CHAPTER 32
QUIET PLEASE, THERE’S A LADY ONSTAGE
IF THE STAFF WAS NERVOUS ABOUT DADDY’S DEBUT, they hid it well. As we changed into our costumes behind the screens Hal had set up, there was a lot of good-natured teasing about my debut. Last year, I’d been too overwhelmed to take a role in the Follies. This year, my stomach was aflutter with nerves and mushroom pomponnettes.
When I emerged in my costume, the staff applauded. I laughed when I beheld my adorable forest creatures.
Over their tights, the staff wore shapeless knee-length serapes in various shades of brown and gray. Mei-Yin—our resident squirrel—had a bushy gray tail attached to her serape. Catherine had a bunny’s powder puff. Alex’s head was crowned with a stag’s antlers. In his black eye mask, Javier looked more like a dashing cat burglar than a raccoon. But a morose-looking Reinhard won top honors with his enormous moose antlers.
“The cast will lose all respect for me.”
“They’ll be too busy admiring your rack,” Hal replied. “Honey, my drapes are stuck again.”
As Lee fiddled with the draping that hung over Hal’s full-length mirror frame, the door to the Smokehouse opened. We all froze, but it was only Bea.
“My God,” she said when she saw Mei-Yin and Reinhard. “It’s The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle.”
Reinhard scowled. “If you have come to call places, please do so.”
“Places!” she sang out, still grinning. “Break a hoof, Dad.”
I adjusted Daddy’s floppy dwarf cap. “You’ll be great.”
Please, please, please let him be great.
Rowan kissed my cheek. “Just have fun. Both of you.”
I slipped out the Smokehouse door and eased aside so that Janet and Hal could squeeze in behind the backdrop that hung from the branches of the maples. The recorded overture blared from the speakers, prompting cheers and whistles from the assembled actors. When the lights came up to reveal Janet in her evil queen glory, they responded with a low “Oooh.” But Hal got the first laugh of the evening when he pulled open his draperies. He’d kept the weird mask from the Disney cartoon, but the rest of his costume was pure Carmen Miranda, complete with a towering headpiece of apples.
There were some giggles when I launched into “I’m Wishing.” And even more at Catherine’s echo, which veered between Minnie Mouse and Marlene Dietrich. Lee got some laughs with Prince Charming’s constipated voice. But Bernie’s Huntsman brought down the house as he gamely attempting to stab me while inching forward in his walker.
The friendly forest creatures were a hit. So was the entrance of the dwarfs, who marched over from the breezeway carrying lanterns. I watched Daddy anxiously, but he “heigh-hoed” as fervently as the rest and shamelessly hammed up his sneezes: stuttering, staggering, regaining control, only to lose it again; clinging to a very un-Happy Reinhard; goggling at a very Dopey Javier; and finally unleashing such a storm that the rest of us careened around the acting area.
“You’re doing great,” I whispered to him. And was rewarded with a smile and a snuffle.
I danced with the dwarfs, spinning from one pair of hands to the next. It was almost like my dream, but I was so much happier now. Daddy had joined our dance and although Rowan could only watch from the shadows, his pleasure bubbled through me like the champagne we had sipped at our cocktail party.
When it came time for the Queen’s transformation, I was the one watching from the shadows. As Janet drank her magic potion, the strobe light kicked in, making her contortions positively eerie. Her gown billowed as she whirled in a circle. The flash pot went off, emitting a small cloud of sickly yellow smoke. It cleared to reveal a hook-nosed, hunchbacked Rowan shrouded in a long, black cape.
The collective gasp from the audience was followed by wild applause. Awe changed to laughter when Rowan dipped his apple into the cauldron and pulled up a succession of different objects: a softball, a cantaloupe, and a scarlet brassiere with cups large enough for watermelons. I didn’t know whether he used faery glamour to pull off the trick or merely some ordinary sleight of hand, but I laughed as delightedly as the audience.
When he arrived at the dwarfs’ cottage, it struck me that this was the first time we would play a scene together in front of an audience. The few words we’d exchanged in Carousel didn’t really count. Another first—for both of us.
“Make a wish,” he croaked, proffering the shiny red apple.
For a moment, I forgot where I was. I just saw those familiar green eyes looking out from that almost unrecognizable face.
I wish I could help you find your place in this world. I wish that you could direct again. I wish you could let the staff into your life and discover how those friendships can nurture and sustain you. I wish you could trust me to share your worries. I wish I could give you a child with my red hair and your green eyes. I wish I could always be with you. I wish I could spare you the pain of watching me grow old and die.
Rowan’s eyes widened. Then he lifted my chin and whispered, “One wish.”
I snapped out of my daze and dutifully wished for my prince to come and carry me away to his castle where we would live happily ever after.
He pressed the apple into my hands. I raised it to my mouth and bit into it.
Colors exploded before me—probably some weird lighting effect that made the sparks in Rowan’s eyes flash gold and silver and apple red like the fireworks we had watched from his balcony. The apple slipped from my fingers. I seemed to float to the ground, but that must have been Rowan’s magic easing me earthward.
In the blackout that followed, he pulled me to my feet a good deal more brusquely and quick-stepped me behind the backdrop.
“I’m fine,” I whispered, although I was still a little dazed. “Go die spectacularly.”
His kiss bruised my mouth and shocked me back to reality. His spectacular death scared the shit out of me.
One minute, he was racing through the audience, pursued by a horde of screaming dwarfs and the next, he was scrambling up one of the trees by the Smokehouse. He edged his way onto a branch and looked down where I was huddled in the shadows, gnawing on my fist.
“It’ll be great!” he whispered. Then he leaped for the Smokehouse roof.
There were a few screams from the audience. I nearly bit off my index finger.
A spotlight picked him out as he clawed his way up the roof. Although I knew he was just making it look difficult, I gasped each time he slipped. He struggled to his feet, hampered by his long skirt, then tiptoed along the roofline like a tightrope walker.
He paused to shake a fist at the dwarfs and suddenly lurched sideways. His arms pinwheeled as he fought for balance. I told myself he was acting, that his magic would protect him if the four mattresses behind the Smokehouse didn’t, that we would laugh about this later unless I murdered him first.
He flung out a hand in a final, desperate effort to save himself. With a despairing screech, he toppled backward off the roof.
More screams, including mine. Someone seized my arm, and I screamed again.
“Get on the table,” Bea whispered.
“What?”
“Your bier.”
“Shit.”
I snagged my foot in the draping around the bottom of the table. Then I disentangled myself and crawled onto my makeshift bier. The hinges creaked as Bea lowered the plexiglass lid over me. I folded my hands across my heaving chest and tried to take shallow breaths.
To the accompaniment of the Prince’s “One Song,” the crew hauled up the backdrop. My faithful dwarfs rolled the table forward and—I prayed—locked the wheels. Hal marched on to narrate the tale of the Prince who had searched far and wide for his fair maiden. The lid creaked open and I suppressed a sigh of relief as cool air flooded in.
Lee’s lips touched mine. Then touched them again. He lifted me up and plastered a big wet one on my mouth, but when I refused to awaken, he abruptly released me.
As I flopped back on my bi
er, he whined, “She’s supposed to be revived by true love’s first kiss.”
“Maybe YOU’RE not her true love,” Mei-Yin declared.
The dwarfs lined up for their try at reviving me. Javier slobbered all over me in an appropriately Dopey way, but the rest were very decorous. Then it was Grumpy’s turn. Mei-Yin ground her mouth against mine for so long that I finally tapped her on the shoulder.
She grinned. I glared. Then I got back into character and exclaimed, “Oh, Grumpy! It was you all along.”
After which I went home with my dwarfs, the Prince danced off with his Carmen Miranda Mirror, and we all lived happily ever after.
“If you ever scare me like that again,” I warned Rowan after I’d changed into my street clothes, “I will kill you!”
“But wasn’t it spectacular?” he asked, eager as a child.
“Spectacularly scary.” I smacked him, then rounded on Mei-Yin. “And what was with that kiss?”
“You LOVED it!”
Our high spirits evaporated when we discovered Long waiting outside the Smokehouse. Daddy shrank back against Rowan. The rest of the staff clustered around him; whatever reservations they had, he was part of the pack—and Long was not.
Judging from Long’s frown, he caught the “us against him” vibe. But he just smiled and said, “Congratulations, everyone. I can’t remember when I’ve had so much fun. Although I nearly had a heart attack when you fell off the roof, Rowan.”
“All carefully choreographed, I assure you.”
Long’s gaze rested on Daddy. “I can understand why Maggie was so eager to have you in Into the Woods. I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful addition to the cast.” He waved away Daddy’s stammered thanks and shot Janet a rueful smile. “I guess this means I can only claim dinner.”
She chucked him under the chin. “A very nice dinner.”
As the staff hurried toward the breezeway for the reception, I lingered to thank Long. With Nancy’s admonitions fresh in my mind, I was more than usually gracious.
His smile vanished. “I’m not giving him a free ride, Maggie. Just a chance to prove himself. And only because he’s your father. If there are any outbursts or disturbances, I’ll pull him from the show.”
My chin came up. “I’m the director, Long. If he can’t handle the role or causes any problems, I’ll pull him.”
CHAPTER 33
WE CAN MAKE IT
THE NEXT MORNING, I SHARED A BRIEF FAREWELL BREAKFAST with Lou and Bobbie and Nancy, then plunged into rehearsals for Into the Woods. I’d always loved the show. Okay, maybe there was too much moralizing in Act Two and maybe the songs weren’t as strong as those in Act One, but once I became executive director, I was determined to mount a production. It didn’t matter that Rowan had done the show before. It captured the essence of the Crossroads: its history, its secrets, and its undercover mission of helping people find their paths through life.
Like all good fairy tales, it was about the wishes people make and the quests they take to fulfill them. A Baker and his Wife, cursed with childlessness by the vengeful witch from next door. A collection of fairy-tale characters—Cinderella, Little Red Ridinghood, Jack from “Jack and the Beanstalk”—that must break out of their predetermined stories and make difficult choices to survive. A lighthearted Act One that morphs into a dark and dangerous Act Two, in which consequences can be deadly and wishes can only come true through collective effort and sacrifice. And of course, the Mysterious Man, who abandons his wife and child, but returns to guide his son the Baker through the darkest hours of his life. Plus a great book by James Lapine and a Stephen Sondheim score that made you laugh one moment and cry the next.
What’s not to like?
Alex suggested we start things off by running the prologue, a thirteen-minute musical scene that introduced all the principal characters. Since the prologue consisted of nine—count ’em, nine—interwoven scenes, I was more than a little nervous about the possibility of starting things off with a train wreck. But Alex’s instincts were sound. There were stumbles, of course, but when they sang that final “and home before dark,” there were cheers and whistles from the rest of the cast and high fives among the performers.
I watched my father whooping it up with the others and felt a wave of pride. Yes, Rowan and I had run his lines with him dozens of times. But Daddy had performed like the pro he once had been—and might become again.
We split up after that, Rowan and Alex working musical numbers in the Dungeon and Smokehouse, while I blocked onstage. By the end of the afternoon, I was so jazzed by our progress that I seized Rowan’s hands and exclaimed, “Let’s go out to dinner!”
“Out?”
“Alex and Mei-Yin are working ‘Ever After’ tonight. We’ve got the whole evening free. Let’s celebrate!”
“Good idea,” Alex agreed. “You’ve been chained to this place ever since you returned, Rowan. About time you got out and saw the town. What there is of it.”
“But what about Jack?” Rowan asked.
“I’ll take him along to dinner at Momma’s.”
“It’s all settled,” I declared. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in half an hour.”
I skipped up the hill and into the Bates mansion. Janet leaned over the upstairs railing and remarked, “Either you’ve decided to play Little Red Ridinghood or it was a good rehearsal.”
“Into the town without delay to celebrate this perfect day…”
“A good rehearsal. I’m delighted. You can stop singing now.”
“Into the Chatterbox, we may decide to share a milkshake.”
“You and Rowan?”
I nodded and hurried up the stairs.
“He’s actually leaving the grounds?”
I paused on the top step. “Sure. Why?”
“Nothing. Have a good time.”
“You, too! Alex is bringing Daddy up to dinner.”
“Oh, goodie.”
“Stop. Daddy likes you.”
“Yes. I know.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re full of meaningful ‘nothings’ this evening. Do you know something I don’t know?”
“I know a great many things you don’t know. I am—”
“Wise beyond your considerable years. Someday I hope to hear all about your date with Calvin Coolidge. But right now…”
“Go. Have fun. You can tell me all about it when you come back.”
I laughed. “I only tell you about my awful dates.”
But she’d already walked into her bedroom and closed the door.
By the time I selected a flowered skirt and scoop-necked blouse, my bedroom looked like a tornado had blown through. I left my cast-off clothes where they’d fallen, pulled on my sneakers, and threw a pair of sandals into my tote bag; no way was I ruining another outing by turning my ankle. I flew through the house, packing up additional supplies, and hurried back down the hill.
Rowan was waiting outside the barn.
“You look so pretty and summery.”
I pivoted in a circle, my skirt swirling around my thighs. “And I feel as corny as Kansas in August.”
His smile was oddly wistful. “Still in love with a wonderful guy?”
“Yeah. But you’re nice, too.” I grinned and pointed toward the road. “And…they’re off!”
Like the nineteenth-century gentleman he was, he took my tote bag, but frowned as he inspected its contents. “Do you really think we need bottled water?”
“In case you get warm.”
“Couldn’t you just spray us with this thing?” he asked, pulling out the plant spritzer.
“Sure. But that’s mostly to scare off the dogs.”
Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance.
“Looks like it might rain,” Rowan noted.
“I put umbrellas in the bag.”
“Ah.”
“We could take the car if you—”
“No.”
As w
e walked up the lane, I yapped about our dinner options. With both the Bough and the Chalet closed on Monday nights, it came down to the Chatterbox or Duck Inn.
“Duck Inn is basically pub grub. But they have a liquor license.”
“Ah.”
“If you want a strawberry milkshake, though, we should go the Chatterbox.”
“Yes.”
“What are you in the mood for?”
His anxiety prickled through me.
“No biggie,” I assured him. “Decide when we get to town. I’ll eat anywhere. I’m just happy to be going out to dinner with you.”
His power surged, laden with such apprehension that I drew up short.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Sweat popped out on his forehead, as if conjured by my words.
“Rowan? Talk to me.”
Instead, he sank onto the low stone wall.
“This isn’t going to work.”
“What isn’t going to work?”
“I’ve tried, Maggie! You have no idea how hard I’ve tried. But I can’t do this.”
He’s leaving me.
He swore he wouldn’t.
Mom was right.
You misunderstood. He wouldn’t walk out of your life again.
Oh, no? Watch him!
You know this man.
He’s not a man. He’s a faery.
He loves you.
Not enough.
Stop. Think. Don’t blurt out something you’ll regret.
I raised my eyes to heaven, hoping for some celestial guidance. All I found were thunderclouds piling up like dirty cotton balls.
I took a deep breath and asked, “What are you talking about?”
“This! Dinner!”
My breath leaked out in a shaky sigh. I sat beside him, mostly to keep my knees from buckling.
“If you didn’t want to go out…”
“I can’t go out!”
I shook my head, completely baffled.
“I can’t go out to dinner. I can’t even step into the road!”
“If you’re talking about the curse…”
Spellcrossed Page 24