“What happened?”
“I’m not sure. He was acting a little funny all morning.” Gwen shrugged. “Saying some odd things and looking a little lost. But with Sarge, it’s kind of hard to know…ya know?”
“Right.” Amy nodded but didn’t say more for fear of hurting Jackson’s feelings.
“Then, just before you called us to break for dinner, he started talking kind of crazy. His words were slurred. And the next thing I knew, he said he had to sit down. But there wasn’t time to sit. Down he went.” Gwen’s eyes filled with tears.
Steve looked up, and Amy could read the concern in his eyes. “I’m pretty sure it’s a stroke. I hope the paramedics get here soon.”
“Is—is he breathing?”
“He’s breathing and his pulse is steady,” Steve said with a nod. “But I’d feel better if—” Off in the distance a siren pealed out, and Amy sighed with relief. Minutes later, two paramedics pushed their way through the crowd and went to work on Sarge right away. One of them spoke into the walkie-talkie on his shoulder. In the meantime, the entire cast gathered around, many of them ushering up quiet prayers. Steve asked everyone to step back, his voice commanding authority.
One of the paramedics ran toward the ambulance, returning with a stretcher. Within minutes Sarge was situated on it, his eyes closed and an oxygen mask firmly in place.
“Where are you taking him?” Jackson asked. “I want to come with you.”
“You can follow us,” the paramedic said. “Hope you’re up for a drive. He needs to go to the medical center in Knoxville.”
Jackson’s eyes widened and he nodded.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Amy asked.
“I…” He shook his head. “No. Amy, you’ve got to stay here and keep going. This rehearsal is too important. If the second act doesn’t get knocked out, we don’t have a show.”
“What good is a show when the people in it are hurting?” Amy felt the tears rise.
“I’ll go with him, Amy.” Gwen gave her an imploring look. “If you’re okay with that.”
“Of course.”
She stepped back, watching as the paramedics continued their work. In the midst of the struggle to elevate the stretcher, Sarge seemed to jar awake. For a moment, he looked as clear-eyed as a youngster ready to head outdoors to play. His lips began to move beneath the oxygen mask, and he grabbed at it, pulling it loose. His lips continued to move, the words faint…barely distinguishable.
“Didn’t—mean—to—do—it.” Each strained word sounded weaker than the one before it. Sarge’s eyes fluttered closed once more.
“Do what, Gramps?” Jackson asked, leaning over the stretcher. “You didn’t mean to do what?”
Sarge’s eyes popped open once again, and the oxygen mask trembled as he tried to grip it. “Didn’t—mean—to—shoot—”
“Shoot?” Everyone echoed.
“Shoot who?” Jackson asked. “Gramps, who did you shoot?”
The old man’s eyes grew wide and his next words rang out, clear as a church bell on a Sunday morning.
“Bu–Bugsy,” he said, the spark now gone from his eyes. “I—shot—Bu–Bu–Bugsy.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Acting is like a high wire act. Your margin for error is very slim.
Christine Baranski
Amy looked over the programs for the show, frustrated by the typos she found there. “These will have to be redone.”
“You think?” her father asked, looking over her shoulder. “They look pretty good to me.”
“Look how Eula Mae spelled Grady’s name.” She pointed to the word G-r-o-d-y and winced. “And she only put one n in Annabelle’s name. These are little things, but we’ll need to get them ironed out so no one gets offended.”
“Speaking of people getting offended, what’s going on with Pete and Lucy Cramden?”
She gave her father a curious look. “What do you mean?”
“Well, the other day when we had our Come to Jesus meeting in the pest control van, Pete looked pretty upset.”
“Wait.” He’d lost her. “Come to Jesus meeting in the pest control van? What are you talking about?”
“Oh.” He clamped his mouth shut and said nothing.
“Dad, c’mon. What are you talking about?”
“Well, a bunch of the guys—mostly Steve and Pete—wanted to get together to talk about women.”
“Steve…wanted to talk about women?”
“Yeah.” Her father smiled. “He’s crazy about you, you know.”
“No, I don’t know.” She paused. “Well, about half the time I know, and the other half I’m trying to figure out if he knows I exist.”
“He knows. He’s just shy. Like King Arthur. In case you haven’t figured it out, you’ve typecast him, Amy. Steve is a great leader—a wonderful mayor and genuinely kind to everyone he meets, just like Arthur was. He’s just not as good as some people at opening up and sharing. In some ways I think he’s too kind, if such a thing is possible.”
“I guess.” She paused, her thoughts shifting to memories of Steve pouring his heart out for others. “He’s a great guy, dad. I just wonder if this relationship of ours is going to fizzle out. Things have been so strange lately.”
Her father drew near and gave her a hug. “Relationships are tricky things, honey. One of these days, when things settle down, you and I can have a real heart-to-heart about what makes a relationship work. But today is not that day. We’ve got a dress rehearsal in a couple of hours.”
“Yes.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Still need to take care of about forty-five things before leaving. There’s so much to do.”
“I’m headed out to, um…” He paused and shrugged. “Well, I’ve got a few things I need to do too. See you there. Okay?”
“Sure.” As she watched him leave, Amy tried to figure out what he was up to. Maybe he planned to pull some sort of prank during the rehearsal. She’d heard a couple of rumors indicating the guys were up to tricks. She prayed they’d forgo any antics and just focus on the show.
Her cell phone rang and she smiled as she saw the number. Jackson.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” He sounded positive. Upbeat. “Wanted to let you know Gramps is doing a little better today. They’ve got him talking a little bit. And he ate some Jell-O.”
In the background she heard Sarge’s voice: “I hate Jell-O. Can’t a fella have some real food?”
She laughed. “Well, tell your grandfather that we’re all praying for him.” She wanted to add, “And ask him why he shot Bugsy!” but refrained. Hopefully he would come clean in time.
“He feels your prayers.” Jackson’s tone changed. “And he’s grateful. I—I am, too.” A pause followed. “Honestly, I don’t know what I would have done if you—and I mean all of you—hadn’t been here to walk him—us—through this. I hate to see him suffer, but there’s some consolation in knowing that he’s got a good support base, praying and caring.”
“We do care,” she said. “We love your grandfather, Jackson. And we…” She stopped herself short of saying “We love you, too.”
“Camelot is more than a myth,” Jackson said. “I see that so clearly now. It’s a real place, with real people who would lay down their lives for others. Just wanted you to know how grateful I am. And grateful to the Lord for bringing me to such a place.”
She’d just started to respond when Sarge’s voice rang out from the other end. She couldn’t make out his words, but he sounded passionate.
“Gramps wants to know if the show will go on,” Jackson said. “If you’ve replaced him.”
“Hmm. Steve’s supposed to be working on that,” Amy said. “Hope he’s got it under control.”
“Knowing Steve, he’s got a plan.” Jackson grew silent for a moment. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that things are going better on this end. I’ll see you in time for the dress rehearsal. Oh, and Amy…”
“Yes?”
“T–thanks.”
“Oops, gotta go. Gramps just pushed the wrong button and called for the nurse. See you in a while.”
“Yes. See you…” She never got to finish. The call ended. Not that she really knew what to say in response to Jackson’s flattery, anyway. One thing was for sure, though. The guy certainly knew how to make a girl feel good. Yes, he certainly did.
Steve glanced out the window of his office, troubled by storm clouds overhead. He ushered up a quick prayer that the weather would cooperate. If they ever needed clear skies—symbolically or otherwise—it was today.
A rap on the door caught his attention. He turned to find Mickey standing there.
“Glad you could come,” Steve said. “Take a seat.”
“Am I in some sort of trouble?” Mickey asked as he sat. “Still mad at me after that last article? Did those pictures of Amy and Jackson bother you?”
“No, I’m over that.” Steve walked around his desk and took a seat facing Mickey. “I feel like we’ve had the time to get to know each other over the past several weeks, and that’s a good thing. And it’s because we’re friendly that I feel comfortable asking for a favor.”
“A favor?” Mickey shifted his position in the chair. “What sort of favor?”
“You were there when Sarge had his stroke,” Steve said.
“Of course. How is he?”
“He’s going to recover, but it’s going to take time. From what I hear, he’s already talking, telling the nurses his war stories.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I met with Woody last night to talk about how to handle Sarge’s absence. We weren’t sure at first how to go about replacing him in the jousting scene. But then Woody mentioned something you’d said to him about horseback riding. You grew up on a ranch?”
A look of terror settled into Mickey’s eyes. “Wait. What are you asking?”
“We need someone to take Sarge’s place in the jousting scene. Someone who’s experienced with horses. Or mules.” Steve chuckled. “Shoot, you could be experienced on a carousel pony and we’d take you.”
“You want me to…what? Be in the show?” Mickey paled. “Take Sarge’s place?”
“It’s the only chance we’ve got of going on tomorrow,” Steve said. “I need you, man. And don’t tell me you don’t know the part. You’ve been here for nearly every rehearsal. If anyone knows this show, you do.”
“Well, sure, but that doesn’t make me an actor. And if I take Sarge’s part, I have to dance in that maypole scene.” He shook his head. “Ain’t happening.”
“Sure it is.” Steve slapped him on the back. “We need you. And you’re part of the family now. You’ve grown on us.”
“Like a fungus?”
Steve laughed. “I guess you could put it like that.” He paused. “So, just one question. Can you really ride a horse? Or, I guess the better question would be, can you ride an old donkey?”
Mickey gave him a sheepish look. “I won barrel races in high school. And my father owns over forty horses at our family’s ranch just west of Knoxville.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. You need horses?”
“Do we need horses? Does a skipper need a first mate?”
“I don’t know.” Mickey looked confused. “Does he?”
Steve laughed and patted the fellow on the back. “He does. And yes, we need the horses. The sooner, the better. Dress rehearsal starts in two and a half hours.”
“Hmm. Might be doable.” As Mickey paused, he gave Steve the funniest look. “Okay, so can I ask you a question? And please be honest with your answer.”
“Sure.”
A pained expression came over Mickey as he spoke. “Why are you so nice to me? You always have been, from the very beginning. But why? Everyone else around here treated me like I was some kind of enemy or something, but you were always kind.”
“Well, I’ll be honest—it’s Charlie Hart’s doing,” he confessed. “He told me from the beginning that I needed to include outsiders in our round table. That we were all on the same team, working together. So I guess I’ve just never seen you as a real enemy, even when things were tense. You know?”
“I guess.” Mickey ran his fingers through already-messy hair. “Until that day in the pest control van, I didn’t really think about all of you as regular people.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry if that sounds blunt,” Mickey said. “But when I’m writing an article, the folks I’m writing about are just a means to an end. A way to get a paycheck. I’ve never really stopped to think about—or care about—them. Ya know?”
Steve shrugged. He didn’t know. Couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to live like that. “We’re definitely real people with real problems,” he said.
“I guess that’s why I felt comfortable hanging around,” Mickey said. “I’ve always considered myself such a screwup. Felt good to land in a town where everyone else was just as messed up as me.”
“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended.”
“Flattered,” Mickey said. “Knowing you are all flawed gave me permission to be. And hearing all the guys talk about women the other day…” He shook his head. “Strange, but it did something to me. Got me thinking about falling in love again. Don’t know if it’s possible, but maybe.”
A thousand thoughts rolled through Steve’s head at once. He wanted to tell Mickey that in order to find real love, he needed a relationship with the One who created the idea in the first place. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, though, Eula Mae rushed into the room.
“Boss, I don’t know why you’re sitting here. It’s a madhouse out there. Ellie Parker nearly caught the diner’s kitchen on fire trying to cook those turkey legs, and there’s a water leak out at the RV park. Darrell’s run into some sort of problem with a sewer line backup at the theater, and Amy’s in meltdown mode.”
“Amy’s in meltdown mode? Why?” He rose and took a few steps toward Eula Mae.
“Couldn’t make sense of her last phone call. I think she’s worried about Sarge. I tried to ease her mind. She also wants to know what we’re going to do about that jousting scene.”
Mickey raised his hand. “Let her know that I’ll be taking Sarge’s place.”
“You—you are?” Eula’s Mae’s face paled. “Seriously?”
He nodded.
She rushed over to him and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “God bless you. And here all this time I thought you worked for the enemy, just like that Fred Platt fellow.”
“Worked for the enemy?” Mickey laughed. “The only enemy I face each morning is myself. So, no, I don’t work for the enemy. And right now I’m going to be working for—or with—you guys. But I’d better track down some horses first.” He looked at Steve. “Go ahead and call Amy if you like. Tell her not to worry.”
Steve nodded. “I’m headed down to the theater, so I’ll let her know everything’s under control.”
Mickey gave them a nod as he headed out the door and down the hallway.
“Let me ride with you,” Eula Mae said, turning her attention to Steve. “That way we can iron out some of these other problems on the way.”
“I live to iron out problems with you, Eula Mae,” he said, sweeping her into his arms and kissing her on the top of the head.
“Don’t let Woody catch you kissing me,” she said. “He’s liable to come after you with a shotgun.”
“Let him.” Steve kissed her white curls again and laughed.
“You’re kissing the wrong woman, Steve Garrison,” she said, a scolding look in her eyes. “In case you’ve forgotten, there’s a beautiful young woman out there who’s crazy about you.”
“Hmm.” He paused, not sure how to respond. “Well, I’ll make you a deal, Eula Mae.
You leave my love life to me and I’ll leave yours to you.”
“Like that would ever happen.” She laughed. “C’mon, Mr. Mayor. We’ve got some big fish to fry today. Better get out of here.”
“I always loved a good fish fry,” he said, giving her a wink.
Still, as he followed her down the hallway, the only fish on Steve’s mind was the one he hoped to hook later this afternoon when he finally—heaven help him—opened up and shared his heart with Amy.
And maybe, just maybe, he’d even sing her a song in the process.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The art of acting consists in keeping people from coughing.
Benjamin Franklin
Steve arrived at the theater an hour before the scheduled dress rehearsal, anxious to find Amy. Already, the melody rang in his heart for that goofy song he and the other men had written. It offered a strange sense of courage. With the song leading the way, he could speak his mind—finally.
Not that he really had time for a heart-to-heart today. Not with the tech people, musicians, actors, and stagehands rushing about and shouting orders to each other. Still, he would give it the old college try.
Caroline grabbed him by the arm. “I know it’s early, but you need to get into costume right away. Amy’s orders.”
He saluted, offered a quick, “Yes, ma’am,” then headed inside to change.
It didn’t take long to get into his costume for the first scene. Thankfully, Caroline had adjusted the stretchy pants, letting the seams out a bit. Much better. And she’d adjusted the shoulders too. Once dressed, he checked his appearance in the bathroom mirror then headed back outside.
“Steve, glad you’re here.” Woody drew near with a panicked look on his face. “After the problems we had with your lav microphone during our last rehearsal, I decided to locate a new one. Took some doing, but here it is.” He held up the tiny black pin-on microphone. “Do you mind doing a sound check?”
“Of course not.”
“Take center stage, if you will,” Woody said. “Just recite your lines from your soliloquy. That should give our sound guy enough time to set your levels.”
Love at Center Stage: Three Theatrical Love Stories Page 54