by Bev Robitai
Howard nodded. ‘Well said, Jessica, thank you.’
He addressed the meeting. ‘Are we ready to vote? Show of hands, please. Option one, we sell out to the council, let the mall go ahead, and move to smaller premises. Option two, we do everything we can to save the existing theatre.’
Hands went up for each option while Fenton tallied the results.
He handed the paper to Howard.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have a result. Four in favour of selling out, and twelve in favour of saving the Regent Theatre. Let’s get to work!’
Within minutes Nick had been elected head of a sub-committee dedicated to option two, saving the theatre, and was eagerly co-opting other members to join him. After working his way round the room, he perched on the sofa arm next to Jessica.
‘You’ll be in, won’t you Jessica?’
She pretended to give it careful thought. ‘Hm, let’s see – I am rather busy just now with managing a theatre and producing a show, but hey, it’s a good cause isn’t it? I’ll just put my social life on hold and devote every waking moment to this place, shall I? Happy now?’
‘This could be your social life, if you like,’ he said softly. ‘If you define social life as spending time with people who treasure your company. We could do great things together, Jess, and saving the theatre would be a bonus.’
His dark eyes looked so hopeful she just wanted to pat him on the head. She was saved from replying by Austin, who squashed down onto the sofa next to her and squeezed her knee.
‘You kids already getting your heads together and planning – that’s good. We’ll soon have this old girl up and dancing into the public eye again, won’t we? What’s first on the agenda, Nick?’
‘I haven’t quite got that far yet,’ said Nick stiffly. ‘We need to brainstorm some ideas and then formulate a plan of action. I’ll be in touch shortly to arrange a meeting.’
He removed himself from the sofa arm and went to confer with Howard.
‘Just you and me then, darling,’ said Austin, his hand moving slightly higher up her thigh.
With a chill in her tone and steel in her eye, she stopped him mid-grope. ‘Don’t make me hurt you, Mr Sudgeway.’ She removed his hand by grasping it firmly at the wrist. ‘Just behave yourself, OK? You’ll get yourself in trouble one of these days.’
‘Sorry, Miss. Don’t spank me, please.’
She didn’t smile back.
His red-rimmed eyes darted about for an escape route. ‘Right then. Just going to see old Gazza for a tick. Be good.’
Clara-Jane plopped down in his place. ‘Goodness, they’re all after you, aren’t they? What’s your secret?’
‘Search me – but it only seems to work on men I’m not interested in!’
‘Isn’t that always the way?’ agreed Clara-Jane casually. ‘So you’re not wildly keen on Nick, then?’
‘Oh he’s nice enough. Nothing wrong with him.’ Jessica’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you asking?’
‘Just checking. I like to live vicariously through my friends. If there’s any romance in the air I want to know about it, that’s all.’
‘Good God, woman – that’ll be the day! There’s nobody in the theatre crowd who appeals, and who’s got time to meet new men when we spend all our evenings in this place? No, night-times it’s just me and the cat, curled up in comfort. Sad but true.’ She snorted at a sudden thought. ‘If you want vicarious entertainment you should follow Tamara around some nights.’
‘Ooh, you have been spending too much time with the cat!’
The following Saturday it rained. Heavily. Jessica sighed as she hunted out buckets and towels to deal with the many leaks dripping onto the stage. By the time the rest of the construction team arrived she had mopped up most of the puddles and placed buckets under the more persistent dribbles.
‘You’re going to have to work round the rain, guys. Either that or climb up on the roof with some chewing gum and bung up the holes.’
‘Ah, a bit of rain never hurt anyone,’ said Gazza as a large drip hit his cap brim. He removed his cap and shook it. Seeing the droplets splatter to the floor, he added, ‘Though it might pay to make sure we’ve got the isolating transformers plugged in to the extension cords though, for anyone who’s using power tools.’
They got to work assembling a series of flats designed to represent the rocky outcrops of Petra.
‘This is a bit wet for a desert, isn’t it?’ said Howard, picking up the battery drill and driving in a screw. It squeaked loudly, echoing in the empty auditorium.
‘More lubrication!’ yelled the rest of the team in a practised response. Stewart giggled nervously.
They built a high wall with steps up to an opening and a flat area, a platform, in front of it.
‘How much room do they need up here?’ called Gazza from the platform.
‘Leave enough space for a chair and for someone to stand behind it,’ Howard told him, after checking the set design.
‘How big a chair?’
‘How the hell should I know? Best make room for the biggest one in the props room.’
‘That sounds right,’ put in Jessica. ‘Ada Boynton sits in it and she’s supposed to be “a vast obese woman, rather like an idol” according to the script.’
‘An idle what?’ asked Howard, grinning.
‘An American idol!’ said Jessica. ‘Seriously, the script says she’s American.’
‘I’d better put some extra reinforcing under this bloody platform then,’ came a voice from above.
Amid the wave of laughter that followed, Nathan appeared at the side of the stage. Today he had interesting red and blue colouring sprayed through his dreadlocks, which were tied back into an unruly bunch. At least they toned in with his tie-dyed red t-shirt, thought Jessica, but she wasn’t too sure about the blue and purple patterned pants.
Stewart however, leaped to his feet with enthusiasm. ‘Wow, cool pants man – where d’you get them?’
‘Course assignment,’ said Nathan. ‘Block printing. It was these or curtains.’
‘Great colours.’ Stewart reached forward tentatively to feel the fabric but wavered halfway. He changed the direction of his hand, instead gesturing towards the other side of the stage. ‘Er, the paint room’s over there. You want to see what colours we’ve got for the Petra set?’
He took Nathan over to the small but well-stocked paint room, where Jessica watched them prise the lids off several cans to check the contents. She edged over to Howard and nudged him. ‘Looks like wee Stewart’s found himself a friend.’
Howard straightened up from rummaging through a box of screws, and followed her gaze to where the fair head and the dreadlocked head were close together, peering into a paint bucket.
‘You might be right,’ he said.
She smiled. ‘It would be nice to see Stewart happy, wouldn’t it? He always seems a bit lost or unsure of himself, as if he can’t quite figure out where he fits in.’
‘You’re a sweet little softie, aren’t you Jessica? You can’t fix everything, you know,’ he told her. ‘Sometimes people have to sort their lives out themselves.’
‘Yeah, but it doesn’t hurt to give them a nudge in the right direction occasionally, does it? Remember when MaryAnn thought you were having an affair because you spent so much time here? Wasn’t it a good idea to get her involved as well so she could see what was really going on?’
‘Oh sure – it gave her a whole new list of things to nag me about. “Did you tidy up the prompt box yet, Howard? Is anyone fixing the rip in the curtain, Howard?” Oh, don’t give me that look, Jessica! OK, OK, you’re right. Meddle away, my dear – I’m sure you know what you’re doing.’
‘Thank you, Howard. Your faith is reassuring. Now back to work.’
‘I would if I could find what I’ve done with my pencil. You haven’t seen it, have you?’
Towards the end of the construction session Jessica was amused to hear Stewart asking Howard’s permission to
turn up a little late for the next session.
‘It’ll only be an hour, Howard. Nathan’s invited me to see his end of semester art display at the college. Is that all right?’
‘Sure, mate – take as long as you want. It’s not like we’ll dock your wages for it.’ Howard grinned. Jessica might be right about a blooming relationship.
‘Thanks, Howard! See ya!’
Jessica watched fondly as Stewart and Nathan left together, chatting animatedly.
Sunday rehearsal, 8.5 weeks to Opening Night
Simone Duchaine unleashed a venomous glare. ‘You’ve always done what I wanted. You always will. You can’t help yourself.’
Her deep voice filled the auditorium, sending shivers down the spines of everyone within earshot. ‘You’ll do what I want,’ she insisted.
The actor, playing her son Raymond, stammered a few words but she overrode him forcefully. ‘You’ll do what I tell you.’
‘Yes. Yes, I suppose so.’
‘OK, hold it there thanks – just before Sarah’s entrance.’ Adam bounded up the steps from the auditorium onto the stage. ‘Very good, Simone, we’re getting a clear sense of how evil Mrs Boynton is now.’
‘She certainly scared the hell out of me,’ Howard muttered in Jessica’s ear. ‘What a deviant old bat. Simone can be scary enough at the best of times, but this character seems to have possessed her.’
‘I agree! I’ve never seen Simone project quite as strongly as that. She really is frightening.’
The rest of the construction crew looked similarly cowed as they watched from the wings. Even Tamara seemed subdued, exchanging her lines with Phil while barely looking him in the eye.
‘Looks like Adam’s had a word with Tamara,’ Jessica murmured to Howard. ‘She’s dropped out of seduction mode at last.’
‘I bet Phil’s relieved. Wonder who she’ll go for next. It’s just as well I’m past her age bracket,’ he said with just a hint of wistfulness. ‘You know what the crew’s saying? “Tamara Fitzpatrick? Tamara fits anybody!” Not that I’d encourage such things of course,’ he hastily added, seeing her expression of displeasure.
Their questions were answered at the next coffee break when Tamara made a beeline for Stewart and plopped down next to him on the bench by the back door. Several slips of heavy purple paper marking her script fell to the floor and he picked them up for her.
‘Aw, thank you sweetie! How ya doing, Stewie? I’ve missed you at rehearsals lately. It’s no fun that you’re only in the first Act. Want to come outside for a smoke?’
He shook his head. ‘No thanks, Tamara.’
‘Aw come on Stewie, I’m dying to wrap my lips round something hot. You wouldn’t let a girl do that all by herself, would you?’
His cheeks flushed bright pink. ‘No really, you go ahead, Tamara. I just want a cup of coffee.’
‘Stewie!’ She ran her arm through his but he pulled away abruptly. She bounced to her feet. ‘What’s the matter with you,’ she yelled. ‘Are you gay or something?’
There was a sudden hush in the Green Room. Stewart bolted for the door and disappeared.
‘What?’ said Tamara defensively. ‘I didn’t think he was.’
‘And he may not be,’ said Jessica. ‘Either way, it’s his own business. Don’t hassle him.’
Tamara pouted and flounced off to get herself a drink.
‘All right, everybody,’ said Adam, his voice carrying easily over the chatter that had broken out. ‘When you’ve finished your break, get back onstage and continue from where we stopped. See if you can get your lines without reading. I’d like books down by the end of next week so your memorising should be well along by now.’
There was a universal groan from the cast.
Adam crossed the room and spoke quietly to Jessica. ‘Round them up and get them back to work in five minutes if I’m not back, would you? I’ll just have a word with young Stewart.’
She nodded. ‘Will do.’ Then, ‘I think he’ll appreciate that. You might be able to help, um, clarify things for him.’
Adam quirked an eyebrow at her and made a discreet exit.
Jessica gave them six more minutes of break, then called the cast back onstage to run through Act two, scene two. Adam returned shortly afterwards and took over from her with murmured thanks.
Jessica stayed to read through the stage directions for the following acts, and, upon reading that character Ginevra was to enter with a long knife, she quietly went backstage to find Gert. She located her in the upstairs props cage, cheerfully searching through numerous sets of drawers.
‘You’d think we’d have a hypodermic syringe here somewhere, wouldn’t you dear? Surely we must have done something medical once upon a time?’
‘Gert, you know Ginevra has a big knife onstage – well, it won’t be sharp or anything, will it?’
‘Of course not, Jessica! All stage props are made as harmless as possible, you know that.’
‘Yeah, I know. I’m just getting a bit jumpy with all the strong emotions flying round the place. There are several people I can imagine wanting to use a deadly weapon on various members of this company.’
‘Well that’s nothing new for the theatre, is it! Remember when the lead man in Dick Whittington got together with the top dancer and ran off with her after the show? I’m sure his poor wife would have brained him with the London milestone given half a chance.’
Jessica laughed. ‘The show’s most dramatic scene was backstage in the Green Room, wasn’t it! But at least that show was a comedy. With this one, it feels like we’re stirring up evil spirits just by reading the script. It scares me to think how things would go if the actors had instruments of death in their hot little hands.’
‘Your imagination is running away with you, my dear. Such a sensitive wee thing.’ Gert patted her on the arm. ‘Now, off you go and let me get at that shelf behind you. Thank you. Aha, there we are!’ She waved a dusty plastic syringe triumphantly. ‘Got it! I knew we’d have one somewhere.’
Jessica went back to the stage where Adam was demonstrating to the company how to find their correct position.
‘Once the lights are rigged and cued, they’ll guide you. For now we’ll use that work light.’ He put his hands on Stewart’s thin shoulders and eased him gently a few steps across the floor. ‘Now, close your eyes. Can you feel the heat of the light?’
Stewart nodded.
‘Turn your head from side to side. When the heat is strongest in the middle of your face, you’re on the right spot.’
Stewart opened his eyes in surprise. ‘Yes, I can feel it! Hey, that’s really easy.’
Adam demonstrated the technique to a couple more of the novice actors before calling a halt. ‘That’s it for today. For Tuesday’s rehearsal, please arrive on time as we have photographer Bruce Fitzpatrick coming to take some promo shots of you. I know we don’t have your final costumes yet but that doesn’t matter. Clara-Jane will have enough items that look right so we can get the pictures we want. It shouldn’t take more than half an hour, then we’ll be right into Act three so be ready. Thanks everyone, see you Tuesday.’
The cast left the theatre, chattering and laughing.
The construction crew moved from the workshop area onto the stage to put in a couple more hours of hard work.
‘Right, if you could gather yourselves round Mrs Boynton please,’ called Adam. ‘Nadine’s holding the syringe, Ginevra has the knife, Raymond has the glass bottle.’
‘And no larking about with those props!’ boomed Simone. ‘I have my cane and I’m not afraid to use it!’
‘It’s all right, Simone, nobody’s killing you… yet. Hold that pose please, while I check with Bruce.’
Adam conferred with the photographer, a tall gangly figure with wispy ginger hair. Bruce eyed the group and nodded at Adam’s suggestion.
‘Excuse me while I just tweak a few things,’ said Bruce to the statue-like actors, stepping forward to rearrange the folds of Mrs Boynton’s
dress. He stepped back, then reached in and moved Ginevra’s arm a fraction higher before assessing the tableau again. ‘Tamara, could you move a little to your left please.’
She shuffled sideways, her face expressionless; Phil moving quickly to give her more space.
‘Thank you, I’ll just take a couple of shots of that.’ Bruce held up an off-camera flash and fired the shutter twice. ‘OK, can you all look at the floor… and then back to the camera…now.’ He fired again. ‘Good, that’s even better.’ He moved closer to the group. ‘Look up to the roof, and back to the camera…now.’ They blinked at the bright flash for a few moments. ‘Right, this time look at each other as the characters you’re playing – ready? Go.’ He fired off several more shots, the actors registering varying emotions as called for in the script.
‘Does that give you what you need, Adam?’
‘That should be perfect, thank you, Bruce. Now, if you have time could we quickly do the individual shots for the programme out in the Green Room?’
The cast gathered out back, chatting idly while the photographer set up a backdrop and a couple of lights.
‘Did you know that there’s an Icelandic webpage for Agatha Christie?’ said Phil.
‘Darling, how do you come up with such useless information?’ Pippa asked her husband, shaking her head.
‘I Googled her when I got bored with marking the latest set of drivel masquerading as class assignments. She was an amazing woman – wrote nearly 70 novels as well as her plays and short stories. Somehow Dauðinn á Prestssetrinu sounds much more exotic than Murder at the Vicarage, doesn’t it?’