Rejected Writers Take the Stage (Southlea Bay Book 2)

by Suzanne Kelman

  Lavinia whispered to no one in particular, “Looks like she’s here for more than lunch.”

  Marcy finished her rendition of their trip and smiled insincerely. With total poise, she carefully unfolded her napkin, placed it on her lap, and sipped demurely at a glass of water.

  Aware of the awkward silence, Annie spoke. “Your face is familiar. You are . . . ?”

  Marcy’s fake smile disappeared, and she appeared irritated that Annie had forgotten her name.

  “Marcy,” she said slowly, as if reminding a small child. “We were introduced back in Medford.”

  Doris couldn’t help herself. She folded her arms and blurted out, “Where is Flora, and why is she not having lunch with you, Dan?”

  Dan opened his mouth to answer, but Marcy was first to speak. “I told you already, she’s not well,” Marcy said offhandedly. “We had to leave the flower shop. The EMTs insisted.”

  “EMTs,” echoed Annie, alarmed. “What EMTs?”

  “The ones that came out to see why she collapsed,” said Marcy, as she ran a hand slowly through her hair.

  “Collapsed,” I responded, startled.

  Dan finally spoke. “It seems she passed out in the shop, and we arrived just afterward so I was unable to stay with her. The EMTs insisted we leave.”

  “We’ll see about that,” said Doris, rearing her old bulldog self.

  She started to the door, the whole group of us in tow. When we got to the shop, only Mrs. Bickerstaff was there. Doris walked right up to the counter.

  “Where’s Flora?” she demanded.

  “God bless her, Doris, someone has taken her home,” she responded. “The EMTs didn’t think it was serious, but they wanted her to go home and rest for the rest of the day. Apparently, she hasn’t eaten today, and it caused her blood sugar to plummet. Then, poof, she was on the floor.”

  “How awful,” said Annie.

  “I’m not surprised,” sniffed Ethel. “She eats about as much as a sparrow.”

  “Who dropped her off?” I asked.

  “Mrs. Barber from the post office. She had her car in town, and it’s her afternoon off, so she said she would stay with her for the rest of the day,” she answered.

  Good grief. She’ll probably talk her to death, I thought.

  “I’ll pop in on her later,” said Annie decisively.

  “I wish I could stop by,” I added. “I need to get started working on this script, and my daughter’s in town, and I’ve hardly seen her.”

  “I’m going to go home and cook her something for her freezer,” Doris chimed in. “Maybe that way, she’ll eat.”

  She bustled out with Gracie and Ethel padding along behind her. Then she stopped short.

  “I think I’ll send Ethel back inside the restaurant to keep an eye on all this Marcy malarkey,” Doris added shrewdly. Ethel nodded and made her way back into the Crab to stand guard. She pulled up a chair at the table next to Dan and Marcy’s and sat there, glaring at them both as she sipped the glass of water the busboy handed to her. When she saw who her new customer was, Gladys just put her hands on her hips, shook her head, and rolled her eyes.

  Chapter Eighteen

  MUMMIFIED FLORISTS & BUNNIES IN BELLS

  Flora lay very still, wishing more than anything that Mrs. Barber would leave. She had talked nonstop since they’d left Stems. She had insisted that Flora go right to bed, and Flora was now cocooned in her bedclothes like a baby swaddled for a trip to the Artic.

  Mrs. Barber had insisted on tucking Flora in and making her a hot water bottle and some toast, even though the EMTs had already given her an energy bar. She had also spent the last twenty minutes enlightening Flora about all of the town’s latest gossip as she continued to nervously tuck and retuck Flora tighter and tighter into the bed. Only the whistling of the kettle in the kitchen had saved Flora from complete mummification.

  Once Mrs. Barber had left Flora’s bedroom to make tea, Flora couldn’t help herself. The tears just below the surface rolled down her cheeks in a steady, warm stream. She kept seeing Marcy’s perfect white teeth and cashmere-gloved hand resting on Dan’s arm. All the fears she’d imagined before he got here came back to haunt her. Marcy was everything she was not, and it was obvious Dan liked her, or why would he have brought her into town? Why was she here, anyway? Was that the surprise he had talked about? Were Dan and Marcy an item? After all, he had never actually told Flora he loved her. He had written it, yes, but he never told her in person. Maybe he just saw her as a good friend. Now she regretted never telling him how she really felt. Her tears flowed freely, and she managed to liberate an arm to reach for a tissue.

  As she sobbed quietly into her pillow, she could hear Mrs. Barber moving around in the kitchen, putting together a tea tray, and she could smell newly toasted bread. Mr. Darcy jumped up onto her bed and, seeming to sense her sadness, curled his body in a coil in front of her, reaching out one ginger-striped paw toward her face. She stroked him lovingly.

  Minutes later, Mrs. Barber placed a tea tray on Flora’s lap. “I threw a couple of boiled eggs on there for you too. You’ll be needing the strength.”

  Flora’s house phone started ringing, and she tried to de-sandwich herself from the bed. A bow fixed around Mrs. Barber’s bunny neck jingled as she bobbed her head from side to side, saying, “No, you don’t, young lady. It’s probably just Carol Bickerstaff checking in on you. You lay there and be a good girl and eat your eggs.”

  Mrs. Barber left the room, her fluffy pom-pom butt waddling off down the stairs toward the phone. Flora listened intently as she nibbled on the edge of her toast.

  She heard Mrs. Barber pick up the receiver, listen, and then say in her official post office tone, “No, this is not Flora. She is detained at the moment. This is the postmistress. To whom am I speaking, please?” There was a pause again, and she added, “She is resting now and having some lunch, and then I’m going to make sure she has some sleep. Call back later this evening or, better still, tomorrow morning.” There was another pause, then, “Absolutely,” Mrs. Barber said in her official tone. Then she hung up.

  When she arrived back in Flora’s bedroom, Flora looked up expectantly.

  “Is the shop very busy?” she inquired. “I feel terrible leaving her on her own right before Easter.”

  “It wasn’t her,” answered Mrs. Barber, starting to tuck her in again. “I think it was that boy from Oregon. Don or John or something.”

  “Dan,” Flora said, throwing the toast back down on the plate.

  She tried to make her way out of bed again when Mrs. Barber put a paw up to protest. “I must insist you stay in bed, young lady. You’ve hardly eaten a thing, and all this excitement could have you swooning again. Don’t even think about getting up.”

  Flora sat back down despondently and dutifully finished the rest of her food and drank her tea while Mrs. Barber hovered above her, telling her stories of how dangerous low blood sugar could be.

  Once she finished, Mrs. Barber took her tray, saying, “Now, get your head down for an hour, and we’ll see how you are after that. I’m not leaving the room till I see you sleeping soundly.”

  Flora laid her head on the pillow and decided to sneak downstairs and call Dan the minute Mrs. Barber was back in the kitchen. Intending to fake sleep for a while to send her jailer on her way, she closed her eyes and settled down. But overwhelming tiredness overtook her completely, and within minutes she had fallen fast asleep.

  Annie knocked at 6:30 p.m., and a middle-aged bunny in orange lipstick opened the door to Flora’s quaint, Victorian-style cottage.

  “Good, the second shift,” said Mrs. Barber, who had removed her paws and was wiping her hands on one of Flora’s pretty, flowery dish towels.

  “I’m happy to help,” Annie said, pulling out her latest knitting project from her bag as she entered the cottage. “I have someone sitting with the dogs this evening so I can come and keep Flora company, if she needs it. How is she doing?”

  “Bee
n sleeping like a baby all this afternoon,” nodded Mrs. Barber. “God love her. There isn’t a lot of stamina in that chicken, I’m afraid. I better get off to my husband, Norm. He’ll be expecting his dinner.” She put on her fur gloves again, walked to the door, and, with a wave of her paw, was gone. Annie closed the door behind her.

  Annie looked around at Flora’s lovely little cottage. It was totally charming, and it reminded her of a Victorian children’s storybook brought to life. Annie crept up the winding stairs. Mr. Darcy met her halfway up and threaded himself through her legs, saying his own feline hello. She got to the narrow wooden doorway at the top of the stairs and quietly opened the door. Flora stirred and, seeing it was Annie, whispered with hopeful anticipation, “Has she gone?”

  “Yes,” answered Annie with a chuckle. “Was she trouble?”

  Flora sat up in bed and yawned. “She wouldn’t let me get out of bed. I felt like an invalid.”

  Flora reached out to her bedside table and switched on an ornate brass lamp covered with a starched cream lace shade. The whole room erupted in magical yellow light.

  “How are you feeling, Flora?” Annie asked. “What happened?”

  Flora explained the lack of sleep and her inability to eat. Then she said, “While I was being treated by the EMT, Dan arrived.”

  “I know,” Annie interjected. “We saw him at the coffee shop. He was really concerned.”

  “He came with Marcy,” Flora spat out. “Don’t you remember her from the ball in Oregon? The girl he knew from school?” She added in a quieter tone, “He acted as if they were a couple.”

  “Impossible,” sniffed Annie. “Dan wouldn’t date a girl like that. Besides, he’s head over heels in love with you. Anyone could see that.”

  “I’m not sure,” said Flora reluctantly. “It’s been weeks since we last saw each other. What if it was just a road trip fling or something?”

  Annie sat in a little white wicker bedroom chair and started hooking a stitch while she thought for a second. “I’ve never heard of one of those before, but I don’t think for a minute you were one. He’s genuinely a nice young man. And if Marcy is here too, I’m sure there is a very good reason for it, so I think you can stop worrying about that. Have you tried calling him?”

  “Not yet,” answered Flora. “Mrs. Barber banned me from leaving the bed except to go to the bathroom, and my phone is downstairs. He did call earlier, though.”

  “There, you see, why don’t you try calling him? Maybe if you are feeling well enough, he can take you out to see the new romantic comedy that is opening at the movie theater tonight.”

  Flora cheered up a little and put on her cotton and lace nightgown and trotted down to the phone.

  “I’ll see about feeding Mr. Darcy,” Annie shouted after her, dropping her knitting on a side table and picking him up from where he had entwined himself around her legs.

  Flora picked up the phone and dialed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A CIRCUS PONY IN RUBY-RED PUMPS

  Dan sat at the dining table in his Auntie Karen’s kitchen, finishing up the last of the lovely dinner she’d prepared for him.

  “That was amazing,” he said, clearing the plate with his fork.

  She waved her hand dismissively, saying, “Just leftovers put to good use, that’s all. But you’re welcome.”

  Dan’s phone rang. Picking it up quickly, he hoped it would be Flora. Barely able to hear the person on the other end, he walked out the porch screen door and onto his aunt’s wooden deck overlooking the water, where he knew there was a better chance of hearing. Outside it was crisp and cold, and the moon was a luminous globe hanging low in the gray sky, reflecting its brilliance in the rolling waves.

  “Hello?” he said again urgently.

  A female voice answered.

  “Flora!” he said, relieved. “I’m so glad to hear your voice.”

  “No, guess again,” said the voice, icily.

  “Marcy,” he said with disappointment, berating himself for not looking at the number on the phone before he’d picked it up.

  “So, there’s a movie playing in town at seven thirty, and I thought you might like to pick me up at seven so we can go,” she said brightly.

  “I’m waiting for a call,” Dan replied, unable to keep the annoyance from his tone.

  “From that girl, Florence?” retorted Marcy, like she was talking about yesterday’s mashed potatoes.

  “Yes. I haven’t managed to speak to Flora yet”—he made a point of emphasizing her name—“and after all, it’s her I’ve come to see.”

  “I think you’re being awfully optimistic thinking she will call tonight. She looked very sick when we saw her last. I’m sure she’s probably sleeping soundly. You’ll have plenty of time to see her tomorrow.”

  “I still want to check in with her,” he said firmly.

  “Surely she would have called by now if she wanted to see you,” Marcy responded tartly. “What’s the point of moping around your aunt’s house tonight? We might as well go and see a movie, and you can introduce me to a few people. I really don’t know a soul.”

  “I don’t know a lot of people myself,” responded Dan. “I just came on vacation here as a boy growing up. Most of the people I know are from the summer crowd.”

  “That’s still more than I know,” whined Marcy. Then she added, taking on a pitiful note, “You’re not going to have me go out into town alone, are you?”

  Dan sighed and let out a long, slow breath. He didn’t want to leave Marcy hanging, but he didn’t want to miss the chance to see Flora either. Maybe Marcy was right. Surely Flora would have called if she was well enough. What was he going to do all evening anyway? Sit in his aunt’s house, watching TV?

  “Okay,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll be over soon.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Dan arrived at the home where Marcy was staying, and she came trotting out like a little circus pony the minute she saw him draw up. He noted once again that she was way too overdressed for the island, and he felt a little awkward in his jeans and T-shirt. She hopped into the car, glowing. She was a pretty girl, that was for sure, but Dan had never really been attracted to her. He knew many guys from school who were, but she just wasn’t his type. She was too materialistic. It made him think once again about Flora and how he missed her, especially knowing she was so close by. He couldn’t wait to see her again.

  He pulled out of the driveway as Marcy prattled on about the movie they were going to see.

  Dan arrived at the town center and drove slowly toward the movie theater. There wasn’t any parking close by. He circled the block, not really wanting to drive to the large parking lot at the end of the street because it looked like it was going to rain, and he had only pulled on a thin leather jacket as he was leaving. One look at Marcy and he knew whatever she was wearing would not make it through streets of puddles and driving rain. Her hair alone looked like it would not survive a harsh blast of wind. It was all fluffed up.

  He peered through the windshield despondently as a light rain started to fall, pattering rhythmically against the pane. He squinted through the raindrops, turning on his wipers as he scoured the street for a place to park. Suddenly, he got lucky. As he crawled alongside a line of cars parked right in front of the theater, he saw reverse lights. He stopped his car and backed up to wait.

  After parking, they jumped out of the car and made a short run for it, Marcy clicking along beside him atop her high-heeled, shiny red pumps. Once inside, she hung on to Dan’s arm, deliberately making her way to the front of the darkened movie theater that was pretty packed already. Dragging him by the arm, she roughhoused her way along a row so she could tuck them into a dark corner close to the wall.

  Back at Flora’s cottage, Annie had just finished adding Mr. Darcy’s food to his elegant blue china plate when Flora slunk into the cottage kitchen and sat down despondently at her scrubbed farmhouse table.

  “What did he say?” Annie inquired.

/>   “The phone went straight to voicemail,” she answered dejectedly.

  “You didn’t leave a message?”

  “I get tongue-tied with message machines. I was going to speak, then I thought that maybe he was in the middle of something or with . . . someone,” she added, crestfallen.

  Annie sat at the table too. “Maybe Karen’s house is in a cell phone dead spot. You know how it is on the island. I’m sure we could get Karen’s home number. You could call him that way.”

  “No, it’s okay,” said Flora. “He would have called me if he wanted to. Maybe he has plans.” Her voice trailed off sadly.

  “I have an idea,” said Annie buoyantly. “Come on. Let’s go see that movie in town. It’s supposed to be really funny, and it will make the night go quicker. I’m sure you’ll get to see him tomorrow when you’re feeling better. Someone is with the dogs tonight, so I can drive us in. We can have our very own girl’s night out.”

  Flora’s response was half-hearted. “I don’t think so. Maybe I should wait to see if he calls later.”

  “You can keep your phone on silent in your lap in the movie theater and watch for it to light up. Better than sitting here waiting all night. It might cheer you up to get out and do something.”

  Flora reluctantly agreed. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll go and get dressed.” She sighed again, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.

  “It’s already ten past seven,” Annie shouted up the stairs after her. “Try not to be too long, and we should make it.”

  Flora was back downstairs and ready in her coat by 7:22, and as Annie opened the door, there was a low, gentle rumble, and a light rain started to fall.

  “You should probably take an umbrella,” Annie suggested as she noticed Flora’s attire: a burgundy crushed-velvet hat and Victorian lace-trimmed jacket.

  Flora ducked back inside and grabbed her umbrella from her coat stand.

  Annie pulled the car out of the drive and drove the short way into town. On arriving, she looked at the clock on her dashboard. It read 7:25. She was pretty sure that they would be parking at the end of the town in the big parking lot, but maybe they would get lucky. As they arrived outside the theater, Annie saw someone just pulling into the last available parking space. She drove to the end of the road and parked at the end of town.