“How dare you! How very dare you! Room service friesare notthe same!”
Krysta glanced over at the snack bar by the pool, which was admittedly very crowded and jostling and probably all the things a bodyguard wouldn’t like.
“No,” she said flatly.
I pouted. She ignored me and continued guiding me through the common area until we got to the suite. She locked the door behind us when we came in.
“So... how did you know I’d left the suite?” I asked. I tried to ask cheerfully so that she’d know I was willing to let bygones be fry-bygones.
She cut me a look but didn’t answer. She had that expression again, the one of intense dislike, and her mouth was pressed so tightly together that the corners were white.
“Goodnight, Ms. Hayes” was all she said, and then she went into her room and closed the door with an irritated-sounding click.
Chapter Five
Mack Anderson paced in front of Pearl Purkiss, who was clutching a reusable cup of foul-smelling tea to her chest and staring at him with wide eyes. Mack’s assistant—a bony, fair-skinned young woman with high-waisted trousers, giant round glasses, and a beret—stood behind him with a notebook, poised to write down any stray tidbits of genius he might dispense.
But I could tell we weren’t currently in genius mode, we were in panic mode, and so I only paused for a beat in the doorway of the dressing room before I strode inside and took Mack’s flapping hands in my own. A suited Krysta was behind me, and out in the hallway, our actors milled, fretted, and trilled vocal slides at each other while they waited for the lights to go down and the music to start.
“Mack,” I said. “The show is going to be brilliant. The actors are ready. The music is flawless. And even if the showisn’tbrilliant, it will still be fun and campy, and the audience will love it.”
Mack tossed his head in such a way that his wispy hair floated briefly in the air. “I thought you of all people would have understood the necessity of a perfect show.”
“I do want a perfect show,” I assured him. “But the mission statement of Lemon Tree Cruises is that we’ll provide an unforgettable lifestyle experience worthy of documenting to the world. If the show is flawless, then our guests will be chattering about it on social media. If the show is a giant, hilarious disaster, our guests will be chattering about it on social media. Either way, a perfect outcome.”
Mack didn’t relax exactly, but he stopped trying to pull his hands out of mine. “I won’t have my art mocked, Ms. Hayes,” he said in the aggrieved tone of a misunderstood dog show judge. “Even if it’s still okay for the cruise.”
“They won’t mock,” I said soothingly. “They’re ready to love it. Have you looked at the audience? Half of them are in baseball uniforms and floor-length black-and-red capes. So long as they get glittery skin and the wide-eyed baby doll, they’re going to be delighted. Besides, do you even know you? There’s no way Mack Anderson—theMack Anderson—could create anything less than a masterpiece.”
Mack sniffed once and then pulled his hands free to smooth his silk scarf over his rumpled blazer. It was an eggplant-colored scarf today. “You are correct.”
“Mr. Anderson,” his assistant whispered with the reverent tones of an acolyte, “it’s almost time.”
He smoothed his scarf again and, with a regal nod, left the dressing room to gather his sparkly flock. His assistant followed, taking notes, even though nothing had happened worth writing down. Which was actually great.
“Does anyone know her name?” I whispered. “I think she could teach Bailey a thing or two.”
Pearl stood up, set down her tea, and did a stretch that made it look like her limbs were breaking and reforming in order to become a werewolf. “I think she’s called Cassie. Or Capricorn.” And then she left too.
When I turned to Krysta, her expression was still unfriendly, but there was some curiosity there now too in the lift of a blond eyebrow. “That was well done,” she said.
“Mmm, what was?” I asked, already pulling out my phone to see if I could hunt down Cassie/Capricorn’s information.
“How you managed the director’s meltdown. Do you do that a lot?”
Aha! I found her cc’d in an email thread with Mack.Cassiopeia Larchmont.“Do what a lot? Soothe frantic theater people? No, I try to avoid them generally.”
“No. Manage the people around you.” Krysta paused, as if searching for a word. “Encourage them.” The words were clipped enough thatencouragesounded an awful lot likemanipulate.
I couldn’t decide whether to take that personally. On the one hand, I didn’t love that she didn’t seem to think very highly of me, but on the other, she was very tall. My sense of justice started dimming around the six-foot mark.
I knew it was a moral defect, but we all have them, okay!
“Well, I’m a decent actress and a decent singer,” I said as I typed out a quick email to Cassiopeia to see if she’d be willing to meet with my cousin. “But I learned early on that I wasgreatat making things happen for great people. Comfortable leggings, subtle but refreshing candle scents, a quarterly journal with aspirational living advice—you know.Great things.And making things happen is mostly just making sure the people around you feel seen.” I finished the email and looked up at my bodyguard. The corners of her mouth were no longer white, and there was a slight gap between her lips. I could see the white glint of her teeth, and I wondered briefly what they would feel like on my neck.
“It’s unusual,” Krysta said. “For a celebrity to be the one listening.”
I waved a hand and made for the door. “You’re just used to Isaac Kelly moping around his mansion. We’re not all monsters, you know.”
