Acting on Impulse (Silverweed Falls Book 2)

by Thea Dawson

  All of Victor’s encouragement and mentorship couldn’t be conveyed in a five-minute speech, but Chris was pleased to see that his audience looked both moved and motivated. He got a few laughs, plenty of eye contact, and when he was done, many of the cast members were nodding or smiling eagerly. Simon, who was sitting in the front row, smiled and dabbed his eyes a little. Chris cleared his throat and introduced Joy.

  She gave him a soft sort of smile as she walked past him onto the stage. He hadn’t thought about the impression his speech would make on her—after all, she already knew the story behind his friendship with Victor—but if he’d moved her too, then so much the better.

  Joy, clipboard in hand, introduced herself and began to discuss signing out scripts, rehearsal schedules, fundraising, set construction, and expectations for behavior.

  Chris tried to listen but he was distracted by just watching her. She looked more ... alive than she had when he’s first seen her at Victor and Simon’s house a few weeks ago, more sure of herself. She was dressed as if she’d come from her office; while most of the cast wore casual clothes, she wore a nicely tailored green knit dress and dressy sandals. The dress didn’t show off as much of her legs as he would have liked, but it did show off her trim waist and flat stomach. It left her arms bare too, and he was struck by how toned she was. He wondered if she worked out a lot.

  She was talking about her silent auction, telling the cast that everyone would be expected to sell tickets and help find donations. She mentioned something about the raffle that they did with each performance, asking for prize donations for that too. And the Fourth of July Parade, and the farmer’s market ... He’d get all the details from her again later, which would give him another excuse to talk to her, maybe even get her alone for coffee or a drink or something ...

  His daydreams were interrupted when Joy finished and Simon got up on stage.

  Simon paused for a moment before saying anything and looked out over the audience.

  “Thanks, Joy,” he murmured. “For those of you who haven’t met me before, I’m Simon Lockhart. I’ll be doing the costumes for this show, but I won’t actually be at most of the rehearsals.”

  Simon took a deep breath. “We’ll talk more about the costuming later. Right now, I want to talk about something a bit more personal. Victor Blumen is my partner. We’ve been together for thirty-five years now, and I’ve watched him struggle with cancer for the last five. As Chris mentioned, he’s in hospice care now, and it’s unlikely that he’ll live more than a few more months.”

  Simon stopped, drew in a careful breath, clearly trying to gain control of his voice. The audience was silent. “Anyway, Victor started the Silver Scene Players twenty years ago. He wanted to give people in the community the opportunity to act, and he wanted to bring classical theater, especially Shakespeare, to the community for free. Over the last couple of years, we’ve had to let the Players go so we could focus on his health issues, and I could tell it was a great regret of his that the community theater that he’s put so much effort into creating might not survive any longer than he did.” Simon blinked and dabbed his eyes again. “So I want to express my deepest, most sincere gratitude to all of you—for being here, and for helping to carry on Victor’s dream. It’s not an exaggeration to say that you’re bringing meaning to his final days.”

  Simon stepped off the stage to the sound of applause.

  Chris felt heat creep up the back of his neck. He’d been wishing for a better view of Joy’s legs while Simon was thinking of his dying lover. He glanced at the audience again. Their faces were lit up and their eyes were shining.

  That was motivation.

  And that was the signal that it was time for Chris to up his game. This show was in his hands, and it was up to him to pull it off for Victor.

  “Okay!” He jumped back on stage again, and consulted his notes. “We’re going to start with Act One, Scene One. If you’re not in that scene, I want you in the lobby going over your lines. I want everyone off book no later than the Fourth of July. Let’s go!”

  Chris hadn’t expected much from the first rehearsal, or even the second, but by the time Friday night’s rehearsal was half through, he was starting to get nervous.

  “You’re late,” he growled at Moira, the Goth-looking girl who played Peaseblossom, as she strolled down the aisle of the theater.

  She rolled her eyes at him. “I have, like, three lines, and I bet you haven’t even rehearsed any of the scenes I’m in yet.”

  Would Victor have put up with eye-rolling from an emo twenty-year-old? No; Victor had been extremely strict about the cast showing up on time. Chris knew he should be stricter himself, but they needed every cast member they could get and he was afraid of alienating anyone.

  “Okay, we’ve got groups running lines in the lobby and on the back steps. If they’re not practicing one of your scenes, just fill in for someone else.”

  Goth Girl rolled her eyes at him again and stalked off toward the back.

  It was true that he was behind schedule for the night—he’d been working most of the evening on helping Doreen. As both Titania and Hippolyta, she had several long speeches. She’d memorized more than most of the cast had, but her delivery, though loud, remained stilted.

  He listened to her, as Titania, accuse Oberon of cheating on her and tried not to cringe. Even if they could knock her delivery into shape, he still had a hard time believing she could carry off Titania, who had to look elegant enough to make a comical contrast with the donkey-headed Bottom when she fell in love with him. Tonight, Doreen wore a baggy pair of jeans and a Pink Floyd t-shirt, one sleeve of which was rolled up with what looked like a packet of cigarettes in it. She did not look remotely regal.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, Simon,” he muttered to himself.

  “Why art thou here, Come from the farthest step of India? But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, Your buskined mistress and your warrior love, To Theseus must be wedded, and you come To give their bed joy and prosperity,” Doreen shouted from the stage.

  “Doreen, I need a little more … flow, like you’re actually having a conversation.”

  She put her hands on her hips and looked down at him. “Yeah. The thing is, I don’t really understand what they’re saying,” she said apologetically.

  “You’re accusing your husband of cheating on you with Hippolyta,” he explained. “And he’s accusing you of sleeping with Theseus, so basically you’re having a spat with each other.”

  Doreen shook her head. “This is not a healthy relationship.”

  Brice cleared his throat. “How canst thou thus for shame, Titania, Knowing I know thy love to Theseus, Glance at my credit with Hippolyta,” he declared. Brice, at least, made the words flow, going for a humorous undercurrent of snippiness.

  Doreen looked at him quizzically, but soldiered gamely on in iambic pentameter.

  Chris slouched in his seat. The scene was drawing to a close when Joy slipped into the seat beside him. He sat up straighter.

  “Oberon and Titania, thank you!” he said. “Maybe you two could go practice your lines in the green room or somewhere, and send in Bottom and Quince and that whole crew.”

  “How’s it going?” whispered Joy.

  “I think I’m in over my head.”

  “You just wrapped up a two-hundred-million-dollar motion picture. You can handle a little summer stock Shakespeare.”

  “That was different. I wasn’t in charge. I just showed up and said my lines.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to screw this up.”

  “You won’t screw it up. How did the interview with Krystal go?”

  “Great. Really nice girl. She said there’d be something in the Sunday paper this week. How’re things going with ... whatever it is you’re doing?”

  She gave him that exasperated half-smile he knew so well. “Coordinating with Rob and Simon about what we need for the set and the Fourth of July parade. Tracie’s working on gett
ing us a trailer, which means we’d be able to have a real float, but we’ll need to decorate it, which eats into the money we have. The big thing now is fundraising. I’ve been working on donations for the raffles and the silent auction. If that goes well, it should set us up for this summer and next, maybe even with a little left over. But before I start selling tickets, I need to pin you down on a date.”

  “How much do you think I’ll go for at auction?” he asked.

  She laughed a little. “I’m not auctioning you. You’ll be the guest of honor, remember? But we don’t have many options for venues, so I need to talk to you about when you can be there.”

  “Mr. McPherson, sir, we’re ready,” Rob called from the stage.

  Chris frowned. Hadn’t he told everyone to call him Chris? Rob, that Bryan kid, and several other players he knew only by their character names, were waiting on stage.

  “Thanks, Rob. Just one sec.” He turned to Joy and lowered his voice. “Maybe we could go out for a drink after rehearsal and talk it over.”

  Joy narrowed her eyes. “Remember what happened last time you went out for a drink?”

  “You’re right,” he conceded. “I can’t be trusted in public. How about I come over to your place, then?”

  “My place?” Joy looked nonplussed. “We really could just talk here when you’re not busy—”

  “Yeah, but this place is so … hot.” It was a lousy excuse, and he knew it, even though the air conditioning did leave something to be desired. But it was Friday night, and he was bored—and getting Joy alone somewhere seemed preferable to a businesslike chat in the theater. “I’ll swing by on my way home.”

  “Oh. Okay. I’ll let you get back to work.” Joy slid out of her seat. “While these boys are on stage, I’m going to collect the women for some costume stuff. No men except Simon allowed in the green room until we’re done.”

  Pleased at her concession, he gave her a brief nod and turned his attention back to the stage.

  “Okay, Act One, Scene Two. You’re all going to come in from stage left, Quince and Bottom in the lead ...”

  Joy stood next to Simon in the green room and took notes as he measured each of the women. He was notoriously fussy about his costumes and didn’t trust anyone else to take measurement. Her job was simply to take down names and measurements, and she sensed that even being allowed to do that was something of a concession on Simon’s part.

  Krystal sat nearby on the couch, shyly showing off an impressive engagement ring to a group of admiring cast members. Joy wanted to go congratulate her herself, but Simon refused to let her get distracted.

  He was working on Cat now. “Bust ... 36 ... waist 28 ... hips... 38. How tall are you, darling?”

  Cat mumbled a number and Joy dutifully jotted it down.

  Waiting her turn, Doreen shook her head. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with for me. I can’t believe you all cast me as a fairy queen. I thought I’d be the plumber or something.”

  Cat looked at her quizzically. “I don’t think there’s a plumber in the play. I don’t think they had plumbing back then.”

  “They had plumbing in ancient Rome,” Zena said unexpectedly. Everyone looked at her, and her face turned scarlet. Her voice dropped. “I don’t know if they had plumbers, though.”

  “Huh,” said Doreen. “There’s someone who sounds like a plumber.”

  There was a pause while everyone thought about it.

  “The joiner, maybe?” suggested Zena in her soft voice.

  “Yeah, that’s it!” Doreen agreed heartily. She squinted her face at Zena. “So what’s a joiner?”

  “I think it’s like a carpenter,” Zena said, her voice barely audible now.

  Joy looked at her. Zena had been friends with Charlotte for a couple of years, but Joy wasn’t sure she’d ever heard her say this many words at one time.

  “Ohhh.” Doreen nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I’m surprised you all didn’t cast me as the joiner, then.”

  “Chris thinks you’ll be a wonderful Titania,” Joy said, trying to sound encouraging.

  “Yes, you’ll be perfect for the role.” Simon snapped his fingers at Zena, who stepped up to let herself be measured. “Oh, you’re a tiny little thing, aren’t you?”

  “Flat chested and skinny, you mean,” mumbled Zena, so quietly that only Simon and Joy could hear her.

  “Nonsense, darling,” huffed Simon after he’d given Joy a string of numbers to write down. “You’re slender. Do you dance?”

  Zena shrugged. “I’m on the dance team in high school.”

  “Well, you’ve got the perfect body for it. How tall are you?”

  “Five five,” Zena whispered, so quietly that Joy had to strain her ears to catch the words. Her face was pink, but she looked pleased at Simon’s words.

  Simon dismissed her and hooked a finger at Krystal. She showed no self-consciousness as Simon flipped the measuring tape around her chest, waist, and hips before giving Joy her measurements.

  “Well, don’t you have the perfect hourglass figure,” Simon murmured. “Nice height, too. How tall are you, dear?”

  Krystal smiled, looking pleased. “Five ten.”

  “You could totally be, like, a plus-sized model,” Cat said, unabashed. Zena and Charlotte cringed.

  Krystal shook her head and smiled. “I actually used to model, when I was a kid. It was fun, but I wouldn’t go back to it.”

  “That is so cool,” Cat said, looking, if anything, more awestruck than she had when meeting Chris. “What’s it like being a model?”

  Krystal shrugged. “It was okay. I made a lot of money, considering that I was just a kid. My mom and I got to go to Japan once. That was fun. And I learned a lot about clothes and makeup, which was also fun. But it was also a lot of pressure. Once I hit puberty, I started gaining weight and I couldn’t keep it off, so I quit.”

  “But you could totally be a plus-sized model now,” Cat said. “You’re beautiful!”

  Krystal smiled again. “Thank you. But there isn’t actually all that big a demand for plus-sized models. Besides in the modeling world, your career’s usually over by the time you’re my age.”

  “How old are you?” asked Cat, continuing her volley of inappropriate remarks. Given that she was Molly’s daughter, Joy supposed it could have been worse.

  “Twenty-nine. I actually prefer being a reporter. It’s more interesting, and not as ... there’s not as much pressure.”

  Cat looked disappointed. Reporter obviously wasn’t as cool as model. But Zena and Charlotte still looked awed.

  “Did you work with a lot of make-up artists?” Zena asked. “I want to be a make-up artist when I get out of school.”

  Joy looked at her again. Definitely a record for Zena.

  “Did you get those measurements?” Simon asked suspiciously.

  Joy hastily glanced at the clipboard. “Forty-four, thirty-two, forty-six. Five ten,” she replied, hoping she’d heard them correctly.

  Mollified, Simon nodded, then called for Tracie.

  “... I could introduce you to a couple,” Krystal was saying to Zena, who looked as if she might pass out from excitement.

  “Ohmigod, that would be amazing!”

  Eventually, all measurements were taken and noted, and Joy was allowed to go exclaim over Krystal’s ring—a large, square-cut diamond set in platinum that looked as if it might have been designed just for her.

  “So tell us the truth, Joy, off the record,” Krystal shot her a grin once Simon had taken his leave. “What was Chris McPherson like before he was Chris McPherson?”

  The question startled Joy until she remembered that Krystal had interviewed Chris and he must have told her they’d performed together in the past. “He was nice. Kind of full of himself, but he took acting very seriously. He was very good, even then.”

  Doreen looked up from the script she was studying and grinned. “Heard he had a crush on you.”

  Joy pressed her lips together wonde
ring which of the old-timers had brought it up. Her money was on Brice, who, as Oberon, had spent more time with Doreen than any of the other cast members. She forced a laugh. “Oh. Yeah. He got drunk one night and said a few things. It didn’t really mean anything.”

  Tracie studied her. “I think he’s still a little sweet on you.”

  Joy laughed for real this time. “I doubt that very much. I know he flirts a lot, but that’s just what he does.”

  “Oh, no, I’m very good at reading people,” Tracie insisted. “His aura kind of ... shifts when he’s around you.” She accompanied the word “shifts” with a dramatic sweep of her arm, narrowly missing Simon’s head.

  Joy didn’t know what to say to that, and apparently no one else did either.

  Krystal broke the awkward silence. “I’ve got a column about the Players coming out in the Sunday paper. I hope it will generate some interest in the performance.”

  “Wonderful, thank you! By the way, I’m organizing a silent auction for the last week of July. Do you think you could throw some press our way when we’re ready to sell tickets?”

  “Absolutely. And I’ll put you in touch with Mimi Close, who does the events calendar for the paper ...”

  Krystal went on about ways the paper could help and, to Joy’s relief, the subject of Chris’s feelings for her did not come up again.

  13

  They’d left the theater at the same time, so she was a little surprised that it was almost 20 minutes after she got home that the doorbell rang. When she opened the door, she realized the reason for the delay.

  Chris held a bottle of wine, which he must have stopped somewhere for on the way. He also had a moderately improved air—his hair, which he’d repeatedly run his hands through at rehearsal, was now neatly combed, and she caught a whiff of cologne as he walked past her into the house.