“But the rumors weren’t true. I got along with everyone, except the one actress who hated me from the moment I walked in the door. It was still a harmonious environment, though. We had a positive rehearsal period.”
“Doesn’t matter if you were Mother Teresa in that room if the opposite is what makes it to print. You know this business. The reviews are good, but—”
“Not amazing. At least, not for me.” She placed a hand on her forehead, realizing her uphill battle. It was like she couldn’t do anything right, even when she did.
“True.” Alika sighed. “I could get you endorsement work, TV spots, but I’m worried that’s the wrong move if we want to revive your film career. It’s all about what you want your future to be.”
“Film is where it’s at, and it’s where I want to be. Stage would be good, too. As long as it’s high profile.”
Alika didn’t say anything. “The only thing might be, and don’t grasp on to this yet, but—”
“There’s murmuring down the hall among our theatrical agents that Starry Nights might make a Broadway transfer.”
Carly held her breath. Was it possible? The McAllister was reputable, but Broadway was legendary. If they transferred the show, her visibility would soar. Not only that, but she felt like a part of Starry Nights, and it was part of her. She couldn’t imagine the show making that leap without her and Lauren in their rightful roles. “Alika, my favorite agent ever”—she began to walk the length of her small dressing room, invigorated—“if that happens, it could be a game changer.”
“I hesitated to mention it, as it could all just be rumor. Don’t get your hopes up just yet.”
Carly snapped her fingers. “Too late. How can we make this happen?”
“Well, I could always put the word out that you’d be interested. See if that sparks any momentum for the project.”
“Yes, do that. I am.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, five minutes, please. Five minutes to places.”
“Gotta run,” Carly said, glancing up at the speaker. “But let’s talk soon. This is amazing, Leek. I’m sending a basket of bourbon. All the bourbon. It’s yours.”
“You might want to wait until the deal is done, but I will sip away in your name.”
“You’re making me misty. Showtime. Bye.”
Carly clicked off the call and dashed out of her dressing room en route to the wings, where she planned to deliver the performance of her life and get herself and Lauren exactly where they needed to be. There was simply too much at stake.
Chapter Thirteen
Lauren stirred the big pot of homemade chili she’d made for herself and Carly to accompany the cold day, while the cornbread baked in the oven. It was after six and the sun was nearly down, a reminder that winter was not far off. Because it was Monday, they had the night off and were using it to unwind together.
“My mom didn’t cook,” Carly said. “She heated up at most. Chicken strips and those meals with the sectioned-off side dishes.”
“TV dinners. Well, who would have imagined that Ms. Porsche 911 grew up on frozen foods?”
“What about you, Ms. Mini Cooper?”
“Homemade all the way.” She tasted the chili. Perfectly spiced. “We would sit around the table and tell the high and low point of our day.”
“So you essentially grew up on The Brady Bunch.”
“Without the divorce part, but yes. Wholesome is a good word for it. Oatmeal cookies in a jar and all.”
“Well, that explains it.” Lauren offered a wooden spoonful of chili to Carly, who took a taste. She blinked. “That’s the most amazing chili anyone’s ever made.”
“I have chili skills,” Lauren said and shimmied her shoulders.
Carly grinned at her. “Please always dance while you cook. I would have to tell your family, if they asked, that your dancing was the high point of my day today. It’s also kind of sexy.”
Lauren bounced her eyebrows playfully, knowing full well she could capitalize on that shimmy later. “Wait. Explains what?” Lauren asked, returning to her stirring. “You never finished the thought earlier, and you’re not off the hook.”
Carly leaned her back against the counter. “Your upbringing explains why you’re so put together.”
“Does that get on your nerves?” Lauren scrunched one eye closed. “The organizing can be a bit much. I’m aware.” She pointed at the cookbooks on her counter, arranged in height order.
“No.” Carly shook her head. “There’s something about it, all the little meticulous details you manage and move