Page 15 of Toni and Addie Go Viral

Addie

Addie’s keys were still in the door when it jerked open, pulling her entire keychain out of her hand.

“Where were you?” Eric was hopping, literally hopping. In anyone else it would seem like an affectation, but Eric was the bounciest person she knew.

“Audition.” Addie stepped forward into their new apartment in Burbank.

They’d been there four months, not quite long enough to stop missing Scotland but long enough to appreciate the distinctly different weather.

Addie had even cut off her hip-long hair.

Now, it fell to midback, long enough to resist the frizzy curls that humidity would bring but short enough not to get caught in bus seats or strangers’ grubby hands.

Eric grabbed her arm and tugged her forward. “June called, like, six times while you were out. Change. Now. Call June.”

“June called you?” Addie dropped her things on the half counter that the rental agency had generously called a “kitchen bar.”

“Someone had her phone on Do Not Disturb.’” Eric bounced on his toes, rocking forward like he was about to start doing pirouettes, which he had been doing more and more since he’d snagged a role as a backup dancer in a children’s show.

He was finding his place in the film and television world with an ease she envied.

Shoving that thought away, she looked at her phone. Twelve missed calls. Eight voicemails. Several texts. She skimmed the latter.

“Ho-ly butter-flies.” She looked up to meet Eric’s wide grin. “They want to talk to me.”

“I think the role’s yours. Meant to be and about to be. She did name the character after you…,” Eric teased.

“She did. She really, really did.” Addie couldn’t repress the smile on her face.

She’d read and reread The Whitechapel Widow several times. The character, Adelaine Wight, was not really like her—but hundreds of thousands of people read about the Victorian Addie Wight’s character.

One she named after me!

“Shit. I need to be there in an hour!” Addie stripped as she walked, mentally going over her list of things to do.

Look hotter than hot.

Also demure.

Reference the book at least three times, so they know I’m ready.

Try not to ask if they expect there to be any author events like Comic-Con or anything where I will see Toni. Oh. My. Goodness. I’m going to see her for real again! I will! Do I act surprised? Pretend that I didn’t realize it was her book?

Addie had no good answers, but she had time to think of them before she saw Toni. First she had to get the role. Maybe this is the opening I need.…

She fired off a quick email. If Toni didn’t admit her surname or book ownership after this, Addie was going to be angry.

From: Adelaine

To: History Toni

Callback for a DREAM role! So excited about this. It’s a streaming show starring a sexy Victorian detective with my same name!

Addie

By the time Addie had herself ready enough to feel professional, she had already texted June, her agent, and called a car—not a fancy car like she one day would ride in when she was drawing a good paycheck, but a rideshare.

“Break someone’s leg,” Eric called from his seat on the sofa as she left their tiny apartment. “And let me know how it goes!”

The nervous chatter that was her stress reliever was on hold as the driver talked about the construction near the airport, teenagers using the rideshare app with sweaty gym clothes, and the price of eggs.

When he pulled into the lot, Addie was completely relaxed thanks to the man’s ongoing monologue.

“We’re here.”

“Thanks.” She fumbled with her seat belt, feeling suddenly more anxious than she ought to.

She wanted this role, wanted it like it was written for her, which it sort of was—although no one but the author herself and Addie knew that.

She debated saying something, using insider intel to get the job, but that wasn’t her.

Trust the universe.

The driver caught Addie’s eye in the rearview mirror. He had that overall sort of mien that said he was impressed, but it was tangled up with “I am trying not to admit I’m impressed.” Typical LA. She felt giddy that she might actually deserve that look finally.

The fact that she just took a rideshare to the studio lot and probably looked like every other wannabe actress in the city undercut her sparkle. Once upon a time, that would’ve stung. After living in Scotland, Addie felt more confident.

Having a character in a bestselling novel named after me didn’t hurt my confidence either.

She was greeted by someone from the production team, and then she was whisked through a check-in process to issue her a temporary badge. It was different from any other audition experience in ways that set bumblebees to flight in Adelaine’s belly.

By the time she was led to a room—a Victorian styled room—Addie was at a loss. This wasn’t just an empty stage to read lines. This was a set. The set. Toni’s book would come to life here, and there was a real chance that Addie would be on the set.

“The actor we are leaning toward for Colin is already here.” A woman in trousers, a cardigan, and sensible shoes led Addie forward to a study where “Colin” waited.

Addie flinched when he turned around. “Hello, Philip.”

He nodded at her, but there was a slight tightening around his eyes. “How have you been?”

“Great. I spent the last year in Scotland.” Addie had dated exactly two men whom she’d wished she’d never met. He was one of them. They had barely dated, and even if she hadn’t figured out who she authentically was, Philip wouldn’t have been someone she could see in her future.

“Easier to get roles there, I bet. Less competition.” Philip was a bit of an ass even if he liked someone, and he didn’t like her. Not now. Not after their breakup. “Especially now that you can be so woke. Do they call your sudden lesbian turn woke over there? Or are you Method acting for roles?”

“It wasn’t sudden,” Addie pointed out, hoping she was misunderstanding his jab. “Don’t be like this. Please? I’m just being honest about who I am.”

“Honest?” Philip sneered. “Cold fish. That’s the right label if you want to be honest, Adelaine.”

Maybe they’re typecasting his role. She stared at him in vague horror that she’d be likely to have to work with him regularly if they were both cast in the show. How do I get along with him?

But then the woman swept Addie away from Philip and into another room, where she was given a Victorian dress and told, “We want this to be the ‘full effect.’”

Addie nodded. Once the assistant or writer or whatever she was left, Addie stripped.

There was no corset, and the small bustle that ought to be under the dress was missing.

The dress was obviously from another production, and as Addie tried to situate it, it became abundantly clear that it had been designed for a woman with fuller hips and a smaller bosom.

There obviously were no historically accurate drawers either.

That thought had Addie’s cheeks pink, and she felt more confident than she had after meeting “Colin.” The woman who went to a shadowed garden with the author was bolder than the mouse that Addie felt like when faced with arrogant men.

“Miss Stewart?” The woman returned, frowning when she realized that the dress didn’t work as it was.

“It’s okay from the hips down, a little long, but I practiced in awkward skirts when I was in Mina overseas.” Addie pasted on her I-can-make-it-work smile. “The top is a bit of an issue.”

“What if we added a wrap or cloak or…” The woman shifted through a hanging rack that had assorted historical pieces on it. “Try this.”

She held out a fur jacket that was entirely the wrong style and not right for the character.

“The character is more like…” Addie scanned the rack and found a capelet that felt a little more Little Red Riding Hood than Victorian, but it wasn’t a notice-me-now fur coat. She pulled it on—and mentally slipped into the character as she walked to the stage.

She remembered the pages well enough that she didn’t need to look at the script as they began their scene. This scene, unlike some of the others, was direct from the page. The personas, the words, it was just turned into a script, but Addie remembered it as words in chunks, not in script.

If there was a man more irritating than her cousin, Adelaine had never met him. Colin was a reprobate of the first order. If he couldn’t drink or debauch a woman, he was in a foul mood. Having a ward, an unmarried one at that, was impeding his pursuit of pleasure.

“I have decided to double the amount set aside for your dowry, Miss Wight.” He was breakfasting, although it was past midday already, and had summoned her as if she were a servant.

“Out of my inheritance, I presume.”

“Indeed.”

“Wouldn’t want to take anything away from your actress-expenses account,” she murmured quietly in an aside, as if he might not hear.

He did, of course. Debauchery had done little to damage his health. So far.

Colin lifted his gaze to her, peering across the table. “If you weren’t such a prim thing, you would have been properly re-wed by now.”

“I was mourning.”

“For two years?” He made a noise that was more fit for a horse than a man.

Or a horse’s back end, she thought.

“You might recall that my spouse has passed, and my grandmother passed.” Addie kept her voice even.

She’d been raised by her widowed grandmother.

It had led to a somewhat peculiar upbringing—and a tidy inheritance that was stipulated as hers even after marriage.

Lord Wight had only added to that inheritance.

“Join me in the library.” Colin walked away.

Silently, Addie trailed after Colin. His steps still sounded clearly, despite the muffling of the rug underfoot. The actor, Philip, stomped. He walked deeper into the house, crossing a threshold she rarely had traversed.