Wild Thing. Nicola Marsh
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lead, did you?’
Confused, Abby shook her head. ‘I had no idea and I doubt Tanner would, either. He gives his staff free rein while he manages the financial side of things.’
‘Thought so.’ Makayla slumped further on the stool. She should be happy she’d scored an audition of that calibre on her own. Instead, all she could think about was how she would’ve landed the role if anyone else had been casting.
‘I don’t know Hudson well but he seems like a nice guy.’
‘He’s a prick.’
Not entirely true, and she felt guilty immediately for saying it. Hudson was one of the good guys. At least, he had been until he’d gone berserk, lecturing her and admonishing her when he hadn’t had a clue about her motivation for taking off her clothes.
She’d been stunned by the ferocity of his anger. He hadn’t given her a chance to explain. He hadn’t done much of anything that night he’d watched her strip but lose it backstage, ranting like a madman. She’d been mortified enough at taking off her clothes in front of a roomful of slobbering idiots, but she’d got through it by blocking out the club and everyone in it, and focussing on her mum.
Then Hudson had to dump another shit storm over her at a time she needed his support the most. She’d never forgiven him and had told him so.
Abby wiped her hands and came to sit beside Makayla. ‘What happened?’
‘Nothing.’ She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and opened them. ‘Okay, that’s not entirely true. Hudson and I were good friends once. Then we weren’t any more. And I rocked up today, he was the guy I auditioned for, so it makes sense that’s the end of that.’
Abby raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t know what happened between you but do you think he’s that petty?’
‘Who knows?’ She snagged her hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. It did little to cool her down. She’d been hot and bothered since she’d strutted out onto that stage at Embue and locked eyes with the devil. ‘We didn’t exactly part on amicable terms.’ She held up her hand. ‘And before you ask, shit happens. That’s all I’m going to say.’
‘Okay.’ Abby shot her a sideways glance. ‘So what you’re saying is you think Hudson won’t judge you on your dance ability? That he’ll let what happened in your past affect his judgement?’ Abby shook her head. ‘Doesn’t strike me as professional.’
Before Makayla could respond, her cell rang. When she slipped it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen, she didn’t know the number.
‘I’m waiting on another audition so I need to get this,’ she said as Abby nodded, and she hit the answer button. ‘Makayla Tarrant speaking.’
‘Hey, Mak, it’s me.’
Crap. She knew that ‘me’.
And he was the last person she’d expected to hear from.
She managed a curt ‘hi’ before he continued.
‘I wanted to let you know that your audition impressed and I’d like you to come in so we can talk.’
She should thank him. Sound enthusiastic. But in that moment, with shock making her gape, all she could think was, I have the opportunity to score a great job working with a not-so-great guy.
‘Mak?’
She cleared her throat. ‘Sure, I’ll come in, thanks. When do you want me?’
Damn, that didn’t sound good. But he seemed to think so, as he chuckled. ‘Can you meet me back at the Embue studio around seven tonight?’
‘Fine,’ she said, still surprised by his offer but managing to sound as if she weren’t. ‘See you then.’
She hit the call end button before he could say anything else to further discombobulate her and stared at the phone as if she couldn’t quite believe it.
‘Good news?’ Abby tapped her on the arm, and Makayla nodded.
‘I got a call-back from Hudson.’
‘That’s great, sweetie.’ Abby leaned over and hugged her. ‘See? Told you he was a good guy.’
‘Yeah...’ She sounded less than convinced.
Something in Hudson’s tone bugged her. A touch of condescension? Like he was doing her some giant favour. Probably all in her overactive imagination but for a moment she considered calling him back and citing a prior engagement.
Foolishness, considering how badly she needed this job and how it could lead to something much bigger. But she didn’t need anyone’s pity and she’d be damned if she backed out of this before she’d given it a real shot.
‘At the risk of getting my head bitten off, I’m going to offer some advice.’ Abby eyeballed her with surprising seriousness. ‘Your heart is in dance, not working part-time at a patisserie to pay bills. So whatever happened between you two, forget about it and concentrate on making the most of this opportunity, okay?’
Makayla grunted in acknowledgement. ‘Who made you so wise?’
Abby grinned and tapped her temple. ‘Considering the mess I made of my own life until recently, guess I learned a thing or two about putting the past behind me.’
‘Thanks, Abs.’ She leaned over and hugged her friend. ‘I’ve wanted a dance role like this for a long time. So I’ll nail this call-back if it kills me.’
The part where she had to meet a guy who’d once been her best friend after hours at a hip club? Not a problem at all.
Not really.
HUDSON DIDN’T MAKE it back to the Cross much these days. Not that he shunned his past so much as he’d moved on. But Bluey McNeil had called and when the man who’d given him his first job telephoned, Hudson made an effort.
Bluey hadn’t sounded good. In fact, he’d coughed three times during their brief conversation. Hacking coughs that invoked an image of Bluey’s packet-a-day habit and how haggard he’d looked the last time Hudson saw him about three months ago.
Foreboding lengthened Hudson’s strides as he rounded the iconic El Alamein Fountain, skirted the bar he’d found his father passed out in too many times to count, and into the tiny jazz club aptly named Bluey’s after its owner.
While the sun blazed outside, inside the club channelled the darkest midnight, with blackout drapes ensuring the wall sconces glowed and the faux candles created an atmosphere of intimacy. A few patrons dotted tables around the small stage, where a solo saxophonist did his thing. No older than twenty, the kid wasn’t bad. And obviously another of Bluey’s charity cases, as he’d once been.
‘Hey, Squirt, thanks for coming.’ A hand clapped him on the back, and Hudson grinned. He’d been a late bloomer, so Bluey had always called him Squirt and the nickname had stuck, even after he shot past six foot at seventeen.
However, when he turned around and caught sight of his friend, Hudson’s grin faded. Bluey looked terrible. A walking skeleton. Parchment-thin skin stretched across cheekbones. Furrows bracketing his mouth. And a pallor that indicated just how ill his friend was.
‘Any time, you old reprobate.’ Hudson enveloped Bluey in a man hug, not surprised that his arms met at the back when they once couldn’t. Bluey had lost a shitload of weight and his earlier foreboding blossomed into full-blown panic.
They disengaged, and Bluey gestured at the bar. ‘Let’s have a seat. What can I get you?’
‘The usual,’ Hudson said, knowing it got a rise out of his old friend every time.
Bluey’s nose wrinkled. ‘Orange