Page 108

She sat back and continued to speed-read page after page, exploring the contents. The air in the room crackled with electricity, Alex and Olivia both fearful of breaking the silence…

“Olivia, the original draft you submitted—it’s practically identical to this hardcopy. The directions about casting. The dialogue. Characters. Even the notes at the back.”

“Of course they’re identical. I wrote it!” Olivia shouted. “She must’ve gotten into my computer somehow, copied the Word files, I don’t know—come on, Isabella. You know me…”

Isabella pointed to the hardcopy. “Okay, let’s say this is a copy of your original work, yes? Then what about words like ‘color’ and ‘behavior’? They stuck out during my first read through—why would a British writer use American spellings? On first reading, I dismissed it as spell check failure…”

She locked eyes with Olivia. “Plagiarized work? How could you be so stupid…”

Olivia searched for a response, but remained silent, her eyes narrowing.

Alex stepped closer to Isabella, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry for disrupting the session, but I couldn’t allow this charade to go on any further, regardless of the consequences. Better to be honest than secretive and scared. Even if I’m banned from this workshop, at least my conscience is clear now.”

The door nudged ajar, the three male playwrights checking if the workshop was about to restart.

Olivia leaned so close to Alex that she could feel the brunette’s hot breath on her face. “Oh, cry me a river, you stupid little slut. Don’t give me this ‘butter wouldn’t melt’ act. You’re the thief. You’re the liar.”

The women’s raised voices sent the door flying shut with a metallic bang, the break extended indefinitely.

Olivia jabbed a manicured finger at Alex. “Stop playing dumb. I’m sick of it. Tallahassee Thanksgiving 2014? Ring any bells? I saw the photos…your cozy sleepover with my Harry.”

Alex’s eyes bulged like the secrets of the universe had been revealed.

“Shall I refresh your memory? Harry’s plastered all over that album—laughing as he carved your turkey; smiling with a forkful of pumpkin pie…”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Alex crossed her arms. “Photos? That’s why you stole my play?”

“…kissing whipped cream off your nose! Playing stupid American football and—I bet you remember this one—you straddling Harry in a pile of leaves. It’s photographic proof, the two of you, caught in a blatant lie. And none of the photos with Harry were tagged. Trying to hide the evidence, were you?” Olivia flailed her arms, her engagement ring sending out glinty flares with each unhinged flap.

Alex frowned. “Tag them? What? It wasn’t important. A missing tag isn’t proof of, of…anything.”

Olivia dropped her hands to her hips. “Photos never lie. You and Harry should’ve at least had the sense to get your stories straight—”

“Okay, you want the true story? Yes, I’m guilty of abandoning Harry on a holiday long weekend. I’m guilty of calling him at the last minute with an invite to his first American Thanksgiving. I’m guilty of goofing around, snapping silly photos—the turkey, the whipped cream on my nose…but straddling him? That was an ill-timed football tackle. Totally harmless and PG—we were surrounded by kids! I’ve told you a million times. Nothing happened! I know what it feels like to be cheated on. I’d never do th—no. You know what, I’m over trying to explain something that never took place! Your insecurity is your problem. I’m done with you.”

“Well, I’ve not even started with you. You’re accusing me of plagiarism—fine! Don’t you know who my father is? We’ll sue you for defamation, libel—whatever. You’ll be tied up fighting the lawsuit for years. If you want your family to be financially ruined, keep this up. I don’t need to listen to your fairy tales.”

Olivia straightened her skirt. “And Isabella, I respect you—you know that—but if you choose to believe her over me, well, that’s your funeral.”

The door to the meeting room squeaked open again.

“Guys, five more minutes!” shouted Isabella. Alex figured that some of the actresses were dying to have a front row seat to this performance.

A familiar face appeared around the door’s edge.

Harry.

Both Alex and Olivia gasped as one.

Pale and crestfallen, his hands clenched Olivia’s Swarovski bedazzled iPhone, presumably left behind in his car.

“Is this true?”

Olivia unleashed the waterworks. “Darling, they’re accusing me of all sorts. I’ve done nothing wrong…”

He strode into the room towards his princess, his beige cashmere Burberry coat billowing behind him like a superhero’s cape. “Answer me. Is this true?”

Alex stood frozen, her breathing halted.