I looked at my watch; it was 6:45 p.m. We’d been trapped in the attic for nearly two hours, but already it felt like days.
As I watched Flora and her candlelight disappear to the end of the attic, I turned my attention to another big box with the word “Pocahontas” scribbled on its side. I was intrigued. Maybe more candles. As I unwrapped it, it was magical. All the tribal Indian colors were illuminated brilliantly in the lamplight. It was funny that, in this intense quiet and darkness, everything just seemed so much more vibrant and alive. As I thought about the Native Americans and the hard winters they had to survive, I felt a kinship with them on my own little quest of survival here.
I pulled out a musket, an Indian doll, pictures, and, at the bottom, a beautiful Indian outfit, embroidered and warm. I couldn’t resist it; I had to slip it on. I placed the whole thing over my head and laced it up. I thought about the actress who had worn this costume. I wondered if she felt as regal in it as I was feeling just then.
I walked over to the mirror propped in the corner, feather headdresses and fishnet stockings dangling from its corners. I turned the mirror to myself just as Flora came back.
She let out a little cry. “Oh, you surprised me! You look so different, like a Native American princess.”
I surveyed myself in the mirror. Yes, Flora was right. I did look different as a princess.
“I am the Hiawatha of the attic,” I said, holding the lamp.
We stood next to each other, looking in the mirror, me with my Pocahontas costume and Flora in her gorilla suit. We looked ridiculous and started laughing.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s see if we can find anything else useful.”
We continued our search.
I uncovered a bottle of brandy and whooped again.
“What have you found?” asked Flora.
“Hmm. Something of interest,” I said.
“I bet it’s not as exciting as what I found,” she said mysteriously. I wandered over to where Flora was.
She lifted a lid.
“It’s a gramophone player with a whole collection of records inside!” she said triumphantly.
“Let’s have a party,” I continued. “After all, we’re already dressed up. Why not enjoy our captivity?”
I pulled out a teapot and teacups from the Anne of Green Gables box and inspected them; they seemed pretty clean. I put them on a silver tray and set the tray on the window seat. I poured the brandy into the teapot.
“Milk and sugar?” I mocked.
“Of course,” said Flora. “Slice of cake, Janet?” she added.
“I wish.”
Flora sat there with her little finger out, pretending we were at the palace. She sniffed at the cup. “Oh, I don’t really drink.”
“A small cup will keep you warm,” I reminded her.
We drank the brandy, and without any food in our stomachs, it went straight to our heads.
I pulled out a record titled Al Bowlly’s Greatest Hits. I placed it on the turntable and wound up the player. The sound was crisp and clear. It permeated the whole room, and with the candlelight, it was a magical moment—a little brandy tea party. We sat listening, lost in our own thoughts, swaying to the music.
“Love is the greatest thing,” crooned out the singer, and I guess both of us felt a little tearful. There was a crazy beauty to this moment, and the experience made me appreciate the loves in my life. I wanted to see Stacy more than anything, my wild child.
“I’m in love with Dan,” blurted out Flora.
“Wonderful,” I answered, toasting her with my cup of brandy.
Flora wiped away a stray tear from her eye.
Al Bowlly continued to croon. “Love is the greatest thing, the oldest yet the latest thing. I only hope that fate may bring love’s story to you.”
She sipped her drink. “When we don’t see each other for a long time, I wonder if it’s real or if it’s just a dream. I haven’t been out to see him since he broke his leg. It’s been really difficult for us both. I can never imagine leaving the island or my friends, but if he had to move here, he would have to leave his family and find a new job. So it all just seems so impossible. But I want to be with him.”
As Al Bowlly finished his rendition, I reached forward and grabbed Flora’s hand. “Give it some time. It will work itself out, you’ll see. Is he coming to see you soon?”
“I think so,” said Flora coyly. “He left me a cryptic message in the last letter he wrote to me about a surprise. He has family up here—his Aunt Karen works with you.”
I nodded. “Try to just enjoy one another and this incredible experience you’re having.”
“I just can’t believe that someone as wonderful as Dan could be interested in me,” she said thoughtfully. “There are so many more interesting girls, and I’m sure there are plenty where he lives. The longer we don’t see each other, the more I wonder if he’ll meet one and fall in love.”
“You are a lovely girl,” I reassured her, “and I’m sure if Dan wasn’t interested, he wouldn’t be writing to you. Try not to overthink it too much,” I added.
We continued to play records until Flora yawned. I looked at my watch: 10:30 p.m. I poured us both another brandy, and it made us feel sleepy.
“I think I’m going to try and get a couple of hours’ sleep.”
“Me too,” Flora responded as we grabbed the beautiful handmade quilt from the Anne of Green Gables box and curled up like a pair of cats on the bench seat.
Flora leaned forward and pulled out a little green stocking cap from a box marked “Seven Dwarves” and put it over her head.
“My ears are cold. Make sure we have the tinderbox and a playbill ready,” said Flora, yawning for a third time. She pulled out a fancy pillow from a box marked “French Bedroom Scene” and tucked it under her head.
As the gramophone music wound down and stopped, Flora blew out the candle. We both put our heads down for a minute when, suddenly, a noise made us sit upright. From nowhere, an odd sound rang out in the darkness, like phantom piano music. In the complete silence of the theater, it was eerie and haunting. Flora screamed and buried her head into my shoulder. I listened carefully. Somewhere out there, someone was playing “The Entertainer.” I realized with relief that it was my cell phone ringing out on the side stage.
Lying back down, I listened to the twangy tones. Its perky melody seemed appropriate, with us both lying there, locked in a theater attic, wearing crazy costumes, surrounded by past show memorabilia.
“It’s only my phone. Martin thought it was funny to change my ring tone to something artsy,” I reassured Flora. “It’s probably him ringing to tell me the show is finished in Seattle,” I said drowsily.
Flora’s stomach grumbled loudly. We both giggled again.
“By the time they find us, we might be just two skinny stickwomen under this quilt,” I said.
We laughed again, but exhaustion had overtaken us both, and we were soon asleep.
Chapter Fourteen
POCAHONTAS & THE GORILLA
Doris arrived in the parking lot at practically the same time as Martin and Stacy, who had decided to return home after the show. They jumped out of their cars. Doris was dressed in her flannel nightie, beaver coat, and fur boots. Martin was dressed in a suit, and a very pregnant Stacy was dressed in a lovely evening gown.
“Her car is still here in the back parking lot, as you thought it might be,” said Martin.
“Yes,” said Doris. “I definitely checked the whole theater before I left, though. Maybe she was somewhere I didn’t think to check. I tried to call Flora, too, and there’s no answer, and that’s unusual for her. She’s always in bed by nine, so wherever they are, they’re together.”
They all stood in the parking lot. Martin looked nervously at his watch. It read 1:30 a.m.
“Did you manage to get hold of James Graham?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Doris. “He’s on his way here too”
Just then, the
familiar blue sports car zoomed into the parking lot, and James jumped out, dressed in a burgundy paisley dressing gown and slippers.
“This seems to have turned into quite an adventure,” he said, in good spirits. “Let’s get inside, shall we?” He headed toward the door, and the group followed him.
Inside, James threw the main switch, and the whole foyer burst into light. They ambled inside like refugees looking for a place for the night.
“The last place we saw them was over on the stage,” said Doris, leading the way. They all moved into the main theater. It was dark and cold. “They were both on the stage, sorting costumes,” Doris said. They looked around the space.
“Were they working just in this area?” asked Martin.
“Yes, mainly,” said Doris. “They were tidying this side of the stage, moving and putting props away.”
“Away where?” Martin asked.
“Up in the stage attic . . . ,” Doris said, her voice trailing off.
“Could they be up there?” asked Martin, pointing toward the rickety purple stairs.
James appeared from around the curtain. In his hand was a mobile phone. “Is this Janet’s?” he asked, handing it to Martin.
Martin nodded. “She wouldn’t have gone anywhere without it, so she has to be here somewhere.”
Martin headed up the stairs. They all followed.
At the top, the group walked carefully along the corridor. They arrived at the green door, and right away, James noticed the door handle was missing.
“If this happened while they were on the other side, then they could have found themselves locked in.”
“How do we get in there without a door handle?” asked Doris.
“It was here before. I was up here a month ago,” responded James, “so I’m guessing it fell out while they were up here. It has to still be around here somewhere.”
The group spread out and looked around for the doorknob. Doris located it down in the corner of the floor. She picked it up and handed it to James, who placed it in the lock, and, after several adjustments, he managed to fit it in and snap it into place. They opened the door, and they all filed through. They saw Flora and Janet sleeping soundly.
“Looks like we found them,” said Doris.
“Shame to wake them,” remarked Martin as he gently shook his wife. “Come on, Pocahontas, bring your gorilla, and let’s get out of here.”
Chapter Fifteen
A FRIGHTFUL SCRIPT IN SHERWOOD FOREST
Doris called me that morning to inform me that the scripts were ready for us to read. I entered the Crab a little after eleven. Gladys was ringing up a customer. She nodded at me, saying, “Give me two ticks, and I’ll be with you.”
I looked around the restaurant and couldn’t see Doris anywhere. She wasn’t in her usual booth. Instead of her stoic frame, a picture-perfect family was laughing together, eating pancakes and eggs. Surely Doris wasn’t late; that was unheard of.
Gladys shuffled back to the front reception area, grabbed a couple of menus, and sniffed. “I suppose you’ll want to be with the rest of the merry men,” she said flatly.
“If that’s Doris’s group you’re referring to, then yes,” I said hesitantly. “Are they here?”
“Are they here?” echoed Gladys. She pretended to tic, contorting her face and blinking one eye while she jerked up her shoulder. “Can’t you see my twitching starting? They’re not in their usual spot. Robin Hood has taken to the woods. She Who Must Be Obeyed finally realized that the booth was too small, so she decided she wanted a new place. I hope you brought your hiking boots. You better follow me.”
I was a little intrigued by her comments as she weaved me through the restaurant, which was packed with the buzz of happy people eating and enjoying Saturday morning brunch. Finally, Gladys arrived at the back of the restaurant. Still, I couldn’t see Doris or the group. Gladys nodded her head toward the bathroom. It was then I understood the Sherwood Forest comments. The group was seated at a table that had been dragged into a darkened corner next to the bathrooms, three huge potted plants concealing them.
“I never knew you had a table back here.”
Gladys looked at me sharply, saying, “We didn’t until ten minutes ago. I’ll leave you to guess how they and the plants all got there. I’m sure it will come to you. You need to make your way through the woods just like Little Red Riding Hood. The Big Bad Wolf is already waiting for you.”
Gladys fought her way through the foliage, adding a story time lilt to her commentary. “Here we go through the Hevea brasiliensis and the Ficus benjamina to Grandma’s house.” I looked at Gladys, impressed that she knew the Latin names for the plants. She caught my expression. “I’ve been swatting up on my plants with those plant books you gave me. You wouldn’t believe how many innocent plants in my garden could kill you stone dead.”
I nodded nervously as she winked at me but decided to skip ordering the loose tea just in case.
When we got to the table, Doris seemed a little annoyed. “Here you are at last, Janet,” she said, puffing out her cheeks. “As our director, I thought you’d be here early.”
I glanced at my watch. It was only seven minutes past eleven. I wasn’t going to bite. “Well, I didn’t think to bring my machete,” I joked lightly.
“Isn’t it exciting?” said Gracie, clapping her hands together. “We are having a picnic in the woods!”
Doris stared at me and blinked as if she hadn’t the slightest idea of what I was talking about.
The twins arrived, a vision in blue skirts and pink blouses, all breathless and excited.
“Hi, y’all,” Lavinia said, pulling the bushes apart dramatically and posing diva-style. “Isn’t this fabulous, reading in the forest? I loved writing my part. I can’t wait to hear the whole story.”
Lottie was juggling a pile of library books that I’d stacked on the hold shelf for them the day before. She piled them up in the middle of the table, and they both slid into chairs. Three spicy romances were on top, and a book on the Lord’s Prayer was at the bottom. No need to guess which was for whom.
Doris started to hand out the scripts to all of us. Typed on the front of the cover were the words, “The Merlin of Ooze by Doris Newberry.”
“The Merlin of Ooze?” Lottie said, wrinkling up her nose. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”
“It’s just a working title,” Doris said hotly.
“Well, I would work that in right under the roses if I was you. It stinks worse than manure,” added Lavinia.
“It will all make perfect sense,” said Doris dismissively as she opened her script.
Gladys arrived back at the table and also noticed the title.
“The Merlin of Ooze?” she commented, unimpressed. “It sounds like the guy who used to work in our kitchen years ago before we fired him.” She slammed down the water glasses, looked around the table, pulled out her pencil, and observed us all. “Meatloaf’s off, fish is on, soup is minestrone. How can I happily apple-y serve you today?” she said in her brusque way.
“What kind of fish?” asked Doris.
Gladys peered at her through her glasses. “The sort that swims in the sea,” she said sarcastically.
“Does it have a name?” Doris inquired, crisply.
“John,” responded Gladys, as quick as a whip. Then she cackled at her own joke.
Doris gave her the hairy eyeball, and Gladys huffed and muttered that she would find out as she shuffled away. Two minutes later, she parted the branches and hollered in, “Blackened salmon! It’s his specialty, apparently, though why anybody wants something all black and burnt, I don’t know.”
“I will have it,” said Doris, slamming her menu shut.
“Just a peppermint tea for me,” said Flora, sliding her menu across the table.
“You’re looking awfully skinny,” commented Lavinia, taking hold of Flora’s hand. “You sure you wouldn’t like something else?”
“No,” Flora said decisively. �
�Just tea.”
The rest of us put in our orders, and then we went back to the scripts in front of us.
“The point of today,” said Doris, “is to read through the script together before Janet edits it and figures out the auditions.”
“Auditions?” I asked, nearly choking on my water. “We’re doing auditions?”
“Of course we’re doing auditions,” Doris replied. “How are we going to find the rest of the cast?”
“Okay,” I said, “but I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“I’ll be there to help you,” Doris said.
“Of course,” I said, a little more sarcasm in my tone than I had intended.
Ruby breezed in. She was wearing a languid, wafting sari affair in gold, purple, and pink, and her hair was pulled up into a lilac knotted kerchief. Her outfit seemed to trail forever as she wove her way through the plants.
Gladys, who was approaching the table, nearly tripped on her train. “I think you’re missing some bridesmaids.”
As we all opened our scripts, the excitement around the table was palpable. Lavinia couldn’t help but introduce us all to the story. “The first part of the script is the part I was asked to write,” she said excitedly. “I think you’re going to like it a lot.” She read out loud, “A young woman moved through the . . . plains of Nebraska. What? I set this in Italy,” she said in confusion.
“I cut that,” responded Doris shortly. “Too difficult to create an Italian set, and there’s nothing to see in Nebraska, so that will be much cheaper to build a set for.”
“Okay,” Lavinia said, obviously disappointed. “Won’t be quite the backdrop I had envisioned for this torrid love affair, but I guess we are on a budget.” She sighed and continued to read. “When she came across a . . . Goddess of the Corn?”
Ruby got excited. “That’s one of my characters.”
Lavinia’s voice was high-pitched and unparalleled. “But I had her having a chance romantic meeting with a wonderful young man who was going to steal her heart away.”
Rejected Writers Take the Stage (Southlea Bay Book 2) Page 9