“My boss has a friend who works just over on the mainland, and he needs some help right now with a car they’ve both been restoring. My boss has been trying to get up here to help for a while, but things have kept him busy in Medford. So, knowing you and my Aunt Karen were just a ferry’s trip away from the mainland, he asked me if I might want to work up here for a few months to get the car up and running. Now, it’s not permanent or anything—he wants me back in Medford once the classic is restored—but at least it would mean we could see each other every day for the next eight weeks or so.”
Flora was ecstatic. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Suddenly, thoughts of Marcy were far away. “I would love that,” she finally said, and her whole body felt as if it were glowing inside.
They spent the rest of the day enjoying themselves, chatting arm in arm, chasing each other along the sand, and giggling until it hurt. It was as if the sea air had blown all Flora’s doubts about Dan away. He joked about her being on a singing reality show, and she blushed, saying she was just glad she had made it through the audition.
Later, they drove for miles, stopping at another town north of the island where a local theater was performing Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Ernest. They sat together, laughing in their own little world of intimacy. He stroked her hand and whispered lovingly to her all evening.
He drove her home then, and they held one another and kissed for hours until their kisses became more urgent, more needy.
Dan finally pulled away from her at around midnight, saying, “I have to go,” and reluctantly she had agreed. They kissed one last, lingering time on the doorstep, and then he went into the night, leaving a huge void in Flora’s world.
Her once happy, cozy cottage seemed empty without him filling the space. She walked aimlessly around, gathering their cups and tidying the sofa. She picked up a pillow that was still warm from his body and smelled slightly of his aftershave. She held it close to her cheek and then closed her eyes, pretending it was still him. She went to bed, taking the pillow with her.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
THE PREYING MANTIS STRIKES BACK
Dan drove back to his aunt’s house, glowing, overjoyed to have spent the whole day with Flora. When his cell phone rang as he pulled into the driveway, he just knew it would be her. He smiled as he answered it.
“Hello, darling, are you missing me as much as I’m missing you?”
The person on the other end paused a beat before saying, “Danny, what a nice thing to say.”
Dan realized soberly that it wasn’t Flora at the other end and looked tentatively at the number on his phone. Marcy. He could have kicked himself. It was so late, he had just assumed it would be Flora. The last thing he needed to do was to encourage Marcy in case Flora had been right.
“I thought you were Flora,” he said flatly, unable to keep the ice from his tone.
Marcy laughed seductively. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know it was me,” she said confidently.
Dan stepped out of the car and paced in circles in the driveway to keep warm. The harsh chill that had been gathering in the night air was starting to settle into a hard freeze at his feet.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Marcy took a moment to answer, apparently enjoying the whole experience. “I just thought that since I’m sure I will be given a part in that little community show, I’ve decided to stay on this island for a while. I’ve nothing happening with my job at the moment, and the show opens soon. I’ll go home after that.”
Dan blew out a cloud of icy breath. “Why would you want to do that?” He suddenly felt very protective toward Flora and their relationship. He would have to leave in a couple of days to go back to Medford to finish things up there, and he just didn’t trust Marcy as far as he could throw her. Boy, would he like to throw her right now, right off the Southlea Bay cliffs. The thought of it made him smile again.
She continued to purr. “You know, I’ve always loved the stage, and this seems like an interesting town.” She said the word “interesting” with no conviction at all. “Then because you might be coming up again soon, we’d have more time to be with each other.”
Dan stopped pacing and hung his head low. How was he going to get through to her? He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. If he was honest with himself, a side of him was actually flattered by the attention. But he knew he would need to handle this carefully. This was his friend’s sister, so he didn’t want to be cruel, but he didn’t want to have to deal with this anymore either.
He took on a more serious tone. “Marcy, I’m very flattered that you want to spend time with me, but you’ve always just been a friend, and I sense you’re looking for more. And I’m just not interested in that.”
Marcy jumped in defensively. “You’ve never really given us a chance to get to know each other. I can be very sweet if you took the time to find out.”
Dan shook his head; the cold air was starting to freeze his face and ears.
He tried again. “Marcy, you should know I’m in love with Flora. She’s the only person I’m attracted to, and she’s the only person I want to get to know better right now.”
Dan kicked at a patch of ground that had already hardened to glistening ice.
Marcy didn’t respond, so he continued, “I have only ever seen us as friends.”
Marcy suddenly burst into tears on the other end of the phone and took Dan completely by surprise. He wasn’t even sure how to respond.
Between sobs, Marcy gulped for air and spluttered out, “Are you telling me, Danny Cohen, that I’m not attractive, that I’m not the sort of person a man like you could be attracted to?”
Dan stared hopelessly at the phone in his hand. This call was not going remotely in a direction that he wanted it to go. He was also starting to be chilled to the bone being outside, but he knew he would just have to trudge through this call to the bitter end while he slowly froze to death because there was no signal in the house. He glanced up and noted his aunt’s bedroom light was already out, so he walked toward the end of the drive, as far away from the house as he could get. Marcy was starting to bawl, and he wasn’t sure how far the sound would carry.
“No, no,” he hissed into the phone, “I didn’t say that, Marcy.”
She stopped short, as if she had just turned off a hose and sniffed. “Do you find me attractive, Danny?”
He paused, weighing his words carefully. He didn’t want to dig himself in any deeper or commit himself to anything, but it was hard. It was cold, and he just wanted this call to end.
He stomped from foot to foot in the driveway and responded slowly. “You’re an attractive woman. And I think any man would be very fortunate to have you in his life. But—”
He never finished his thought, as Marcy interrupted him. “Oh, Dan,” she said, her tone back to sunshine and rainbows. Her next words rolled off her tongue like honey. “You were just toying with me before. I knew you cared.”
Dan stopped pacing, trying to figure out what was worse: happy Marcy or crying Marcy. It was so damn cold out here. He decided the quickest route to end the call was not to get in any deeper either way.
“Of course I care,” he said. “Our families have been friends for years. Now, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s late, and we both need to go to bed.”
Marcy giggled, then said seductively, “Is that an offer?”
Dan walked directly to the house. “No,” he said, firmly but gently. “You know what I mean. Now, I need to go. Good night.”
“Good night, Danny,” she said, her tone still thicker than molasses. Then she added seductively, “Sweet dreams.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
SLUDGE SLICES & THE MERLIN OF OOZE
The following day we met at Doris’s for one of her Rejected Writers’ Book Club meetings and to cast the show. Stacy came along with me. As we made our way into the sitting room, escorted by the ever-happy Ethel, I saw that the group was
already assembled in the front room, circled around on the usual odd assortment of chairs. Each of them sat with a cup of tea and a plate of cake. I noticed right away that every eye was down upon the cake.
“Oh, good, Janet,” Doris said as I walked in. “I have that updated script for you to edit.”
Oh goody, I thought as I made my way to my usual flowery bedroom chair that had become my very own during these meetings. Stacy sat reluctantly in an orange furry bucket chair.
“Here’s your tea,” Doris said, pushing an English rose–patterned cup toward me. “And here,” she added with much pomp and ceremony, “is my new luscious lava surprise cake.”
“Lava” and “surprise” in the same sentence didn’t bode well with me. Doris was an extreme cook—either very good or very bad. She didn’t mess with being middling. As she liked to “experiment,” her recipes were notorious on both ends of the scales. Stacy shook her head and wrinkled her nose, confirming she wasn’t even going to try it. I looked around the circle. Every head was still bowed, studying said cake as each member pushed it dubiously around her plate with a fork. Doris continued to hand out slices.
“What I don’t understand,” whispered Lavinia as she interrupted the communal plate scraping, “is why it’s so red. When I put my fork in it, and it oozes out like this, I feel as if I’ve just killed it.”
“I know what you mean,” added Lottie. “I think I’m beginning to get an inkling of where Doris came up with the title of the script.”
Doris circled back around and hovered over me, waiting to see my reaction as I gingerly dug a fork into a corner. As I did, the cake collapsed onto my plate, and bright-red goo ushered forth.
“What do you think?” Doris inquired, eager to get my response before I had even tasted it.
“Is the surprise the fact it’s not really a cake at all but a pudding?” I asked, trying to use my fork to stop it flowing over the edges of the plate. “And it’s very . . . red.”
“That is the surprise,” stated Doris. “I mingled my lava and a red velvet cake recipe together. I think it works.”
As I stabbed at the cake, “surprise” wasn’t the word that came to mind. More like “sludge.” Sludge slices would have been a better name. Lottie and Lavinia didn’t attempt to eat it but just tactfully placed their plates on the side table and sat poised, holding their teacups and saucers.
Doris brought the group together by tapping her gavel.
Today would be a busy meeting because not only did they have to report on the rejection letters that they had received, but we also had to cast the show. Doris started.
“First things first,” she said, banging her gavel on the table again. “Do we have any letters for the group? Any famous female failures this week?”
Gracie pulled a letter out of her pocket. “I had a rather good one,” she said, chuckling to herself. She was wearing a white ball gown with a pink boa and her sparkly crown. She handed the letter to the group to read.
Doris read the part that Gracie had highlighted. “And once again, thank you for your manuscript, but for us, World War II is so 1990s. We’re moving on to World War III and beyond.”
Gracie giggled. “I always thought that World War II was so 1940s, but what do I know?”
We laughed as Ethel arrived with The Book, and Gracie’s letter was placed inside.
Finishing off any other business, Doris moved to the matter at hand: casting The Merlin of Ooze.
Pulling out our clipboards, Doris handed them around the circle. She had included a cast list. “Let’s start with the list of characters and see who might be the best fit. The Man in the Can?” she said starting down the list. “Ruby informs me that she has managed to find us a new music director named Olivia, who will be at our next rehearsal, and there are a lot of singing parts for that character.”
We all looked down at our notes. Stacy said, “Your best choice, as far as I can see, would be somebody like Ernie.”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
Doris ummed and ahhed, then eventually nodded too. “What about Dorothy?” inquired Doris. “I mean, Dorothea?” she corrected herself as she continued perusing her clipboard. “I was thinking that Marcy girl. She has the sex appeal for the audience.”
“Sex appeal in The Wizard of Oz?” cried Lottie incredulously. “I mean The Merlin of Ooze?” she added in a whisper.
“She has a really good voice. We should have her for the lead role,” Doris snapped back.
“Lead role?” retorted Stacy, seeming to come to life now we were casting. She actually seemed to be interested in the process. “You want your lead role in this show to be meek and wholesome. It’s not Cabaret. That girl was like sex on a pair of stilettos.”
Flora took a swig of tea and unwrapped one of her many layers. I noticed her hands shook a little as she placed her teacup back on its saucer. This conversation was obviously more than just a little uncomfortable for her.
“Who else do we have?” Doris asked, screwing up her nose as she looked through her notes.
“What about Flora or the little cheerleading girl?” I suggested. “She had the right look.”
“You mean the crazy twirler?” responded Doris. “I’m not sure I could trust her to get herself on and off the stage on her own.”
“She’s very willing,” I chirped in.
“But she appeared to be tone deaf,” Doris said. “She was terrible once that music changed key.”
“That might just be her ear,” mused Annie as she looped stitches onto her needle. “With the right training, she could be taught to hear the notes better.”
Everyone looked at Annie. She seemed to understand what she was talking about.
“How do you know?” asked Doris, suspiciously.
Annie pulled on the ball of pink wool she was turning into a matinee jacket as she spoke. “When I was young, my mother made me take singing lessons for two years.”
“You had a singing career?” inquired Doris.
Annie frowned. “I didn’t say that. But that didn’t stop my mom from having high hopes of me having one. I always remembered my teacher saying anyone can sing if they train their ear to hear the music. She might just need some help with that.”
“That might be the case,” said Lavinia, “but the problem you have is that her ear is attached to the rest of her, and she was a walking disaster. I agree with Doris. I wouldn’t trust her not to fall off the stage.”
Lottie nodded beside her sister. “I have to agree with Lavinia. I think she could be trouble.”
“You agree with me?” stated Lavinia incredulously. “I must be slipping.”
Annie also nodded. “It would take too long to train her.” She stopped knitting and looked over at Flora. “What about you, Flora? Would you like to play the main role?”
Flora choked on her tea and stammered, “I don’t think I could. I am happy to take a minor role.”
“Why don’t you step outside of the room and let us discuss it?” ordered Doris. Flora did as she was told, clutching her cardigan as she went.
“I think Flora would be perfect,” piped up Lavinia. “It would do her confidence a world of good.”
There were general nods around the table.
“But could she pull it off?” Doris inquired sternly.
Stacy picked up the thread. “I think with the right training, her confidence would grow. Who do you plan to have as your music director?”
The entire room looked at her blankly.
Doris narrowed her eyes at me.
“Don’t even think about it,” I responded. “I have enough to do trying to cobble together this story you’ve created, and I know nothing about singing.”
“I might be able to help you out there,” Ruby announced wistfully. She was dressed from tip to toe in a blue sari. She called the outfit an “avant-garde hurrah to Van Gough.” “I have a friend from my midnight moon bathing group that does that. I’ll call her.”
We finished casting
the show. Ruby would help with costuming, Annie would work the ticket booth, and Doris wanted to be stage manager. Flora would play Dorothea, Marcy the Goddess of the Corn, Ernie the Man in the Can, the crazy twirler would be the Scaredy Lemur (a smaller, easier part), and Lottie would be the Pink Witch of Light and Love. Her sister, Lavinia, was excited that she was going to be the Green Witch. “I will be positively organic,” she retorted.
Chapter Thirty
SAGGY OLD CATS & A VISIT FROM MORTICIA
The following week, we began the first week of rehearsals, or “collective craziness,” as I nicknamed it. Things were also busy at the library. We were creating a whole display for Big Bird, who was coming to read to the island children, and alongside that, we had all sorts of craft days and book drives planned. It was an absolute hive of activity. Between the library, taking care of the ever-demanding Stacy, and planning the show, I was exhausted.
“Do you think warm-ups are really necessary?” I asked Stacy, handing her the book that I’d brought from the library as I prepared for the first rehearsal.
Stacy eyed the picture of people in their dated black leotards stretched into weird positions. “Er, yes,” she said indignantly. “Unless you want one of the old ladies to throw a hip out.”
I gave her a disapproving look, saying, “Those old ladies you’re talking about are only a few years older than me.”
Stacy rolled her eyes as if she were saying, If the shoe fits . . .
The next day, I talked to Ruby. I knew I wouldn’t be the sort of person that could do warm-ups; maybe she could do some yoga. When I entered the Emporium, she was up a ladder, draped in fabric and dried fruit.
“I’m decorating the Roman goddess, Terra Mater, for Earth Day,” she announced as I entered the shop.
“Any chance you could do warm-ups for the rehearsals?” I asked her.
She threw down the multicolored garlands of apples and oranges she was using to drape around the model and clambered down her ladder, saying, “I would love to. I’ll bring my own little pink mats, and we could do some beginner’s yoga. That should help our whole group get loose.”
Rejected Writers Take the Stage Page 18