordie is a ... what did you call him?”
“A manifestation of male privilege and entitlement.” Libby Hansen, the journalist sitting across from Cole, delivered that in a rush, without so much as a pause between the words. She probably used a cute hashtag version in her reviews. #MOMPAE, or maybe just #HeSucks.
Cole knew what she was suggesting about Geordie, though. “Right. Yeah. I mean, maybe.”
Libby jotted that onto her pad. She wrote the dot over the i as a heart.
Cole had expected this interview to be fluffier. When they’d told him Libby was a freelance critic who had a million followers on TikTok, he’d expected her questions to be of the boxers-or-briefs variety. But this kid hadn’t been alive when the boxers-or-briefs moment had happened.
Dressed in pink head to toe, Libby clearly had a fluffy side. But she was also whip smart and shrewd, and it was quite possible she was seeing through Cole right down to his skeleton.
Her brown eyes flicked up to him. “What drew you to Geordie?”
“Not his privilege or entitlement, that’s for sure.”
Libby snorted.
At least Cole had managed to make the kid laugh. “No, it was his growth. I guess I need to feel like that’s possible, that someone could be immature or selfish, and then learn to be ... better.” Cole’s voice went scratchy at the end of his answer, and he fumbled for a bottle of water.
When he had taken a long sip, Libby asked, “Is that kind of redemption personal for you?”
One of Drew’s rules was Cole shouldn’t get into his private life in interviews. He could talk about his workout routine or his diet, but the Cole James brand itself didn’t need shadows or cracks. Any reality. Answering her question—at least directly—would be getting into his own feelings and motivations way, way too much for Drew’s taste.
Brett took a more balanced approach to these things, saying that Cole could do what was comfortable for him but shouldn’t be afraid to draw boundaries. Drew thought that was too complicated for Cole and an absolute ban was easier to maintain.
But look, everyone with a functioning brain cell knew Cole was trying to get back to where he would’ve been if he hadn’t acted like a punk kid twenty years earlier. While that might have been clear as day, if you declared that you were making a comeback, it didn’t actually look like you were coming back. It looked pathetic.
It’s a universal message, really. That’s what Drew would want him to say. Cole understood the logic of Drew’s argument. But he wanted to be more than Cole James the brand. He could let people see him sweat.
“Yeah. When I got started, I was young—younger than you are—and I made decisions that were not for the best. I hurt coworkers and friends, and I hurt myself. I’d like to think I’ve grown. But when I look at Geordie, his mistakes aren’t the same as mine.”
“No tabloids back then, for starters,” Libby said.
“Yeah, he’s extremely lucky he didn’t have to deal with Us Weekly .” Cole couldn’t express how much he’d hated going to the grocery stores in those days, seeing his worst behavior splashed all over those covers. It was unfortunate Cole and chaos both started with c . So much alliteration in those headlines. “To answer your question, I hope Geordie and I can make amends and end up in better places than we deserve.”
Libby wasn’t satisfied, though. “Look, I read the book on the plane over here, and earlier, I chatted with Zoya about her changes to the material. This isn’t a spoiler to say Geordie eventually drops his disguise, marries Effie, and they’re reunited with their baby. He takes up his father’s title and moves into the big manor house. It’s kind of the ultimate happy-ending fantasy. I mean, he gets everything . So first, has he earned that? And second, if you identify with him, is that what you want?”
Wowzer, Drew was going to be pissed.
Around Cole and Libby, the crew were getting prepped for the next shot. Grips were moving lights, David was fussing with the camera, and Maggie was laughing with Tasha about something.
For a long moment, Cole couldn’t tear his eyes away from Maggie. She was half a head shorter than Tash. Her hair was tied back into a practical low ponytail, but the ends were slightly curled and bouncy. She was pointing to something on her clipboard, probably a checklist she’d be ruthlessly marking off as they went.
What did Cole want?
That. He wanted her .
Here he was, talking to a reporter about how he’d changed, but had he truly grown up if he admitted he’d fallen for someone on set? The lead actor getting involved with the intimacy coordinator sounded like a joke, like something that would’ve happened to Cody Rhodes on Central Square .
Cole yanked his attention back to Libby. Don’t get personal. Stay light. Be charming. Drew’s words cut through the haze, like headlights in dense fog. “Sure.” Cole amped the California dudebro in his voice up. “Who doesn’t?”
Libby raised her brows. She knew he wasn’t being authentic. She would’ve called him on it, too, except Maggie was weaving across the set, through the crew, toward them.
“We’re almost ready.” Her smile was droll. She was trying to help him out.
Cole had been half complaining about this interview earlier, and she’d promised to save him if possible. And here she was, doing precisely that. He could’ve kissed her.
Oops, bad impulse.
“I’m sorry, Libby.” Cole offered a dazzling smile. “Duty calls.”
“Oh, you have a few minutes. I just want to give you a heads-up.”
No, no heads-up. He wanted to get out of this now.
But Libby wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. “You’re Maggie Niven, right? I’m Libby Hansen. We’re scheduled to chat during lunch, and I can’t wait. But I have to tell you, I’m going to have a million questions about Covering the Spread .”
“My old job?” Maggie was puzzled.
“And the musical itself. It’s one of my favorites. I played Hailey in high school.” She fluffed her hair.
A beat passed, and then Maggie burst into her high, melodic laugh. It was instantly identifiable, and Cole frequently found himself listening for it on set. “Of course you did. You definitely have Hailey energy.” That must be a character from the play that had gotten Maggie fired.
“Actually, if you have a second, I want to put the same question to you that I asked Cole.”
“Oh?” Maggie looked at him, as if she wanted him to give her some hint of how to answer.
He shrugged in apology. She was on her own for this one.
“We’re talking about Geordie’s redemption and whether he deserves his happy ending,” Libby explained. “What do you think?”
Maggie looked up at the ceiling, which she often did when she was considering how to respond. Cole had gotten used to looking at the soft skin under her chin while she thought. It looked soft, anyhow.
“I’ve always thought the beautiful thing about happy endings is no one could ever deserve them,” she said after a pause. “But sometimes we get them anyway. They’re ... grace. I guess I’m kind of a heathen. I’ve never been big into the idea you earn love or happiness. That feels so transactional. I’m not saying Geordie doesn’t have to do work to try to make right the things he botched, and it’s painful he can’t really make it up to Madge, right? But in the end, love is a practice. An ethos. Not a product or something you can buy.”
Libby liked that answer, clearly. “What would that happy ending look like for you?”
Cole found himself leaning closer, wanting to hear Maggie’s answer.
“Ha, well, a life of purpose. I don’t really want to talk about my ... scandal. It feels boring to say anything more about it. But when I realized I couldn’t go back to teaching, I lost something I thought I’d do for the rest of my life. My job was so small. More people will see Waverley than all the plays I might’ve directed in forty years teaching high school drama. But that work, it felt vital. When Zoya offered me this job, I wasn’t certain I’d be good at it or that it could be a replacement for what I’d lost. The jury is still out on those things, but I can say that I’ve had moments when I’ve been certain I’m in the right place.” She locked eyes with Cole.
A feeling of satisfaction came over Cole sometimes after a particularly long but good day of shooting or an exhilarating hike. It was a tingling in his muscles, a kind of fulfilled alertness, that only happened when he’d worked hard, pursued the correct thing. He hadn’t known it at all until he’d been twenty-five or so. Even now, when he was certain he was on the right path, it was rare. A double rainbow of sensation.
But there it was, spearing through his chest, while he held Maggie’s gaze.
She gave a soft smile. “It has felt purposeful , this job. And I guess I want to keep feeling that.”
He did too. And he was beginning to suspect it wasn’t only about purpose or the job, but about them. About him and Maggie.
Oblivious across from them, Libby asked, “And the big house and the husband and the baby?”
Maggie looked down, laughing. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?”
“Maybe.” Then Libby raised her brows, as if to say But I’m still asking .
“Yeah, I mean, everyone wants that stuff.” Maggie’s voice was quiet. Embarrassed. Heartbreakingly vulnerable.
“That’s what Cole said.” Libby sounded a bit smug about it.
But before Cole had a chance to defend her or think too much about how he and Maggie had the same recipe for a happy ending, Zoya called him to set.
INT. PUB CORRIDOR
“What do you think?” Cole asked.
Cole and Maggie were huddled in the hallway leading to the bathrooms. He’d caught her before she went back to the table they were sharing with Tasha and Ryan. For a reckless half second, she’d hoped it had been for a furtive kiss. But no, the man had a plan to save the day. Of course.
“I don’t know,” Maggie said carefully.
“I mean, you heard her: Tasha said she’d do anything to even the score with Vincent. Anything. ”
Maggie hadn’t realized that anyone knew about Vincent besides Cole and herself, but it was clear that Tasha had shared it with Ryan, too ... and then had likely had to hold him back from committing what would have been a meticulously planned and technically flawless murder.
The last few days in Inverness, it had become utterly clear to Maggie that Ryan worshipped the ground Tasha walked on. One of these days, when Cole wasn’t hell bent on saving the world and fixing Hollywood, she would have to ask him if he’d noticed it too—
Nope, it wasn’t any of her business.
These were her work friends. It wouldn’t be right to pry into their private lives. As it was, she was pushing up against those barriers that Bernard had warned her about. She’d taken this as far as she could without getting into any trouble.
Starry eyed, Cole was still going on. “I realized it when I was talking to Libby and the other one—”
“Jack,” Maggie supplied. Compared to bubbly Libby, the other entertainment reporter was older—and much more old school.
“Yeah, him too. This is what reporters do, isn’t it? Libby might’ve heard whispers about Vincent’s behavior before now. Heck, can she really hang around the Waverley set for a week and not hear about Tasha’s meltdown? Wouldn’t it be better if Tasha could share that story?”
“Maybe,” Maggie said, trying to look Cole in the eyes instead of staring at the divot at the bottom of his neck.
It was a compelling neck notch, if a bit lawyerly. It’d probably get a deal for its own Videon series soon: Cole James’s Neck Notch as Ernest Osting, Esq. Maggie would watch it.
But Cole, unaware of his sexy-as-fuck neck notch, wasn’t hearing the warning in Maggie’s voice. “It’s perfect.”
“I can see the logic of what you’re saying, but—”
“No but .” He edged closer. “It is a good idea.”
Unlike, say, the way Maggie knew she was looking at Cole. That was fruitless and pointless and unprofessional. And if it felt sometimes as if Maggie might perish from the wanting, then it was a good thing she was an adult, a both-feet-on-the-ground, head-firmly-on-her-shoulders adult, who knew you couldn’t die from feelings.
Maggie suddenly had more sympathy for all the students who, over the years, had sobbed at her desk about their breakups and crushes.
Right on, kids. Unrequited love is the worst.
“You can suggest it to her, but you have to let her take the lead. If she thinks it’s a terrible idea, you have to be willing to let it go.”
“Oh, I can be Elsa if necessary.”
But Maggie wasn’t so sure he could. Cole was not good at being icy or running away. Between him and Tasha, he was far more Anna than the Snow Queen.
When Cole and Maggie started to weave through the thicket of chairs, he moved an empty one out of the way and gestured for Maggie to go first. And there went her heart again, building the bonfire and getting out the fixings for s’mores, perfectly willing to liquefy for him right there.
Maggie knew Cole meant the gesture in the kindest, most chivalrous, most friendly manner possible, and that was all . Sure, it could be taken in another way—a hotter, more intimate way—but Maggie had to accept that it was mere politeness, even if his carefulness with her, his awareness of her, made compartmentalizing her feelings for him almost impossible.
“Have you chatted with that journalist yet?” Cole took his seat next to Maggie and across from Tasha. “The one doing the set visit?”
“The woman or the man?” Tasha picked at something on her cuticle.
“Either.”
“Nope, but I think it’s on my schedule tomorrow. It’s fucking exhausting, if you ask me. This thing isn’t going to drop for a year, eighteen months—whenever they decide to release it. Why do we have to start promoting the show now? Don’t we have enough to deal with?”
Maggie had no idea how actors handled it—the hours the leads worked, the amount of promo and press that was in their contracts, the day-to-day crappiness of fame. She’d decided in her late teens that while she loved theatre, she had no interest in pursuing it professionally. She’d had no idea how wise that decision was until she’d seen the machine up close. It was hard to cry too hard for people in gilded cages, but Maggie could see the cage part more than the gilt these days.
“Well, doing some promo now saves us from having to do more later,” Cole said.
“Except it’s really both, isn’t it?” Then Tasha pulled the rug out from under her best friend. “But you know, as long as they’re here, I was thinking ... What if I told one of them—probably her—about a certain asshole we all know?”
Cole’s expression of surprise would’ve been funny if the subject hadn’t been so serious. Tasha Russell was, as ever, smarter than anyone around her gave her credit for being.
“I don’t know,” Cole managed to get out.
“You think it’s a bad idea?” Tasha asked.
“No, it’s worth considering.” Maggie certainly understood where Cole was going with this plan. Ever since Tasha had shared what had happened during Cosa Nostra , Maggie had wondered about who else Vincent might have done that to. Who else might have experienced other shitty behavior from him. And what could be done about it.
A public accounting of Vincent’s grossness wasn’t much. But it wasn’t nothing.
At least if it was what Tasha wanted.
“Agreed,” Cole said. “I’m not saying you have to tell Libby, but she might hear about Vincent’s visit.”
Zoya hadn’t made any kind of announcement about it. She hadn’t said Hey, don’t talk to the press about that breakdown that we never explained or acknowledged in any way . They were essentially relying on the discretion of the key crew members who’d been present, which was a lot to ask.
About that point, at least, Cole was right.
“So I might as well try to get ahead of the gossip?” Tasha’s gaze swept over Ryan, Cole, and Maggie.
“I don’t know how to answer that without sounding like I’m influencing you,” Maggie offered so cautiously that she might as well have been edging onto a frozen pond a few weeks into the thaw. “Instead, I’ll just say ... the press helped me a lot in the last year. If my case hadn’t blown up, if public opinion hadn’t coalesced on my side, I never would’ve gotten my settlement.” I never would’ve gotten this job. “I hated pretty much every minute of it, but it did help.”
Tasha drained her mineral water. “Oh, thank you for that incredible insight. I’ve only been dealing with the press my entire fucking life, and I never realized that they might help you. How astonishing. How novel.” She made a sour face and sighed deeply. When she spoke again, her tone had shifted. “I’m sorry. I know you were just answering my own damn question.”
By this point, Maggie was so used to Tasha, she only laughed. “No, I totally deserved that. I’m zero percent surprised you thought of it before we could.”
“Strategizing about the press is, like, what I do to decompress.”
“You shouldn’t talk to them unless you want to,” Ryan gritted out, his first verbal contribution to this conversation.
“No one is saying she has to. We’re just pointing out the obvious,” Cole said.
A minute ticked by. The good part about a pub was that lulls in the conversation never truly felt like lulls because there was always the sweep of other people’s conversations and laughter. The tink of glasses at the bar. The music on the televisions.
Finally, Tasha asked Cole, “Did she seem reasonable?”
She meaning Libby Hansen.
“She saw through my attempts at bullshit,” Cole said. “She didn’t ask ridiculous questions. She got personal a few times, but it was about the work. Not just, like, who I’m dating.”
He’s dating someone?!
“Not that I am,” he added quickly, catching Maggie’s eye while he said it, and she realized that her panic must have shown on her face.
Maggie wanted to crawl under the table. She’d thought she was keeping her feelings to herself, but apparently, that was just another piece of self-delusion. Awesome.
Luckily, Tasha was weighing this, and Ryan was entirely focused on the woman next to him, so they both missed Maggie apparently dropping her emotional cards on the table for everyone’s inspection.
God, what must Cole think of Maggie? Other than her foolish outburst about jealousy, she’d been under the impression that she’d kept the rest of her crush to herself. It was mortifying to know she hadn’t.
“Hmm,” Tasha said. “I’m not going to pretend I haven’t considered taking out every billboard in LA to scream the truth about him. But I’m famous, I’m a millionaire. Would anyone care if my life hasn’t been all sunshine and roses?”
“Fuck yes,” Ryan answered. “Because it’s not just about you. This shit happens all the time. I worked on a show once where a PA told me the showrunner threw a binder at her. It cut her cheek open.” His eyes suggested that, in his head, Ryan was reviewing a catalog of violent possibilities for holding Vincent accountable. “She was too scared to say anything about it.”
“What did you do?” Cole asked.
“Quit.” Ryan was absolutely matter of fact about it. “And I told the producer why. The guy’s still working, so it didn’t do any good.” He looked at Tasha and shrugged. “I’m not trying to influence you. I dunno if that’s a story about why to talk or why to shut your trap, but it’s what I did.”
That sat between them for a minute.
“After Central Square went off the air,” Cole said, “there was one of those oral history articles, and I found out that the showrunner had been a major-league douche to all the women in the writer’s room. I was young and stupid and had my head up my ass, so I hadn’t known. But I should’ve, and I should’ve said something.”
Maggie had never heard Cole talk about that before, but based on the man she knew now, she was certain that it haunted him.
“So I talk because I can ?” Tasha asked in clarification. “Because I’m protected, relatively speaking, versus some peon?”
“Maybe.”
Tasha toasted them with her cup. “Well, I’ll think about it.”
That put a damper on the night, though, and within ten minutes, Tasha left to go to bed.
When she was gone, Ryan got to his feet. “You two don’t want me here.”
Maggie didn’t know if that was true. It helped having other people around, sometimes. Then she couldn’t get confused, pretending that this had a date-like vibe when it clearly didn’t. She needed the buffer to keep herself in the land of emotional rationality.
Ryan punched Cole on the shoulder and raised his brows. Cole shrugged back. It was some kind of secret language Maggie wasn’t fluent in.
“Night, Ryan,” she said as he offered a half wave. “What was that about?”
“Eh, he was paying me back for something I said a few months ago. Just an observation.”
“About how he loves Tasha?” Maggie would’ve shoved the words back into her mouth if she could, but she was curious.
“Yup. Which everyone knows ... except for Tasha.”
“She knows too,” Maggie said.
“You think?”
“Believe me when I say Tasha Russell of all people is aware when a man is in love with her.”
“Then why is she jerking him around?”
“I don’t think she is.” If anything, Maggie suspected Tasha was mostly in love with Ryan too. She was different with him than she was with Cole. Tasha rarely met Ryan’s eyes, but she looked for him in every room. Whatever the conversation, she was more invested in his attitude toward her than she was with anyone else. “But she’s your friend. I wouldn’t want to speculate. It isn’t any of my business, anyhow.” Maggie needed to change the subject. This was feeling more than a little like a confession. “We’re more than halfway done with the filming. How are you feeling about it?”
“You never really know until you see it.”
“Do you watch your own stuff?”
“Sometimes. Drew puts together highlight reels.”
Oh right, his agent. Cole mentioned him often. “Well, I heard Zoya tell Libby you’re doing the best work of your career. That people are going to feel as if they’re seeing you for the first time.”
“What do you expect her to say? She’s not going to be like, ‘Oh, Cole sucks. This season will be totally mediocre compared to season two.’”
“Oh my God, wasn’t Callie White great as Lucy last season? That wedding banquet scene in the last episode—I was convinced she was going to kill everyone.”
“Tasha told me that’s what happens in the book.”
“I’m sure that’s how Tasha would’ve liked to play it. But I was glad Lucy got her happy ending.” Zoya had been very clear that she saw the series as being romantic before it was anything else and that the main couples would always be happy.
Softly, Cole said, “Me too.”
And there he was, watching her again like he had been when he’d been talking to Libby.
Earlier, she’d wanted to ask What’s your dream? Now was the moment—but boundaries.
She’d kept it together this far, and there were only six weeks left to go on this shoot. So all she said was “Well, I should get to bed too.”
Too bad she’d be alone.