Premiere: A Love Story

by Ewens, Tracy

  “Wow, that’s fantastic, now that’s a dress!” Jack Cathner said, looking incredibly debonair himself, standing next to Sam’s mother. She wore a black pants suit and red heels. Her mother could pull of anything, Sam thought.

  “You two look pretty fantastic yourselves.”

  Sam kissed both of them.

  “How you doing, Button?”

  Sam took a deep breath.

  “Good, everything’s good.”

  Her parents knew things with Peter hadn’t worked out. They sensed there was trouble brewing when he wasn’t at the hospital, and she told them when she had made the decision to end it.

  “Sam, you look magnificent,” her mother said.

  “Thanks, Mom. Piper found the dress. She’s a one-woman fashion advisor.”

  They all laughed.

  “We saw Peter, met the director,” her father said not so subtly, and her mother lightly smacked his shoulder.

  “Okay. That’s great. Listen, I need to check with Candice before I take my seat. I’ll see you guys in there. Our seats are marked, so you shouldn’t have any trouble.”

  “Sure. Sam,” he said, looking at her with a strange expression.

  It was kind of the look he used to get when she was in high school, and he’d sneak into the garage to smoke his cigar.

  “Enjoy the play, be sure to enjoy all of it.”

  Jack kissed her forehead with that look still on his face. Sam walked away. What was that all about? Enjoy the play. Okay?

  Sam checked with the box office manager to make sure there were no last-minute ticket issues and everything was running smoothly. She saw Grady and met his “babysitter” as he called her. She was in a long, navy blue silk dress. It hugged every curve; Sam thought she was the sexiest public relations person she’d ever seen. Grady seemed quite captivated by whatever she was telling him. Sam could not help but wonder where that was headed. What would be more scandalous than Grady seducing the woman his father hired to keep him out of trouble during the campaign? Sam laughed to herself as she ushered them to their seats. She turned to walk back to the lobby as Peter and Spencer were walking in to take their seats. Her chest hurt and the smile dropped from her face. Peter looked at her and the dress. No drooling that she could see, but his eyes softened. Visible confirmations of its effects were all over Peter’s face. Thank you, Piper.

  If only life were as simple as a good-looking guy and a great dress. Peter paused for a minute, tilted his head, and rubbed the back of his neck. Sam thought she saw him grinning, but then it was gone. He looked away and took his seat. Spencer walked over to Sam and thanked her. He wore a bow tie with his suit and Converse. He was relaxed now. The show was in the hands of his very capable stage manager, Julie.

  Sam took the seat next to her mother as the house lights dimmed for the last time. This was it. She wanted to congratulate Peter, tell him that she was so proud of him, but that was not going to happen. She glanced over her shoulder, and he was looking right at her. Breathe, Sam. She tried to smile. The house went dark and the curtain opened on the day Phillip’s parents brought his little sister home from the hospital.

  The audience laughed at all the right spots, mostly at Greg’s antics. Greg encompassed all the nuances of Grady when he was young. The dialogue was witty, but intelligent. The audience was belly laughing when Sally tried to teach Phillip and Greg the Macarena at their junior high school dance. Sam remembered that day like it was yesterday, although Peter took artistic license because she had never flirted with Peter at that dance. The theater was appropriately silent during the more difficult scenes. Sam was happy to see that Gordy nailed the lighting on the theater scene where Phillip cries for the first time. It was a much softer spot and the backlighting accentuated the immensity of the dark theater. It was brilliant work. When Sally, Peter, and Greg graduated from college, the montage of scenes from their childhood that filled the stage brought the audience to its feet in applause at the end of Act II. By the time Sam stood for intermission, Peter had left his seat. She told herself it was for the best as they filed out into the lobby. Her father brought champagne over for Sam and her mother.

  “Sam,” Grady said approaching from the theater.

  “Will you please tell Kate that Peter based Greg, the incredibly handsome and charismatic character in the play, on me? Tell her. I’m Greg, right?”

  They all laughed.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t see it,” Kate said, pursing her lips. Oh, I like her, Sam thought.

  Sam tried to keep a serious face.

  “Grady, all I can tell you is that the characters are loosely based on people from the playwright’s life.”

  She smiled at Kate.

  “Loosely, what? Sam, come on. Phillip, Sally, and Greg. Who the hell else would Greg be?”

  “Well, maybe it’s a compilation of several people in his life,” Kate teased.

  “Greg seems far too harmless to be, yeah, you.”

  They laughed again. Grady shook his head in defeat and drank his champagne, as Kate walked outside for some fresh air.

  “I like her, Grady,” Susan Cathner said.

  “Of course you do. She’s my babysitter. Here for the sole purpose of keeping me in line. To make sure my puppet strings don’t get tangled and, this just in, to mock me.”

  Laughter again. It was fun to see Grady frustrated and not his usually suave self.

  “Traitors, all of you. Enjoy.”

  Grady walked toward the men’s room.

  After a few words with Peter’s mother, who was still sober and looking more radiant every day, Sam’s parents stepped over to look at the actors’ head shots and bios. Sam was left standing by Mrs. Pennyfred, who awkwardly tried to set Sam up with her nephew. She was rescued when the house lights dimmed, signaling the end of intermission. She excused herself from the clutches of matchmaking and took her seat for the second half. Peter was not in his seat. Sam reminded herself that it was no longer her business where Peter was.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  He was crazy. He had lost his damn mind, Peter told himself as his breathing went into overdrive backstage. Surely there was an easier way to do this. There were all kinds of gestures, and this one was totally nuts, unprofessional even. He had an obligation to the audience and to his supporters. His agent, his backers from New York, they were all out there and he was most definitely out of this mind.

  He peeked out into the house. The audience was once again taking their seats. Peter felt the entire place twirl on its axis while he cursed love, and then he saw her. He was able to draw a breath, his head quieted, and the edges of his mouth curved into a stupid, completely irrational smile. She was pointing at something along the stage, in that dress that had nearly killed him on the spot. It looked like her mother was asking her a question, and Sam was probably explaining some historical tidbit about the theater they both knew so well. He had no choice; he had never had a choice when it came to Sam. She was his person, his woman. He adored her up close, working in the theater, or all the way across the country. He couldn’t shake her, and now she had tried to push him away, he knew she needed the gesture, she wanted a plan. As the house lights dimmed, and the stage was filled with the blue-green flush of Act III, Peter saw her face again and knew there was no gesture too grand.

  The second half was much more emotional for Sam. Her father looked over at her during the Huntington scene, and she looked straight ahead. Sam was certain he knew she was a grown woman who had intimate relationships with men, but she still felt ten years old and in big trouble. Her mother cried during the flashback, when the audience saw the actual day Phillip’s father died. Peter’s mother cried during Phillip’s seventeenth birthday party, most likely at the cruelty of the intoxicated mother she hoped she had left behind. Come to think of it, Peter’s mother cried through most of the second half.

  Sam felt a pull at her heart as Phillip got on the plane for New York. There were things said, feelings Phillip had, that Sam never k
new existed. It was like having access to Peter’s mind, and while she already knew he loved her, it was incredibly written, and the words held her suspended. The lights dimmed onstage, the audience clapped, and after the scene change almost all of the characters were back onstage, frozen in place. This must be the final scene; Sam had not yet seen the ending. Her eyes grew cloudy. Not because the scene was particularly upsetting, it hadn’t even started yet, but because she was going to miss Peter. Her heart was going to break all over again, and she was sad. The stage flooded with light for the last scene. Peter stepped out onstage.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you so much for coming tonight, and I hope you’ve enjoyed the story so far. My name is Peter Everoad, and I am the playwright.”

  The audience clapped and Sam was stunned that Peter was onstage. Why? Had something happened? Her first thought was to get up and check backstage, but she stayed seated, not wanting to look like a fool if this was something he had worked into the play. Maybe the theater had wanted him to introduce himself for the premiere? She had no idea because she had stepped away weeks ago, but surely Candice would have said something.

  Sam turned to her mother with a puzzled look, but Susan only patted her hand as Peter continued.

  “Many of you came to the rehearsal, as well as the question and answer session, a couple of months ago. There was a young woman in the group who asked me how the story ended. She asked if Phillip fought for Sally. At the time I told her everything ends well. Our cast and crew have worked tirelessly and brought my story to life with such brilliance, I couldn’t have asked for more, but I have to tell you that unfortunately . . .”

  Sam got up, something was wrong. Unfortunately is a word no one wants to hear on opening night. Crap. Maybe if he’d solidified the damn ending instead of waiting until the last minute this wouldn’t be happening. Putting her bag in her mother’s lap, Sam’s mind began to spin, thinking about all of the things that could possibly be wrong. She discreetly stepped into the aisle. This was such an important night for the Playhouse, and if Peter was onstage, something was definitely not right. He hated the attention, especially with this group of people. What could be so wrong that he would need to do this himself? She thought as she glanced over to where Spencer had been sitting. Where in God’s name was Spencer?

  Peter’s voice quickened, and his words began fumbling out when he saw Sam get up. Where the hell was she going? Maybe he had not thought this through. He needed to finish before she hit that door, or he would look like a, well he would look like the complete nutcase he was.

  “Unfortunately, the ending took me some time. I had a few hurdles, and over the past few months I’ve written three or four endings, but none of them felt right. I’ve decided I may need some audience participation.”

  The crowd laughed nervously and began to shift in their seats.

  “Because to tell you the truth, I have no idea how this thing is going to end.”

  The audience mumbled a bit more, and Sam started to sweat. Her fantastic shoes, it turns out, were not the best for making fast and frantic exits. She’d made it to the door, ready to push through to the lobby, when she heard Peter say,

  “I once had someone tell me all I ever do is write lines for other people to say. That I sit on the sidelines.”

  She froze, hands on the cool, gold plate of the door. Sam stared at the door and couldn’t physically move. Peter took a deep breath.

  “She was right. It’s pretty damn terrifying up here.”

  The audience laughed, and Sam could feel the whispers.

  “So, here I am on the stage at the end of my play. If you’ll bear with me, I’ll take over for the incredibly talented Jacob Pratt, who has been playing Phillip. I need to read these lines myself, and if I could get Samantha Cathner to turn around and come to the stage, maybe together we can give the audience an ending. Sam?”

  The house lights warmed enough for everyone in the entire audience to turn and see Sam with her face in the door. She slowly turned toward the stage. The cast was frozen in their places. Young Phillip and Sally and Greg were on the stage sitting in an imaginary back yard, just as Peter, Grady, and Sam had done so many times in their childhood. The parents were gathered around a dining room table poised over plastic food behind a sheer scrim that separated them from the children. Everything hit slow motion for Sam and she still couldn’t process what was going on.

  Jacob, the actor playing older Phillip, broke character when he heard his name, shook Peter’s hand, and exited stage left. Minka, the actress playing older Sally, broke also at the mention of Sam’s name, kissed Peter on the cheek, and exited the stage. The entire theater was quiet, not one rustling of a program or a candy wrapper, no one moving in their seats, nothing. Sam swallowed hard and looked at Peter. He smiled. She could tell he was nervous even from the back of the house, but his face was absolutely magnificent. He stood there, all eyes on him, with his hand confidently outstretched to her. His energy, his warmth, radiated all the way up to her, and he said, “Sam, I have a plan. If you could get to the stage before the audience gets restless, that would be great.”

  Laughter filled the theater again as Peter raised his eyebrows and gestured again. He had a plan. All on their own Sam’s legs began to move.

  Never taking her eyes off him, she approached the stage as the whispering in the audience grew louder. Her heart was thundering, but all she saw was Peter. He met her at the stage stairs with a yellow pad in his hand. She held her dress with one hand and took his hand with the other as he guided her center stage.

  “You look unbelievable, as if it’s not obvious.”

  She tried to respond, but nothing came out.

  The lights were warm and bright. The audience clapped and, still looking at Peter, Sam bowed her head in acknowledgement of the applause. This was crazy, but somehow it didn’t matter. His face, that smile, whatever he was going to do was worth it, if only to see that look. The theater was packed with everyone Sam knew in all of Pasadena and some bigwigs from New York. She was standing center stage on the opening night of Peter’s new play, and he was clearly having some sort of a breakdown, but she didn’t care. Sure, her face was five shades of scarlet. Sam stood facing Peter and like the rest of the audience, she was looking to him for what was coming next.

  Peter held her hand, and for an instant, it was exactly like the movies, he thought. The room became a gauzy fuzz, and Sam was the only thing in focus. It was so clear now, and even as he felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his shirt, Peter was certain.

  “Thank you, Samantha, Sam. Now,” with one hand shading his face, Peter looked up to the lighting booth, “if I could please have my lighting cue, Gordy.”

  The house lights went dark, and the stage flooded with the most fantastic blues, oranges, and pinks. Marvelous lighting, as if they were standing right in the middle of a sunset. Peter whispered: “If I’m going to do this I thought we might as well create your favorite time of day. Sunset for you, Sam. Gotta love the theater.”

  He kissed her hand. Sam was bathing in that beautiful light when Peter turned toward the audience.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience, I give you the final scene of Looking In.”

  What? “Peter, I don’t have any lines. What are you . . .”

  “All you have to do is respond to what I say. This is our ending, you don’t need lines. We’re going to finish this up with messy, real life. Kinda like reality television, but hopefully better.”

  He laughed, and Sam tried to swallow past the swell in her throat. Maybe he was actually losing it, she thought and squeezed his hand harder.

  “Listen and say what you want to say. Don’t worry, I have most of the lines. Oh, and pay no attention to the hundreds of people staring at us, just look at me.”

  He laughed nervously this time, his hands were sweating.

  Sam started to shake. They were quite a pair. She did exactly what Peter said, mostly out of complete terror.
He held both her hands and faced her.

  “Samantha Cathner, I . . . I’ve loved you my whole life. I’ve written pages about you and to you. My first thoughts of friendship, laughter, love, comfort, passion, all have you swirling around in them. I wasn’t ready for you the first time. I blew it. But I came back, and even though you say you don’t want me, I don’t believe you. You wanted a plan. I have one.”

  He flipped through the pages on the yellow pad. They were filled with writing and arrows. Sam saw the words “live in New York and summer in Pasadena.” She took the pad and turned the pages. It was a plan. He’d written it all out with little notes in the margin that said: “Ask Sam.”

  Sam held the pad to her chest and for the hundredth time, tears welled in her eyes. The audience clapped and Peter continued.

  “You drive me absolutely crazy.”

  Sam laughed.

  “And I know I scare the hell out of you when I climb into my head, but it doesn’t matter. A light turned on in our world that day under the bamboo, Sam, and our lives have never been the same. You are my shelter from the storms in my mind, and in your eyes, I am everything I’ve ever hoped to be. We will always be scared of losing each other, that’s part of needing, and I need you desperately. I love you, Sam.”

  He squeezed her hand, and the audience was silent, like they didn’t want to disturb.

  “This is our path. We are part of the same beginning and the same sunset, the same Sunday morning breakfast and Saturday farmer’s market. So, I’m here onstage with you and I’ve got my game plan. I’ve followed your need for tradition and already spoken to your father.”

  Sam didn’t think it possible, but Peter suddenly looked even more nervous. His hand was shaking as it left hers and reached into his pocket.