Acting Up Page 29

  “The vultures from the press will descend. I have to find something in my closet that screams I am perfectly sane and substance free.”

  A smirk took over Aaron’s face again. “There’s an outfit for that?”

  “There will be.”

  Chapter Thirty

  It would be an exaggeration to say hordes of reporters descended on Aunt Ruth’s front lawn. Certainly, the latest court appearance of whichever starlet was teetering on the edge of a meltdown drew more coverage than Addison Covington’s possible stay at a mental ward. Addison stayed inside most of the day, letting the anticipation build. It wouldn’t do to give the reporters too much too soon.

  Aaron got to play celebrity for about thirty seconds, when Elizabeth came to pick him up for school. At first, the reporters didn’t realize the teenager walking to the car was a big scoop. Then someone recognized him as Merrick’s son, and cameras and microphones were shoved in Aaron’s face. Her stepson wasn’t intimidated in the least. He even stopped to talk, though, of course, Addison couldn’t hear what he said from her perch at the second floor window.

  Addison did have to venture out for play rehearsal. Sydney had once said being surrounded by reporters was like having bees crawl up your body and swallow you whole. They swarmed, they buzzed, they shoved, and no matter where you moved, they followed. It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. After weeks of exile, Addison found the experience disorienting. She’d forgotten, or perhaps made herself forget, what it felt like to walk the gauntlet.

  Reporters were camped out at the school, too. Marjorie had called and told Addison to drive around to the gymnasium entrance.

  “We’ve been getting calls all day,” Marjorie said. “The reporters are talking to the students. Since the pictures were taken here, they came to the source to ferret out the identity of your mystery man. They figured it out, by the way.”

  “How?”

  “One of them walked right in the front door. Ethan’s picture is in the main hallway, along with all the former principals.”

  Addison’s lips pursed in aggravation. “Great.”

  “Any luck figuring out who gave the pictures to the press?”

  “No. I’m going to track down Stanley, though. If anyone knows what happened, it’s him.”

  “He’s probably still here,” Marjorie said. “Stanley spends most afternoons in the journalism room.”

  “How do I get there?”

  “I can take you,” she said.

  “No need.”

  Something flickered across Marjorie’s eyes. Apprehension maybe. “Are you sure? Maybe I can help—”

  “Marjorie, I’m not going to hurt him,” Addison said, the heavy weight of disappointment settled in her chest. “I only need to ask him some questions so I can get to the bottom of this fiasco.”

  “Of course,” Marjorie said, her face reflecting concern once more.

  Addison shrugged off her friend’s sympathy. After receiving the proper directions, she set off for the journalism room. Stanley was indeed still at school. He was sitting at one of the computers, manipulating some digital images.

  Addison walked over and tapped him on the shoulder. The budding journalist nearly fell off his chair.

  “Hi, Stanley.”

  The kid swallowed. Hard. “Ms. Covington?”

  “I guess you know why I’m here.”

  Stanley hung his head like a puppy that had peed on the carpet. “I never meant for things to get so out of control.”

  Addison pulled a chair over and sank down onto it. “What happened?”

  “I sent the pictures to the Covington Falls Gazette,” Stanley said. “They always do a section on the high school events.”

  “Hmm… so how did an article in a local paper go national?”

  “The paper is digital, you know. Anyone with a computer can read it. I guess someone found them. When the first one hit, I was excited! I mean, my pictures in a national paper. Then things went crazy. I didn’t know all those reporters would show up and start stalking everybody. I’m sorry if I messed things up for you.”

  “It’s all right, Stanley,” Addison said, though a part of her knew everything had changed. “My little escape from reality had to end sooner or later. Now, I have to figure out how to face the music.”

  Reporters were still camped out at her aunt’s lawn when Addison got home. The drive from school had given her time to formulate a plan. She took a moment to scan the faces. Finally, she spotted her choice. Helen Gridley was an entertainment correspondent for one of those twenty-four-hour news organizations. She’d been one of the few reporters to come down on Addison’s side after the Broken-Nosegate incident.

  Addison opened the car door and slipped out. She didn’t move, and the group seemed to realize she was about to make her stand.

  Addison zeroed in on Helen. “Tonight. Eight ‘o clock. Knock on the door.”

  Helen’s mouth dropped open. Then she recovered and nodded.

  Addison made her way through the sea of cameras to the house, without saying another word. Over the next few hours, she turned herself back into a Hollywood starlet. Hair styled, nails done, clothes impeccable.

  When Helen showed up at eight on the dot, Addison Covington answered the door. Any traces of Alice Faye Jones had been buried.

  “Helen, it’s nice to see you again,” Addison said, letting the reporter in.

  “Likewise,” Helen quipped. “You pulled one amazing disappearing act.”

  “I only took a vacation.”

  Helen studied Addison from head to toe. “You don’t look deranged or strung out.”

  “I should hope not.” Addison allowed a small laugh. “Honestly, if I’d known coming home to help an elderly aunt recover from a fall would turn into a media circus, I would have volunteered the information about my whereabouts weeks ago.”

  “You haven’t been hiding out then?” Helen asked, her skepticism clear.

  “Why would I need to go into hiding?” Addison returned, eyes wide and open with guileless innocence.

  “No reason I can find,” Helen said with wry good humor. “Shall I have my crew set up now?”

  “Certainly.”

  Helen turned to summon her people and then hesitated. “How long has Mr. Carmichael’s son been living with you?”

  “Several weeks.”

  A brow shot up. “Does Merrick know—”

  “Of course. It was a mutual decision to have Aaron stay with me.”

  “Uh-huh.” The veteran reporter filed away the tidbit of information. “I’ll get my crew.”

  Twenty minutes later, the cameras were rolling.

  Helen didn’t waste time. “Ms. Covington, the world wants to know. Are you planning a return to Hollywood?”

  A trademark tilting of the head, borrowed from Corrine Barrett right before she went in for the kill. “Of course…”

  ****

  The interview aired the next day. Addison appeared polished, professional, and serious. She waved off the rumors of clinic stays, mental and chemical, and thanked Merrick with all sincerity for his concern. She wished him well with his new baby and let him know his son was doing fine. Addison even managed to slip in the information about directing the musical, which resulted in a stunned silence, followed by a look of unadulterated awe. Helen knew how to play up the Hollywood-star-gives-back angle without any prompting.

  Addison thought it was one of her best performances. Oscar-worthy even.

  “Slam dunk, Addison,” Aaron said as the segment ended.

  “That was the most fun I’ve had in years,” Addison said, feeling smug and back in power once again. Having the upper hand was a huge adrenaline rush.

  Aaron gave her a high-five and escaped to his room.

  The pleased grin slipped when Addison turned back and found her aunt staring with a puzzled expression.

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” Aunt Ruth said, going back to her quilting.

&nbs
p; “Oh, come on. You might as well tell me.”

  The needle darted in and out as she worked. “You won’t like my opinion.”

  “You’ve never pulled punches with me before.”

  Aunt Ruth sighed and dropped the square of fabric again. “I’m trying to reconcile the person in that interview with the woman in front of me now,” she said. “It’s just so odd watching you play Addison on TV.”

  “I’m not playing anything.”

  “Honey, that was a persona,” Aunt Ruth said, clicking her tongue. “A carefully crafted image you want the world to see. You’ve spent so many years creating her, I’m not even sure you realize what you’re doing.”

  She was right. Addison didn’t appreciate her aunt’s opinion. “We’re back to me being a fake?”

  “Not a fake, dear,” Aunt Ruth said, with a gentle smile. “A layer of protection. I only hope someday you’ll decide to stop hiding behind Addison and be Alice again.”

  With those parting words, her aunt picked up the quilting square and shuffled off to bed.

  Addison sank onto the couch, her earlier pride gone. She didn’t know who Alice was anymore and hadn’t much liked her to begin with. Only now Addison had become fuzzy, too.

  Great. A few weeks in Small Town, U.S.A., and her whole life had become one big soft focus filter.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The stage saboteur struck again three days before dress rehearsal. This time the bandit went after the costumes.

  “Burned them?” Addison cried, when Marjorie told her.

  “One of the maintenance men found them in a metal trash can out by the dumpsters this morning.”

  “Let me guess,” Addison said. “No one noticed a bonfire in the middle of night.”

  Marjorie shook her head.

  Addison felt a headache was coming on. The kind that squeezed her temples and sent her stomach roiling.

  Nursing a migraine would have to wait, though. Addison followed Marjorie out to a walled area behind the school. When they arrived, the cast was encircling the can, looking like mourners at a funeral. There were no tears this time. Most likely everyone was in a state of shock.

  Addison steeled herself before glancing down. The costumes were nothing more than ashes now. Only a few blackened, soot-covered pieces of fabric remained intact. She recognized Ellie Dooley’s prom dress and one of the cardigan sweaters Lisa would have worn in the opening scene.

  “Nothing like this has ever happened at our school before,” Marjorie said.

  “Lucky me,” Addison murmured.

  A door opened behind them and Ethan and several other administrators marched outside.

  He came to a halt when he saw Addison. Regret filled his eyes. “Addison, I swear—”

  “You’re going to find the culprit. I know,” Addison said. “Meanwhile I have a show set to debut in four days and no costumes. Excuse the gallows humor, but I’d say someone wants this production to go down in flames.”

  A round of suppressed sobs erupted around her and Addison tried to block them out. If she lost her composure now, she might give up.

  Michelle turned a tear-stained face in Addison’s direction. “Ms. Covington, what are we going to do?”

  “I’d say we need another miracle. I’m not sure an army of painters will help this time.”

  “We could start raiding closets,” Marjorie suggested. “It’s not like the cast is going to be wearing hoop skirts and corsets.”

  “They do need specific looks though. Especially Ellie and Bree.”

  Marjorie sighed. “A really big closet then.”

  Yeah, if only they knew someone with a big enough closet.

  Of course!

  “Marjorie, you’re a genius,” Addison said, giving her assistant director a bear hug.

  “I am?”

  Addison headed for her car.

  “Where are you going?” Ethan called out.

  “To call something with a really big closet.” She whirled around, looking for her stage manager. “Robin?”

  “Yes, Ms. Covington?”

  “Do you still have the list of costumes and everyone’s measurements?”

  “In my folder,” Robin said.

  “Get your folder and come with me.”

  One hour and one phone call to the costume designer from House of Fashion later, Addison had clothes. A second call to Karen Collier’s boutique resulted in new dresses for Michelle and Lisa for the prom scene.

  Robin related the whole story to the stunned cast. Ethan drifted over to stand next to Addison while the stage manager described every detail of the phone call.

  “And here I thought producing forty people with paintbrushes was an accomplishment,” he said.

  She grinned at him. “I have connections too, you know.”

  Ethan’s expression turned serious again. “Addison, we will find out who’s behind all this.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Someone I know is trying to hurt you,” he said. “I can’t wrap my mind around it.”

  “I must have a gift for making enemies around here.”

  He clasped her hand. “If I hadn’t asked you to direct this show, you could have had a nice vacation with no stress or cameras following your every move.”

  “Are you kidding?” Addison said. “This show saved my sanity. You and these kids.”

  His gaze roamed over her face. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”

  Addison leaned forward. “I’m not that nice.”

  “Do we need a chaperone for you two?” Marjorie asked as she strolled over.

  “I was telling Ethan he needs to leave now,” Addison said, pulling her hand back. “We have a rehearsal to finish, and he has a paintbrush-wielding pyromaniac to catch.”

  Marjorie arched a brow, not bothering to disguise her amusement. Ethan escaped, leaving Addison to deal with Marjorie’s gleeful smile.

  “Wipe that look off your face,” Addison said.

  “I can’t help it. You two practically simmer. I doubt you’d need a floodlight to illuminate your face on stage.”

  Addison stared at her. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re glowing.”

  “I don’t glow.”

  “You do now.”

  “Oh, please,” Addison said with a scowl.

  Marjorie laughed. “I’ve never known anyone to fight falling in love so hard.”

  “I am not falling in love.”

  “Are too.”

  “Am not — Argh! Stop. Go do something. Grade papers. Or better yet, find out who’s trying to sabotage my show.”

  Marjorie did as directed, but not before offering up another wicked cackle.

  Friends. Who needed them?

  ****

  “You didn’t have to take me out, you know.”

  “It’s your birthday, Aunt Ruth,” Addison said. “Of course I’m taking you out. I didn’t figure you’d be up to a big party, and you’ve been cooped up in the house too much.”

  “I went to my quilter’s circle.”

  “Where you were cooped up in someone else’s house.”

  “She’s pretty determined, Aunt Ruth, so you might as well stop arguing and enjoy yourself,” Aaron said as he opened the door of the restaurant.

  “Are you nervous about getting around because of your hip?” Addison asked.

  Aunt Ruth jerked her shoulder’s back. “Absolutely not.”

  Addison glanced at her stepson, and they shared a conspiratorial wink. “Didn’t think so,” she said, trying not to sound too smug.

  “There’s no need to fuss over me.”

  “Well, guess what?” Addison said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “You saved my life these past couple months, so if I want to fuss there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

  “I didn’t save your life,” Aunt Ruth said, her cheeks turning rosy.

  Aaron stepped forward. “Ma’am…”

  Astonishment had Addison whipping around to stare at him
. When had he learned to be a gentleman and say ma’am?

  “I think you’ve saved both our lives,” Aaron said, ignoring her shocked expression. “So dinner is the least we can do to repay you.”

  A beat passed before Aunt Ruth relented. “I can’t argue there.”

  Addison glanced around. A transplanted Chicago chef had opened the place a couple years ago, and she’d been assured the food was amazing. The dining room was at once elegant and comfortable. Red tablecloths with white tea candles floating in bowls of water accented the tables. Soft lighting lent the cream-colored walls a romantic glow.

  The hostess approached and after a brief deer-in-headlights stare, led them to a table. Aaron held out a chair for Aunt Ruth, gently pushed it in, and then moved to stand behind Addison’s seat.