Chapter Three
Acting is a question of absorbing other people’s personalities
and adding some of your own experience.
Paul Newman
Amy had no sooner opened her mouth to share her plan than a grunt at the door shifted the attention of all in attendance. She groaned inwardly as her gaze fell on her father’s best friend, Sarge Brenner.
“Woulda been here sooner, but my rheumatiz’s been givin’ me fits.” Sarge rubbed his hip joints and eased his way into a chair. “Feel like I’ve been run over with an army tank.”
This, of course, led to a story about his days serving in Vietnam. On and on he went, talking about how he’d hid out for weeks in a swamp, finally contracting a strange and exotic illness, before a young American private had happened by and come to his rescue.
Amy didn’t want to hurt Sarge’s feelings but knew she had to keep everyone focused. After getting their attention, she laid out her plan in three simple sentences. “Folks, I think it’s high time we brought in some money so that the town of Camelot can get back on its feet. We need to take advantage of our name, do something we’ve never done before.”
“We’ve tried for years to draw people in by using the Camelot name as a hook,” Pete said. “Nothing has worked. You saw what happened to Lance’s Used Car Lot. Didn’t last three months before Lance closed up shop and moved to Knoxville.”
“He’s right,” Lucy interjected. “None of our Camelot-themed businesses have succeeded. Remember that trailer park on the outskirts of town called King Arthur’s Court? It was condemned by the county years ago.”
“And the hotel,” Woody said, giving Amy a pensive look. “Your dad drew up plans for an over-the-top castle-themed hotel but never came up with the funding.”
“Hey, now,” her father interjected as he swallowed another cookie from the tray in front of Pastor Crane. “That hotel was a great idea.”
“I always thought it was a lovely plan,” Caroline added.
“Yes, I remember.” Amy shook her head, remembering her father’s grand scheme for Excalibur Inn. “But this is different, I promise.”
Gwen smirked. “The only Camelot-themed business that’s ever really worked is my dog-grooming business. Guinevere’s Grooming is doing well, thank you very much.” She looked down her nose at Lucy, who shrugged.
“Yes. Still, what I’m proposing is altogether different,” Amy explained. “I’m not talking about naming a business after anything in the legend of King Arthur. I think it’s time we link arms and perform the musical Camelot.”
“Camelot, did you say?” Her father grinned. “Marvelous idea!”
“Oh, I love musicals,” Caroline added. “Always have.”
Annabelle clasped her hands together. “What a great idea!”
“I think I’d like to audition,” Lucy said. “I did a little acting back in high school.”
“I’d make a mighty fine King Or-a-thur,” Grady Knowles drawled. “My wife—God rest her soul—always called me the king ’a the castle.” He snorted then took a sip from his coffee cup. “Get it? King ’a the castle?”
A nervous chuckle went up from the crowd. Surely everyone knew that the slow-drawlin’ owner of their local hardware store could never fill the role of the famed king. Not that Amy could really peg any of Camelot’s men for the King Arthur role. Hmm.
“Where did this idea come from, anyway?” Gwen asked. “Seems a little far-fetched.”
“Dad and I took a little trip to Pigeon Forge last month to see some of the shows,” Amy explained. “They were wonderful, but once I saw how many people they brought in, the idea took hold. After praying about it, I realized that we could bring in folks, too.”
Her father piped up. “Lotta great country singers in Pigeon Forge. And we went to Dolly’s place, too. Even rode the roller coaster.”
“Yes, we did.” Amy nodded. “The town is a mecca for tourists. I think Camelot can be too, if we play our cards right.”
“I can’t imagine we would ever be as popular as Pigeon Forge.” Lucy said. “I just love it there. There’s a wonderful outlet mall on the highway leading to Gatlinburg. Why, that’s where I got this shirt.” She turned once again to face Amy’s father, whose gaze darted to the trees outside the window.
“Oh, speaking of malls, did you see my new outfit?” Annabelle stood and showed off her snug jeans and frilly blouse. “I bought it in Knoxville last week when I went to my Jenny Craig meeting.”
“Jenny Craig?” Caroline piped up. “I knew it! You’ve lost weight, haven’t you, Annabelle?”
“You noticed?” Annabelle released a giggle as she tossed her dark brown curls. “Well, as a matter of fact, I have. Two and a half pounds. Only fifty-seven and a half more to go before I reach my goal.”
Amy groaned inwardly. How had they transitioned from musicals to weight loss? She cleared her throat. “Attention, everyone.” When they finally stilled, she tried again. “Here’s my point. People pay good money to see those shows. Everyone loves to be entertained.”
“I know I do.” Blossom nodded. “I can’t wait till Tuesday nights to watch American Idol on TV. I just love it. It’s so entertaining, especially when they have all those big-name stars come on to encourage the kids. I’d pay money to see that. In person, I mean. I can watch it on TV for free, of course. Well, not really free, I guess. I do have to pay for the cable service.” She giggled.
“American Idol?” Pete asked. “Whatever happened to the great television shows of the past? Dragnet? Mission Impossible? Now those were entertaining.” He and Annabelle began to debate at length and ended up in an argument.
“If we’re talking true entertainment, there’s nothing like a great book.” Amy’s father rose, cleared his throat, and began to share a story from King Arthur’s legend, his favorite story of all. The story started with the part where Arthur met Guinevere for the first time and ended with their eventual marriage by candlelight.
“Yes, that’s a great story,” Amy said. “Very entertaining. My point is, if we’re strategic, we can compete with all those great shows over in Pigeon Forge. We just have to capitalize on our name. Oh, and we’ll need to build a theater of some sort. I suggest we put it behind the Civic Center, which we can use for our rehearsals. And I’m not talking about building anything elaborate. Maybe an amphitheater type of setup, carved into the terrain with the Civic Center directly behind it. The area is on a hill, so it will work perfectly. And the view is out of this world.” She paused to get a feel for the crowd. No one responded. “I know I’m asking for a lot here, but if we build it, they will come.”
“Field of Dreams,” Pastor Crane interjected as he reached for another cookie. “James Earl Jones gave the performance of a lifetime, don’t you think?”
“I love his speaking voice,” Eula Mae threw in.
“And wasn’t Kevin Costner the cat’s meow?” Gwen sighed. “I’ve always thought he was sinfully handsome in that role.”
You’ve always thought every man was handsome. Amy forced a smile. “I’m just saying that we’ll build a theater where we can do shows all weekend long. A show on Friday night, two shows on Saturday, and a Sunday matinee after church.”
“I cain’t work on Sun–deez,” Grady drawled. “Against my ree–ligion.”
Pastor Crane snorted. “You don’t even go to church, Grady. What’s the difference?”
“Church is against my ree–ligion, too. Too much bickerin’ goes on in them-there churches.”
“Hey, speaking of religion, did you see that new cable channel with the great gospel sing-alongs?” Eula Mae asked. “I just love those old songs. They take me back to my childhood days.” She began to hum “When the Roll Is Called up Yonder.”
“What about that old hymn we sang last Sunday?” Pastor Crane added. “ ‘Trust and Obey.’ I thought I did a pretty good job of working it into my sermon.”
Annabelle sighed. “I don’t mind saying, your message on temptati
on really convicted me that I need to stick to my diet.”
“Speaking of temptation, I’m reminded of a story from the war, during ’69,” Sarge said. “It was me and my guys, over in Vietnam.” Off he went, into another lengthy story.
Amy did her best not to sigh as the minutes ticked by on the clock. As always, she’d lost control of the meeting. Nothing new there, only this time she’d had an agenda. A real one. She cleared her throat, hoping Sarge would take the hint. He did not. His story continued until Eula Mae—God bless her—steered the ship back on course.
“I do like the idea of the play,” the elderly woman said, as she circled the room to refill coffee cups. “And I see the potential for making money, if it’s handled right.”
“I just have one question,” Gwen said. “Who’s gonna direct this shindig?”
Amy’s gaze shifted to Woody Donaldson. She cleared her throat. At this point, the others looked his way as well.
Woody seemed perplexed by the attention. “Eh?”
“Turn up your hearing aid, Woody,” Eula Mae raised her voice. “They want you to direct this play.”
“Correct display?” He looked confused. “Don’t have a clue what that means.”
“No.” Amy exaggerated her next words. “Direct. The. Play. We want you to direct the play.” She sat next to him. “You’re really the only one with any know-how, Woody.”
“Well, shoot,” he drawled. “I was countin’ on playin’ Merlin.”
Steve drew near and slapped him on the back. “Make you a deal. If you agree to direct, you can play any role you like.”
“Really?” Woody’s eyes lit up. “Well, I’ll pray about that. Might just take you up on it.”
“I’m no actress,” Amy added, growing more excited by the minute, “but I’d love to help you direct.”
“If you think you could work with her, Woody.” Pete laughed. “She’ll keep you on your toes with all those ideas of hers.”
“Hey, now.” Amy quirked a brow.
“Ideas are good things. It’s the ‘idea people’ we need to be listening to. They spur us on to do great things.” Pastor Crane lit into a story about how his father had come up with the idea to open the funeral home back in the ’70s, which led Pete to a discussion about what life was like during the decade that birthed disco, which led Annabelle to share that she hadn’t even been born in the ’70s, which somehow led Amy’s father to telling a story about how the passage of time had no bearing in the legendary land of Camelot. Thankfully, he’d led them right back to the matter at hand.
“So…” Amy clapped her hands together. “I can tell you’re all excited about the idea. I know I am. We’ll have several shows per weekend, as I said. And I was thinking we could serve a meal at each show. Something medieval.”
“Something evil, you say?” Woody looked perplexed. “I don’t know that I’d go so far as to say food is evil. Filled with preservatives, sure. But at my age, I need all the preservatives I can get!” He slapped himself on the knee and laughed.
“She didn’t say food is evil, Woody.” Caroline spoke with a raised voice. “She said we’re going to serve a Medieval-themed meal to the patrons.”
“Speaking of great food, did any of you taste that delicious chicken-and-rice casserole I made for last Sunday’s potluck at the church?” Lucy batted her eyes in Amy’s father’s direction. “It was de-lish.”
“Very tasty,” Pete chimed in. “Almost as good as the pie you baked the month before. Blueberry, right?”
“We’re having a sale on our frozen banana-cream pies at Sack ’n Save,” Annabelle threw in. “You all need to come in and check it out. They’re only on special till Tuesday.” She frowned. “Not that I can eat pie. This diet is killing me.”
“So, about this medieval meal...” Amy interrupted. “We’ll feed the audience members a great dinner while they’re watching the show. Very authentic, of course.”
“Well, I think this whole idea is just ridiculous,” Sarge spouted. “Almost as nutty as the decision to put Wi-Fi in at the Flying J gas station last month. Who in the world needs to check their email at a gas station? That was the goofiest idea Amy ever came up with.”
“It’s called progress, Sarge,” Steve said. “We try new things so we can keep up with technology.”
“Well, back in my day, folks wrote letters. Why, I remember that when I was stationed in Texas back in ’65, my sweetheart sent me three letters a week, sometimes four.”
Off he went on another tangent about life in the military. This, for some reason, led to a story from Blossom about hairstyles, which led Eula Mae to a story about orthopedic shoes. At this point, a strange, high-pitched sound filled the room. Lucy Cramden’s purse began to stir, and seconds later Fiona emerged and headed straight for the cookie tray in front of Pastor Crane. As the ferret jumped on top of it, every lady in the room let out a scream and cookies flew through the air along with the tray, which landed on the floor with a clatter.
At this point, everyone went wild, chasing after the ornery ferret. Well, all but Gwen, who waggled a thinly plucked brow in Amy’s direction as if to say, “See? I told you so. You’ll never be able to pull off a show with this motley crew.”
Maybe she was right. Maybe this was just another dumb idea.
Yes, just another in a long line of dumb ideas by Amy Lyn Hart.
Steve looked on as Pete dove under the folding chair to snatch Fiona, hollering something about extermination techniques. Blossom jumped up on her chair, squealing nonstop, while Annabelle picked up cookies from the floor and stuffed them into her pockets. Eula Mae said something about grabbing a broom to clean up the mess, and Amy’s dad began a story about how King Arthur would have dealt with all of this.
And Amy…poor Amy. She sat in her chair, a defeated look settling across that beautiful face. She brushed a loose blond hair behind her ear and sighed.
Steve hated to see her unhappy. And when the tears welled up in her eyes, he could only think to do one thing. Rising to his feet, he called out above the mayhem. “I say we go ahead and take a vote. All in favor of putting on the musical, stand up. All opposed, sit down.”
Okay, so maybe not everyone had heard him. Or maybe they all just liked the idea of putting on a play. For, with the exception of Woody Donaldson, who continued to mess with his hearing aid from a seated position, everyone remained on his or her feet, chasing after—or escaping from—Fiona.
Steve glanced at Amy, who rose from her chair in response to his request. The edges of her lips curved in a tearful smile, and it melted his heart. Suddenly he realized he’d do whatever it took to keep that smile on her face, even if it meant building an outdoor theater…or wearing tights.
Well, maybe not that last one. Still, he’d do just about anything to win this fair maiden’s heart. First, however, he’d have to garner the courage to tell her how he really felt. Staring at the chaotic scene transpiring in front of him, Steve concluded the obvious: sharing his heart would have to wait till another day.
Chapter Four
I know very little about acting. I’m just an incredibly gifted faker.
Robert Downey Jr.
On the first Saturday in May, Amy met with Woody in the tiny fellowship hall of Grace Church. The townspeople would arrive in the sanctuary in a half hour, but before the auditions could begin she had to talk through some issues with the show’s director. Well, director-slash-actor. Woody had shown up in his Merlin costume, ready to get into character. Hopefully his acting skills would prove to be as good as his directing skills. Not that Amy actually had any idea about his directing skills; she only knew what she’d heard through the years from others.
She settled down at the table, flipping open her copy of the script to the page marked Characters. “Look at these roles we have to fill.” She pointed to the audition form. “Arthur, Lancelot, Guinevere, Merlin.”
“Don’t need to fill that one.” Woody raised a makeshift wand. “Merlin’s right here,
ready to perform a little magic.”
“I wish you could. I’d have you wave that wand and make this whole idea disappear.”
“I know, I know.” He chuckled. “Another goofy idea by Amy Lyn Hart.”
“Ugh.” She groaned. “If people keep saying that, we’re going to have to embroider it on a pillow or something.” Amy continued looking at the script, fear settling over her like a dark cloud. Oh well. Back to the matter at hand. “We’ll also need knights, ladies-in-waiting, jugglers, milkmaids, a cobbler…”
“Cobbler?” Woody licked his lips. “I’ve always loved cobbler. Cherry is my favorite.”
Amy forged ahead, making a mental note to address the issue of raising funds to provide Woody with a new hearing aid at the next city council meeting. “And we’ll also need animals—horses and dogs. And then we have to think about costumes and set design. We’ll need a castle, a moat, a field for the springtime scene, and a backdrop for the jousting scene.” She dropped her head onto the table and groaned. “What was I thinking? This is nuts. We’ll never be able to pull this off.”
“Deep breath, girlie.” Woody chuckled. “You won’t make a very good codirector if you’re losing your cool before the auditions even begin.”
“True.” She lifted her head and attempted to collect her thoughts, giving herself an internal pep talk. You can do this, Amy, with God’s help. He hasn’t nixed the idea yet, so He must be for it.
She hoped.
Woody opened his script and looked inside. “It’s not as complicated as you think. Just three major roles in this show—Arthur, Guinevere, and Lancelot. The rest will be easy to fill.”
Love at Center Stage: Three Theatrical Love Stories Page 34