“I didn’t say anything.” Phillip seems to be doing his darnedest to keep from laughing.
“I’m slowly learning that Ollie is prone to gassy spells when in shared, enclosed environments. I suggest you escape with your life while you still can.”
“I’ll do that, but are you sure you’ll survive the fumes?”
“I’m attempting to build up an immunity.”
“A daunting task. Good luck!”
I nod my head as he finally exits, and the elevator arrives a second later. Ollie trots inside after me as I keep my hand to my nose and press the button for the penthouse.
“You need to chill with the farting around boys,” I tell my companion. He looks up at me with that perfect little face of his, and I once again can’t help but smile. “Though it is pretty funny. And I’m still obsessed with you.”
We’re in the thick of rehearsals three hours later as Ellie stops a scene to speak to one of the principal actors.
Roshni flips through her script, reading ahead, and I peek down at her pages. She’s taken copious notes in the margins, questions are highlighted, and certain speeches are underlined for emphasis. I’m entirely beaming in older sister pride when Ellie’s voice suddenly has us both looking up.
“Roshni,” she calls for a second time. “Would you mind standing in for a moment? I want Josie to see Zachary moving through the space from the audience’s perspective.”
“Are you sure?” Roshni asks, already starting to get up. “I don’t know how helpful I’ll be.”
“The talent of an untrained actor knows no bounds. No offense, Zachary.”
“Offense very much taken. Are you aware of the acceptance rate for the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art?”
“No, I don’t, Peter O’Toole, but I’m sure you’re about to tell us.”
“Amateurs,” our leading man jokes as Roshni power walks to stand across from him. “Don’t upstage me or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Your legacy is safe,” she assures him.
Zachary grins and promptly begins. Ellie and Josie move back several feet as they watch Roshni read in, and I inch forward in my chair as much as possible without making a sound. I’m completely enthralled with watching my friend in action when Juliette plops down into the vacant seat next me.
“Her methods are a little unorthodox, no?”
I begrudgingly turn my attention away from the scene, pivoting instead to face Juliette. “You mean Ellie? I think she’s great.”
“She’s good, but she’s too sure of herself. Artists that lack debilitating self-doubt are always concerning to me. It means they haven’t been beaten down enough by the world to be rightfully terrified.”
“I don’t think trauma necessarily begets talent. I have faith in Ellie. This show is going to be remarkable.”
“Well, Roshni is certainly thriving. I never knew she had an interest in acting.”
“I don’t think she knew either. But just look at her...”
We stop talking then, watching and listening as she runs through the scene. Her inexperience is obvious, but her instincts are solid. And when she finishes a couple of minutes later, she bounces over to us on an utter adrenaline high.
“That was incredible,” I tell her, meaning every word. “You were so good, Roshni.”
She’s breathless and giddy and all but glowing in excitement. “I really tried. Did I ever tell you that I won my eighth-grade oratorical contest?”
“What speech did you do?”
“Severn Cullis-Suzuki at the 1992 Rio Summit.”
“And did you light the auditorium up with fiery, impassioned rhetoric?”
“I may have or may not have burned it to the ground.”
