accompanist with a smile, moved center stage and nodded to the director. He was someone she’d never worked with before, someone who didn’t know her from Eve. She could see him glancing through her resume, and she turned back to the piano player and nodded.
As the first strains of music surrounded her, Maggie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting herself become the character—a thirtysomething dancer pleading for a second chance on the stage.
As Maggie started to sing, Matt looked up from his search through the piles of sheet music that had been tossed on a table in the back of the auditorium. God, she was good. He’d forgotten how good. He’d never understood why she hadn’t studied acting, gone professional.
He had to laugh. Yeah, he’d met her parents many times. He did understand. And it was a shame.
She sang the first part of the song standing absolutely still, but with tension in every part of her body. When she reached the refrain, she exploded, both in volume and movement. She was fantastic, her voice clear and true, her body graceful.
Matt moved closer to the stage and sat on the arm of a chair. He could see the back of the director’s head, and the man hadn’t moved once since Maggie started singing. He grinned as the director let her sing the entire song, right down to the very last note.
The entire room burst into applause, and Maggie—typical—actually looked surprised. She blushed—also typical—and bowed.
“Very nice,” the director called, his usually bored voice actually showing interest. “Don’t go anywhere. I want you to read for me.”
She collected her music from the piano player and went down the stairs as Matt went up. He gave her a high-five.
“Your turn to break a leg,” she said.
“You’re a hard act to follow.”
Maggie sat down in the front row, feeling the last surges of adrenaline leaving her system. Matt came center and looked down at her and smiled, and somehow the adrenaline was back, making her heart flip-flop.
The music started and Maggie recognized the song instantly. “Something’s Coming.” Of course. Matt had always loved that song. It was all about hope and excitement and limitless possibilities. She had to smile. It was practically his theme song.
“Hold it,” the director called, and the accompanist stopped. “Matthew Stone?”
“That’s me,” Matt said.
“From Los Angeles?”
“Yeah, I lived there for a while.” Matt squinted slightly, looking past the bright lights at the director. “Dan Fowler? Is that you?”
“Yes. Thank you. Next,” the director said in a bored voice.
Matt’s eyes flashed. “What, you’re not even going to hear me sing?”
“I don’t want you on my stage,” Fowler said.
The room was dead silent. No one so much as moved.
Maggie stared up at Matt, holding her breath, waiting for him to explode. But he merely crossed his arms.
“Mind telling me why not?” he asked, his voice almost too calm.
“Because the last time I cast you in a show, you disappeared off the face of the earth halfway through rehearsals. That screwed me up pretty badly.”
“I called,” Matt countered. “I apologized. But I had to go into the hospital.”
“A detox center, wasn’t it?” Fowler countered.
“Detox?” Matt laughed. “Yeah, I guess it kind of was.” He looked out at the director. “That was three years ago, Dan.”
Detox. God. Maggie had always known that in the past Matt had lived recklessly, always pushing the edge. It wasn’t hard to believe that somewhere down the line he’d become addicted to either alcohol or drugs.
“It’s still fresh in my memory, Stone.”
“I’m not leaving this stage until you let me audition.” Matt said the words easily, evenly, but in such a way that left no doubt in anyone’s mind that he would not give in.
Fowler scowled. “You can audition until your face is blue. I’m not going to cast you. You’re wasting everyone’s time.”
Maggie stood up, grabbing her gym bag. “Matt, let’s go. There’ll be other shows—”
“Hold it,” Fowler said. “Maggie Stanton?”
There were a few moments of whispering as Fowler leaned over and spoke with his producers and assistants.
“Come here for a sec,” he finally called.
Maggie looked uncertainly at Matt, who nodded to her, telling her to go ahead. He then sat as if unconcerned, on the apron of the stage.
She left her bag on the seat and made her way to the director. She was outraged at the way he was handling this situation. To publicly humiliate someone like this was unprofessional. It was rude, inexcusable….
Dan Fowler was about thirty-five years old, but he had streaks of gray in his full, thick beard that made him seem at least fifteen years older. His eyebrows were large and bushy, making him look as if he had a permanent scowl. He didn’t speak until Maggie stood directly in front of him.
“You with him?” he asked quietly, motioning up to the stage and Matt.
“Yes,” she said tightly. “I don’t know what happened three years ago, but right now he’s clean.”
Fowler tapped his fingers on the table in front of him, looking from Maggie to Matt and back again. “Will he agree to urine testing?”
“For drugs?” Maggie asked in amazement.
Fowler nodded.
“You can ask him,” she said, “but I doubt he’ll go for that.”
“Hey, Stone,” the director called. “I’m willing to audition you if you consent to drug testing.”
“I meant, ask him privately,” Maggie hissed, throwing up her hands in despair. She risked a look at the stage, fearful of Matt’s reaction.
But he pushed himself to his feet and looked out at them serenely.
Only Matt knew how difficult it was to appear that calm. Inside, his blood boiled. He may have played hard and fast at one time with drugs and alcohol, but that had nothing to do with his admission into the hospital. But he wasn’t about to go into those details here. Not in front of a crowd, and especially not in front of Maggie.
He looked out at her. He could tell from the tightness of her shoulders that she was mad as hell. But he knew that she really wanted this part—she deserved this part—and he didn’t want her to lose it on account of him. And if he walked out of there, she’d go with him. He knew that. On top of that was
