Chapter 21 Ada
Ada
“On set in ten, Miss Worthington-Fox,” calls an assistant from beyond her dressing room door.
Ten minutes. Ada stands before a full-length mirror. It’s remarkable what a bit of costuming, hair, and makeup can do. The
woman staring back at her is the cunning leader of an elusive ring of criminal women; with dark eyeliner sharpening her gray
eyes and a black dress hugging her figure, she certainly looks it. Silver threads run through the fabric, shimmering when
they catch the light.
Stella Fairchild: an ambitious woman, passionate, protective of herself and her secrets. A woman Ada has little trouble understanding.
When someone knocks, she permits entrance. Vince steps inside, dressed in his suit and tie for the scene.
“Mind doing me a favor?” He holds up a photograph—Ada’s headshot. “A friend wants to surprise his wife for her birthday. She’s
an admirer of yours.”
“A girl with taste, is she?” Ada autographs the image in bold, looping script, then offers it to him.
“People will be talking about you when this film releases,” Vince says as he accepts it. “Everyone on set already is.”
The praise should be reassuring; instead her skin prickles like it did when she was a girl after her dance performances, piano
recitals, and plays. A reminder that there is always something she might have done better. She does not want to be praised
for anything until she deserves to be. And she does not want such praise from Vince.
Now it’s as if the room itself feels her pulling away from him, the same way she did when she so briefly permitted him to
love her.
“Do you still find it impossible to accept a compliment?”
At Vince’s wry remark, she blinks. Filming commenced only a few days ago. So far they’ve managed to be professional, to not
let their past interfere with their work—perhaps because they haven’t had a scene together yet. But the word he added to his
question, that one word: still.
Two who were and are no longer.
He is her costar—her friend, even, despite everything. His support should be important to her. Instead she faces the mirror
to wipe away an imaginary smudge of lipstick, avoiding his gaze. She does not want to be defined by his celebrity, by his
praise, by anyone but herself.
She clears her throat. “We’re due on set.” Then she hurries from the dressing room.
How well he remembers everything about her, even still.
Ah, that word again.
When she reaches the soundstage, Mr. Sternberg is rushing this way and that, barking orders to sound and lighting. The scene
takes place on a set made to look like a run-down alley, where an abandoned building with a boarded door leads to Stella’s
headquarters.
Off camera, an assistant is tying a blindfold around Vince’s eyes, so Ada joins him. She pushes their conversation aside,
concentrates on the scene. Her first with him.
No need to be nervous; her scenes have gone well so far, and in the past she’s worked alongside plenty of other actors—everyone from newcomers to esteemed professionals. This actor is well established and a brilliant talent, yes, but he’s Vince. Former flame and friend.
Maybe she has to kiss him in later scenes, but she’s kissed plenty of men for work, hasn’t she? This will be no different.
A hand finds Ada’s arm—not painful, yet firm, breaking her concentration. “Miss Worthington-Fox, a word.”
She looks up at Mr. Hendrix, who scowls as he leads her to the outskirts of the set. She has little time to ponder what he
wants before he releases her and holds up a copy of The Dish.
“Explain this.” He jams a finger to the end of an article, displaying the first tease about her exclusive. “Did I not tell
you to maintain privacy?”
Ada has been preparing for this moment, of course, since Mr. Hendrix was bound to notice when mention of her exclusive went
public. Still, preparation can’t prevent her heart from racing. She gives an airy laugh and places a reassuring hand on his
forearm.
“Not to worry, sir, I remember our discussion. The press was prying more than usual, so I thought I’d have a little fun to
indulge them. Teasing is harmless, isn’t it?”
As Mr. Hendrix relaxes, Ada leaves him with another winning smile and hurries back to her place even as her heart refuses
to slow. This was only a glimpse of how worried and irritated he will be when he realizes she really did give an exclusive.
There is an excellent chance she has ruined all future opportunities to work with him.
As she rejoins Vince to await their cue, she glances at him, trying to forget the severity of Mr. Hendrix’s frown and focus on their roles.
Detective Gregory Merrick is haunted by a previous failed attempt to arrest Stella, but now that Stella’s sister has been murdered, the two characters have struck a tentative agreement.
He will act as her lover, giving her an excuse to bring him into her criminal ring since she believes the unknown murderer is someone close to her.
He gets credit for solving the case; she gets justice.
Except Stella plans to frame him as an accomplice to her own crimes, causing him to lose his job so he can never arrest her in the future, while Merrick intends to destroy her network.
Following Stella’s proposition and Merrick’s acceptance, she brings him to her headquarters, which is the scene they are preparing
to film. When Mr. Sternberg calls action, Ada grabs Vince’s arm, presses a prop knife into his back, and leads him into the
alley and on camera.
“Relax, Merrick,” she says as they step into the frame. “We’re already here. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
When she releases him, he removes the blindfold and looks from the crates and debris to the boarded building. “Quite a headquarters
you’ve got here. Nothing like a feminine touch to spruce up a place.”
“Save your quips for the fellows in your office, Detective. It’s just through that door.”
Before he can proceed, Ada catches his tie, slips the knife beneath the loop, and cuts it from around his neck. A snap releases,
making the action appear convincing. Then she presses his back to the building and the knife to his throat.
Vince doesn’t flinch as his eyes lock with hers. She feels his pulse pounding, smells the faint freshness of his aftershave
lotion mixed with sweat from the heat brought on by the set lights.
“There, that looks much better.” Leaning closer, she lowers her voice. “Remember, when you meet my girls, you’re not a detective;
you’re a man who is crazy about me. Act like it.”
“Will you act like a lady?”
Silence falls while Ada feels herself slipping out of character for an instant.
And for that instant she is simply Ada, and he is Vince, and she wonders if her lips would tingle if she pressed them against his.
If he would slip his thumb beneath her chin and draw her into him.
If kissing him would feel like it did before.
“Cut!” Mr. Sternberg calls. “Line, Ada! Where’s your head?”
Where, indeed? I always do, she’s supposed to say in response to Vince’s question, complete with a coy smile as she intensifies the blade’s pressure.
Flirtatious yet dangerous, tempting yet cautionary. Instead she stood there.
It’s not until Vince clears his throat that Ada realizes she hasn’t released him. She steps back, her heart thudding as it
did during the scene. Her career and her security rely on her acting, on the film’s success, on pleasing Mr. Hendrix. And
right now she cannot focus on anything except her history with Vince and Mr. Hendrix’s confrontation, all of which will lead
to the poor performance she cannot afford.
“Mr. Sternberg, might I have a moment?”
Though he frowns, he jerks his head in assent. “Ten minutes while we reset, and you’d better come back and give me a flawless
take.”
She nods, then retreats to her dressing room, fingernails buried into her palms. She knows better than to let one conversation
with her studio head or the pressure of acting opposite Vince rattle her.
Footsteps indicate he’s following her. She can’t decide if his presence will focus her or leave her more agitated. When they
reach the room, he removes his suit coat and tosses it onto the dressing table, then leans against the closed door. Casual,
not flustered by anything, certainly not their ruined take or their shared past.
Sighing, she sinks into a chair and pinches the bridge of her nose. “A bit off today, I suppose.”
“So you missed a line.” He shrugs. “Happens to all of us.”
Still, with only a few days of shooting complete, there’s time to cast a replacement if she fails to deliver the performance
Mr. Sternberg and Mr. Hendrix expect.
“Talk to me about the scene. That might help me find the proper mindset.” She shifts to face him. “Where is Detective Merrick’s head?”
Vince crosses his arms, considering. “No noteworthy cases to his name. He blames Stella for his shortcomings since she evaded
him, so this is his chance for redemption. Your character seeks justice for her sister, so there’s a more selfless aspect
to her motivations. For mine, it’s about his own wounded pride—entirely selfish.”
Years ago, when they ran lines together for various projects, he did this with each script: analyzing every character, every
scene, every purpose for every stage direction. Thinking not simply as the actor he is but as the writer he hopes to be. Such
discussions bring him to life the way dancing center stage once did for Ada.
“Think about Stella’s sister more in the scene,” she agrees with a nod. “And Merrick’s dedication wins her respect. It’s a
quality they share, despite their differences. In a way, she’s attracted to him, but their worlds will never coincide, so
he’s . . .” Suddenly her throat gets tight. “He’s not worth the risk.”
A beat of aching silence stretches between them. Vince looks beyond Ada, somewhere far away as he contemplates the characters.