The World is a Stage by Tamara Morgan Read Free Book Online Page B

strain his knee. Food. Sleep. Repeat. A few more weeks of this and he’d be begging for a woman to spit in his face and trample him in stiletto heels.
    “You’ll do it, right?” Peterson asked later as they packed up their stuff, ready to call it a day. Michael wanted to go out for beers, but Julian had a date, and Peterson had mumbled something about a babysitter and exorbitant rates. “They’re starting the tryouts for Antony and Cleopatra next Monday. Dominic already likes you, and we can offer to do it for cheap. Please? I need this.”
    Michael sighed. “Yeah, man. You know I’m there.”
    Peterson grinned.
    “But I refuse to wear one of those pointy hats.”
    “Of course.”
    “Or tights.”
    “I’m pretty sure bouncers don’t wear costumes.”
    “You better hope you’re right, Peterson.” With those weird theater people, Michael wasn’t taking any chances. “Or I’m making you eat the tights. After I wear them.”

Chapter Five
    An Ass-Head
     
    Rachel loved the first day of a new play.
    Because the Shakespeare After Dark production catered to a rather debauched crowd, it showed only four nights a week, which meant it could be a year-round production and not strain the actor’s limits. They mixed up the shows every couple of months to keep things fresh.
    Hamlet had gone well, aside from the debacle the other night, and the next show they were doing was Antony and Cleopatra , one of Rachel’s favorites. She was a shoo-in for the lead role. Sexy Cleopatra. She could totally pull that off.
    “Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite redhead.”
    Rachel’s eyes closed at the sound of that voice. That voice. Mocking, condescending and so supremely full of self-importance she wanted to scream just to cover it up.
    “Don’t worry. I’m not going to ask any obvious questions about drapes and the rug. I can tell you’re a natural.”
    With more control than she thought was humanly possible, Rachel opened her eyes and smiled, her lips spread about as thin as they could go. Michael-the-Mule stood just inches away, all casual and at his ease, actually looking halfway decent in a white polo shirt and tastefully faded jeans, his arms crossed over his chest. Rachel felt her heart pick up and her body growing warm at the sight of him.
    It wasn’t her fault. They were big arms. It was a big chest.
    “I think you might be lost,” she said coldly, forcing herself to look up at his big, bovine eyes instead. “Auditions here are by invitation only.”
    “Oh, I know. I’ve been invited. It’s just about the best day of my life—well, aside from that time I had a layover in Denver. Did you know that when you’re at higher elevations, a man can actually—”
    “Stop right there. I don’t want to hear another word.” Rachel flipped through the pages of her clipboard until she came to the end, where Dominic had scrawled in the last-minute entries. Michael O’Leary. Eric Peterson. The Mule and the Skeazy Boyfriend. God help her. They were little better than stalkers, infiltrating Molly’s life, taking over everything until all her ties to the outside world were severed for good.
    She knew that story. It didn’t end well.
    Eric came up behind Michael until he caught sight of her and veered a wide path in the opposite direction. At least he knew what was good for him.
    “Who did you sleep with to get on here? You can’t just waltz in and expect to be treated as an equal.”
    Michael thumbed over his shoulder to where Dominic bent over a stack of screenplays near the front of the stage. “Oh, Peterson thought it might be fun, so we stopped by a few days ago to have some beers at Dom’s house. I even got his fire hose up and running again.”
    Rachel narrowed her eyes. “Is that a euphemism?”
    “If by euphemism you mean completely awesome, then yes,” Michael said with a grin. God, he had a lot of teeth when he smiled, all flashy and…there. Just like a mule. “Did you know the manual hydraulics on