by Karis Walsh
Chapter Fourteen
Emilie leaned against the stucco wall of the festival offices, tucked out of sight between two large rhododendrons. They were almost ready to bloom, and she ran her fingers over one of the buds. It was still tightly closed at the bottom, where it attached to the plant, but a few millimeters of lacy red flower showed at the top. Arden had told her about the riot of color these bushes would bring to the park in the early spring, and Emilie had loved listening to her talk about the potential simmering just under the surface of the bare late-winter trees and shrubs. Arden saw layers everywhere she looked—all stages of a plant’s life seemed to be superimposed, letting her know exactly what she needed to do in order to shape the future.
Emilie sighed and squeezed the bud, hoping to show more of the flower. She loved listening to Arden talk about anything. She just loved being around her. Too much, possibly, since she was all Emilie could think of right now, on what could possibly be one of the most miserable days of her short career.
She had been expecting the call from the office this morning, letting her know that Jay and Lendon wanted to meet with her. She was well aware of how last night’s performance had gone, not needing the feedback from the audience to let her know she had failed. Arden had been enthusiastic as she clapped and hooted after the show—Emilie really needed to talk to her about overacting—but the rest of the audience had been as bland as Emilie had been in the role of Cassella.
She had felt distant from the start of the play, like she was watching a car skidding out of control, but she couldn’t look away because she was in the car. Sitting behind the wheel and causing the wheels to lose traction. Arden and Geoffrey had tried to help yesterday, and Emilie had seen the logic in their statements. She hadn’t been able to get out of her head, though, and act. She had been too aware of herself speaking words she didn’t feel were hers and wearing clothes that felt like they belonged to someone else—although her costumes were designed specifically for her as understudy, and weren’t Gemini’s castoffs. She had forgotten the movements she had rehearsed so often, catching herself standing motionless for too many minutes on end and not moving to include the entire audience in the experience.
Part of her was glad Arden had been there. Now she knew Emilie wasn’t exaggerating about her ability to play this part. But most of her wished she had lived up to Arden’s expectations for her, like the plants she carefully tended. Arden hadn’t been able to predict the future for this particular bloom.
Emilie unconsciously closed her fist and the rhododendron bud snapped off the plant. She opened her hand again and looked at the crushed bud, lying on her palm. She had spent the night tossing on her bed, unable to sleep, but she hadn’t cried once. Now she was tearing up because of a damned flower. She stuffed it in her pocket and checked her watch. Great. Time for her meeting. She rubbed her fingers under her eyes, wiping away the moisture she felt there, and emerged from the shadows.
She hurried through the office doors and checked in before being sent directly to Jay’s office. She had been overwhelmed last time she was here, on her first day in Ashland. She had worried about failing, and her predictions had come true. Her own nerves and fears had gotten in her way, but understanding the concept of a self-fulfilling prophecy was one thing. Keeping it from happening was another thing altogether.
Emilie paused before she rounded the last corner, and straightened her shoulders. She touched her jeans, where she had tucked the broken flower bud, and felt like she had Arden here with her in some small way. She had come to another crossroads in a year too full of them, another time when she could either take action or run away.
She wasn’t running away.
She tapped on the open door to Jay’s office and walked inside. Lendon got up and shut the door behind her while she went over to an empty chair and sat.
“Emilie. We need to talk about last night,” Jay said.
So, no small talk or segues into the conversation. Jay had his hands clasped together, resting on the desk in front of him, and he watched her with an unnerving and intense focus. When she had been here to get her scripts, his attention had seemed scattered in several directions. She preferred that to his current scrutiny, but she would follow the conversational lead and get directly to the point.
“I performed poorly,” she said. “I was overthinking and I forgot my placements. I didn’t do justice to the play or the character. But you believed I could do better than this when you hired me, and I know I can do better. I’m sure you’re already looking for a replacement, but I’d like one more chance at the role.”
Jay tapped a stack of photographs on the desk, lining them up neatly with the edge of the green leather blotter, while he seemed to give her words some thought. They were probably head shots of all the actors who were drooling over Cassella, praying for the opportunity to play the role.
“It’s okay not to be ready for this part, Emilie. It’s a difficult play, one that has never been performed before, and the stage is unique. You can’t hide behind a sparkly costume on a beautiful set and get away with a mediocre delivery. You have to stand a yard away from the audience, look them in the eye, and convince them you are Cassella. Do you really think you can do this? And do you want to put your reputation—and the festival’s—on the line just to prove something that doesn’t need proof right now?”
Emilie cringed inside, but she kept her features as relaxed and neutral as possible. Did he mean all her performances, including Titania, had been as weak as last night’s, and they were only acceptable because the costumes and set design hid her flaws?
She wasn’t pulling on that frightening thread right now. He hadn’t mentioned firing her from the company, just this one role, so she would concentrate on it alone. She felt sick to her stomach because she had been holding her breath for too many seconds, and she tried to inhale without making a gasping sound.
“The Saturday matinee. That’s all I want. If I’m good enough in the role, I’d like to continue with it. If not, I’ll understudy whomever you hire to replace me.”
Jay glanced at Lendon, who shrugged. It must have been a shrug for her side, though, because Jay nodded.
“You have Saturday. If we see significant improvement, we’ll reconsider keeping you as Cassella, and hopefully you’ll grow into the part more and more as the season progresses.”
He didn’t give an if not…to the comment, but he didn’t have to. They all knew exactly what would happen if she failed again.
Jay leaned toward her. “Make the most of this chance, Emilie. Not many actors would have one shot at a part like this, let alone two. Do what you need to do to be ready for Saturday. Rehearse more, rehearse less. Think more, think less. Just make a change, and prove us wrong.”
“I will. I won’t let you down.” Emilie swallowed the again she was about to add to her sentence and walked out of the office, thanking them at least three times during her short trip to the hallway.
She managed to get outside and back to her rhododendron hiding place before she sank back against the building and forced herself to take deep breaths until the nausea passed. She had won a small battle, but the war was coming for her on Saturday. She had to be prepared.
As much as she wanted to remain in the shadows or run back to her house, she made herself stay in town for the rest of the afternoon. She had to figure out the magic formula for improving her performance, and she only had two days to do it. She couldn’t talk to Arden about it just yet, since the memory of her being in the theater last night was still too fresh. And Emilie wasn’t sure if Arden was a significant piece of the puzzle she was facing.
Arden was different from anyone Emilie had known before. Arden supported and encouraged her, listening when she needed to talk, and sharing her opinions with an authenticity Emilie knew she could trust.
But Arden also gave her an out. A place to fall when she failed, and a person to turn to when she wanted to run away. Emilie had done it before, and she wouldn’t a
gain, no matter how tempting the thought.
Emilie paused by a jewelry store window and stared at the display. Miniature comedy and tragedy masks adorned everything from anklets to earrings, in silvers and golds. Emilie wanted to be part of this world, where theater was a way of life and not a weekend diversion. Would she give up her friendship if it meant success as an actor? No.
She started walking again. She had to change her answer from no to not exactly, if she was going to be as honest with herself as Arden would be. Emilie valued Arden’s friendship, but she wanted more. She wouldn’t be satisfied long-term as Arden’s buddy, especially if it meant watching Arden hook up with someone else. Emilie had considered exploring the possibility of a more physical—and more deeply emotional—relationship with Arden, but she couldn’t let it happen until she was on stable footing here at the festival and could trust herself not to abandon her dreams again.
Emilie stopped again, staring in a shop without registering what was on display. She couldn’t let herself date Arden right now, and she couldn’t be just friends with her without wanting more. A lot more.
Where did that leave her?
A tap on the windowpane startled Emilie out of her twisting thoughts. She saw Marty, waving for her to come inside.
She stepped through the door and realized she was in an art studio. Marty had told her she was a glassblower when they met at the pub, and Emilie had been meaning to stop by. She hadn’t had time to do anything besides work, eat, and sleep, so she hadn’t been here yet. She stared at the shelves surrounding her, with hundreds of glass objects reflecting a rainbow of colors in the meager sunlight.
“Wow. This place is gorgeous. Did you make all of this?” Emilie picked up a heavy goblet with beads of a deep red color dripping down the sides, like spilled wine.
“Not all of it. There are two other artists who work here, but the goblet you’re holding is one of my pieces. Take it.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” Emilie said. “But I’ll buy it from you.”
“Nonsense.” Marty took it from her and wrapped it in several layers of blue tissue paper. “Consider it a welcome-to-Ashland present. A few weeks late.”
“Thank you.” Emilie took the package, touched by the generous offer, but not surprised, given that Marty was one of Arden’s friends. Of course she’d be kind. Emilie should leave now. Work with her script, concentrate on her job. Not linger here, hoping to hear Arden’s name mentioned or to learn more about her. The smart move would be to walk out right now. “I’ve never been in a glassblowing studio before. Do you have time to show me around?”
So much for smart.
“Sure. The hot shop is back here.”
Emilie followed Marty past a curtain and into the industrial-looking space behind the elegant storefront. She recognized some of the equipment from books and movies, but she had never seen the process occurring before her eyes. She was entranced by the colors as they walked through the workspace.
“Ben, the Thor look-alike with the blowpipe, is the owner. Amy is the other artist, over there with the beginner class.”
Emilie smiled at the burly blond man standing near the furnace and twisting a steel pipe with a delicate touch, seemingly out of place with his size. He nodded at her before turning his attention back to the impossibly thin blue vase he was creating. Even without any knowledge of the process, Emilie was able to see what a high-quality product he was making. She was even more impressed by the group of beginners, though.
“You teach classes here?” she asked, looking at the interesting shapes the students were making. Nothing as fine as the artisan pieces for sale out front, but beautiful nonetheless. “Could I really learn to do this?”
“You definitely could. Most of our classes are for complete beginners, but we have some locals and some regular visitors who take more advanced sessions. We have a special class coming up for Easter, to make baskets, and you don’t need any prior experience to make one.”
“Oh, I’d love that,” Emilie said, even as she realized she wouldn’t be able to take a class. She couldn’t put more obligations on her schedule than she already had. She had let herself spend time at the park with Arden, and if anything, she needed to reduce outside distractions and not find more.
Marty had turned away and didn’t notice Emilie’s shift in mood. By the time she returned from the back of the workshop, carrying a square box, Emilie had her expression under control again.
“Hey, will you be seeing Arden today?”
Emilie felt a curious and happy twist inside because Marty seemed to assume she and Arden were close enough to be together regularly, but the sensation dropped as soon as she thought about why she needed to see Arden right away.
“Yes. I should talk to her today. I mean, I’m going back to the park once I leave here.” Marty was looking at her with a strange expression, and Emilie made herself smile. “Is that for her?”
“Yes. It’s the medallions for one of her stages.” She put the box on a workbench and opened it.
“They’re beautiful,” Emilie breathed, reaching out to touch one of the flat discs of colored glass. There were three of them—a sun, a starry sky with a crescent moon, and the ever-present comedy and tragedy masks.
“Thank you, but she’s the one who designed them. I just blew the glass.”
Emilie laughed. “Is that all?”
Marty shrugged, but she looked pleased by Emilie’s words. “Easy-peasy.”
“I’ll be happy to deliver them.” Emilie paused, then continued. “She’s very talented. Was she always artistic?”
Marty tilted her head to one side while she considered the question. “She was always Arden. Yes, artistic, but also athletic and academic. She was one of those kids who was friends with everyone, involved in things like student council, and always doing some sort of volunteer work. Always involved, but never shining like she could have.” Marty leaned her elbow on the workbench and lowered her voice, as if sharing something private with Emilie. “Has she told you anything about her parents?”
Emilie nodded. “I know who they are, and that they left her.”
“Right. And that one thing defined Arden. She never recognized how much she had to offer or what she could accomplish because she had failed to be enough to keep her parents here. Like nothing else she would ever do would matter, so she never tried to do anything great. Until you.”
“Me?” Emilie asked in surprise, pulling her hand off the sun medallion as if it might burn her.
Marty smiled. “Yes, you. You came to town, and suddenly Arden is creating. Putting herself out there.” She nudged Emilie with a playful fist. “You’re good for her.”
Oh, dear. Emilie couldn’t manage to be good for herself right now, let alone be responsible for someone else. She hadn’t done anything to make Arden rediscover her creative side—that was all due to Arden’s talent and her vision. Emilie returned Marty’s smile, though, as she said good-bye. She agreed when Marty told her to think seriously about signing up for a class, knowing she probably wouldn’t. She had to make the festival her only priority. She had already slipped off the tracks she had laid when she came here. She walked along the busy streets and breathed a sigh of relief when she got to the park. She stopped near Arden’s Elizabethan-gnome stage and watched a young girl and boy making up a play while their parents and a few other bystanders watched and clapped. She set the box at her feet and joined in the applause when the two kids bowed to their audience. Arden had made this magic on her own, regardless of what Marty thought.
Emilie picked up the box and went deeper into the park. She had to make her own magic now—on her own, without any help.
Chapter Fifteen
Arden entered the Japanese garden and walked toward her grandfather’s fountain. She saw a young man sitting on one of the props on her stage, and she took a circuitous route so she didn’t bother him. He wasn’t acting, but was rather sitting and staring into the distance. An internal monologue, she decide
d, and she quietly kept out of his way.
Gwen was waiting for her by the fountain, sitting on the bench and reading a book. She smiled when she looked up and saw Arden approaching her.
“Thanks for meeting me here,” she said, closing her book and resting it on her thighs. She patted the seat next to her, and Arden sat down.
“No problem,” Arden said. She had been surprised by Gwen’s phone call, but she figured she wanted to talk about the park’s stages some more. Maybe give Arden more ideas about how to make them successful. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for an intern for next season. Most of the work is physical—fixing broken set pieces and doing the changes between performances. But the initial work is very creative. We’ll be working with directors and designing sets for more than twenty different plays. The pay isn’t great, but the experience makes it worthwhile. You’d be given one or two shows of your own, for the second half of the season, and you’d be billed as the head set designer for them.”
You’d be billed. What the heck?
Gwen seemed about to continue with her description of the job, but Arden held up her hand to stop her. After Gwen’s first sentence, she had been busily thinking about someone she might be able to recommend, and she hadn’t realized Gwen was referring to her.
“Wait, are you offering me the job?”
Gwen looked at Arden with her brows pulled together, making small lines appear on her forehead. “Of course. Did you think I was coming to you as a headhunter?”