Ghosts, Wandering Here and There

by Flo Fitzpatrick

  I turned redder than the lipstick Thelma Lou was sporting today. “That's sweet of you to say.”

  Cyrus stared at me, then nudged his wife. “She looks familiar. Why does she look familiar? And the boy playing the villain.”

  Billie shook her head. “I don't know, sweetheart. It'll come to you.”

  She turned back to me. “You want to ask me about Don Mueller, don't you?”

  My eyes opened wide. “What is it with you people? First Thelma Lou and now you. Are all of you mind readers? I wasn't going to start a cross-examination, but I must admit, he intrigues me.”

  “He was an intriguing man. Charming, with a devilish sense of humor and smart as a whip. I remember he adored a young woman named Naomi. No, wait, make that Noemi. Different spelling, different pronunciation. Anyway, they planned to get married. Then she disappeared. I've never seen a man so brokenhearted. He was on the phone every minute he wasn't rehearsing trying to track her down. He almost left the show, but felt duty-bound to the cast.” Billie smiled wryly. “Funny. More than one of the women in the cast seemed more than willing to help him get over her. But Don wasn't interested. He did attract the women, though. They'd be offering to cook for him and he'd get more invitations for the holidays than a millionaire with a dozen heirs.”

  “But he loved Noemi.”

  “Yes, indeed. You know, it was barely a week before we opened the show when she disappeared. I always wondered if she knew Don died. To this day I have no idea what happened to her. Sweet lady. But no one could ever figure out why she jilted him like that, either.” Billie glanced quickly at her husband, then continued. “Much as I'd love to see Noemi again, I hope she doesn't simply show up opening night. It's like stirring up a big pot of very hot chili. There were high emotions felt at this theatre fifty years ago. I can't help but wonder if bringing all these people back won't cause that pot to explode. I'll tell you something. While I'm glad I get to work the show again, I'm also glad Cyrus isn't on that stage.”

  I looked intently at Cyrus and Billie. “I understand about the pot exploding, but maybe that's a good thing? Maybe those emotions were suppressed too early, long ago? Maybe this is the only way to give Don Mueller some peace.”

  Rafe strolled toward our threesome as I made that last statement. “Don't discuss Mr. Mueller with this one, Mrs. Boone. She's got a thing for him as is. The man's charm outlived him.”

  Rafe stood by my chair. He was smiling but there seemed to be an edge to his tone. I prayed he'd keep quiet about my sightings of Mr. Mueller in front of Cyrus Boone.

  Billie grabbed my hand. “You've seen Don? I thought all this haunting the theatre stuff was merely drivel.”

  Rafe snorted. I glared at him. “Well, I could sure swear I have. Of course, Rafe here doesn't believe in ghosts and thinks I'm obsessed with shadows.”

  Billie winked at me. “Well, that’s okay, too. Wouldn't do for the current villain to be jealous of the last actor to play the role. An actor, I might add, who had a phenomenal talent.”

  She eyed Rafe the same way I eye the menu at El Diablo's.

  “You remind me of Don a bit.”

  Rafe seemed stuck on her previous words. “Me, jealous? Of a ghost?”

  Billie tried to hide her grin. She was not successful. “Well, yes. After all, the ladies adored Don. Seems Kiely could be the start of another generation ready to succumb to that quirky smile and funny charm.”

  Rafe pursed his lips together and narrowed his eyes. “Well, if any of this generation cares to succumb, I guess that's their own foolish business. It's not mine.”

  He walked away. Billie laughed.

  “That young man is crazy about you. It's all over him. When he gets through denying it to himself, there's gonna be more than popcorn flying around this theatre.”

  I’d just taken a sip from my water bottle and I nearly spat it out. Mrs. Boone was a sweetheart, but obviously a poor judge of romance. Cyrus nodded in agreement with his spouse.

  I shook my head vigorously. “I think the only thing flying around here will be the curtains, but it's very nice of you to say, anyway. Rafe could care less about me other than as a choreographer. Half the time he thinks I'm nuts. And please, whatever you do, don't mention that idea to Lida Rose. She's enough of a matchmaking busybody as is. I keep telling her I'm not interested in her efforts, but in twelve years, she has yet to hear me.”

  Billie sighed, “I'm a hopeless romantic. Fortunately, I'm also quite intuitive about people. Hang on a few days. At most.”

  Before I could respond, Lida Rose started shepherding the wayward members of Bad Business back to their seats. “Okay, cast. We need to get going. Daisy, can you give them a speedy vocal warm-up? I didn't mean to take so long, but I wanted everyone to meet Billie and hear about the changes. I'm going to start today with Act Two while Billie and Cyrus are here.”

  Daisy nodded to Lida Rose, tripped over a bag someone had left in the aisle, got to her feet, and finally made it back to the piano without further incident. When she started playing I noticed no problems with the sounds. Since Rafe hadn't seemed to come up with any impediments to the piano strings from his early morning dip inside, my curiosity soared as to why the man had been waist-deep in the Steinway.

  I glanced over at him. He was singing loudly. He smiled back at me. The smile was sweeter and deadlier than the yellow stuff I take in my coffee.

  We finished vocalizing in less than ten minutes and then I took the cast through a short body warm-up as well. Bad Business on the Brazos was a very physical show—lots of dancing and lots of fighting. I got everyone stretched and ready to go, then nodded at Lida Rose to begin.

  I took a moment first to glance down and see if Jed was comfortable in the partially raised orchestra pit. He sensed my interest and immediately began to whine with excitement. His paws grabbed the sides of the pit, but he wasn't quite able to jump out. Which was precisely why this was now his spot. None of the musicians' chairs were up, in case he tried to eat the chair legs, and I kept a steady supply of toys coming his way so he wouldn't start trying to eat the pit itself. It was proving to be a good arrangement for both the puppy and me.

  The cast worked steadily for the next few hours with breaks only for beverages and bathroom. We finished blocking out the entire act up to the changes. I was interested to see what Billie Boone had in mind for my character. Delilah Delight, dancehall girl, had originally interrupted the big love scene in the old Act Two ending. Now she would be struggling with the heroine, Polly Sue Primrose, for the gun as Nick Nefarious was being roped and tied. I looked down at Lida Rose, who was seated on the front row with the Boones.

  She stood. She motioned to me. I sensed it coming. Trouble.

  “Kiely! This is perfect! Billie wants to add a song and dance number for the cast during the scene where Polly Sue steals the gun. After Nick Nefarious wins another hand from the poker game, Delilah will start a dance to get everyone's attention off of his cheating. Gradually, the whole cast will join in and Polly Sue will manage to steal Nick's gun from him and the dance will end with her pointing it at him and Lance pulling out his rope.”

  I stared at her. That sounded like half the scene. I tried to keep my voice casual and even. “And approximately how long will this number be?”

  She fluttered her eyelashes at me. Serious trouble. “About twelve minutes.”

  I nearly fell into the orchestra pit. Actually, I nearly dove into it. Instead, I sank heavily onto the edge and moaned. Jed tried to jump up onto my lap but he was too far down. I considered joining him, lowering the lift to the bottom, and staying there for the next year or so. We opened in eight days. I still had four numbers to choreograph and teach. I also had to finish learning my own lines and songs.

  Lida Rose wore an expression of total innocence. She smiled winningly at me. I smiled back. I, too, can provide an award-winning acting performance off-stage when the occasion arises. Right now I was acting like I wasn't plotting revenge on my best friend
.

  Chapter 9

  Someone was rhythmically whipping my damp face. I checked the clock. Ten in the evening. I'd been asleep for three hours. I wondered if I'd been having pornographic dreams. Or memories of the trashy novel I'd been reading before taking this nap.

  Neither. The whip turned out to be a furry black-and-white tail. I owed my wet face to the ten-inch tongue slurping lovingly over my cheeks and chin. Tail and tongue belonged to Jedidiah. I hoisted the dog off my chest and sat up.

  I hadn't intended on napping before actually going to bed for the night. But I'd been so exhausted after the end of the day's rehearsal that I'd flopped on the couch and conked out before feeding myself or the dog. Jed hadn't seemed to mind. He loves sleeping, with or without me. But I guess hunger finally woke him. Smart dog. I, too, was starving. I rolled off the couch and headed for the kitchen with the eager puppy at my heels. Ten minutes later he was contentedly chomping on puppy chow and I was spooning chili over tortilla chips.

  Another five minutes and a feeling of severe restlessness overtook me. One should never nap at night unless one is sick. I was healthy. Too healthy. Healthy and bored. It was Friday night, Saturday rehearsals didn't start until one-thirty in the afternoon, and I was in the mood to do anything that didn't involve learning lines, songs, or creating choreography.

  Lida Rose had taken the Boones out to dinner after rehearsal. I assumed she was still chatting and devising ways to stir up more mischief for her choreographer. I had not been invited and I was miffed. George Rizokowsky, Lida Rose's spouse, had picked all of them up at the theatre.

  I looked at Jed. He attempted to lick my face again, but I was now completely awake and too fast. I ducked.

  “I love you, puppy, but I'm bored. I'm also stir-crazy. I've either been at home or at the theatre for a week. I need to get out.”

  Ted and Margaret Wyler had not only provided me with a house, they'd kept their subscription to the Dallas Morning News going, which included the Guide weekend section. I opened it. Maybe there was a movie in semi-near walking distance. The newspaper fell open to “Nightclubs.” I brightened. Why not? I hadn't been honky-tonkin' for a good three years. Country ‘n western music, men in tight jeans whirling women across smoky floors as the background scents of booze and beer fill the air. I could consider this research. After all, the twelve-minute number Billie Boone and Lida Rose had dumped on me sounded like a C&W hoedown. I could check out the latest steps on the dance floors of Dallas.

  With this absurd rationalization in mind, I showered, then pulled on a pair of jeans, a hot-pink silk shirt, and my comfy boots with the two-inch heels. I added enough eye makeup to do a dancehall girl proud. After scouring the apartment to see if anything enticingly destructible was lying in reach of Jed's eager teeth, I hurried downstairs to wait for the cab. I'd called one the minute I saw the name Sweet Ruby's listed in the Guide.

  The honky tonk looked like every Western bar I'd been in since first dancing with my older brother, Sean, back in high school. How he'd snuck me inside without proper ID was something I'd never questioned and never abused. I never drank anything alcoholic at these places out of fear of my driver's license being carefully scrutinized, resulting in me (and Sean) getting thrown out.

  Sweet Ruby's had once been a huge old warehouse. Years ago someone converted it into a nightspot with wonderful wood floors, a stage currently holding a five-piece band, six bars within easy walking distance to the dance floor, and enough tables so that folks not aerobically engaged could “set for a spell” and talk.

  I found a small table and checked to see if any purses, jackets, or half-filled glasses were in sight. Two empty beer bottles were all that remained from the previous occupants. I sank into a chair right as a waitress sporting a long braid, tank top, and impossibly tight black jeans efficiently scooped up the empty longnecks, asked for my drink order, and then took off. I sat back and prepared to enjoy the music and the dancers.

  I immediately sat up again. Rafe Montez was twirling a trampy-looking, tiny bleached blonde in a series of spins around the dance floor. He saw me the same time I saw him and waved cheerfully at me. I waved a bit less enthusiastically back. I felt unreasonably ticked off. The man had a perfect right to go out on a Friday evening with whomever he chose as his companion. None of my business.

  The song ended. The blonde smiled seductively at Rafe. He said something to her that must have been funny because she laughed. She headed to the north end of the ballroom and, oh Lordy, he headed south. Right to my table.

  “Kiely.”

  “Rafe.”

  He sat down on the other chair. I hadn't extended an invitation, but he didn't seem to notice. “So, whadja think of rehearsal today? Billie is quite an imaginative lady. You okay with the extra work?”

  He was being entirely too nice. I went along. “I'm fine. Just needed a night to relax before I try choreographing that marathon last number Lida Rose dumped on my creative but tired toes. I felt like we got a heck of a lot done, though. And I do like the changes to the second act. Especially the hog tying. Cheered me up no end seeing you upside down and swinging.”

  He snorted. “Thank you so much. I might have known you'd enjoy watching me get lassoed. I'm sure Jason will be all too pleased to be the one actually doing the lassoing. I'm surprised he hasn't suggested tar and feathers to go along.”

  “He's a pain, isn't he? But he seems to really dislike you in particular. Is it this WASP versus Hispanic thing or have you stolen some roles he wanted?”

  His head tilted back as he laughed louder than the guitars wailing on stage. “Well, that's blunt. Where did that come from?”

  “Audition survival techniques. One has to learn to stand up for oneself or one doesn't get the job. Sometimes that includes coming out and saying what you're thinking. Although perhaps I have taken it to a fine art.” I wriggled my shoulders flirtatiously. “I've also inhibited more than my share of muggers by telling them exactly where they're going to feel the pain when my foot connects with their anatomy. My kicks can be aimed at any level.”

  He shook his head. “Remind me not to get you riled, Miss Davlin. You're a force to be reckoned with.”

  I acknowledged what I supposed was a compliment. “You didn't answer me. What's up with Jason?”

  “Other than that he's a jerk? Well, let's start with the fact that he's resented me ever since we were in high school. The football thing.”

  “You're kidding.”

  “Nope. He was at Dallas Carter; I was at Jesuit. We never played against them. But he was Dallas's resident bigot even then. Ignored all blacks and Hispanics on the team as much as possible. I used to play sand-lot baseball with some of the guys from Dallas Carter and they did not have a high opinion of Mr. Sharkey.” Rafe grimaced. “He was already off at whatever dinky college he ended up at when he found out I was offered a scholarship to Notre Dame. The man was livid. Going to the Big Irish U was his dream. He's hated me ever since. As for my feelings? I don't care for him. I try to ignore him. To be honest, I never thought he should be cast, although I will acknowledge he's a decent actor. But he's a negative influence on the cast and we don't have time for his womanizing and his sarcastic comments. He also has a tendency to upstage everyone in every scene he can. I won't let him get away with it and he knows it.”

  “I hadn't really considered that. I mean, I'm always over in the corner with the other dancehall girls waiting to do a number, or hanging over the gamblers when they're at the table.”

  Rafe grinned, flashing white teeth. “Believe me, the gamblers are very aware of the dancehall girls leaning across the table.”

  He paused as if to add something, then extended his hand to me. “Forget Mr. Sharkey for the night. Care to take a turn around the ballroom? They're playing a nice western waltz.”

  “Won't your cute little blonde be upset?”

  He looked puzzled. “What cute little blonde?”

  I'd started it. Now I had to finish it. With both f
eet in my mouth. “The one you were dancing with a moment ago. Gee, how quickly they forget.”

  “You mean Candy? Oh hell, Candy's the daughter of Ruby Sweet, who's a good friend of mine. I've known Candy since she was a kid. She's married. Got two kids. Her husband is the fiddle player up there with Hog Heaven and the Mutant Fleas.”

  He waved to an impossibly gigantic man on stage now flailing a bow back in Rafe's direction while I prayed for the floor to swallow me up. I didn't have time to stay embarrassed, though, because Rafe was spinning me around that ballroom with the ease of years of practice. I gazed into his brown eyes as we turned. “You're a bit of an enigma, Mr. Montez.”

  “I am? How?”

  “An art historian who looks like Cortez conquering Mexico, sings with perfect pitch, dances like a champion, and hangs out in a place that might easily be termed a redneck bar.”

  Rafe shrugged. “I was brought up to like people for who they are, not what they do or who their folks were. And I want to become a well-rounded Renaissance man. I also simply like different kinds of people.”

  “Well, there I totally agree with you.”

  We didn't talk for a while. We kept dancing as the music changed from waltzes to rowdy swings to two-steps that resemble old fox trots. Rafe ordered more club sodas for us both and asked the braided waitress to bring huge bowls of popcorn to his table also. The latter made me remember Billie Boone's comment that Rafe was crazy about me and more stuff would be “flying around the theatre than popcorn.” I still didn't buy it, but at least Mr. Montez and I were on better speaking terms. We danced like we'd been partners for years.

  The fiddle player announced a ballad by Garth Brooks I hadn't heard in a while, appropriately entitled “The Dance.” Rafe extended his hand to me and we took the floor again. He held me close as we swayed to the music. I could smell the musky, masculine scent of him. No splash on. This was the real Montez. I felt his heart beating against my chest and his soft breath against my cheek. He started softly singing in my ear and I didn't make a move to stop him.