by Cindy Brown
“And I want to live with you.”
Oh. Now I could breathe. “That’s silly,” I said. “My apartment is way too small for two people.” Somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered the fact that I’d taken a tool out of my emotional rescue kit.
“I’m talking about living together, not moving into your tiny apartment.”
“So we’d move into yours?” Yep, the deflection tool, at my service.
“C’mon, Ivy.” Matt sighed into the phone. “It took me a lot to be able to ask you this.”
Ah, this was what had been on his mind.
“You just said you love me,” he continued. “I know it’s a big step, but it’s also a natural next step, right?”
“...I don’t know.” I did know that I loved Matt. I did know that he loved me. But my “love is better than Broadway” feeling had turned into a sort of stage fright. It made my stomach hurt. Maybe I should’ve eaten more than peanut butter crackers for lunch. Hey, I just used the deflection tool on myself. I was a mess.
“You okay?” he asked gently. “What’s the problem?”
Problem? I was the problem. Relationships with me were the problem. After Cody’s accident, I kept everyone at arm’s length. Didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else getting hurt so I built a nice tall wall. For years the only person I allowed close at all was Uncle Bob, mostly because he forced his way into my fenced heart, the lovable old coot. “Uncle Bob wouldn’t like it,” I said by way of an answer.
“You’re kidding, right?” Matt called me on my bald-faced lie. “Uncle Bob loves me. Your parents not so much, but your parents don’t really like anyone.”
“My dad likes you.” I chewed the inside of my mouth. “But yeah, Mom would go ballistic.”
Not only did my mom disapprove of everything I did, she especially disliked Matt. He’d worked at Cody’s group home—that’s how we met—and was the first person who insisted we all treat my brother like an adult.
Another silence. Tense again.
“Ivy, this should be a good question, a happy discussion.”
“I know. I’m...just not sure.”
“Okay. That’s honest. But I’m not forgetting about this. I want to live with you. I want to wake up next to you.”
“I look awful pre-coffee.”
“I want to hang out together after work and spend weekends together.”
“We already do.”
“I want to be there when you’ve had a bad day.”
“You really don’t.”
“I really do. Just think about it, okay?”
This time we both said, “I love you” before we hung up. I stood there in the office, staring out the window at the jail across the street. Matt loved me. And I loved him. So why was I so freaked out by the idea of moving in with him? He’d be easy to live with. He even did dishes (sometimes). I had just decided to really think about it (instead of deflecting, denying, or distracting myself—my typical responses) when my phone buzzed. A text from Vicki. “You got the job! First rehearsal same place, crazy early—from 7-11 a.m. Emailing contract now.”
Broadway, my mind sang again, but in a sad, out-of-tune voice. My career was taking off. And Matt loved me. Why did I feel so miserable?
Because I had some choices to make. Hard choices about important things. I’d loved acting since I was little. Matt was the love of my life. And it looked like I was going have to choose.
Chapter 25
I sat across from my brother in one of MacAlpine’s dark wooden booths and flipped through the songs on the mini jukebox affixed to the wall. The songs were mostly classics, heavy on Elvis.
“Do you want to play a song?” asked Cody. “I have a quarter.”
“Maybe.” I turned the knob on the jukebox again: “Jailhouse Rock,” “Love Me Tender,” “It’s Now or Never.” Sheesh. My life was an Elvis album.
“Are you gonna finish that?” Cody pointed at my half-empty “Some Like It Hot” ice cream soda (fireball soda and vanilla ice cream). His banana split was already gone.
“I don’t think so.” I slid it toward him.
“Thanks.” He scooted the soda within range and grabbed a new straw from a cup on the table. I looked at the jukebox again: “Heartbreak Hotel.” Would it break Matt’s heart if I moved on with my acting career? Would it break my heart if I didn’t take this chance? The tension of the past few weeks rushed back, curdling the ice cream in my stomach.
A straw wrapper hit me on the side of the head. “Bulls eye!” Cody grinned, the offending straw-weapon still between his lips. Then the smile in his eyes faltered. “What’s wrong?”
I loved Matt. I did. But why did he love me? Would it last? Could it? What if I screwed up again someday? How would he be able to forgive me when my parents never could? “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”
“About the jouster?”
“That’s part of it.” I remembered Cody crying in the parking lot, Sarah comforting him. “Where’s Sarah tonight?”
“I told you.”
“I forgot.”
“She’s with her mom. They’re shopping for a bridal shower. Her sister’s getting married. We get to go to the wedding.”
“That’ll be nice...” Then out of the blue my mouth asked, “Are you and Sarah in love?”
“Duh. Of course,” he said easily, so easily I felt a twinge of envy, then a twinge of guilt because I envied my brother’s happiness.
“How do you know?”
Cody looked at me wide-eyed and incredulous, as if it were the dumbest question ever. “I just do.”
I persisted. “How do you know she loves you?”
“She tells me.”
“What do you love about her?”
His eyebrows drew together in consternation. “Um...everything. Except when she gets mad at me for something.”
“But how do you know you love her?” I knew I was asking my brain-injured brother to answer an incredibly difficult, if not impossible question, but I couldn’t help myself. “How does she make you feel?”
The tension slipped off Cody’s face like a cool rain. He smiled into his soda. “Better.”
“Better about...?”
“Better about everything. But that’s not what I meant.”
I waited.
Cody looked up then, at a place somewhere past my ear, still smiling. “She makes me feel better. Like I’m better. Like I’m a better person.”
Chapter 26
Did Matt make me a better person? Yes. The question was, did I do the same for him?
After a turbulent night filled with dreams about Matt and Elvis, I dragged myself out of bed. I drank an entire French Press pot full of coffee while putting on my Marilyn wig and makeup. I didn’t know why John Robert wanted to rehearse so ridiculously early, but I was glad. Today was student day at the Ren faire, and I needed to be shaking my ass by noon.
By the time I finished making myself look like Marilyn, I was beginning to get excited again. I was going to rehearse with a famous playwright and fabulous actors. And I didn’t have to make any decisions today. The contract John Robert sent to Vicki (and that I signed) was for the Arizona part of the play-creation process. There’d be another contract once the show moved to La Jolla. I bet John Robert wasn’t worried about getting those signatures right now since no actor would turn down an opportunity to move on with a Broadway show. That would be idiotic. Right?
I made myself stop thinking about it. I had work to do. I took my belly dancer ensemble out to my pickup truck, got in, and headed east to Harmony Ranch. I had just passed the Mesa city limits when...
Cockadoodledoo! The jail phone number. Riley had asked yesterday if he could call me while he was in jail, just to keep in touch with “someone on the outside.” Of course I said yes, not just because he was my friend but because w
hatever Riley said might help me in the investigation. Which he didn’t know about. The situation felt a little dishonest, but I reminded myself that solving the crime was good for Riley too. At least I hoped it would be.
“Good morning!” Riley said when I picked up. “How you doin’?”
“You are way too chipper for being in jail. In the morning.”
“We had pancakes.”
“Ah.” My stomach grumbled. I hoped I still had a granola bar in the glove compartment.
“Hey, is this too early to call? There wasn’t anybody in line for the phone.”
It was 6:40—way too early to call. Normally. “It was good timing today. I’m on my way to a rehearsal, and I have to go to”—oops, almost said the Ren faire—“work afterward.”
“A morning rehearsal? Crazy,” said the man who was in jail.
“So I only have a few minutes,” I said, “but about Bianca...um...” I didn’t want to tell Riley that she hadn’t returned my texts. Break-up or no break-up, it seemed like you’d get back to the PI on a case involving your ex-boyfriend—your two ex-boyfriends.
Except I hadn’t mentioned I was a PI. For all Bianca knew I was just Riley’s friend who might berate her for two-timing him. No wonder she didn’t get back to me.
“Yeah?” said Riley. “What about her?”
“Um...How did you two get together?” It was a punt, but a good question too.
Riley said they’d met over a year, ago, sort of circled around each other. “Then one night, we were all around sitting around the fire...”
“Sounds romantic.” It did, firelight against a deep blue backdrop of stars...
“And I took her hand...”
I could almost see it, the knight kneeling down in front of the fair maiden...
“And then she let me take something else.” Riley hooted with laughter, breaking the spell. I bet the jail had never seen such a cheerful prisoner.
“And you’ve been together ever since?”
“Moved into her fifth wheel that night. It’s sweet, with an inside bathroom and everything. We had a real nice thing going until a couple of months ago. I didn’t know what was wrong, but it was Angus. I shoulda known. All the girls liked him.”
I understood. I remembered the way Angus looked at me, spoke to me—like I was the only person at the entire faire.
“Women were always throwing themselves at him. Once a tourist even sent him her panties in the mail.”
That took me out of my gallant knight reverie and brought me back into PI mode. I resisted thinking about whether those panties were clean and instead thought about suspects. Could another one of Angus’s women be behind the killing?
“I don’t know why women liked him so much. He always said it was his animal magnetism.” Riley sighed, all of his pancake cheer used up. “Maybe it was. Why else would Bianca leave me for him?”
Chapter 27
“You’re late,” John Robert said when I buzzed him at the gate. It was ten after seven.
“I’m so sorry,” I began. “I underestimated morning rush hour.”
“How very Marilyn of you!” He sounded delighted. I’d forgotten Marilyn had a reputation for tardiness. “You can let yourself in. We’re out on the lanai.”
I parked and switched out my sandals for pumps (I hated driving in heels). I checked my look in the rearview mirror. Today I wore capris and a buttoned-up elbow-sleeve cardigan. I really needed to find time to go thrift store shopping for a few more Marilyn-ish outfits. I walked through the house, and back to the lanai/patio. Jackie and JFK stood around a small table that held pastries, champagne, and a carafe of orange juice. I smiled hello at them.
“John Robert said to help ourselves,” said JFK. “He’ll be out in a minute.”
“Fabulous.” I grabbed a cheese Danish (there was no granola bar in my glove compartment) and poured myself a glass of orange juice.
“No champagne?” asked Jackie. “Don’t tell me you’re a working girl.”
“I guess it depends on your definition of working girl,” I said in my real voice. “I make most of my living as an actor,” I sort-of-lied (my PI job often saved my financial butt). “You?”
“Right now I work at being Jackie Kennedy.” She smoothed the white gloves she always wore. “But I do have other talents.”
I looked behind me to make sure John Robert wasn’t in sight. “What’s your real name?” I whispered.
Jackie smiled. “Bouvier.”
“I’m not such a stickler,” JFK said. “My name’s Hayden Sanders.”
“Ivy Meadows,” I said.
“Ivy Meadows?” Jackie said. “What’s your real name?”
“Touché,” I said, sidestepping the question. I didn’t want them to know I was really Olive Ziegwart. It’d be too easy for them to find out that I worked at Duda Detective Agency.
“Oh, just look at the three of you! I can hardly stand it.” John Robert’s grin stretched across his teddy bear face. “Grab your refreshments and follow me inside to the theater.”
We all grabbed our drinks and followed our leader. As we made our way through the house, I said in Marilyn’s voice, “I saw the most darling sign on the highway on my way here today. Knights on horses and princesses in gowns, oh...” I gave a little shiver of delight. “I’m positively dying to go. Have any of you been to the Renaissance faire?”
They all shook their heads. So much for asking outright. But I saw John Roberts that day before the joust. Was he lying or was I mistaken?
We reached a pair of carved wooden doors. John Robert stopped in front of them, then ceremoniously threw them open.
Wow. The faire faded, crowded out by the theater. The space wasn’t big—the stage had no wings or backstage to speak of and the house (the audience section of the theater) probably held just fifty people—but its high adobe walls lent it an air of spaciousness, the rustic wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling added charm, and the punched-tin Mexican star-lights threw magical-looking shadows across the walls and floors.
“Isn’t it magnificent?” said John Robert. “Take a seat, and we’ll get started.” When we’d all settled in, he spread his hands in welcome. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to have you all here. Bringing the Kennedy story to the stage has been a dream of mine for years. In fact, you could say I was born to it...” He paused dramatically.
Marilyn would be the one to suck up to a director, so I said, “How so?”
“My name!” he chortled. “I was named for the Kennedy boys, John and Robert. By the way, as to avoid confusion, I’ll be John Robert, and you,” he pointed at Hayden, “will be JFK or Jack. No wait, not Jack. Too close to Jackie. Just JFK.”
“Sounds good,” said Hayden/JFK.
“So I’d like to welcome you to the first rehearsal for our new musical...” John Robert spread his arms wide to the sky. “Kennelot!”
Silence.
He dropped his arms. “Kennelot! Get it?”
“Um,” I said, “Doesn’t that sound a little like kennel? As in dog kennel?’
“No, no, no. Don’t you see? It’s a combination of Kennedy and Camelot.”
I was pretty sure we all got it.
“Now let’s talk about your characters. Of course, I want you all to research Jackie, JFK, and Marilyn respectively. Let’s talk about them as they relate to Camelot. We’ll get back to the songs tomorrow. The only ones I really have worked out so far are “Kennelot” and “I Love You, the Hell with Silence.”
“That’s a reworking of ‘I Loved You Once in Silence’? The song Guinevere sings to Lancelot?” Hayden asked.
“Exactly. But now you’re going to sing it to Marilyn.”
“But did he really love Marilyn? I mean, me?” I really hoped John Robert was serious about feedback, because I couldn’t seem to keep my mouth shut. “Wasn’
t it more about sex?”
“Honey, how old are you? Do you really not know that men confuse sex with love?”
“If you’re talking to Marilyn, no, I don’t think I ever did figure it out. If you’re talking to Iv—”
“No, no, no. Stay Marilyn.”
“It does seem rather a generalization,” said Jackie. “And it’s not just men who confuse the two. Though I do think women are more likely to confuse love and romance.”
“Which brings us right back to Camelot,” John Robert said. “Since that’s precisely what Guinevere does.”
“So I’m Guinevere?” I asked. “And JFK is Lancelot?”
“Exactly,” said John Robert. “Now...”
“Wait, I thought I was Arthur,” said JFK. “Wouldn’t that make Jackie Arthur?”
“Well...oh.” John Robert’s face fell. “That’s a problem. Yes.” His tongue played with his front teeth while he was thinking. “So...Marilyn, you’re the one who destroys Camelot.”
“I’m pretty sure it was Lee Harvey Oswald.”
“In the play, you’re the one who destroys Camelot. So you’re Lancelot.”
“And I’m Guinevere?” said JFK. “I really need to be a man.”
“You are a man, darling,” said Jackie. “That’s why you’re president.”
“Okay, maybe I need to rethink that song. I’ve also been wondering about the round table...Who do you think should be invited to the table?”
“The Cabinet?” said Hayden.
“Too boring.” John Robert shook his head. “Maybe it’s full of JFK’s women?”
“Mistresses aren’t very knight-like,” I said.
“Maybe it’s the Kennedy women,” said Jackie. “You know: me, Ethel, and Joan?”
“Ooh, we could do ‘The First Ladies Who Lunch,’” John Robert said. “Maybe even use the tune from the song in Company. Do you think Sondheim would approve?”
I doubted it.