by Nikki Logan
‘Currying favour, Mackenzie?’
The stage manager’s too-pointed comment distracted her from Lexi’s close examination. Hamish always had something to say about everything, he was never one to let an opportunity pass. And she was never one to just take it. Yet another reason that the shadowy prop room was the best place for her.
She reached for the coffee where he’d rested it. This was scarcely the first time she’d brought either of them coffee during auditions. But she’d never done it to be a suck-up. That was patently unfair. ‘If you don’t want it …’
‘Of course I want it. Something has to fuel me through Hell Week.’
Her tension ratcheted even further up her spine. The fact that Hamish didn’t know the infamous Hell Week came at the end of pre-production just stuck even more uncomfortably in her craw. Why constantly fight others for the role of stage manager if you didn’t know your stuff, if you weren’t interested enough in the industry to learn a bit more about it after all this time? Lucky Hamish had such a good crew beneath him to get the actual work done correctly. Though she often daydreamed about how it would be to answer to Bruce instead.
He would be her dream boss.
‘So are you just in here checking out the competition then?’ Hamish said.
‘Hamish …!’ Lexi snapped under her breath.
Competition? Kenzie’s eyes flicked to the little mousey-brown stationer standing by the theatre doors, readying them to reveal the next auditionee. Coffee technically was Shelley’s job. Maybe it was selfish to have done it just so she could get her audition fix.
She hated it when Hamish’s patronising turned out to be on point. It only encouraged him.
‘Sorry. I’ll go.’ She could apologise to Shelley on the way out. In fact, maybe she should just finish up in the green room and go. Nothing sadder than a wannabe hanging around like a bad smell. ‘See you later.’
‘It’s fine, Kenzie,’ Lexi said hurriedly. ‘Nice to see you in here. Feels more normal.’
Okay, that was just as confusing as the wink. If she was so sorely missed, why did Lexi and Hamish have Shelley help with auditions this year? She was ready, able and more than willing to do it for Larrikin. Could any of them possibly have forgotten that this might be Rivervue’s final production? Of all the productions to sideline her from …
As it turned out, Shelley was distracted with her task, so Kenzie figured that apologising to her could wait a little. Besides, the bright smile Shelley briefly threw her way didn’t hint at any offence. If there was a smile that said ‘none taken’, that one right there was it.
But still, relationships mattered in the close quarters of the theatre. Better safe than sorry.
‘Mackenzie!’
The words hit her as soon as she got back on her knees to resume scrubbing.
Richard Yeates. She was paid to be courteous to him at the clinic when he brought his highly strung, highly allergic cat in for steroid shots, but she wasn’t paid here. She had to find the tolerance in herself.
‘Richard.’ She dug deep for a smile. And for something to say that wouldn’t lead to a prolonged monologue. ‘Auditioning for Larrikin?’
Of course he was; he auditioned for everything, and got the part more often than not. People like him weren’t automatically worth their high opinion of themselves but, annoyingly, Yeates’s performance generally deserved his own accolades. He always looked pretty under lights too. And he knew it.
‘I’ve got my fingers crossed for Ron,’ he said, almost credibly humble. As if there was any doubt he’d be good for the lead part. Or gunning for it.
A narcissist playing a narcissist. How very method.
If she cared more about de Vue, it might have bothered her to have someone like Yeates playing him.
‘Break a leg,’ she said and passed on by as though she could ever get that lucky.
‘How’s things with you?’ he asked, turning her from her escape. ‘I hear you have a mysterious man in that dark cupboard of yours.’
Kenzie ignored the double entendre.
‘He’s not that mysterious,’ she said, squatting to finish scrubbing out the shelves. And, P.S., the props room wasn’t that dark or that cupboard-y. He’d just never so much as looked inside even though it was just down the hall from his favourite haunt. ‘How did you hear about that?’
And why are you asking? Though, in truth, she knew why. Yeates had been trying to make moves on her for as long as she’d known him. He bought into his own good press way too much to accept no for an answer.
Fortunately, she had an indefinite supply of no at her disposal.
‘Deaf, I hear.’
Kenzie realised too late that her rocking in and out of low cupboards on her knees like some kind of Eurovision support act was only fuelling Yeates’s interest. So she called a halt, replaced all the crockery and pushed to her feet while rubbing her hands on the old tea towel she’d found down there. He’d kicked back on his comfortable seat and crossed his feet on the green room coffee table.
Where people sometimes ate. Ick.
‘He’s a traveller,’ she volunteered, refusing to let Dylan be diminished to just a disability, even if it wasn’t actually his. Childhood mutism made Dylan just as susceptible to the ignorance of those who couldn’t see the person beneath a condition. ‘His dog is probably going to be in the show.’
It occurred to her that she was making excuses for a man who needed none made for him.
She grabbed the kitchen spray and gave the coffee table a quick burst then polished it dry and clean with the tea towel, forcing Yeates’s shoes off the surface. He had no choice but to put them back on the ground where feet belonged. But even heavy-handed subtlety was wasted on him. He just didn’t see it. Or care about it. Or recognise that it could possibly apply to him.
Arses. Every theatre had at least one.
‘I hope the dog’s auditioning.’ Yeates chuckled at his own wit. ‘If the rest of us must compete like gladiators.’
‘It’s a five-minute scene, Richard. It’s not exactly the Hunger Games.’
‘You’d get it if you ever came out from under the stage floor, Mackenzie.’
‘Kenzie.’
She didn’t much want him using her diminutive name, but the way Yeates said it in full when everyone else always shortened it, like it was special to him … She didn’t want that either.
The actor’s eyeline shifted beyond her shoulder and glinted a little. It brought her own gaze around.
‘Dylan.’
Not only had he shaved again but today he was dressed all in black like a regular theatre crew member and someone with decent skills had cut his shaggy hair. She’d liked it longer—kind of a lot—but now that it had some professional shape and cleared his ears, it made his neck seem longer and almost aristocratic and that, in turn, contributed to the overall impression of him being taller. Much taller. He silently towered over them both in the room.
‘Dylan,’ she repeated brightly, hoping that it wouldn’t betray the sudden thud-fest beneath her ribs. Yeates shifted to his feet and she didn’t want to give him a moment in which to start with his bull. ‘Lunch? My shout.’
The way she’d phrased her question meant Dylan was spared the awkwardness of answering out loud. He tossed his chin in Yeates’s direction by way of both greeting and farewell and then refocused on Kenzie, smiling.
She’d liked his smile before but, unscreened by a shaggy beard, it almost dazzled.
I’ll take that as a yes.
He ducked back around the props-room door and retrieved Phantom.
‘Great! Let’s go. Bye, Richard!’
She gave him no time to protest or even reply. Lest he simply invite himself along. Presumably he had an audition to do, anyway. Better he focus his energies on that.
‘He didn’t look too happy,’ Dylan murmured as soon as they were clear of the building.
‘He doesn’t much like competition.’
‘He’s in half o
f Rivervue’s past curtain-call photographs. I’m no competition for whatever role he wants.’
‘I meant that he’s used to being the pretty one around here.’ As soon as the words were out she wanted to snatch them back. But he’d heard worse when she still thought he couldn’t hear her. She braved onwards. ‘Nice haircut, by the way.’
Ugh, epic understatement.
He forked his fingers through his foreshortened locks. ‘I figure I’ve scared enough of CJ’s kids for one week.’
Her snort would have sounded right at home from Phantom. ‘They’re not scared. They’re young thespians; they probably think you’re spectacularly enigmatic.’
‘I generally try to tidy up if I’m sticking around a place. It seems to cause less tension.’
‘I’d like to think that Brachen would judge you by your deeds and not your appearance.’
‘Says the woman who only invites me out to lunch once I clean up my act.’
‘That’s not why I—’ Kenzie stopped dead. ‘That’s not true!’
And for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why him thinking that about her bothered her so much.
‘Then why are we having lunch out of the blue?’
‘It wasn’t about you, it was about—’
Hmmm … Was using him any better than being embarrassed about him? She’d wanted to head Yeates off before he launched into some kind of excruciating condescension towards the deaf guy, but she’d also wanted to throw him off her scent. Just a little. And what better way to do that than—
‘Camouflage?’ he said, the word extra accented on his lips.
Her shoulders slumped. ‘I’m sorry. I find Richard uncomfortable to be around.’
Dylan’s artfully cut fringe hung down over his eyes as he dropped his head to think about that. It was all she could do not to reach up and slide it back out of the way.
‘I’m glad that you find me a more comfortable option, at least.’
‘Oh, I’m very comfortable with you. Weirdly so, considering—’
‘That I’m homeless?’
No. She wouldn’t bite. She was getting a feel for his humour. ‘Are you homeless, Dylan? Do you truly have nowhere to go home to?’
He studied her a long time. ‘I have a home. Parents. People who care about me.’
‘Do they know how you’re living?’
‘Yeah, they do. Doesn’t mean they like it. But they accept it.’
‘Do you like it?’
The question seemed to throw him. Had no-one ever asked him that?
‘I like the freedom. I like the impulsivity of it. I like travelling with my own thoughts for company.’
‘Do you like the dirt? And the cold?’
Phantom dashed in and out between their ankles, discovering smells as they went.
‘Now and again I check into a hotel just to remember that comfort exists.’
She tipped a sideways gaze up to him. Probably she should wonder what a man who could afford hotels was doing sleeping in her props room, but her curiosity was more practically oriented.
‘How do you afford to do any of what you do, Dylan? Can you even collect Canadian benefits from Australia?’
His lips twisted, but he didn’t shame her by pinning her gaze. ‘You think I’m travelling the world on welfare?’
She’d have been embarrassed if the injustice of it hadn’t been hogging her conscience.
‘You have to know that’s what people assume. You’re living on the street with your dog.’ In fire exits. Dressed like a hobo.
Hazel eyes slid her way and considered that for a moment. ‘I guess I view it more like camping. Solo.’
Uh-huh. ‘Can we call it camping if you don’t have a tent?’
He laughed outright. ‘I’m not on welfare, Kenzie. I have … savings.’
That was an interesting pause. Savings implied an income to be setting aside from. ‘Did you have a job somewhere?’
Leaves crunched underfoot as they strolled.
‘I’m one of those people who works for part of the year so they can travel for the rest of it. And I travel rough to stretch my money as far as I can. Doesn’t mean I’m immune to comforts or the pleasures of neatly trimmed hair or a nice meal.’
‘But you’re about more than that?’
His glance pierced her again. ‘Exactly. It doesn’t define me.’
‘Coffee defines me. I’m not ashamed to admit it.’
‘You do drink a lot of it, it must be said.’
‘Every woman is allowed one vice.’
‘And that’s what you went with?’
It felt good to laugh with him. It felt great that she knew she was the only one he gifted that to. His laugh. His voice. His thoughts.
Maybe a bit too good since he was only passing through. Wouldn’t do to get too acclimatised.
‘That’s where I work.’ She nodded her head diagonally across Brachen’s main street to the clinic all emblazoned in blue.
‘You’re a vet tech, right?’
‘Coming up to my seventh year.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘Yeah.’ Though not quite as much as her work at Rivervue. ‘The animals. The clients.’ She glanced down between their legs. ‘You should bring Phantom in for a tune-up. Have you had him checked at all?’
‘When I realised he wasn’t going to stop following me I took him in at the next big town we hit. Mostly to confirm his deafness but he had a general once-over then too. But that was a while ago.’
‘I’ll book him in. Some shots, general physical. Does he have a microchip to update?’
‘Not that the last place could find. But what would I put on it … Ottawa?’
‘You could register him to—’ She caught herself before saying something awkward, like to me. Bad enough that she was starting to feel like they were family without consolidating it. ‘—to the clinic. That way if anything happened or if he got lost, we’d hear about it first.’
She could read Dylan’s silences well enough to recognise the one that meant he was thinking.
‘Good idea. Just in case.’
Wait, what was that odd note in his voice? A kind of tightness. And why did ‘just in case’ sound more like ‘for later when it happens’?
She paused in front of an open door. ‘Hope you like vegetarian. There’s a lot of it in Brachen.’
Most importantly the Edgy Veggie had street dining which meant Phantom was just as welcome. Kenzie nudged the door open just enough to tinkle the little chime above and then sat at one of the outside tables. ‘You’ll like Tracey and Lincoln. They’re from Baltimore. You’re practically neighbours.’
‘Baltimore is seven hundred kilometres south of Ottawa. And in a different country.’
‘Pffff. You probably cycled that far getting to Brachen. Distance is immaterial.’
‘Tell that to my calf muscles. Or to Europe,’ he chuckled. ‘Seven hundred kilometres would take you from Milan to Prague via Switzerland, Lichtenstein and Germany.’
Her chest gave a little squeeze. Imagine seeing all those places … ‘In Australia that might get you to the state border. Barely.’
‘Big country. That’s part of the attraction.’
‘You like it here?’
‘I’ve spent a fair bit of time here—’ He looked almost surprised at his own admission. ‘—on and off.’
‘But Milan and Prague. That’s pretty amazing. Did you do it the same way? On your bike?’
‘I like to see a place and smell it and hear it. Can’t do that at 120 kilometres per hour.’
‘Your passport must be pretty impressive. Full of stamps.’
His lips twisted and it echoed deep in her belly. ‘That’s not really a thing anymore. It’s all digital. There’s a chip.’
‘I missed passport stamping?’ She’d never even left the state. And now she’d never know what it was like to get documents she didn’t even have stamped at immigration. The missed opportunity sank in her gut. ‘
Oh well.’
Dylan’s eyes softened. ‘I think you can get them if you desperately want one. Queue up at a special counter, get your stamp.’
She was saved from further humiliation by Lincoln’s arrival with menus, some lime-infused water and a barrage of excellent service.
‘So, you’ve never travelled overseas,’ Dylan said just as Lincoln disappeared with their orders. ‘What about at home? Where’s the best place you’ve ever been?’
She tried to give that enough thought to build anticipation and then her answer enough levity to hopefully distract from the truth that she’d never gone beyond Sydney.
‘Spare Oom. Or Ferndean. Or Prospero’s magical isle. Can’t decide.’
‘All plays you’ve worked on?’
‘Who needs actual travel?’
His gaze lingered on her longer than was comfortable. ‘You love it, don’t you? The theatre.’
‘Of course.’
‘So why aren’t you doing it for a living?’
‘Because I would never want the mortgage to rely on it. I can’t think of a better way of sucking the joy out of something.’
And because proper jobs in theatre were rarer than a clean-shaven jaw in a hipster town. And because her family would have conniptions.
His eyes indicated back down the main street towards the clinic. ‘You don’t love your vet job?’
‘I like it. I’m good at it. But I wouldn’t cry over it if it was gone. I’d just find something else.’
‘But that’s not true of Rivervue?’
She stared at him. Long and hard. ‘I think I’m in denial. I can’t bring myself to think about them taking it from us. To imagine Props HQ turned into underground parking or something.’
‘Is there somewhere else you can start up?’
‘Beggars can’t be choosers. We’d go wherever the shire tells us to.’
‘And if that’s nowhere?’
‘I guess that’s possible. The shire’s had it pretty good for fifty years only having to top up Rivervue’s running costs. They might not want to assume the full costs of a community theatre. That’s my fear.’ But she shook the feeling free. ‘But, as Lexi keeps reminding us, it’s only a proposed redevelopment at this point. Until I see moving trucks I’m not going to let myself obsess on it. I can’t change it.’