Destiny Plays

by Leslie Pike

  “Are you sober yet?” I hear Nash say as he enters the kitchen.

  “Think so. Thanks for putting me up.”

  He comes around the island and pours a cup of coffee. There’s no ignoring the two dogs that are full-fledged members of his household. Fluffy, the regal-looking Boxer with the funny name, is up and by his human’s side as soon as he spots him. OG, the Lab and senior member of the family, remains stretched out on the floor. They each get a good morning pat and tails wag in response.

  Pulling up a barstool, he takes a seat across from me and grabs a muffin from the bowl on the counter. “So, what’s the deal?”

  There’s no use feigning ignorance about what he’s referring to. Nash reads me as well as my mother does.

  “We’ve only known each other for twelve hours, so I can’t really say.”

  I hear his humph and see the smirk. He’s not buying my indifference. I can’t hold back a half smile, which only confirms his suspicions.

  “Good for you. Gonna introduce her to Mom and Dad?”

  I set my coffee mug on the counter and get serious for a minute.

  “Jesus, Nash. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. And don’t say anything about this to them either.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” he lies.

  “It’s not that it’s a secret. There’s nothing to tell.”

  “You gonna see her when you pick up your car?” His eyebrows lift with the question.

  “No. She’s in rehearsals today.”

  “Did you find out where she lives?”

  I can always count on my brother to get to the meat of the issue.

  “She’s here with her Shakespearean acting group. They’re based in San Francisco.”

  “That’s good. Geographically desirable.” He smiles.

  I take the last of my coffee and set the cup aside.

  “Not really. They’re on the road nine months out of the year, performing across the United States. I guess she stays with her aunt when she’s on hiatus.”

  Nash sneers. “Shit.”

  “This weekend is the last performance of the season.”

  “I know all about it, brother. Our parents already have their tickets for tomorrow’s show,” he says chuckling.

  My shoulders sink with the news. There goes my plan for keeping my business on the down low. “You’re kidding me,” I say knowing he’s not.

  “You know they love Shakespeare’s plays. This one’s Dad’s favorite.”

  “Kate’s playing the lead.”

  “Wait. This is too good. She’s the shrew?” He snickers.

  “Yep.”

  We both start laughing at the absurdity of the whole thing.

  “I’m making her dinner at my place after the performance,” I casually say.

  He lifts a corner of his mouth. He’s not buying my performance.

  “Are you telling me you’re gonna actually cook for a woman?” Nash says lifting both eyebrows in shocked surprise.

  “You know I like to cook.”

  He looks at me as if I just told him the moon was purple. “No, I didn’t know that. When did that happen?”

  “Last night.”

  We crack up at my sudden urge to join the ranks of Santini cooks.

  “What a man will do to get laid,” he adds.

  “It’s not like that.” I say it firmly. Maybe a little too firmly for it to be a casual response. Even I hear that in the statement.

  “Interesting. Just be sure you come up for air by next Friday. That’s when the rehearsal dinner is happening. I’m getting married, you know.”

  The look on his face is priceless. It’s real joy. I smile at the thought of Nash being a husband again. God, when April died none of us could think of him with anyone else. But now we want nothing more.

  “I’m really happy for you. Of course I’ll be here,” I say with all sincerity.

  “Bring your girlfriend.”

  I throw a muffin at his head. He ducks and it goes sailing to the floor, where Fluffy claims it, wrapper and all. I don’t think OG was even aware it was coming his way. Nash is quick to wrestle the paper from the dog’s mouth.

  “Uncle Christos!”

  I feel arms around my neck and turn to see my nearly twelve-year-old nephew, Max. He’s in his football uniform. Love this kid, who’s kind of an old soul. There’ve been big storms in his short life. Life-altering forces. The scar on his face and a missing little finger are proof. But they haven’t made him conscientious. He’s got confidence.

  The relationship between father and son is solid, but I think Farrah has added a lightheartedness they were missing. I’ve watched her and Max over the last couple of years. The kid loves her.

  “Hey, buddy!”

  We exchange bear hugs and kisses, because showing affection to each other is in the Santini DNA.

  “You coming to my game?” he says hopefully.

  His father jumps in the conversation. “Uncle Christos has other things to take care of today. Next time, son.”

  “No, I don’t. I’m gonna be there.”

  Max’s surprised smile is worth the few hours out of my day. Nash looks happy too. His devotion to his child is well established, being a single parent all these years. I was glad when they moved back to St. Helena. I missed them both. Even though it’s fact, now that they’re here we rarely get together. It’s pathetic. I’m always too busy.

  “Okay, let’s go get your car and then we’ll head for the field,” Nash says.

  It was easier letting my parents in on my plans for tonight. Especially since I was staying overnight at their house. I casually mentioned it to them when I got home from Max’s game yesterday. It would have been awkward trying to avoid running into them at the Park. Now, if by some chance they meet Kate, there’ll be no asking us to come back to the house or surprised looks because I’m with someone. They pretended to be cool about the news.

  I know exactly why I was hesitant for them to find out. I don’t want things blown out of proportion. Although that response would be what I’d deserve for keeping my personal life so private all these years. Out of all their children, I’m the most closed off. By holding back I’ve created this hunger in them. I get it. They only want to know I’m happy. Trouble is, I haven’t been and don’t want to drag them down with me. And the truth of the matter is when it comes to my love life there’s been little of substance to report. My work has always consumed me.

  The last time I brought a woman into my family’s life I regretted it. My youngest brother said she was, ‘a fucking gold digger’ who was using me as a financial plan. But in her defense, I wasn’t much better. I was a man whore using her for her body. It was a mutual case of imperfect attraction as far as I was concerned. So tonight’s an anomaly. I’m letting them in.

  I move with the crowd towards the amphitheater across the open field. It’s taking longer than I thought to get to my seat. There’s more people here than I anticipated. The pre-show’s going on, with jugglers in Elizabethan costume, booths selling good things to eat and men and women passing out playbills on tonight’s entertainment.

  I take one from a young woman with flowers in her hair. The Taming of the Shrew it proclaims. I flip to the cast list. There in bold calligraphy is what I look for. KATHERINE played by KATE CORNELL.

  Turning a few pages, I find the bios of the cast members. Kate Cornell (Katherine) hails from Pasadena, California, where her love of acting started early. It goes on to list her many lauded roles and the awards she’s won. She’s accomplished. No wonder she’s confident.

  Walking through the entrance to the amphitheater, it’s not hard to spot my parents. They stand out in the crowd. My Greek mother’s bright turquoise tunic against olive skin, my Italian father’s thick head of salt and pepper hair, they’re the best looking couple here. Her hand waves me over. I make my way down row three, center stage.

  “Hello, darling!” she says patting the space. “Here, sit between us.”


  I take my seat.

  “Hi,” I say.

  My father kisses one cheek and my mother the other. She takes my hand. “Are we going to meet her?”

  Five seconds. That was longer than I expected.

  “Il mio amore, you told me not to ask him any questions about the girl and then you do it!” my father says leaning over and lifting his hand to the sky.

  “Valentino, I don’t remember that at all,” she says in an unconvincing voice.

  “Listen you two, I have nothing to report. Come on. I met a woman and that’s it. We hardly know each other. Don’t make a big thing out of it.” I shake my head for emphasis.

  “A woman? Not a girl?” my mother says, ignoring my request.

  I catch the wink my father gives her, and the happy expressions they wear. Oh God. I’m screwed.

  The curtain opens and the audience quiets.

  She owned the stage. I don’t think I’m alone in my assessment. The applause for her and the lead actor is deafening. Shakespeare’s sharped tongued lines flowed from her character Katherine’s defense of her independence. Playing against Petruchio, their verbal duals were made memorable not only because of the playwright’s words. There was chemistry. Hmm. Hope it’s just the fact that they’re both good actors and not because of something more. Wait. Why did I just have that thought? What difference does it make?

  I feel my mother’s eyes on me. When I look there’s a smile on her face, the kind mothers get when they know what you’re thinking just by looking at your face.

  “Stop that,” I whisper.

  A barely noticeable nod is all I get in return. That, and a look that says she knows she’s right.

  The actors take their final bows and get a standing ovation.

  “Bellisimo! Molto bello!” my father says. He follows his praise with a whistle. But it’s one of many as the crowd shows their appreciation.

  “Christos, she’s lovely,” my mother says.

  “I know.”

  My father puts an arm around my shoulder. “You’re cooking for her tonight, I hear.” When he sees my frustrated expression, he adds a surprised look. “What? Max told me.”

  There are absolutely no secrets in this family. And when it comes to food, you can bet my parents are going to weigh in. Santini’s Italian Deli on Main Street has been in our family for decades.

  “I defrosted the manicotti in the freezer. And that’s the last bit of information I’m going to share. I’ve got to get going.”

  “Freezer! No!” my father says.

  “Oh, Christos, I would have made you a fresh one,” my mother says with annoyance.

  Their horrified faces are almost funny. I ignore their comments. As I pass in front of my father, he leans in to my ear. “Don’t forget the music. It’s a very important part of the courtship.”

  Oh God.

  I check my watch. It’s five forty. Daylight is just about gone, and the sky’s turning dark purple. The park’s lights trip on. We made plans to meet back at the entry, and I’ve already waited an hour and a half. Rarely do I wait for anyone or get time to do nothing but people watch. I’m making an exception for the exceptional. She thought it would take about that long to remove her makeup, get dressed and visit with the city dignitaries who had arranged to meet the cast. I had no problems agreeing to her timeline. Tonight I’d wait whatever’s required. That’s how curious I am.

  There she is. I don’t think she’s spotted me yet which gives me an opportunity to watch. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in something other than long bulky dresses. The witch and the shrew both were hiding Kate’s gifts. A tiny waist and full breasts debuted at the Halloween party for me. But the whole package revealed now is off the charts. Here soft and solid share the space in perfect harmony. I like it. A lot.

  The word lusty has new depth as of ten seconds ago. In the vein of my father’s favorite Italian movie star, Sophia Loren, Kate’s got a beautiful hourglass figure. I see the draw. She’s wearing the hell out of that dress, and it shows the perfect amount of skin. It’s not obvious, with cleavage pushed up to the chin or skirt halfway up her ass. There’s a subtlety to it. Although, as she walks, it’s forcing me to picture the body that moves beneath.

  A woman who can walk well in heels is as sexy as hell. Especially one wearing only heels. But that’s a vision for a different night. With Kate there’s no wobbling or pinched expression as if her feet are being tortured. There’s a fluidity in how she moves. It’s almost a saunter.

  I hadn’t noticed him before, but behind her a man runs to catch up. It’s the actor who played Petruccio. He leans in and says something in her ear. Fuck face. He’s a good-looking guy. Younger than me too. By at least a decade. She leans away from him then replies with a one-word answer. I’d swear it was “no”. He fake pouts at whatever she’s said and grabs his heart as if he’s suffered a fatal wound. It doesn’t make him back off though.

  Now she sees me standing beside my car. My pulse races with her smile. When they reach me, she takes my hands and leans in for a kiss on the cheek. He’s giving me the once over. I just stare. What I’d like to do is knock that annoying smirk off his face.

  “Christos, this is my co-star, James Masters.”

  We exchange unfriendly handshakes. He’s trying to show me the power behind his at the most five-foot-nine inch frame. And I’m being generous with that guess. I squeeze his palm till it makes his jaw clench.

  “Is this your older brother you were telling me about last weekend?” he says.

  Oh, fuck you asshole. Yeah, you’re younger than I am, we all know. I just smile.

  Kate responds to the intended insult aimed my way. She looks at me and laughs. “James thinks everyone is older because he’s barely out of his teens. He’s still aiming for manhood.”

  His face reddens and there’s a vein that pops out on his temple. He turns and walks away without another word.

  “So dramatic.” Kate rolls her eyes as if she’s heard it before.

  “Looks like you haven’t been thoroughly tamed.”

  “Not by him,” she laughs.

  “Let me get the door,” I say, going around to her side.

  She doesn’t say “I’ve got it” or hesitate with her response. She appreciates it and waits.

  “Thank you.”

  All the way to San Francisco we talk. There’s not an awkward break in the conversation. I’m more at ease than I have been in a long time. We talk about our families. The brother in the military overseas, the mother on her honeymoon in Jamaica with her fifth husband. Kate and her brother were raised by a woman more interested in men than she was in her children. Auntie Anne became their surrogate mother who made sure to provide stability. The father was never in the picture. Our stories couldn’t be more opposite.

  Careers are discussed at length too. It’s odd because, although we each achieved our dreams, neither of us sound completely satisfied. As hard as we’ve worked to reach our successes, something’s missing.

  “Hasn’t the law been what you imagined?”

  “It’s not the law. I’m tired of unhappy endings.” I laugh. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say when you’re a divorce attorney. We’re warned in law school not to have unrealistic expectations. I guess the reality is few things in life are as you expect. Right?”

  She takes a few beats before answering. “Or they are, but only for a while. That’s my problem.”

  “Tell me.”

  I exit the freeway and head towards the loft.

  “I love acting. It feeds me. I love how becoming different people has molded me into my authentic self. But there’s a finite number of years an actress can play many of the most-coveted Shakespearean roles. He didn’t write many for women over forty. I’ll never again be Juliet kissing her Romeo. That ship sailed fifteen years ago. Tonight’s performance was my last time to play Katherine. I’m too damn old, and it pisses me off.”

  Both of us laugh. I’ve never heard anyone say that so openl
y. And in a funny way it proves her confidence. But I can hear the melancholy in her voice.

  “I think you’re the perfect age,” I say. “And you’ll own whatever role you play.”

  Her smile rewards my compliment.

  “Are you strictly a Shakespearean actor? Can’t you take other roles?”

  She sighs. “It’s been my thing since I was eighteen. I did play other parts, but this is where I’ve built my reputation. I never had to audition after about twenty-three. Now I’d have to start again and compete against women whose resume is much more varied than mine.”

  I can hear the frustration and resignation in her sigh.

  “I can’t believe you wouldn’t get any part you tried out for.”

  “I’m a little restless too, to know something of the life I’ve missed,” she says turning her face towards me. I take my eyes off the road for a moment and look at her.

  “Professionally, or personally?”

  “A little of both. I’d like to stay in one place longer than a few weeks at a time. But I have a coveted job that actors work for years to be part of. And this next year our company’s going to be working with other cities’ repertoires. Besides, if I give it up there’s no guarantee I can find steady work.”

  This statement shocks me. “After watching you tonight I’d be surprised if that were true. You were really something.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What about personally? You’ve never married? No children?” I say.

  She chuckles and points a finger at me. “You were right about that the first night we met. I never yearned for either. Never met anyone who changed my mind.”

  “Do you regret that?” I say.

  “Not in the slightest. What about you? You have an ex-wife and three kids somewhere?”

  She grins when she says it, but I know it’s a solid question. By our age there’s usually the baggage of ex’s.

  “God, no.” We laugh at our shared uneasiness. “But it’s not like I planned my life to exclude those things. I’ve been focused on my career. Everything else quietly fell away. Funny thing is, it’s not as satisfying as I imagined it would be.”