“Why?” was all that Scarlett could think to say.

“Don’t think that I don’t know this is a lot to ask. I promise you, Donna Spendler deserves this and more. A lot more.”

“She deserves not to get a part?”

“Answer me this, O’Hara. What if someone used Spencer, took away his chance to perform? Actively killed his career?”

“I’d be…really mad?”

“You’d be more than mad,” Mrs. Amberson said. “That’s what I want you to imagine.”

“Who did she do this to?”

“That’s not important.” She sat on the dressing table, and it shifted, just a touch. “What is important is that this is someone who does not care about the careers of other actors. She will do what she has to to get ahead. And as you know, I take an active interest in promoting the careers of young actors, like I have with your brother’s theater company. Their continued success is largely in my hands right now.”

It wasn’t precisely a threat, or a guilt trip, or blackmail. It was a statement of fact wrapped in a thin coating of warning.

“Would this ruin her career?” Scarlett asked. “Like you’re saying she did to someone else?”

“I could only wish! No, O’Hara. It’s just letting the air out of her tires a little. No one will be hurt. No one will even know. It’s just a little prank to get some justice for someone that was hurt a long time ago. Plus, it will be fun. What do you say? Are you in? Don’t you want to do something big this summer? Something you’ll always be able to talk about?”

There were a few perfectly sensible reasons to walk away from this, which Scarlett felt deserved a few moments of consideration. Overriding those was the fact that Mrs. Amberson really was the person keeping Spencer’s career and dream alive at the moment.

“We’ll keep the crew small,” she added, giving Scarlett a sly glance. “Just you, me, your brother, and Eric. I think they’ll be very enthusiastic about this proposition. We’ll make an excellent team.”

Scarlett waited a moment before answering.

“What do you need me to do?”

“I knew you would do it, O’Hara!” she said, elated. “Now, to pull this off…”

She picked up her notebook from the bed and leafed through several pages of notes.

“…we will need the following. One, a studio. That’s done. Billy has graciously loaned me a secondary studio space of his for a few hours, no questions asked. Two, a camera. Easily purchased in the morning, I should think. Three, a small group of actors skilled in improvisation. That’s Spencer and Eric. And these…”

She took a handful of pages from the bed, printouts of script pages with notes written over them.

“I need you to type these up. This is our script. I’ll need five copies of it ready by noon. Do you think you can manage that? And send Spencer down.”

Her voice had lightened to its normal, happy, command-giving tone. But there was still something there—something deeper. Respect. Affection. Or just some bond people develop when plotting fake auditions together.