Wishing in the Wings by Mindy Klasky Read Free Book Online Page B

I’d think about him later. I couldn’t do it here, not while I was at work, not while I was trying to hold on to the last tattered shreds of my professionalism.
    Later, I thought again, a bit more sharply, when I pictured the way he’d grinned at me across our first dinner in our shared apartment—Chinese takeout (one dollar tip for the delivery guy)—the way he’d reached out with his perfectly balanced chopsticks, feeding me one of his Szechuan shrimp without even a hint of clumsiness, the way he’d laughed when I said that the spicy sauce made my lips tingle.
    Later!
    I shook my head, determined to make myself pay attention. As if to reinforce my firm command, there was a sharp knock on my office door. I cleared my throat before I answered, determined to sound normal. “Come in!”
    The door opened slowly and Kira Franklin poked her head in. “Becca, do you have a minute?”
    I shuffled papers on my desk, as if I’d been hard at work being the world’s best dramaturg. “Of course.”
    She hefted a box into the room, grunting slightly as she balanced it on top of the junk that filled my single visitor’s chair. Dusting off her hands, she met my gaze with the directness I’d always found likable. “Well, that was pretty brutal.”
    “Yeah,” I said. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I said any of the right things in there.”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know that there was any ‘right thing’ to say. You did better than I could have. I doubt it’s any comfort, but we really didn’t intend to blindside you. At least, I didn’t. And I know Hal would never do that to you on purpose.”
    She sounded so…normal, so much like a friend, that my eyes teared up again. “I…it’s just…I can’t believe he did it! I can’t believe I was so stupid! I actually thought—”
    I stopped myself before I could sound like even more of an idiot. She nodded sympathetically. “You’re not the only person who’s ever been fooled by a guy with a great line.”
    “Yeah, right,” I said, hunching my shoulders. I pictured Kira’s husband, who came to meet her after every rehearsal. He was tall, lanky; if they ever decided to remake Clint Eastwood’s early Westerns, he could play the lead. He was more than some stupid cowboy, though—John McRae was an incredibly skilled set designer, so busy that he actually turned away work on a regular basis.
    Kira shook her head. “I know you don’t want to hear my sob story now, but believe me, I know what I’m talking about.” Almost against my will, I gave her a suspicious scowl. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll spare you the details, but suffice to say, my first fiancé left me at the altar. And he was a director, top of the line in the Twin Cities. I was pretty much blacklisted from every house in town, except for a dumpy little dinner theater that thought Gypsy was cutting edge.”
    I wiped a hand across my eyes. “What happened?” I asked, embarrassed to hear how thick my voice sounded.
    She glanced at the cardboard box she’d set on my chair. “Things changed.” She shrugged. “Completely unexpectedly, I landed the job of my dreams. Except it wasn’t. All that dream-like, I mean. More like the worst nightmare any stage manager could imagine. But I met John there.” Even if I’d been blindfolded, I could have heard the smile behind her words. She trailed her fingers along the edge of the box, rattling her nails across the faint corrugated ridges.
    “What’s that?” I asked, nodding toward the container.
    “Mostly a bunch of clothes, from the costume shop. The Shepard costumes for Lauren, before she started putting on weight.”
    The lead actress for the one-acts was nervous about her professional debut. In two months of rehearsal, she’d managed to pack on two full sizes. The costume designer had complained bitterly until Kira had taken him aside, told him to stop, reminded him that Lauren was likely even more unhappy about her weight change than anyone