"Stop. Hang on." Derek was on his feet, frowning not at his actors but the stage. Specifically, the stage right area, Nick Carraway's living room. Jimmy, Sam, and Porter waited.

"Ivy, love. When Jay sings the "Yesterday's dance" line. We need to see Daisy . Come in from downstage, waltz upstage and off. Keep right, close to the wings. Let's see it. From the top, Jimmy."

He watched the number out. "You're rushing it, Ivy. Don't. Again, please."

Better. Still not quite what he wanted, Derek thought. What did he want? What was – just – missing, just beyond identifying? "Take ten." He stared at the empty stage, fingers absently drumming the "Looking Back / Close the World" tempo.

It hit him so abruptly Derek barely noticed he'd knocked his coffee cup over, as he went in search of Scott.

"I want holograms. For "Looking Back," Gatsby's reprise. Holograms of him dancing with Daisy long ago. She's in white, he's in uniform. The scene needs it."

Scott, as Derek expected, protested the expense. "This isn't Broadway, Derek. We don't have that kind of money. "Gatsby" isn't a cheap production as it is; you know we're going to need extra stage hands - we don't have any wiggle room in the budget. We just don't."

Derek played out the scene (Porter Mallory had the gun business, Jimmy's side of the stage needed more than him singing to Nick and himself), knowing it useless. But it had only been right to talk to Scott, first. His turf. That done, his conscience was clear. Derek pulled out his phone, found the contact. "Eileen?"

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Ivy wasn't easy. Derek had found the focus he needed; not astonishingly, it was Jimmy. Nothing wrong with that, perfectly appropriate, in fact. But, in her heart, she realized, she had been looking forward to, even fervently anticipating, being the focus, the beloved focus, of Derek's work, his creative attention. Not fair, to lay that on him, even in her own mind. But the disappointment was there, was real.

Compounding her frustration was Derek's vision of Daisy Buchanan. Ivy had known Daisy was to represent an iconic figure, rather than a real human being, but she hadn't understood how hard it would be for her not to play Daisy's humanity.. Daisy was very real to Ivy, she wasn't some illusion, she was a heartbreakingly conflicted woman, juggling a chronically unfaithful husband, an adored little daughter (nothing so easy for Ivy to relate to as that!), a best friend of questionable honesty, the happy arrival in the neighborhood of a much-loved cousin, and, to top it off, an importunate lover of her own, pressing her hard to abandon her life for him.

Not to keep to Derek's vision would be a terrible betrayal, unthinkable in a loving wife, proud of her husband's abilities and accomplishments. But denying Daisy her fully-human self, that was also a betrayal – of her character, of Ivy's own artistic integrity. Ivy knew how good an actress she was. But could she actually reconcile Derek's vision and her own? Good direction toward that end would help, would at least show whether it was possible. But that was just what she would not get, and couldn't ask for.

At least, she wasn't going to get it from, and couldn't ask, Derek. But Ivy frequently took refresher classes, private coaching sessions, to keep her technique honed. John Paul had done so well with Jimmy. She hadn't been to him for a while. Maybe . . .

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Chinese take-out spread on the coffee table, Derek dividing his attention between food and work notes. He employed a fork, Ivy chopsticks.

"Derek," she began at a moment when he was not buried in notes, "I'm thinking I'd like a little outside coaching just now. How would you feel about that?"

He looked at her in surprise. "Whatever for? You're bloody marvelous.. You're giving me everything I want."

And nothing more. And that's the problem. "Darling, I just wonder if you aren't a little biased. It's been a while since "Bombshell," and I've only been in a few workshops since. I feel like I'm a little, well, rusty, in a couple of places. And I don't want to put more on your plate, or interfere with your focus, not with two weeks of rehearsal left."

Derek shrugged. "I can't see you're rusty, and I'd say if I did. But if you feel you need it, love, go ahead. Just see to it it doesn't interfere." And went back to his notes.

Ivy ate a shrimp, and picked up her script, smiling.