by K. S. Thomas
I’m about to apologize for being the reason both of us are considering giving up on our personal hygiene practices for an indefinite amount of time, when I hear the lock click and both our heads snap in that direction.
“Oh, shit,” Teran mutters under his breath as we both stare in silent horror at the doorknob slowly turning.
Then, the door opens and –
“AH!” Hannah clutches her chest at the sight of us. “What the hell are you two doing in here? Trying to kill me?”
“I feel like we’ve covered this. Your heart is healthy. You cannot be scared to death.” For someone who never does any of the onstage acting, Hannah is well versed in dramatics.
She shoves me first. Then she shoves Teran, but only because he’s blocking the shelf she’s trying to get to. “Maybe you weren’t trying to kill me. I’m pretty sure I peed a little though.”
“Wow.” I shake my head, eyes wide, lips pressed together tightly.
Meanwhile, Teran looks like he’s trying to tune out the entire conversation and instead busies himself with keeping watch at the door Hannah so recklessly left unlocked.
Hannah turns back around to face me, arms loaded with fake beards and matching wigs. “Seriously though. Why are you two hanging out in the closet?”
“Because you said your kids were cool and no one would even recognize me and you’re a big fat liar.”
Her brow moves slightly upward, signaling her disbelief as she leans into her left hip, sticking it out in the process. “You’re in here hiding from my students?”
“Your students are animals,” Teran chimes in. “I was half undressed by the time I broke free and I’m pretty sure one of them has my watch.”
She makes a face, which she shares with both of us, shifting her gaze back and forth multiple times before she settles on me for round two. “You’re pathetic.”
“You’re mean,” I counter, instantly aware I could have executed more wit with my comeback.
Hannah’s glare blazes, then, just as suddenly as it flashed to high heat, it diminishes completely. Her stern, tightlipped mouth curves and she grins. “Shit, I can’t keep a straight face any longer.” She shakes her head, laughing with delight.
“What?” I turn to Teran, but he’s clearly as dumbfounded by her sudden burst of amusement as I am.
“Taylor, Emily, Grace!” she calls out and I feel my chest tighten. “Get in here.”
I wave my hands back and forth trying to signal to her just how much she needs to stop calling for the crazy girls to come and invade my little safe haven, but she just dismisses my efforts with more laughing.
Teran about jumps three feet out of the way when the door opens and the very girls who chased us in here, follow suit.
“Which one of you rock stars managed to swipe the watch?” Hannah asks, an odd amount of pride in her voice given the question.
The shortest of the three smirks, reaching into her pocket and retrieving Teran’s Hermes which is instantly recognizable thanks to the black wrap wristband. “Pretty smooth, right?” she asks, grin growing broader.
“I know I’m impressed,” Hannah agrees, taking the watch and handing it back to Teran who made zero efforts to take the watch back for himself. “Anyone else swing something they think might top Taylor’s move?” she asks, casting her gaze back and forth between the other two girls while Teran and I both stare on in silence. Not only am I stumped at this particular situation, I’m also hung up on the vast shift in personality where these three girls are concerned. Short of assuming they were temporarily possessed, I have no explanation for the complete one-eighty I’m witnessing here.
“I’m pretty sure pulling his shirt from his pants got that one running,” the curly haired brunette offers as she points at Teran. Emily, I think was her name. “Does that count for anything?”
The other one, Grace, I’m guessing based on my powers of deduction, which I suppose makes it more of an estimation, or observation if you will, tips her head back and forth playfully, eyes locked on me as she adds, “I paraphrased some Fatal Attraction stuff. I think it went over pretty well.” She shrugs, still grinning as I try to block out the memories of her terrifying whispers of seduction.
Hannah looks like she’s thinking extra hard and I’m sincerely hoping it’s regarding their impending punishments. I’m about to add my own suggestions when her hand flies forward, finger pointing straight at the watch thief. “Taylor gets the monologue. Sorry, girls, but she scored extra for staying in character.”
There’s a round of high fives to Taylor and the threesome scurries from the closet.
“What the fuck just happened?”
Teran steps up beside me, finally deeming it safe to come out of the corner he’s been cowering in. “Yeah. What he said.”
Hannah rubs her hands together. “That was an audition. I added a pretty poignant monologue to the script last night and it had to go to one of my leads. Just didn’t know which one. Now I do.”
“Come again?” I’m pretty sure I’m following what she’s saying, but I’m not comfortable believing it yet.
“You don’t have any stalkers here, Bodhi. Just spotlight hungry teens ready to step up and do what needs doing to get the part.” She grins.
“It was all fake?” Teran exclaims, and even though he’s trying to look pissed, the awe in his voice is hardly supporting his facade.
“You couldn’t think of another way to cast the bit that didn’t include torturing us?” I ask, though even I have to admit, their performances were nothing short of impressive. If the whole drama club is this talented, the town is in for one hell of a show.
“I mean, sure,” she admits, “but think of all the fun I’d have missed out on.”
“Uh-huh.”
“If you wanted more fun in your life, Hannah, you should have just asked,” Teran says with a smirk as he slinks from the closet, clearly ready to put the humiliation behind him.
Hannah stares at me, brow furrowed, mouth slightly open. “What was that?” Then her expression shifts from dumbfounded to suspicious as she slides her weight to her right hip, jutting it out as she crosses her arms over her chest. “God, he’s not trying to flirt again, is he?”
I shrug, laughing. “He’s counting on Christmas to make him irresistible this year.”
“He better start dipping parts of himself in chocolate, because that’s about the only thing I like about this holiday,” she says dryly, making her way back toward the door.
“Still hate Christmas, huh?” I shake my head. “You don’t find that a sort of conflict of interest, you being in charge of putting on the Christmas show and all?”
“No. In fact, every moment spent drowning in Christmas cheer just feeds my fury at this holiday, and then the fury fuels my creativity, which in turn, makes everything I touch turn to gold.” She tips her head sideways and drops half her mouth into a lopsided grin. “If anything, I think putting me in charge of this shindig was a stroke of genius, possibly the only one Gideon ever had in his thirty-seven years as principal.” Then she strolls out. She always did enjoy a good exit.
CHAPTER FOUR
LILAN
“Is it just me, or is everyone doing a lot more giggling today than usual?” I ask Kaleaha when she shows up at my side shoving a piping hot mug of tea in my direction.
“There’s definitely more giggling,” she agrees, rolling her eyes as she does. “I blame Hannah.”
I laugh. “What? She’s making everyone exceptionally giddy today? God, she’s the worst,” I mock, putting down the drill I was using to unscrew all the pieces still holding together a structure I believe they used for last summer’s production of Romeo and Juliet. It’s already been stripped of several pieces, so it’s hard to say for sure what it once was, but there’s still plenty here to make use of, so I’m taking it back to basics where we can start from scratch.
“She is the worst,” Kaleaha insists, “do you know how hard it is to get teenagers to concentrate
when the likes of Bodhi James are in the building?”
I’ve never regretted a sip of hot tea so much. The jerk of surprise causes me to gulp it down, burning my throat the entire way, leaving me to cough and gasp for cool air to ease the searing pain. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I didn’t tell you?” she asks, so casually I know she knows she never told me.
“You going to tell me now?” I let my gaze drop to the floor to assess my current selection of tools so I know which one to use to threaten bodily harm with if she doesn’t start talking.
“It’s nothing,” she insists, flicking the wrist of her free hand while she lifts the one holding her own tea to her mouth and takes a generous drink, stalling to make me crazy. “Apparently, Hannah and Bodhi James are old college buddies and she recruited him to come and help with the Christmas show.”
I feel like she’s messing with me. I mean, she most definitely is messing with me. I’m sure I would know if Hannah and Bodhi James were friends. I may not have gone to college with her, but I did Kindergarten through high school with her, I would know. She’s one of my closest friends. It would have come up. Somewhere, in the countless conversations we’ve had, throughout all the years of friendship, not to mention all of the years I’ve been showing up to do her sets since college, I’m sure her buddy list including a world-famous actor would have come up. I’m certain of it.
“Hannah. Is not friends. With Bodhi James.”
Kaleaha, reaching new heights of glee, continues to nod profusely. “Yes. She. Is.”
I cross my arms as well as I can without spilling my tea and give her my best ‘mommy has her doubts about your stories’ look.
“You can put your mom face away, I’m totally telling you the truth right now,” she says, laughing. “Also, Bodhi’s got a brother. And he’s here, too. And let me tell you, he is just as pretty.”
“Yeah, okay.” I roll my eyes, memories of her last prank still fresh on my mind. It’s hard to forget falling for her tale of being related to Malcom Worley, a national football star who moved one county over this last summer, when it ended in nearly getting arrested for trespassing during our visit and housewarming offering. Oddly enough, they keep in touch now. And he calls her ‘Cuz’. Somehow, I don’t see this Bodhi James joke playing out the same.
“You’re thinking about Malcom, aren’t you?” she says, as if reading my mind.
“It’s a natural train of thought given the tracks you’re laying.”
But she just taps my elbow playfully and she wanders off, still chuckling to herself.
“Hey,” I call after her, “where is my kid?”
“Being fawned over by teenage girls who all want to dress her up like she’s a human doll. She’s loving it,” Kaleaha responds with a careless backwards wave and not so much as a glance in my direction.
Determined to ignore her insane story of Bodhi James, which also happens to be completely irrelevant to my life – celebrity or not, he’s still just a man - I set my tea on the nearest overturned crate and bend down to pick up my drill to get back to work.
For a while, things go smoothly, then a new interruption comes along.
“By any chance, did you give power tools to Macy’s dad?”
I lift my finger from the juice button of my drill and stand up straight to meet Hannah face to face. “I doubt it. I don’t know who Macy’s dad is. Or Macy.”
She sighs and a little nervous laugh escapes her lips. “Let’s hope it stays that way. That guy can barely manage a flashlight. And I’ve seen him throw his back out, just getting up from a chair. I dread to think what he might do if he got his hands on something with the potential to do serious damage.”
“Is he actively in pursuit of power tools?” I ask, not sure if this is a serious or joking matter. It seems like it has potential to go either way. “Like, is he unaware of his lacking handyman skills?”
“Absolutely unaware. And I heard rumors he was on a mission to straighten out the lighting over the mirrors in the dressing room.”
“Ah.” Yeah. Definitely serious. Power tools and power lines don’t make for funny mistakes. “Well, he won’t get anything he can turn into a weapon or throw his back out with from me. But I can’t promise Ruben hasn’t already assisted him in his mission. He tends to think everyone with hands has the potential to be handy.”
“I was afraid of that.” Hannah turns over her shoulder at the sound of her name being called. “Great. Now they need me over in the lighting booth.”
“Not to worry, I’ll track Ruben down and ask him myself,” I promise.
“Thank you, Lilan.” She squeezes my shoulder softly with her hand as she hurries past me to answer the most recent call for her attention.
Meanwhile, I stand up as tall as I can, scanning the area for someone I deem a reliable source where tracking Ruben is concerned. Right off the bat, I spot a few other parent volunteers, most of them have students in the drama club and hardly any of them consider me as part of the backstage parent club, because I don’t officially show up in a backstage parent capacity, even if I am a parent, and I work backstage. Still, the snobbery runs rampant around these parts, so I’m prepared to skip past them and keep looking.
I lift onto my tiptoes to see past the heads I’ve mentally dismissed and finally spot Ruben walking my way.
Perfect!
I drop back onto the soles of my feet and take a few rushed steps forward to meet him, eager to rule out the possibility of Macy’s dad, whoever he may be, electrocuting himself in a misguided attempt to do some quick handyman work.
Only, Ruben’s mouth opens before mine has a chance to. “Aw, come on, Lilan. Not you too.”
“Hannah already talked to you?” That woman really does delegate and direct like a freaking wizard. I could have sworn she took off in the opposite direction when she left me a few minutes ago.
Ruben shakes his head, moving by me to set down some boards he must have found in one of the backstage storage spaces. “Of course. Didn’t give her much choice. I knew something was going on when I seen all the head bobbing, searching the crowd with a mix of curiosity and disbelief going on. Not to mention, I noticed we’re exceptionally well-staffed in volunteers today.” He turns back around to face me. “All seems a bit ridiculous, if you ask me.”
“I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing,” I tell him, trying to cling to my initial line of thought in the mess of his ramblings. “Any chance you happen to know who Macy’s dad is?”
“Sure do. Red headed bean stalk who don’t like the word no” he says, clearly unimpressed with him. “Unless he’s saying it, that is. Then he seems quite fond of it.” Ruben shakes his head, muttering things to himself I can’t hear.
“Is this a very vague retelling of how he came to ask you for some sort of power tool and you took one look at him and his bad back and told him no and he insisted and you asked if he had any experience with tools beyond the basic flashlight, to which he replied no and so on and so forth?” I clear my throat, getting to the part I’m dreading most, “and does this story end with him walking off with an actual power tool? Like a drill for instance?”
Ruben’s lower lip curls in and he bites down on it, a signature move of his when he’s politely trying not to laugh at someone. In this case, me. “Lilan,” he starts, voice dipping lower to keep this conversation private in a room full of people, “I think maybe you’ve been drinking too much of that tea. You’re starting to sound as crazy as the drama mamas.”
Drama mamas, Ruben’s term for the backstage moms, and it pretty much sums up his feelings around them perfectly. I’m a little appalled with the comparison, but I can’t deny I’m ranting on in indirect ways. “Ruben, did you give Macy’s dad power tools?”
“Yes. Hell, after listening to him for ten minutes, I was ready to give him the whole damn toolbox.”
“Fantastic.” I reach for my previously abandoned tea, ready for a motivational surge compliments of caffeine, even i
f Ruben does think I’ve consumed too much already. “I’ll go track him down and retrieve what you gave him before he does any real damage with it.”
“Check the dressing room. Last I heard, a gaggle of drama mamas were begging him to straighten out a set of mirror lights. I don’t imagine he had much luck completing the job, but I’m sure the drill will be found at the scene of his failure. Returning things doesn’t seem like it would be among skill set.”
This much I know. Frankly, after all I’ve heard about the man, I’m shocked Ruben thinks using a drill is. Not important right now.
“I’ll make sure everything is safely attached while I’m there,” I promise. “Be back in a few.” Then I take off running. Zipping in and out of the bodies moving around backstage and on, and then in the halls leading to the classrooms and dressing rooms, I can’t help but notice that Ruben was onto something before when he was yammering on about Hannah. There are an exceptional amount of people here today. Either this production is grander than any one before it, or people suddenly have an inexplicable interest in helping out behind the scenes of a show most people tend to favor watching.
I pass Kaleaha’s classroom and quickly scan the space for my kid. She’s being doted on as mentioned and I can tell by the ear to ear grin on her face, she’s thrilled beyond reason.
Two more doors and I reach my destination. I don’t bother knocking, since costumes have yet to be assigned, and instead, barge in at full force, ready to put a stop to Macy’s dad’s insanity. Also, to ask the man’s goddamn name.
What I find as soon as I step inside is, is frightening as well as it is hilarious. The redheaded man Ruben currently loathes, is standing on a makeup table, in his bare feet, waving around a drill without a bit in it (thus rendering it completely useless) in one hand, and clutching his back with the other, all while wailing like a mad man. “I can’t make it stop! How do you make it stop?” he cries to the women gathered around him, two of which I know from years past, and none of which seem to have the answer he’s looking for.