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THE SPIRIT IN QUESTION

Page 15

by Cynthia Kuhn

“If you can stand, we need to get you to the emergency room,” Tolliver said. “I want them to check you out from head to toe.”

  “Should we splint it before you go?” I looked around the group for assistance.

  Zandra fashioned one out of a nearby script and Tolliver’s purple scarf. It was pretty impressive. She saw me watching and grinned. “Girl Scouts. Lots of first aid lessons.”

  Todd, a tech crew member and Andrew’s roommate, offered to take him to the ER. We thanked Todd, he helped the actor to his feet, and they both left. The cast applauded in a show of support.

  “Let’s reset,” Tolliver said loudly to the cast. “Take ten but then we need to continue.”

  Out of the corner of his mouth, he said to us, “It’s unbelievable. Why do people keep falling?”

  “Good question. And who would cut a rope?” I asked.

  “It was the ghost,” murmured Zandra. “Again.”

  The rest of the rehearsal was a fiasco. The timing was wrong, people forgot their lines, and the acting was wooden at best. The fall had thrown us off.

  By the time we reached the closing number, “Everything Comes Out All Right In The End,” it was clear that everything had not come out all right today.

  Tolliver told the crew that we’d be reworking the Poe scene. I had hoped he would delete it altogether, but if he would at least re-orient the entrance so that it took place on solid ground, perhaps rising from the trap door, that would be better. He also thanked the students and reminded them that our second dress rehearsal would be Monday night. I honestly wasn’t sure we were going to pull this play off, but now was not the time for that kind of heartfelt confession. Now was the time for consoling the director, who appeared to be in shambles.

  Tolliver sank into his chair, eyes locked onto the stage in an eerie, unblinking stare. Zandra was nowhere to be seen, so I guessed I would have to take this one.

  “Are you okay?” I sat next to him, leaning forward so I could see his face.

  “It’s a disaster.” It was strange to hear the words come out of his own mouth, as we’d all been thinking it for weeks. But in this case, my job as assistant director was to say the opposite. So I did.

  “It will be fine,” I said firmly. “We just need to iron out a few things and then we’re ready.”

  He shifted in his seat and made eye contact. “Do you really think so, Lila?” His hopeful expression made me feel a wee bit guilty for holding back on my real opinion, but I wasn’t lying, technically. It would be fine in the sense that we had a play with a beginning, middle, and end. We’d practiced it. A performance could happen.

  “I do.”

  He took a deep breath, then patted the arms of the seat before pulling himself up to a standing position. “All right, then. Thanks, Petal. Onward we go.”

  Chapter 18

  I raced home to prepare for the Halloween party. It was happening a few days early this year—the chancellor liked for the shindig to take place on a weekend—and Nate was picking me up in an hour. I hurried through a shower, washing off the theater grime, and dressed in the Medusa costume I’d found at the last minute. It had been slim pickings at the store, but at least she fit the party theme.

  I was putting on long silver earrings to match my tunic when the doorbell rang. Nate stood on my front step; his bright blue eyes widened at my wig, which was not only tall, wide, and purple but also featured snakes in various striking positions.

  “You look pretty.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, fierce. You look pretty fierce.” It was one of those moments where the potential for something more was revealed, then wrestled back into the friend zone, which happened sometimes. There was a spark between us, but we both denied it. I still didn’t know why and I valued his friendship too much to take a chance on talking about it.

  I decided to act like I hadn’t noticed anything. “Thank you, kind sir. Please come in.”

  He stepped inside and gave Cady a gentle pat as she wound around his legs. I got a good look at his costume as he did so.

  “Wait, are you a pirate?”

  Nate grinned at me. “Yep.”

  “Isn’t the theme great characters in literature?”

  “Yes. So if anyone asks, I’m from Treasure Island. And don’t worry. What are they going to do? Fire me for not following the party rules?”

  “I honestly do not know the answer to that question.”

  He laughed. “I’ll take my chances.”

  We locked up the house and got into his car. The fresh soap scent that always emanated from Nate was present there too.

  “How’ve you been?” he asked, stopping for a light. “Haven’t seen much of you in the past few weeks.”

  “Crazed. The play opens next week, and it’s taken up every single moment of my life lately. By the way, I got you a ticket for opening night.”

  “That’s awesome. Can’t wait to see the—”

  “Don’t say fiasco.”

  He gasped. “Lila! I was going to say the fruits of your labor.”

  “No you weren’t.”

  “I was!” He protested loudly for the next few blocks about the importance of trusting your friends who would never slam something you were working on. And how trusting those friends was an integral part of the friendship in the first place. And what kind of friends would they be, anyway, if they didn’t support your projects enthusiastically and completely?

  When he stopped talking, I looked at him for a long moment. “So were you going to say fiasco?”

  “Catastrophe, actually.”

  Yes, I knew him well. “The musical numbers are going to blow your proverbial socks off. They’re the best part.”

  “Well, I look forward to that,” he said. “As well as the rest.”

  “Thank you for saying that, anyway.”

  “I quite enjoy a good bad play.”

  “Wow. May we quote you on the posters?”

  He chuckled.

  When we arrived at Randsworth Hall, it looked like a circus, as it did every year for the party. The building was lit up with spotlights and torches; the lawn was full of performers ranging from jugglers to acrobats to fire-eaters. We admired the spectacle for awhile. Nate dared me to ask the fire-eaters for a turn. I refused.

  We made our way inside, where the main floor hallway had been transformed into a party room with walls swathed in orange fabric and strings of fairy lights suspended over the entire area.

  As we accepted champagne flutes from a passing tray, we came upon Bella, looking like a misplaced wood nymph. She wore a dark green gown with a bodice of shimmering fabric, and a circlet of flowers graced her hair. We exchanged greetings and she told us she was waiting for someone.

  I introduced Nate and we chatted for a few minutes about her costume, which, she explained, was Ophelia.

  “I played her once,” Bella said. “When I was younger. Hamlet is one of my favorites.”

  “That’s a challenging part. How wonderful! I didn’t know you acted.”

  “Since the community theater was shut down, I haven’t.”

  That was interesting. The chancellor had said Clara and Braxton were the ones to arrange for the funds to dry up. Why would they do that if Bella was part of the productions?

  “What happened to the community theater?”

  “We ran out of money.” Bella looked down and smoothed her skirt.

  “Was there no way to raise the—”

  “No. We needed too much money.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I miss acting. Especially the costumes.” She patted her flower crown gently. “Well, all of it, really.”

  “I hope you can get back to it again in the future.”

  “Me too.” Bella gave me a small smile.

  “Which reminds me...do you think you could get Clara to call o
ff the protestors?”

  She nodded. “I’m working on that. She doesn’t tend to listen to me, but I’m not giving up. I’m also keeping her away from the theater while the ghost crew is filming.”

  “You heard about that?”

  “Chip mentioned it,” she said. “But I honestly don’t think Clara could handle it, so I’ve been distracting her with other things at work.”

  “Thank you,” I said, perhaps a tad fervently.

  We wished her a good evening and claimed seats at an empty table.

  “Hello, one and all!” The chancellor’s voice was magnified by the sound system. At that volume, cultured and carefully modulated or not, it was still imposing. I looked over at the main stairs where the chancellor stood with both arms out. He moved the microphone back to his mouth to add, “Patsy and I welcome you.” He gestured toward a smiling blonde at his side wearing an exquisite flapper costume. He was in a black tuxedo with a top hat, raising his elegance factor, which was already pretty high, yet another notch. They were in full-on Great Gatsby mode

  After he instructed us to have a fabulous time and so forth, we were left to our own devices.

  Nate looked at me and cocked his head. “Is it too soon to dance?”

  “Decidedly so.”

  “How about another champagne?”

  “Maybe one more, thanks.” It might help me forget that I was wearing a very short tunic and crazy snake wig in front of all my colleagues.

  After Nate left in search of additional libations, I stood up and moved through the tables, intending to find Tolliver to ask how he planned to rework the Edgar Allan Poe entrance. Instead, I spied Braxton, nibbling his way through a plate of cheese and crackers. A shiny white patent-leather purse lay on the table in front of him. He must be on handbag watch for Clara, wherever she was.

  Taking the opportunity to speak to him alone, I greeted him warmly.

  Braxton’s eyes widened and he slapped the plate down. A cheese cube tumbled onto the tablecloth, and he took his time picking it up.

  “Sorry about that,” I said, smiling. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  He popped the cheese into his mouth and chewed fast, his ruddy cheeks moving rapidly up and down. It was almost mesmerizing. After he swallowed, his shoulders relaxed slightly.

  “Did you see Bella?”

  Braxton’s eyes seemed to twinkle at me. “Yes.”

  “She looks lovely, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  We fell silent. He looked away. The band started playing a jazzy number.

  I readjusted my snake wig and attempted to sound casual. “So how long have you been working together on the Opera House project?”

  “Oh, I’m not allowed to talk about it,” he mumbled.

  I nodded.

  “But it’s been a long time,” he added, almost under his breath.

  I tried not to show my surprise that he’d continued. “What made you interested in the site in the first place?”

  “Can’t really say.”

  “Okay.”

  “Though it was mostly because Malcolm was our neighbor,” he said, stroking his beard.

  “What was your relationship with him?”

  Braxton ate another cube of cheese. “It was good. Until it wasn’t.”

  “Had he done something wrong?”

  He looked away. “I can’t talk about it.”

  I waited for him to go on, but he didn’t appear to be offering any addendums this time.

  “Bella told me that you and Clara took her in and cared for her. That was very kind of you.”

  His face lit up. “She was a blessing. Best thing that ever happened to us.”

  I caught sight of Clara crossing the room to speak to the chancellor nearby and decided to speed things up before she returned. Time to be more direct. “How about Jean Claude? What did you think of him?”

  Braxton picked up and inspected a cracker. “I didn’t know him. But when people get something stuck in their craw and can’t rest until they do something about it...”

  “Yes?” I urged him on.

  “That.” He nodded emphatically, as if it were perfectly clear what he was saying. He popped the whole cracker into his mouth and chewed thoroughly.

  My mind raced. “Are you talking about Clara?”

  He deliberated for a long time, looking around the room to make sure no one was watching before dipping his chin ever so slightly.

  A chill ran through me. “You think she was involved in his death?”

  He jolted. “Oh no! That’s not what I meant at all.”

  “What did you mean then?”

  He fidgeted. “I really couldn’t say more than that.”

  I noticed Chip fast approaching the chancellor. This I definitely wanted to hear. I thanked Braxton for talking to me and excused myself.

  “Please keep the information just between us,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. I assured him that I would.

  It would be easy since I didn’t know what the information was.

  I wended my way through the crowd, up to the edge of the chancellor’s group. I could feel Braxton follow, then he passed me and moved into his usual position behind his wife, where he stood quietly, clutching her purse.

  Clara, outfitted with white feathery wings and a halo, was leaning toward our university leader, her hands clasped in an attitude of prayer. She had a bright smile affixed to her face and was gently pleading. “Chancellor, could you please find it in your heart to consider our offer? We’ve rounded up a number of grants and donors who are very interested in preserving Stonedale’s magnificent history. We can meet your asking price—”

  The chancellor looked interested.

  “—and then some.”

  Make that very interested.

  “Wait a minute.” Chip, clad in another one of his tailored suits, held up his hand as he slid smoothly into the circle. “We already have an agreement.”

  The chancellor gave him a pointed once-over. Chip wasn’t wearing a costume. Those were the rules. Strike one.

  “Excuse me, young man, but we’re having a private conversation,” Clara told him, wagging her finger in his face. “It’s rude to interrupt.”

  Braxton looked somewhat embarrassed, to my surprise.

  “But you’re trying to interfere with an established deal.” Chip informed her, then turned to the chancellor. “We’re still good, right, Trawley?”

  The chancellor bristled slightly at having his first name invoked. Chip wasn’t an academic and probably didn’t even know the unspoken rules that governed our interactions within the hierarchy of power, but it was clearly strike two against him.

  “It’s true that I’ve made a verbal agreement with Mr. Turner.” He used the formal version of his name to reinforce his own desire to be addressed as Chancellor Wellington. “However, we haven’t signed anything.”

  Chip paled. “Like you just said, we have an agreement. You can’t back out now!”

  Telling the chancellor what he can and can’t do? Strike three, ladies and gentlemen.

  Just like that, the chancellor swerved. “It has come to my attention that there has been an excessive amount of protesting over the sale of this particular building.”

  We all knew the protests were about Puzzled, not the sale, and we also knew he knew about them before he agreed to sell the place. In fact, he’d probably agreed to sell the place because he didn’t want to deal with the protests. But the Worthinghams had made a higher offer, and he was annoyed with Chip, so it provided a handy excuse.

  He cleared his throat and made the tie-smoothing motion that he favored—only this costume had required a bow tie, so he ended up sliding a palm down his empty shirtfront. He appeared to blanch slightly at the realization and spoke more loudly to regain the upper
hand. “I think it in everyone’s best interests—citizens of Stonedale particularly—that I review both offers in writing this week before making a decision. You have until Monday night to present them to my office. That seems like the fairest thing I can do in this complicated situation.”

  “Thank you, Chancellor,” Clara gushed, shooting a triumphant look at Chip, who was running a finger around his collar as if it were suddenly too tight.

  “One more thing: the picketing stops now,” the chancellor said, fixing Clara with a steely look.

  She set her jaw but nodded.

  Really wish he would have done that in the beginning, as we’d asked.

  He shot me a now-was-that-so-hard? look.

  I responded with an it-is-if-you’re-not-the-chancellor look, though it was impossible to tell if the message was received.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I must attend to my guests. Please enjoy your evening.” The chancellor abruptly spun around and went over to his wife Patsy, who was speaking with the mayor and assorted deans and department chairs. That was a power circle indeed.

  Clara glared at me. “Lila, hasn’t anyone told you it’s rude to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations? You didn’t even try to hide it, standing right there for all of us to see.”

  “I was actually trying to join the conversation.”

  “It did not come across that way,” Clara said, smirking at my purple wig. “Nice costume.” She grabbed one of Braxton’s hands and pulled him away. He looked apologetically over his shoulder as they melted into the crowd.

  Wow. She was so not the etiquette expert she believed herself to be.

  “What a piece of work,” Chip spat out, watching her walk away. “Can’t believe she did that.”

  I nodded. “She’s pretty determined to get her way at all times.”

  “I never should have come to this place,” he said, somewhat glumly.

  “What brought you here, anyway?”

  “Stayed overnight in Stonedale on a business trip and caught sight of the Opera House while taking a morning jog. I haven’t been able to get it out of my head since then.”

  “It is a lovely building,” I agreed.

  “It is that. Though I’m talking more about the site itself. We’d of course build something contemporary there—”

 

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