Love at Center Stage: Three Theatrical Love Stories

by Janice Thompson

  Amy’s dad shifted his gaze to the floor, muttered something about the weather, then shot out the door at the back of the sanctuary. Who could blame him? If Amy had her way, she’d run out the back door too. In the meantime, she’d just pretend she’d dreamed all this.

  Her eyes misted over, and she swiped them with the back of her hand, determined to keep going.

  “There’s no crying in theater, kid,” Steve whispered from the seat to her left.

  “I thought that was baseball,” she whispered in response.

  “That too.” He flashed that boyish smile and then winked. Her heartbeat skipped a beat.

  Stay focused. Stay focused.

  “Why are we talking about baseball?” Woody turned to them, the wrinkles in his brow deepening. “Someone hit a home run? Is that why your dad took off so fast?”

  “Um, no.” She sighed. “I think he had an emergency of some sort.”

  Steve buried a laugh that ended up sounding more like a snort.

  “Are you done with me?” Lucy asked. “Because if you are, Fiona wants to audition.” She lifted the ferret, showing off a frilly pink outfit. “She dressed for the occasion.”

  “What part, exactly, is she auditioning for?” Amy asked.

  “I felt sure Guinevere would need a pet.” Lucy cradled Fiona near her cheek. “And who better to play the part?”

  “I’ll think about that.” Amy offered what she hoped would look like an encouraging smile, and Lucy nodded. Then she took off toward the back of the auditorium, muttering something about finding Amy’s father.

  With Lucy gone, Amy and Steve turned their attentions to the only auditioner left in the room, Steve’s older brother, Darrell.

  “What’s it gonna be, Darrell?” Steve asked.

  “Shoot, I don’t care.” Darrell pulled off his baseball cap and shrugged. He stuffed the cap in his back pocket and ambled toward the stage, the heels of his cowboy boots clicking against the floor. “Whatever you think, as long as I don’t have to sing. I couldn’t sing my way out of a paper bag.”

  “Hmm.” Amy flipped through the script, trying to come up with the right part. “Oh, I know. Why don’t we have you read for Mordred, Arthur’s wicked son?”

  “That sweet boy doesn’t have a wicked bone in his body,” Caroline said, slipping into the seat behind Amy.

  “We’ll see if he can pull off the part of the evil son,” Amy said. “If so, then we’ll know his acting skills are really good.”

  Darrell sighed. “I always have to be the bad guy.” He chuckled as he looked Steve’s way. “It’s been that way since we were kids. He was the good brother, I was the bad one.”

  “Hey, now,” Steve said. “It’s not my fault I’ve always been a mama’s boy. I’m the youngest, after all.”

  “I have it on good authority that you were both mama’s boys,” Caroline said. She chuckled as she leaned back in her seat. “Still are, in fact.”

  “Yeah.” Darrell chuckled. “I spent a half hour on the phone with her last night. She misses us. In fact, she misses the whole town. Wishes she and Bob could be here to try out for the play.”

  “Acting runs in the family,” Caroline said.

  “Hmph. We’ll see about that.” Darrell took the script that Eula Mae offered him, still looking a little uncomfortable.

  “Turn to page forty-two,” Amy instructed. “And give us your most evil voice as you deliver the lines, okay?”

  “Will do.” He laughed. “I’ll just be thinking about that time Steve got me in trouble with Mom back in the eleventh grade when I borrowed her car without asking. That should help me get into character.”

  “I remember that day,” Steve said. “You drove into Knoxville to see a girl you’d met at church camp. Nearly gave Mom a heart attack.”

  Darrell—likely frustrated by all of this attention—lit into Mordred’s lines, delivering them perfectly. Every evil inflection. Every wicked nuance. By the end of his speech, Woody, Amy, and Steve were on their feet, cheering.

  “Finally!” Amy clutched her script to her chest, overcome with relief. “Someone with acting abilities.”

  “My brother can act too,” Darrell said as he pointed at Steve. “You wouldn’t believe the great acting he did every time he got caught doing something wrong as a kid. Very convincing. Mom bought it every time.”

  “Very funny.” Steve gave his brother a stern look.

  From the seat behind Amy, Caroline chuckled. “Boys will be boys.”

  Amy looked at Steve, an idea percolating. “Steve, why don’t you read Arthur’s lines on the next page? Just for fun, of course—to give Darrell someone to read against. That way we’ll know if he can handle the back-and-forth movement from line to line. There’s a really intense scene between Arthur and Mordred, and I’d love to see him tackle it.”

  “Oh, I really don’t act.” Steve shook his head. “Seriously. He was just kidding. Right, bro?”

  Darrell shrugged. “How do you know unless you try?”

  “Yeah, how do you know unless you try?” Amy pressed her script into Steve’s hand. “Besides, you’re just doing this to help out your brother. Give him someone to play against.”

  Steve rose and sighed then made his way to the stage to join his brother, mumbling something about how it didn’t make sense that Darrell would read the part of his son, even if they were just messing around.

  “Pick up with the line at the top of page forty-three,” Amy said. “Let’s see how this goes.” She leaned back against the chair, praying that this little scheme of hers would work. And praying that Woody and Steve would go along with it, if it did.

  Darrell delivered the opening line, and Amy held her breath as Steve countered with his. Not bad. His next line was even stronger, though the British accent could use a bit of work. By the time Steve got to his fourth or fifth line, he had it.

  Amy closed her eyes and listened to the exchange between the brothers, believing, truly believing, that they were Arthur and Mordred. And for the first time all day, she believed something else too. They could pull this off. The town of Camelot really could put on a musical, and folks would pay to come see it. Before long, the town’s residents could breathe freely again.

  Leaning back in her chair, she released a sigh. A loud snore from the seat next to her startled Amy back to attention. She giggled as she glanced Woody’s way. Poor guy. Looked like he’d slept right through Steve’s audition. He must be exhausted from the day’s proceedings.

  Well, never mind all that. He would surely be tickled that they’d found their show’s main star. Perhaps the land of Camelot would be saved after all.

  She prayed so, anyway.

  Chapter Six

  I have only one rule in acting—trust the director and give him heart and soul.

  Ava Gardner

  The following morning, Amy drove to the Camelot Diner to meet Steve for breakfast. Though exhausted, she also felt more encouraged than the day before. She prayed he would concur with her decisions related to the cast list, one in particular. Would he go along with the idea of playing King Arthur? Hopefully she could convince him to do so. Steve knew how important this was to the town—and to her.

  She entered the diner and was surprised to find Steve seated in a booth across from Gwen. A ripple of jealousy ran through Amy, but she pushed it aside. As she drew near the booth, Gwen looked up. Her expression hardened.

  “Oh, hey, Amy.”

  “Hey.” Amy looked back and forth between Steve and Gwen, trying to decide where to sit.

  “Here, sit by me.” Steve moved over on the bench, making room for her. She slid into place, noticing at once the frown on Gwen’s face.

  “We were just talking about the auditions yesterday.” Gwen laughed. “Honestly, have you ever seen so many talentless people in one room? The whole thing was a joke. Too funny, really…in a not-so-funny sort of way.” She rolled her eyes then took a sip from her cup of coffee.

  “What?” Amy found hers
elf stunned at Gwen’s bluntness. “Actually, I thought a few of our townspeople did a great job. Some better than others.”

  “Surely you don’t actually think we can pull off a professional show, Amy. One people would pay money to see?” Gwen leaned forward with her elbows on the table. “It’s ludicrous. You need to stop this before people get hurt and it destroys the reputation of our town.”

  “What?”

  “Yes.” Gwen gave her a pensive look. “People are going to get their hopes up and then dashed when this thing doesn’t work out. It’s not fair—to them or to the people who are going to pay money to see the show.”

  “But that’s always how it is in theater,” Amy said. “Things are rough at first, but the show must go on. Everything works out in the end.”

  “How would you know?” Gwen leaned back against the booth, crossing her arms. “Exactly how many shows have you been in, again? Since junior high, I mean.”

  “Well…”

  “Exactly. Look, Amy, this was a clever idea, and we all know how you love to come up with clever ideas. But this one’s just a little too much. You need to let it go.”

  Steve shook his head. “Gwen, I disagree. I think it’s one of the most brilliant ideas Amy’s ever come up with. And most everyone agrees. As for ruining the reputation of the town, I don’t think it’s possible. Camelot is such a small place that most folks haven’t even heard of it.”

  He emptied his coffee cup and leaned back against the seat, his shoulder rubbing against Amy’s. She tried not to let his closeness detract her from the conversation at hand, but, man! Being this close to him was getting harder every day. She tried to focus on Gwen, who continued to talk.

  “That’s just it,” Gwen argued. “We want to be known as a respectable town. I don’t want to become the laughingstock of East Tennessee.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Amy said. “I won’t let it.”

  “We’ll come up with the perfect cast list,” Steve added. “Just watch and see. God will work it all out. Have a little faith.”

  “Hmph.” Gwen rolled her eyes. “Well, at least we know who’s going to play Guinevere.” She rose and gave him a knowing look.

  “We—we do?” Amy looked back and forth between them. “Who?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Gwen laughed. “I’ve already got the name. And my audition went great. You might as well give me the part. Everyone expects it. You should have heard Blossom and Annabelle talking about it. Lucy, too. They’re all expecting to see me in the role. Some things are just a given.”

  “But…” Amy let her words drift. There was no point in stating her opinion. She and Steve could talk about it later. But if he’d promised Gwen the role because of her name, he could think again. Everything in this show was going to be fair and square. Parts weren’t for sale, not now, not ever.

  Gwen gave Steve a little wink. “You tell her, Stevie. Talk some sense into her.”

  “Yes, Stevie,” Amy echoed. “Tell me all about it.”

  “Well, I…” He sighed and gave Amy a wide-eyed glance. “That’s what we’re here to discuss. The cast list, I mean. So, I guess Amy and I had better get to it.”

  “Yes.” Gwen nodded. “Better get to it, then.” She blew him a kiss. “Thanks for the breakfast date. I had fun.”

  Breakfast date. Ugh. The very idea made Amy feel queasy. She watched as Gwen left the diner, the bell at the door jingling as she shoved her way past an incoming customer. Amy turned to Steve, her temper near the boiling point.

  “You promised her the role of Guinevere? Why? Don’t you think you should have run that by Woody first? Or me? I hardly think it’s fair to—”

  “Whoa, there.” He shook his head and lowered his voice. “I never promised her a thing. Ever. I don’t know where she got that idea. Just conjured it up in that overactive imagination of hers, I think.”

  As he spoke the words “overactive imagination,” Amy flinched. Was he sending her some sort of signal? Did he realize she was currently imagining how she might pull every lovely blond hair out of Gwen’s head?

  “You two were pretty cozy,” Amy said. “So I just figured…”

  “You figured wrong. And just so you know, I came to the diner a little early to read my Bible, have a cup of coffee, and get a little perspective. I had no idea Gwen would be here.”

  A wave of relief washed over Amy. She didn’t even try to hide the smile as she responded. “Gotcha.”

  “My mom called yesterday to say that she’s worried about Caroline.”

  Amy’s heart twisted within her at this news. Caroline had been a mother figure to Steve and Darrell for several years, ever since their mother had remarried and moved to Memphis. “What’s going on with Caroline?”

  “Not sure. From what my mother said, she hasn’t been herself lately. Not that you can really tell over the phone, but something might be up.”

  “If anyone would know, your mom would,” Amy said. “They’ve been best friends forever.” As she spoke the words “best friends forever,” her heart lurched. She and Steve had been best friends forever, hadn’t they? And they knew each other equally as well.

  “Mom asked if I’d keep an eye on Caroline to make sure she’s okay, so I stopped by her place this morning to check on her. I have to admit, she’s been acting a little odd. Secretive.”

  “In what way?”

  Steve shook his head. “It’s like she’s got something to hide. I’ll stop by her house when she’s on the phone, and she’ll end the call right away.”

  “Hmm.” Amy paused. “What are you thinking?”

  “Honestly? I’ve been worried about her health. She went through a spell last year with that lupus flare, and she’s not been the same since. I think she’s keeping something from us.”

  “Weird. You think she’s struggling with something and doesn’t want you guys to know?”

  “I don’t have a clue. I just know that she’s been gone from the house more than usual. Sometimes I’ll come for a visit and her car will be gone.”

  “Maybe she’s gone off to Knoxville on a shopping spree. You know she loves to shop. Remember how she and your mom would head off to the mall in Knoxville and not tell anyone?”

  “Right.” He shrugged. “But I don’t see her wearing any new clothes. So I have to think there’s something going on. And my gut tells me it’s not good. I’ve been half tempted to ask Mom to call her rheumatologist.”

  “I’ll be praying for her, then,” Amy said. She pursed her lips, not saying any more. If Caroline was really headed back into another lupus flare, then she had a tough road ahead of her. Amy swallowed hard, thinking of her own mother—and how deeply that loss still affected her, even now. Oh, how she wished for one more minute of conversation, one more mother-daughter talk.

  Amy’s thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice. “What would you two like to order?”

  She looked up at Prissy. “Oh, um…yes.” Amy glanced at the menu. “I’ll have the Camelot Special.”

  “How do you want your eggs?” Prissy’s voice had a bit of an edge to it as she refilled Steve’s coffee cup.

  “Over easy,” Amy responded. Just the opposite of your attitude today. “No, make that scrambled. I’ll try something different today.”

  “Adam and Eve on a raft,” Prissy hollered back to the kitchen. “Wreck ’em!” The teen turned her attention to Steve and fluttered her eyelashes. “Mama said to tell you that your breakfast is on the house. Since you’re the mayor and all.”

  “Well, thank you.” Steve glanced at Ellie Parker, who stood at the register and gave a little wave.

  Amy did her best not to sigh out loud.

  “So, what would you like to order, Steve?” Prissy asked, her eyelashes still going to town.

  “I’ll have the same thing Amy’s having, but add a bowl of grits. And bring extra packets of sugar, okay?” He gestured to the empty container and the stack of opened packets to his left. “I go through a lot of
it.”

  “Sweets for the sweet. That’s what my mama always says.” She flashed a bright smile and walked away.

  Hmm. Well, at least one of them still had the ability to make people smile. Thankfully, Steve slipped into easy conversation about something to do with the new theater, and Amy relaxed. She could read the excitement in his eyes and praised God for it. Before long, the food arrived. He took her hand and gave it a squeeze then bowed his head and prayed. Oh, how she loved listening to the sound of his voice as he chatted with God in such an easygoing manner.

  The next few minutes were spent eating and talking about everything except the play. By the time Amy swallowed the last of her eggs and toast, she was ready to get to business. She reached into her purse and came out with the page she’d stayed up half the night creating.

  “What have you got there?” Steve tried to sneak a peek, but she pulled the paper back, not ready to show him just yet.

  “Hear me out, okay?”

  “Okay.” He shoveled a spoonful of grits into his mouth then gave her a curious look. The same look she saw every time he doubted her sanity. “Whatever you say, Amy. You’re the director.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “Woody and I talked on the phone till the wee hours last night. We filled most of the roles.”

  He gave her a look of admiration. “Good. I knew you could do it.”

  “I’m still waiting to hear back from Chuck Manly. He was running late yesterday because of a doctor’s visit.”

  “Oh? Is he sick?”

  “Strep throat. So I told him we’d give it a couple of days and then let him try out for Lancelot. He’s the right age, right look….”

  Steve’s brows elevated. “Chuck Manly, the butcher, is your ideal Lancelot?”

  “Well, not ideal, exactly. But I think he could do it. If he can act and sing, I mean.”

  “Hmm.” Steve took another sip of his coffee.

  “What?” Amy looked his way. “You think it’s crazy?”

  “Not sure. I’m trying to imagine Chuck up on stage with a meat cleaver in his hand and that bloody apron he wears all the time. Brings into question the peacefulness of the knights of the Round Table.”