At the same time, Carly and Asher sighed, and then pecked each other on the lips like an old couple.
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Carly slipped outside to wave goodbye, and then came back in the dark, cool, house. She gasped in delight when she saw the curtain. It hung, shimmering in the stage light, the intricate gold scrolled paint glittering on the edges. All of the sponsors’ logos covering the rest of the giant canvas were painted in neat sections, all fifty of them. She couldn’t have done that much work in such a short amount of time without Asher’s help. The man was talented; there was no getting around that. Carly hugged herself and grinned in satisfaction.
“Come on out. You guys need to see this,” she yelled.
Slowly, the students emerged and climbed down the steps. One by one, they sat down in seats and stared in silence. After a moment, claps and cheers broke out. When it was quiet again, Parker stood up and faced the back of the theater. “Carly, you rock,” he blurted out.
“Thank you, thank you.” Carly bowed and then walked to the front door. “Who wants to help me strip and then repaint some wooden chairs?”
Groans rose from the seats and Parker piped up again. “I think I have some stage manager stuff to take care of.”
“No, you don’t,” chorused a group of girls.
Laughing, Carly pushed the door open and blinked in the sunlight. Suddenly, she felt a hand lightly grip her arm and she stiffened, whirling around.
“I’m so sorry, Carly. I didn’t mean to scare you,” said Anne. She pushed her long fall of dark hair over her shoulder. “I just wanted to ask you a question.”
Carly lifted a hand to her fluttering heart and breathed out. “That’s okay. I’m just a little keyed up right now.” Pushing the door open again, she motioned for Anne to follow her.
They walked around the theater toward the saloon, their feet crunching on gravel. “What is it, Anne?” Carly glanced at the girl, whose face was turning red.
“How do you know if a guy really wants you?” she blurted out.
“Um … what?” Carly stopped and stared at her in surprise.
Anne pressed her small, delicate lips together and then raised a hand to her dusky cheek. “It’s Buddy,” she said.
“Buddy? But he’s way too old for you, isn’t he?” Anne gave her a sharp look and Carly closed her mouth. As usual, she had spoken without thinking.
“I don’t know,” Anne said miserably, “Why, do you know how old he is? What, is he, like, thirty or something?”
Throwing her head back, Carly laughed. “Yeah, that’s ancient. Thirty … then I guess that makes me ready for social security and a walker, huh?”
Anne winced. “I’m sorry. You don’t look that old. I didn’t know … God; I have this bad habit of not being able to keep my big fat mouth shut sometimes.”
Carly put an arm around the younger girl’s shoulders. “So do I. Well, then, how old do you think he is?”
Anne shrugged. “Younger than thirty?”
“Try twenty-six.” Carly said as she winked.
Anne’s dark eyes sparkled. “That’s not too old. I’m twenty-two.”
“Really? I would have pegged you for eighteen. That’s interesting.”
Anne’s mouth dropped open. “No. I’m a senior. Plus I took a year off before I went to college. Jeez, Carly, do I act like I’m eighteen?”
Carly winked again. “The question is, do you act like you’re eighteen when you’re around Buddy?”
Anne closed her mouth and stared up at the sky for a moment. She smiled again, and then reached out to hug Carly. “That’s it. You’re so smart, Carly. That’s probably why you’ve found the love of your life. I hope you realize how absolutely lucky you are.”
It was Carly’s turn to blush. She had never heard anyone mention her relationship that way before, and it really did hit home just how lucky she was. Tears sprang to her eyes and she cleared her throat. “We better get down to the saloon and get to work, then.”
Anne squeezed her arm and they walked the short distance to the saloon. Several students were already inside, surrounding Parker, who had an open can of paint thinner in one hand, a rag in the other. He surveyed a dusty old rocking chair with disdain.
“This stuff stinks, Carly,” he complained.
“It would stink a lot less … and poison us a lot less if you took that project outside, Parker. That stuff is toxic,” she answered. “And wear a mask. I bought a whole package of them.”
Giggling, a girl lifted the rocking chair and headed for the door. “C’mon, loser, I’ll help you.” Grumbling, Parker followed her outside.
Carly turned to the rest of the students. “In fact, why don’t all of you go outside? We have three pieces of furniture left, and you can work in pairs. The sooner it’s finished, the sooner you can get fitted for your opening night costumes.” The students nodded in agreement, picked up the furniture and made their way outside. Anne lingered behind, smiling.
“So … if we are staying to help run the show once it opens, we get to wear costumes?”
Carly chuckled. “Sure. Danny and Sophie thought it would be fun. If all of you are working as ushers, wouldn’t it be cool if you were dressed in period clothing just like the actors?” Carly grinned in return.
“Won’t that put Nancy in a bind? She still has all the costumes for the show to finish up.” Anne walked around some sawhorses and began to untangle power cords from a pile on the floor.
Carly slipped behind the bar and rummaged for her old paint-splattered radio. “Nancy’s a whiz. She finished the show costumes three days ago, and we don’t even open for another week. Plus, we got this costume donation from an old-timey photography studio up in Colorado. Danny and Asher’s cousins, I think. They must have needed some new ones. So, Nancy’s turning those into costumes for all of the theater staff. I guess she’s bored.”
“Well, then. I’m going to go over and talk to Nancy on a break, if you don’t mind,” said Anne. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
Carly set the radio on the bar and unwound the cord. “Uh, oh, Miss Anne is up to something.”
“Maybe. And if Nancy can help me out with a corset, my breasts will be up to something. Try pushed up … to the bottom of my neck. And we’ll see if Buddy can take his eyes off me on opening night. Care to make a bet?”
Carly shook her head as she eyed Anne’s well-endowed chest. “No thanks. I need all the money I can get.”
Anne detangled an orange cord and handed it over the bar to Carly. “Yeah, I guess you do. Wedding dresses can get expensive,” she teased.
“What makes you think I’m getting married?” asked Carly, even as she grinned. She shook her head again, took the cord and plugged in the radio. Raising the antenna, she looked over the bar at Anne, who sat cross-legged on the floor, smirking.
“Please, Carly. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked you yet.” She stood up and dusted off her shorts. “It’s none of my business, though. Now, which project do you want me to get started on?”
Carly eyed her with amusement. “Your ‘make Buddy melt into his shoes project’ would be just fine with me.”
Anne clapped her hands in delight. “Thanks, Carly. Just leave something boring for me and I’ll do it after lunch.” She scampered to the door and was gone before Carly could answer.
Reaching into her pocket, Carly pulled out a barrette and began twisting her hair into a loose bun. It felt good to do Anne a favor, but it was a favor for herself as well. She didn’t want to be interrupted when the radio show came on. She couldn’t wait to hear what Asher had to say. Smiling, she tuned in the station and set the radio on the far end of the bar with careful hands.
What Anne had said sent butterflies careening around in her stomach. Proposal. Wedding d
ress. It was almost too overwhelming to think about right now. Usually, when a show was a week away from opening, Carly had little else on her mind. Right now, her mind was almost unbearably crowded. But in a good way.
She sighed and reached for a jar of paintbrushes. Carefully, she laid out pieces of wooden trim and mixed up some gold paint. For a half an hour, she painted and tried to make mental notes about the project, but her thoughts strayed to Asher constantly. As hard as she tried to concentrate, her mind kept slipping into fantasyland. Finally, she gave up and began to clean the brushes. It was almost time for the interview, anyway.
She smiled when a love song came on the radio. What would it be like to finally plan her wedding? She hadn’t fantasized about wedding dresses for years … and now it looked as if she might need to actually be picking up some bridal magazines. She turned and grabbed a rag to dust off the clouded old mirror set into the carved woodwork behind the bar.
Humming along to the song, she reached up and released the barrette to let her wavy hair tumble down. It was almost past her shoulders now. She looked into the mirror more closely and surveyed her face. Her cheeks were pink, and her soft gray eyes were full of life. She batted them at her reflection and then laughed out loud. Maybe she needed some fake lashes for a wedding day. But would Asher view that as silly? He seemed to like her with no makeup at all.
She stuck her tongue out at the mirror and twisted her hair back up. He hadn’t asked her yet. So she didn’t need to think about details until he did. It would jinx it. Marilyn’s booming laugh broke through her thoughts and she gasped, running over to the radio. Grabbing a high stool, she slid onto it and turned the volume up.
“It certainly seems as if you are enjoying yourself here in our sunny state, Ms. Masters,” the female announcer said with a hoarse chuckle.
“Absolutely, darling,” Marilyn cooed, “This theater has been a joy. Thanks to the wonderful skills of the producers, the show is going to be first-rate, I promise.”
“Isn’t it a culture shock, though, to go from your penthouse in L.A. to a ghost town in New Mexico?” the announcer continued in her brash voice.
Marilyn laughed again, lower this time. “I like to be shocked, darling … it gives me a thrill,” she answered.
In the background, Carly heard Asher clear his throat, and she grinned. She wished that she could see him on TV, but this was better than nothing.
The announcer snickered. “Speaking of thrills, it seems that we have quite a few people lined up outside the studio wanting your autograph, Marilyn. Do you get that type of attention everywhere you go?”
“Oh, I don’t go anywhere, really. Ruby Spring Theater is the first summer stock job I have accepted in years. I was terribly busy with television, you know.”
“So what’s so special about this place that made you come all the way out here?”
Marilyn laughed again. “Why don’t you ask my boss that question, darling?”
“All right,” the announcer agreed, “So, Mr. Day, what is so special about Ruby Spring Theater?”
“Ruby Spring itself is a very special place,” Asher began in his smooth voice, “The town itself, although small, is quite well-preserved. And the theater, thanks to an expert, is now the only restored, fully operational, Victorian theater between here and southern Colorado.”
Carly sighed and closed her eyes. Asher was such a wonderful man. He had managed to mention her almost right away. He was thinking about her. He was in love with her. She had to keep reminding herself, because it was true.
“That’s very interesting. I read something about the fact that your family owns the entire town?” the announcer asked.
Asher chuckled. “That’s right. Ethel Crabtree won it in a bet many years ago, and after she passed away, our family has had it ever since. My brother Danny … ”
“But you don’t live there. You live in New York, right?” the announcer interrupted.
Asher paused for a second, but then went on. “I have lived in New York on and off. Like I was saying, my brother … ”
“But out here, no one really knows who you are, right? Since you’ve been out here, you haven’t been going by your professional name. Why don’t you want people to know that you are Frederick Day?”
Carly opened her eyes.
“My real name isn’t Frederick Day. That’s the name I sign to my paintings. Let’s get back to the theater, please. If you want an interview about my work, we can arrange that another time,” he said in irritation.
Carly’s eyebrows rose when she heard that. Well, well. So Asher was more famous than he had let on. She had heard of Frederick Day. Critics said that he was an up-and-coming modern-day Chagall. No wonder he wanted to get away from the city; the art world in New York probably had a field day with his recent problems. Traitorous girlfriend, stolen paintings. But still, keeping her in the dark was pretty sneaky, and why? Carly frowned. She should have put two and two together. Just because she was in a different profession didn’t mean she was totally ignorant about contemporary art and painters. Now was not the time to worry about it, though. She gripped the bar and turned her attention back to the interview.
“ … sure, sure,” the announcer said. “I appreciate your insight, Marilyn. But I really would appreciate it if you would just answer my question, Mr. Day. Do you know where your paintings are right now?”
“No,” Asher answered in a flat voice.
“And your wife? That must have been simply awful to be betrayed like that. You have no idea where she is?”
His what? Carly’s heart plummeted. She grabbed the radio and stared at it. That couldn’t be right. Asher wasn’t married. The stupid announcer must have made a mistake in her research.
“I’m just not going to dignify that with a response. Now, if you’re not going to ask me questions about the theater, I’m leaving. I don’t appreciate being blindsided like this,” Asher responded in a clipped tone.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Day. It’s just that your hometown is very interested in one of its most famous sons. Do you think you’ll ever paint again after your tragedy?”
“What kind of question is that?” Asher retorted, “Of course I will. Miranda means nothing to me now. What I mean is … ” He caught himself and groaned. “Dammit. Look, finish up with Marilyn. I’m outta here.”
The announcer gave a trilling laugh. “But Mr. Day. We have a surprise. There’s someone on the phone who has been waiting to speak with you.”
“Oh, no, Carly,” Asher whispered.
At the sound of her voice, Carly raised her swimming head and blinked. “Asher, why?” she whispered in return.
“No, sir. I don’t know who Carly is, but this voice is one you’ll be familiar with. Ladies and gentlemen, please stand by for Mrs. Miranda Day.”
“What?” Asher gasped.
“Hello, Freddie.” A low, melodious female voice wafted through the radio and clenched icy fingers around Carly’s heart.
“Hello, Miranda. Where are you?” Asher answered.
“In Paris. The Hotel de Grace. When are you going to come and get me?”
Asher sighed heavily. “I’ll be on the next flight out. And you better be there. I don’t care about the paintings. You know all I want from you is … ”
The announcer cut him off. “Well, well, now we have that mystery cleared up. So what are you going to do when you reunite with your wife, Mr. Day?”
“The real issue is what’s going to happen to this studio if you ask me one more fucking question about her?” Asher countered.
“Mr. Day, we’re live! You can’t say that on live television,” the announcer said with a titter. “Mr. Day. Mr. Day? Where are you going? Ah, ladies and gentlemen, it looks as if our famous painter is living up to his classic artistic temperament and has left us. But don’t worry; we’ll keep
you informed when … ”
“Ma’am?” Marilyn asked.
“Yes, Ms. Masters.”
“I would like to demonstrate, if I may, what a true artistic temperament is like. Darling, could you bring that camera closer? That’s right. Okay, here goes.”
Carly heard the sharp crack as Marilyn slapped the announcer with all her might. She heard shrieking and scuffling. And then silence. And then static. And then her head dropped down to the bar and she let the burning tears slide down her face.
Chapter Seventeen
Daniel ran a hand through his hair and whistled. “Well, I’ll be damned. My brother is married?” He turned to Sophie, who stood next to the kitchen table in shock.
She shook her head and reached over to the counter to turn off the radio. “I guess so. Danny, this is not good. He simply can’t go running off again. Especially not to Europe. The show opens in one week.”
“I know that. But what do you expect me to do?” he countered.
“Talk to him. Tell him that whatever is wrong with his life can wait one week. You’d do the same for him, and you know it.”
Daniel sighed. “Of course I would, but I’m not the man who is in love with one woman and married to another.” He shifted in his chair and scratched at the top of his cast with a spatula.
Sophie frowned and chewed on a fingernail. “God, he pisses me off sometimes. I can’t believe he didn’t tell us. Well, it’s out of the question now to ask Carly to talk to him. Even if she didn’t hear the interview.”
“Oh, she heard it, all right.”
Sophie and Daniel looked up as Ross came through the kitchen door. He pulled out a chair and sat down, cradling his head in his hands. “It’s pretty bad. She ran into the theater, crying, and asked me for my car keys.”
“Did you give them to her?” Sophie asked in alarm.
“No. I took her outside and made her talk.” Ross looked up and his tired, red eyes spoke volumes. “She’s heartbroken, guys. She kept telling me over and over that she has to leave. She’s actually ready to pack up her stuff and drive back to Chicago. Today.”
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