Her Protector

by R. S. Lively

Emma laughs.

  “It's nothing terrible. She just happens to be exactly the right client for you. Like if I had to sketch out the perfect bucket list for each of you brothers, this is the woman I'd assign to you.”

  She's either extremely enthusiastic about this pairing or would make the greatest politician Magnolia Falls has ever seen.

  “I'm listening.”

  “Luella is a retired actress. A true Grand Dame of Broadway.”

  The name sparks recognition in my brain.

  “That Luella McGregor? The stage star who had to act as her own understudy and the understudy of the co-star she was playing opposite of because everyone got the flu and she was the only one who would go on, so she did all the scenes herself?”

  “That's the one. It seems she's been missing the limelight in her retirement and wants to relive her heyday by putting on a play.”

  “You're right. That does sound exactly like the type of client who's perfect for me. I'll call her today and get things moving.”

  The call ends and I do a victory punch into the air. This really is exactly what I told Emma... perfect. It's exactly what I need to help Alice save her theater. Who knew the theater gods accepted sex as an offering?

  Come to think of it, probably everyone.

  I call Jonathan and get the contact information for Luella McGregor. Calling her feels both strange and exciting. She's an absolute icon, a cornerstone in the institution of Broadway theater. It's like I'm calling a page out of a textbook. Within minutes, I'm on the phone with her and shortly after, I pin the phone between my shoulder and ear so I can type a message to Jonathan, telling him to call my favorite lunch restaurant to make a reservation.

  Luella McGregor is smaller than I’d expected her to be. Something about her personality and prowess on the stage amplified her size in my mind, so now she looks like a miniaturized version of my vision of her. There's nothing small about the smile she gives me when I walk into the private dining room. It's the type of smile a great aunt gives you on Christmas after having not seen you for a year. The welcoming warmth makes me want to gather her up in my arms for a hug. Or ask her to bake me cookies. Either would be fine.

  "You must be Mrs. McGregor."

  "Mrs. McGregor is the old crone married to the man who chased the bunnies out of his lettuce patch. Call me Luella."

  It takes a few seconds for me to piece together the Beatrix Potter reference, but when I do, I grin.

  "Luella. I'm Dean."

  "Come, sit. The staff here has been fawning all over me since the moment I arrived. Not that I'm complaining." She leans back casually in her chair and holds up her water goblet. A highly-trained waiter steps away from the wall and fills the goblet from a silver pitcher, then steps back again. Luella smiles with delight. "See? You must really be somebody."

  I wave the comment away.

  "Absolutely not. They're excited to have you here."

  She gives me a knowing look out of the corner of her eye.

  "You're cute. I also hear you are pretty good with making things happen."

  I really do sound like a crime boss.

  "That's what I'm here for."

  What size concrete shoes are you looking for? I might have access to the newest spring line.

  "Good. I've been thinking about my life recently and how much I miss my career. I'm in my twilight years now and it's time to start thinking about the legacy I'm leaving."

  "Your twilight years?"

  "It's better than saying I'm old as dirt and going to be kicking the bucket soon."

  "Incidentally, that's our targeted social media tagline. 'Are you old as dirt and going to be kicking the bucket soon? Get your list in order!'"

  Luella lets out a boisterous laugh, and I know she's going to be the type of client that makes up for the terrible ones. I can see her being one my brothers and I always try to make last longer.

  “Well, I have my list in order and it's just one thing. I want to stage a new production. Or an old production. I just want to be on the stage again. One last time to bid my fond farewell to the theater and any fans I might still have left.”

  “I'm sure you have plenty of fans left who would be thrilled to see you on stage again. I know I count myself among that number. And it just so happens I have what I think could be an incredible opportunity for this particular venture. It may not be the conventional approach, but it could be fantastic, especially with our combined influence at the helm.”

  “I'm listening.”

  “Getting you back out on the stage and putting on any type of production in any theater would be an amazing gift to the theatrical community and a wonderful way for you to have your goodbyes. But would one of these contemporary theaters really be the best backdrop? Your career has carried you through the generations, but, and correct me if I'm wrong, the aspect of your career you miss the most is the Golden Age. You miss the elegance and the romance of theater, when plays relied on the skill of the actors, live musicians, and the set makers, not recorded music and special effects. That still exists in the world, Luella, and I'm sure there are some contemporary theaters where it's possible to experience it. But isn't it better to find it where it has always been? To return to a place designed and crafted specifically as a shrine to those arts?”

  “You have access to such a place?”

  She sounds intrigued, and I know I'm on the right track.

  "I own several theaters of various sizes and ages, and you are welcome to use any of them, but I think I have something better to offer. A friend of mine acquired a small vintage theater, a real Golden Age gem. It was built more than a century ago for plays and soon outfitted for movie screenings."

  "That's interesting."

  "It is. But what makes this venue ideal isn't the equipment, it's the history and the spirit. You see, this theater has fallen on hard times in recent years. Popularity waned, and those who were supposed to cherish and care for the beautiful building neglected it, then abandoned it to crumble. But my friend Alice rescued it. I want her to be able to tell you her very personal link to it, if you're willing to meet with her. She has been working diligently to bring the former Goldberg back to its intended glory so the city can revere and appreciate it again. She never wants it forgotten. It hasn't been easy for her, but something like this could really bring the theater back."

  "The Goldberg," Luella says with a sigh. Memories twinkle in her eye. I know I've got her. She sees the same thing I do, only I look up at the stage and she looks down from it. "I don't need to see it. You convinced me. We'll stage the production at the Goldberg."

  "It's called Wonderland now."

  Luella smiles.

  "Even better." She leans across the table toward me. "And you let that Alice of yours know she doesn't have to do it all herself. If Wonderland needs some sprucing up, she can rely on me for the spruce. Determine what's needed for the renovations and improvements, and I'll provide an endowment."

  "That's incredibly generous of you."

  "We old dames have to stick together."

  I leave lunch feeling like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. That worked out even better than I'd planned. This is the perfect way to help Alice without her knowing I'm doing it. She is far too driven and independent to just accept me buying the theater for her, or even feeling comfortable with me ending the agreement.

  Whatever Luella gives to the improvement of the theater, I will supplement. That, combined with the massive ruckus I'm going to throw promoting Luella's return to the stage, Alice will have the money to pay off the agreement herself. She'll never have to feel like I'm trying to hold power over her, or that I'm throwing my wealth around to impress her. Wonderland will be exactly what she has always wanted it to be: truly hers.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Alice

  The next day...

  Dean sounds excited when I answer the phone, but the two hours of sleep I got last night are not enough to get me to his level. I moan, rolling o
ver and reaching for the alarm clock that still isn't on my nightstand and hasn't been since Lee threw it across the room last summer while housesitting. I’d left the city for three days to visit an obscure relative with my mother, and came back to a broken coffee maker, a new cable package, and no alarm clock. The new coffee maker sitting on my kitchen counter is much more elegant and user-friendly than the first one, but I still forget the clock isn't there. It makes checking the time while talking on the phone a more challenging proposition.

  "Dean? Wait, what? I didn't catch anything you just said."

  "Are you going to the theater today?"

  "Wonderland?" I drag myself up to a sitting position. "Yes. That’s my job. I do it just about every day."

  "Perfect. I'll see you down there at about ten."

  "Ten this morning?"

  "Yes."

  "You don't get to use the theater as your next plan. I already used it. You have to come up with something else."

  Dean laughs.

  "This isn't a date. But I do have a surprise for you."

  "I'm not sure if I like the sound of that."

  "You will when you get there. I'll see you in a few hours."

  I've been tumbling the idea of Dean's surprise over in my mind since talking to him but haven't been able to come up with anything. Even if I had conjured an idea, it wouldn't be anywhere close to what I see when he strolls through the doors. The woman walking beside him radiates an energy that could capture anyone, but it's not her charisma I care about. I'm looking at her face, the face I've seen on dozens of posters and stared up at from the edge of my seat when I was twelve years old and my father had scored tickets to a play, I still don't know how he afforded. There's probably a picture of it hidden somewhere in the theater.

  This is a hell of a surprise.

  I wish I was wearing something with a little more flair than black pants and a black sweater. It's streamlined and classic, but up against her peacock blue and purple caftan and gold turban, I look like I should be sitting in a corner with bongos lamenting the breakdown of society and personal freedom. At least I'm wearing lipstick. It's admittedly primarily for Dean, but now it is all about her.

  Luella McGregor. Holy shit.

  The way Dean's eyes widen as I'm approaching makes me try to tone down the smile stretching so hard across my face it hurts.

  "Hi," I say.

  Dean steps up to me and kisses my cheek.

  "Luella, this is my friend Alice I was telling you about." Friend? "And Alice, this is…"

  "Luella McGregor, of course. I would recognize you anywhere." Color splashes across my cheeks and I glance up at Dean. "I'm sorry. You go ahead. Introduce us."

  He chuckles.

  "Alice, this is Luella McGregor."

  "It's lovely to meet you, Alice. This theater you have here is wonderful."

  She extends her hand and I shake it enthusiastically.

  "Thank you so much. I am so honored to meet you. My father brought me to see you onstage in Mame when I was just a little girl."

  Oh, lord. Did I just call her old?

  "Luella is my newest client," Dean explains.

  "Client?"

  "Dean is going to help make all my wishes come true."

  "Hanging out in that lamp again?" I tease.

  Luella laughs and reaches for my hand. The squeeze is natural and warm, making me feel like I've known her all these years rather than just having memories of her. She looks around Wonderland with the same adoration I feel. Probably more.

  "Well, like I told you, my business is about giving people what they want, and Luella wants to put on a play."

  The eccentric actress throws her hands up in the air, temporarily disappearing into the flowing fabric of her caftan.

  "One more grand hurrah for the ages."

  "That sounds amazing," I tell her.

  "And she wants to put it on here."

  I'm still staring at Luella, and it takes a few seconds before I realize no one has said anything, and Dean's words sink in. My eyes turn to him, my mouth slightly open in surprise.

  "What?"

  Dean grins and gestures toward Luella.

  "Luella. She wants to put on a play and is interested in using Wonderland as the venue."

  "I just adore this old place," Luella says. "I didn't get the chance to perform here nearly as often as I would have liked, but I did take in my fair share of shows when I was younger. And movies, of course."

  "You were in the big theaters," I say. "You were too famous for something this little."

  "That may be true, but that's not always a good thing. The bigger, more famous theaters are better known and draw in larger audiences, and that's fantastic. But those theaters don't have the energy these smaller ones do. There's nothing like being able to look out and see all the faces that are looking back at you. I love to watch them go from whatever they carried in with them from the outside world to being totally in the one we created. To see the most stoic of them start to smile, then to laugh. To see the tears at just the right moment. There's more freedom here. Big glossy venues have so much responsibility and pressure, but when you're somewhere smaller," she nods knowingly, "that's when you can really be an artist."

  My heart drums in my chest and my palms sweat.

  "It is such an honor for you to even walk into my theater, much less consider staging a production here, and I would love nothing more than to witness that, but I don't think it's possible."

  Luella's face falls.

  "What do you mean?"

  I can't say this to her. I need a buffer. Turning to Dean, I brace myself for the embarrassment and disappointment that's inevitably coming.

  "This place is fine for movies and small productions, maybe the occasional ghost hunt, but it's not in any shape to host something as important as a play with Luella, and there's no way I can afford the improvements any time in the near future. The screening rights for the Angela Lansbury movies and my contract payment this month essentially wiped me out."

  "That's not something you have to worry about."

  Dean nods toward Luella and I force myself to look back at her.

  "I already told Dean I'd like to endow Wonderland with the resources to bring this old girl back to her debutante days. How does that sound?"

  My mouth opens and closes a few times with nothing more than squeaks coming out. I usually like to think of myself as being fairly put together and in control of my emotions, but this is not one of those moments.

  "Alice?"

  "Yes!" my voice bursts out in response to Dean. "I mean, that would be…"

  I go back to the wide-mouth bass impression, and Dean rubs my back.

  "I think she's trying to say she accepts and thank you."

  "Yes. Thank you. It doesn't feel like enough. But thank you."

  "It's more than enough," Luella says. "Now," she turns around in a swirl of peacock with agility that defies her age, "show me around. There's a lot to be done and we should get planning."

  Two hours later, I wave goodbye at the door to Wonderland as Luella leaves for a lunch date. Once every glamorous inch of her is folded into the back of the car, Dean and I step back inside. He scoops me into his arms and spins me around as I cling to him, too excited and happy to even know what to say.

  "Congratulations," he says as he lowers me to my feet.

  "Thank you," I reply. "For everything. I know you recommended me to her."

  "Why would you say that? Like she told you, she acted here when she was younger. She has a history with the Goldbergerland."

  "Goldbergerland?"

  "Yeah," he grins, with a shrug. "It's a little bit of both. The Goldberg with Wonderland style."

  I smile as I wrap my arms around his neck.

  "I like that."

  Dean kisses my nose.

  "I do, too."

  My eyes narrow at him, and I lean back a little farther to look into his face

  "So... I'm your friend?"


  "Aren't you?"

  "Is that all I am?"

  His hands tighten around my waist.

  "Is that all you want to be?"

  "Are we going to have this conversation completely in question form?"

  "Is there another way you want to do it?"

  "Yes." I laugh. "I can't really think of a question to follow that up."

  Dean smiles.

  "Alice, I have never met someone quite like you. I haven't stopped thinking about you since the night we met, and I don't see myself stopping anytime soon. I think it's safe to say you are far more than a friend to me."

  His words are vague, but the kiss he presses to my lips isn't. I melt into it, for the first time in as long as I can remember feeling like things might be really falling into place.

  The kiss doesn't have a chance to get any more heated. Lee sweeps into the lobby, holding one hand to the side of his eyes like a blinder.

  "The theater is no place for emotions and kissing, people. Let's keep it professional."

  Dean dips me back dramatically for a deeper kiss, laughing as he stands me back up.

  "I have to go to the office and then have some meetings this afternoon. Can I see you tonight?"

  "I can save you a bucket of popcorn for tonight's Murder, She Wrote marathon."

  "Hottest date in New York."

  A last quick kiss, and a playful smack on my ass, makes me write a mental note to put fixing up the box seats on either side of the house at the top of the priority list. Privacy and exclusive seating could be a very appealing feature moving forward.

  Dean leaves and I drift in shamefully blissed-out kiss aftermath toward the house. Lee roams down the aisle with a clipboard clutched in one hand, taking notes.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Giving the rows novelty names for tonight's marathon. I looked up all the titles of Jessica Fletcher's books. For example, this…" he points at the seat in front of him, "is The Corpse Danced at Midnight seat A."

  "Cute. Cumbersome, but cute."

  "What were you and Dean doing other than throwing your sexuality in people's faces?"