Bella Summer Takes a Chance by Michele Gorman

Author:Michele Gorman [Gorman, Michele]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, love, Fiction, Chick Lit, london, Contemporary Women, women's fiction, Single in the City, Michele Gorman
ISBN: 9781481277693
Publisher: Notting Hill Press
Published: 2013-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

It was just my luck that for once, Frederick refused to be distracted by gossip. Kat’s drama should have had him in paroxysms of nosy glee. But no. He’d rather interrogate me. He was as dogged as a bargain hunter at a sample sale. ‘But you haven’t seen him since your date last week?’ He said as I directed him and Faith to one of the little tables near the stage.

‘For the fifth time, Fred, no, but I’m going to preview night. You’re both going too, remember? Don’t make any plans for Friday.’ The musicians caught my eye from the stage and waved me over.

‘But you haven’t talked to him,’ he said, his arms huffily crossed on my behalf.

‘I have talked to him. He’s been rehearsing non-stop. And working. He hasn’t got time for long chats.’

I wasn’t worried about The Actor’s radio-silence. It was obvious when we did talk that he was totally into me. Fred didn’t understand. If his paramours weren’t stripping off and straddling him, he thought they’d moved on.

‘I mean it about Friday, Fred. Don’t double book me.’ He was always doing that, then complaining that he had too much to do. ‘You either, Faith. I’ll see you after the set. I’m on now.’

Fred threw open his arms. ‘Kiss me for luck, B.’

‘I thought you were supposed to rub something for luck?’ Faith said.

‘Rub away, darling!’ He growled at her. ‘Come to Papa.’

‘I’ll just leave you to your love-fest. I’ve got to go on now.’

‘Break a leg, B.!’ They sang in unison.

I knew exactly why I grumbled as I made my way to the stage. Because I used to be Fred’s faux girlfriend. Who didn’t covet such a perfect role? It had (most of) the benefits and none of the drama of being a real girlfriend. Fred was my gay best friend. Surely daily proximity and sharing of beauty regimes had made it so. Nobody liked being replaced.

Also, they really should have been paying me more attention instead of whispering in each other’s ears. It was my premier. Sunglasses was sitting near the front and he’d brought ‘people’, just like he’d promised. ‘People’ was staring at me from beneath an intense black fringe, which suited her look. If anyone could wear her grandmother’s black antimacassars in public, it was a goth in thigh-high platform boots. Her gaze was rather creepy but that was her right, after all, since she was there to pass judgment on my talent.

The lights were low. Candles flickered on the tables. The sound levels were just right, the audience was courteously quiet during the set and I was comfortable in my favourite dress (swingy hemline, just enough cleavage to flatter without looking like I earned extra cash backstage). Everything was perfect.

Except that my voice sounded strained. Dammit. I wasn’t always nightingale-like, but I knew I could carry a tune. I should have had a glass of wine to steady my nerves. And to stop me sounding like a chair being dragged across the floor.

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