Page 87 of For My Finale
“Lilah, this is huge, this—”
“No,” Lilah said again. “You can tell him thank you, but the answer is still no.”
Margot gritted her teeth and put the script back into her bag. “I told him as much. But he still made me come down here.”
“It’s nice to see you anyway,” Lilah lied. To be fair, Margot had mostly stayed out of her life. She called once a month or so, butgenerally she’d behaved herself. It helped that she still got a cut of Lilah’s royalties, which weren’t inconsequential.
“No, it’s not,” Margot said. “Don’t lie to your agent.” She sniffed. “Alright, I’m going. Look after yourself, Lilah. And if you change your mind…”
“You’ll be the first person I call,” Lilah said. She kept her face straight and still, knowing damn well that there was a chance she’d be calling Margot by the time she got back to California. And she was a good enough actress that Margot simply bid her goodbye and stalked off.
Lilah watched her go, feeling something settle inside her. She didn’t regret saying no, not a bit. She had more important things to think about. It was just a question of finding the right time to do what needed to be done.
???
Blossom didn’t consider herself a suspicious kind of person. But lately, she just couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that there was something going on right under her nose. And it wasn’t just Lilah acting strangely.
She slid a tray of freshly brewed tea across the counter to a customer, and from the corner of her eye saw Ives stabbing at her scone with a fork but not eating a bite.
“Did it insult your family?” she asked, making her way over to where Ives was sitting.
“What?” Ives said, looking confused.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“What?” Ives said again.
Blossom sighed and pulled out a chair. “Listen, I’ve got enough on my hands with Lilah acting all weird, I can’t handle you doing the same. So either tell me what’s wrong or I’ll prod you apart like you’re doing to that poor scone. Has Daisy set you up on another blind date with a serial killer?”
“Worse,” Ives said.
“Worse?”
Ives sighed and fiddled with the edge of her napkin before mumbling something under her breath.
Blossom frowned. “What?”
Ives exhaled through her nose. “Gloria told me I have to be in the next play.”
It wasn’t quite what Blossom had been expecting. “She what?”
“It’s Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,” Ives muttered. “She wants me to play Big Mama.”
“And?” prompted Blossom, still waiting for the punchline.
Ives finally looked at her, face twisted with something close to panic. “I can’t, Bloss. I’m not an actress.”
“And that’s why you’re acting weird?” Blossom said. She laughed. “Ives, it can’t possibly be that bad. I mean, we’ve still got half the village convinced that Blanche DuBois was a secret lesbian and whilst Lilah assures me that hidden homosexuality plays a big part in Streetcar, I’m not entirely sure that’s what Tennessee Williams intended.”
“True,” Ives said, looking slightly less pale.
“And you’ll be wonderful,” Blossom said. “I mean, if you don’t want to do it, then don’t, don’t let Gloria boss you around. But if the only thing stopping you is fear, then don’t let it. You’ve got this.”
Ives looked down at her scone again, quiet for a long moment. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” Then she looked up, a gleam in her eye. “What’s all this about Lilah acting suspiciously?”
“Weirdly, I said weirdly, not suspiciously,” Blossom said.
“Spill it,” said Ives, looking serious.
