Tread the Boards (A Rivervue Community Theatre Romance, #1)

by Nikki Logan

  ‘Brachen thought Dad had lost his senses leaving the entire farm to a woman,’ old Ron’s voice-over continued, ‘but the truth took just a few minutes and a couple of C-notes to conceal. My father was many things, but he was no more modern than he was compassionate. I was the one who gifted Mary the farm.’

  Lights up. The lawyer passed Kenzie a sheaf of paper with the word DEED printed prominently on it and she clutched the papers to her body and sagged in relief. Then the lawyer handed her a private letter sealed in a yellowed envelope. The hand that reached out to take it trembled, as the voice-over rolled on.

  ‘I liked to imagine Mary crushing that farm deed to her breast when she received it. It made me feel closer to her. And it was my way of saying thank you for the years she’d given to me … to my father … I wasn’t strong enough to resist the excuse to send her that other letter … the one I’d never found the courage to post before. It belonged to her, anyway, just like the farm did …’

  ‘Standby lights, cross-fade stage left,’ the speaker murmured. ‘And … cross.’

  Vanessa and Toby ran on, dressed in their 1920s farm gear, along with Phantom, who was just happy to be playing with somebody. They ran and dashed out of each other’s reach. It was impossible not to smile at the warmth in the scene: seven-year-old Ron and seventeen-year-old Mary, brother and sister playing chase like there wasn’t a decade between them. Over on the right of stage, a single spot came up on Kenzie, reading the letter with shaking hands.

  ‘… pretty much the only thing that keeps me going here in Egypt is the laugh I get out of my unit between assaults, and your sweet face, Mary. The first is what keeps them alive and the latter keeps me alive. Come the day I don’t dodge fast enough, your face will be the one I take with me to the beyond. How I love that face …’

  Dylan craned his neck to monitor the audience. There were about forty of them down there—random friends and family, roped in to be their test audience, far from a full house but definitely enough to be representative of the real thing the next night. A few of them were shuffling in their seats. One in particular was stiff-backed but, to her credit, Nanna didn’t look away from what was coming. Kenzie came from courageous stock.

  Onstage, adult Mary glanced hurriedly back over her shoulder before tucking the letter into the apron of her dress.

  The lights crashed out again.

  ‘Hades had nothing on New South Wales when it was in drought.’ Ron’s voice said in the darkness. ‘We’d been near two years without more than a glassful of rain at one time. What use is a dairy farm without any milk? Even bullock-hauled water was no guarantee then. In Dad’s wisdom he gave a thirteen-year-old boy the job of culling a few more stock every Monday to help stretch the feed further. Two bullets per brain. Six bullets a week. How I came to detest Mondays. And steak.’

  The lights came up on little Toby, sagging against a rifle almost as big as him.

  ‘But the big drought of 1933 eventually broke on a Monday and that day was a revelation to me.’

  In the dark, Kenzie had stripped off her 1950s dress and left only the sheerest of slips as Mary ran out of the house at the first tang of early-morning rain on the hot earth. The most brilliant strobing design made it look like rain pelting down almost sideways on the Devon farm. Right before Kenzie ran back onstage, a dozen hands with a dozen large spray bottles wet her down until her dress was almost translucent. Young Toby’s reaction as she ran on didn’t need any acting. It perfectly captured teenaged Ron’s particular mix of awe and confusion at seeing his big sister’s wet and barely clad body dancing for joy in the torrent.

  Dylan had never been envious of a kid, but he felt it now. What he wouldn’t have given to be down on that stage. Closer.

  ‘My whole life changed on the tang of fat droplets on parched earth and on the curve of a single, firm breast. How could I go on hating Mondays after that?’

  More nervous shuffling from the audience. Ron’s voice-over changed as the lights did, shining down on a pile of hay mounded upstage left.

  ‘I wasn’t ever worried about the enemy getting me,’ Ron’s voice said as the lights changed, ‘because I died the day I wed a quiet girl from two valleys over.’

  Scene change.

  A gangly legged teen Ron lay over a young girl, spread-eagled beneath him, working hard and fast while her slim arms and legs lay still, bewildered and passive. Just waiting for it to be over. They may have been married but there was no honeymoon in their lovemaking. There wasn’t even any love.

  ‘Bedding Elizabeth Winchester succeeded in taking the edge off my fire, but it only doubled my shame. I was a liar as well as a deviant, then. Worse, I filled Eliza’s belly with my deception almost the first time we lay together and so I brought my little Lucy into the world wrapped in a cowl of disgrace.’

  Someone choked down below and Dylan could see Kenzie staring firmly forward, not daring to glance in her Nanna’s direction. But the lights saved her—another light change and another fast switch to two sisters and a father seeing a boy, barely out of childhood himself, off to war.

  ‘Maybe if I’d had a mother of my own, I would have learned that love had different textures. Maybe then she could simply have been my sister instead of my parent, my carer, my conscience and my weakness.’

  Mitchell Rainer’s teenaged Ron shook his father’s hand like the adult he wasn’t, hugged his younger sister and watched them leave stage. That only left Mary. She opened her arms to farewell him and he practically fell into them, like the boy he was. But as she kissed him farewell—every bit the mother—he turned into the kiss, to make more of it, slipping his hand too intimately low around her waist and she was forced to push her brother away, her arms crossing around her body protectively.

  And then the audience knew.

  A wave of gasps rippled through them.

  ‘Ah, Mary, I always understood why you wanted me to go but did it have to be to war? Was death my sentence for loving you?’

  The wings suddenly grew crowded with everyone that needed to be onstage for Larrikin’s final moments. There was an order for this reveal, but the first time was typical chaos behind the scenes. Out onstage it would hopefully appear seamless.

  ‘I had a dream of lying face down in some desert field of war … choked in sand and blood … all of this over before it began.’

  The lights rose on the entire cast turned away from the audience, their bodies in various poses reminiscent of warfare.

  ‘I dream of how it would feel to know none of it, to remember none of it.’

  Toby turned, bright and young. His beautiful young face turned to the sun that Bruce had given him courtesy of a special, golden filter. Ron at his very best, one hundred per cent farm boy. The bodies either side of him changed to shapes of childlike optimism.

  ‘I plough through my days delighting and entertaining and raking in the cash, and all the while I mourn for a love I’ve never even had …’

  Yeates turned to face the audience, camera bulbs flashing in his face, blinding him. In the ensemble, Kenzie turned too, leaning away from him on an impossible angle, supported by her castmates who eventually lifted her fleeing body clean off the stage.

  ‘… a soft touch I will never again feel, a smile that I broke. That I never deserved.’

  The lights narrowed in on Yeates … slowly excluding everyone else from this final memory. He swapped his army helmet for the one that made him famous, the Aussie slouch hat that Hollywood’s Larrikin always wore no matter the context. Yeates somehow made that slouch flow straight into the slump of his shoulders, into the casual scuff of his boots in imaginary dirt.

  ‘I no longer see the purpose in what I do,’ Ron’s gravelly voice said. ‘My money buys me nothing of value, my family live their lives without me, my life is a deception. I’ve got no-one.’

  Toby stepped forward and immediately in front of Yeates, who tucked him under his chin and wrapped arms around him. Man-Ron embracing child-Ron. The follow spot
narrowed even further.

  ‘I’m no larrikin. I am just a boy.’ The spot was down to almost nothing. And Toby, with his good, young heart, was in real tears. It worked two hundred per cent for the moment. ‘But this boy will always … always love Mondays. Because that was the day I first saw Mary’s heart.’

  And … blackout.

  In the dark, nobody moved. Not a foot shuffled on stage, even Dylan held his breath. Could the test audience possibly be unaffected? Or were they all holding their breath too?

  But then it began. It was impossible to see in the dark but Dylan got the sense that it started in the middle of the front row—right where Nanna was—with a single, clear applause. Then another joined it, then another, until the entire space was filled with the sound of a summer storm splashing on a hot tin roof. Except it was appreciation, not rain.

  Bruce called for stage wash, revealing the entire Larrikin cast looking more than a little shell-shocked, not knowing quite what to do with such a rousing response. Had they been so worried about how Larrikin would be received? Then up came the house lights, too, so the cast could see the people who were giving them their thanks so loudly.

  They bowed deeply, as a team, and then again for good measure.

  Kenzie shone, virtually glowed in her white dress from the previous scene. He saw the exact moment her gaze braved finding her nan, and the two women locked eyes until Kenzie’s filled with too many tears to keep it up.

  Even Dylan had to clear away a lump in his throat.

  The applause rolled on and Kenzie sought out Lexi up the back of the auditorium and turned her own applause in the director’s direction. The rest of the cast followed suit until Lexi stood and came sheepishly down to join them. They parted to absorb the most important member of Larrikin’s team who stood, motionless, until the applause began to ease.

  Up on the wall in Dylan’s hidden little loft, the speaker caught Bruce’s murmured instruction …

  ‘Floor mic up.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kenzie hadn’t braved eye contact again, but she hoped that Nanna would understand. Hard enough glancing at her as Larrikin’s difficult subject matter played out, but if she saw her eyes wet with pride it would be her complete undoing. And no-one needed to see Mackenzie Russell in full blub right here on stage.

  There’d been quite enough blubbing for one lifetime these past few days. Thank goodness for Hell Week to take her mind off her own.

  Lexi held up her hands for quiet and Kenzie added hers for weight. Eventually the stomps, claps and whistles shushed.

  Ah, family and friends. Always the best and biggest response.

  ‘Thank you,’ Lexi said, down on stage in a pretty dress much the same era as Kenzie’s own costume. ‘Please …’

  Eventually the audience quieted enough for her to be heard. Someone somewhere turned on a mic to make that easier.

  ‘I’d like to thank every one of you for coming out tonight, and not just because your seats were free.’

  Someone woo-hooed in the crowd and laughter twittered through it. It was impossible not to join in.

  Lexi took a deep breath and considered her next words. ‘I think you all know the challenges Rivervue is facing right now, and so your response to Larrikin has been very … validating. And heartwarming.’ She turned to indicate the whole cast. ‘These amazing people behind me have shown an enormous amount of good faith as our play went into production. Coping with all my secrecy, the fast turnaround, dealing with the fragmented script, managing the frustrations that come with any new production. It wasn’t for everyone, and that’s okay. Neither is this play.’

  Again with the twittering. This time a tad more awkward.

  ‘None of us are the same coming out of Larrikin as we were when we went in.’ She glanced briefly into the rafters and placed her hand over her heart. ‘Some of us aren’t even here to see the brilliant results of all their hard work.’

  Kenzie knew that Lexi wasn’t thinking of Dylan but she couldn’t help making the connection. How disappointed he would have been to miss this. Wasn’t this the entire reason he did the whole Draven thing in the first place? This very moment?

  ‘Ron de Vue is a dominant figure here in Brachen as he was in Hollywood, but at the end of the day he was just a man. And it turns out that man was deeply conflicted due to his upbringing. The author known as Draven wrote Larrikin based on a memoir that he was able to access years after Ron’s death. His agent had squirrelled it away after the auto accident that took Ron. But even agents get old and Ron de Vue’s most controversial memories, sealed in his old army kit, passed to the agent’s son who passed them on to Draven.

  ‘Don’t ask …’ Lexi chuckled. ‘The man has reach.’

  Yeah, he did. He’d reached right into her chest and curled his long, artistic fingers right around her heart.

  ‘And that leads me to the final surprise of the night.’ Kenzie turned back to them and looked Lexi straight in the eye. Did she imagine it or was that steady gaze urging her to be strong? ‘The final surprise of the production for my ever-patient cast and crew. The posters you have seen around town announcing that Larrikin features a de Vue descendant were just mock-ups. They’ll be replaced by morning with the real thing …’

  What? Had Lexi changed her mind about using the family connection for marketing leverage?

  Lexi signalled up to the control room and the stage lights dimmed again as a massive spot illuminated new artwork and projected it onto the white scrim that none of them had noticed dropping into place while Lexi spoke.

  ‘Ron de Vue’s kit bag wasn’t full of paper as we showed it on stage, it was full of quarter-inch audio reels. Old school. Turns out the Larrikin wasn’t much of a typist …’

  Kenzie stared at the production poster. It was virtually the same except instead of highlighting her as a de Vue descendant, a single name had been added to the cast list.

  Ron de Vue.

  Kenzie turned straight to Nanna in the same moment the old woman cried out.

  ‘… so Ron recorded his memoir in audio form, for posterity. Those are the voice-overs you have heard tonight. Ron’s words. Ron’s own voice.’

  Nanna’s strength finally gave out and she burst into tears. Kenzie ran forward and squatted at her feet, taking both her shaking hands.

  ‘The real Ron de Vue in his final and most revealing performance.’

  The audience almost leaped to their feet as they burst into excited applause all over again.

  ‘So there we have it. The Larrikin’s story as he would have told it if he’d had the chance. Or maybe the courage. Almost in the flesh. The tragic figure beneath the clown. The world’s Larrikin but our Ron. Brachen’s. As is this place that he left us to hold his memory in. And as much as I believe that this is what he wanted, we are what he wanted. Rivervue will always be Ron’s place, no matter who resides in this building. Thank you.’

  No-one heard her polite thanks, they were too busy calling for the cast again, more applause and more excitement. The rising energy caused a natural high nearly as strong as the one she’d experienced since Dylan’s arrival. The cast joined hands again, stepped forward and took another long, lingering bow.

  More stomping. More cheering.

  But the longer the acknowledgements went on, the sadder Kenzie felt despite her own euphoria. She could live without Dylan ever knowing the justice she did to his amazingly crafted Mary, but he wasn’t here to see his own masterpiece unfolding.

  She’d robbed him of that.

  She’d robbed him of the chance to come out on his own terms, she’d robbed him of his canine best buddy and now she’d taken his first watch too. The thing he’d told her he loved best about this whole Draven thing.

  That scarcely seemed fair when the only thing he’d taken of hers was her heart.

  All had gathered, cast and crew, among the now-empty auditorium seating, circling Lexi like planets orbiting the sun. Her opening-night notes weren’t substantial,
but they were hard to sit still for—adrenaline was still rushing through Kenzie’s system from such a successful full tech run. When Lexi was done, everyone rose and stretched. Some were now heading to go change so they could celebrate, the kids looked ready to fall into their beds at home, and the crew gathered together as they were staying to start staging tweaks for opening night. She could change later, she wanted to get Nanna home. This had been a massive night for the frail old woman.

  But as the murmuring rose, a gravelly voice shushed them. Almost like it was the theatre itself demanding their silence.

  ‘Wait. I’m not quite done …’ Ron’s voice said to the nearly empty theatre.

  Kenzie imagined him holding a weathered hand out to cover the stop button. Would it have shaken? Was it hard for him, revealing everything in these recordings? How much thought would he have given it beforehand?

  Lexi looked straight at Bruce who looked straight at Liam, their sound tech. The man just shrugged. Kenzie’s own eyes turned up towards the darkened control room, the hairs on her neck prickling to attention. It was only then that she saw the tiny flicker of candlelight coming from the shadows to the left of those tinted control-box windows.

  What was that …?

  ‘Lucy …’ The auditorium filled with blokey gravel again. But it was softer this time, uncertain. ‘Little one …’

  Oh, God, there was so much love in that suddenly gentle voice. It hurt even her to hear it. And Kenzie was separated from it by two generations. Her eyes flipped immediately to where Nanna sat clutching her purse in her lap, waiting for her lift home. It only took two breaths to reach her side again.

  ‘I was never much of a father to you, I know it. But just because I wasn’t with you in person doesn’t mean I wasn’t with you in spirit, my girl.’ Kenzie curled her fingers harder around Nanna’s. ‘I had eyes in Brachen and they told me how you were. What you were doing. How beautiful you were as a child, how beautiful you were as a young woman.’