Right at that moment I felt like doing several things including telling her she could have mine and walking out, or telling her she could have mine, shoving it, anchovies and all, down her cleavage and walking out, or just being sick. I decided to stay and eat pizza.
“Actually,” the Reverend interjected, raising himself off the couch and rescuing the pizzas from Severn’s grip, “they’re our pizzas and I don’t intend to let mine get any colder.”
He placed the boxes on the middle of the floor and started prising off their lids. The smell wafted out and I gave up caring about Tasha and her eyelashes, even when she placed herself as close as possible to Severn, who had joined the Reverend on the couch.
In a way it was a pity I didn’t have a video camera, she does her best acting off stage. Over the next hour and a half she went through every cute move in the book - including a few suggestive moves with mozzarella cheese that I wouldn’t have believed if I hadn’t seen them.
Severn’s reaction was unreadable. At one stage, while she was spiralling mozzarella around her fingers, he looked at me with a strange little grin but, apart from that, he treated us both as if we were wallpaper. In fact, he didn’t speak at all until Seth mentioned the musicians.
The comment was actually a joke about something Seth had seen from up in the fly tower, but just the mention of the word was enough to tip Severn into anger. He stood up, grabbed two pieces of pizza, swore just once and stormed out of the room. Tasha looked dazed.
“Shotguns?” inquired Finn casually.
“Right first time,” the Reverend smiled back.
“Oh dear,” Finn replied, returning to his meal.
“I think I’ll go and see if he needs a hand,” the Reverend volunteered. “Say, Riley, do you want to come with me, I’ll show you how to work a followspot. It’s quite simple and more fun than hauling set around.”
“Ok.” I agreed. The pizza was nearly finished so it seemed like good timing. It just wasn’t so good for the music director.
She had arrived back just as Severn was resetting the shotgun mic again. Unfortunately, a meal hadn’t improved her temper either. Finding herself alone with the sound operator, she decided to give him another lecture on how he was expected to behave towards her musicians. Severn retaliated by telling her exactly what he thought of her musicians, their level of education and their possible parentage. By the time the Reverend and I arrived on the stage, they were inches apart, screaming at each other. We stepped in.
At least, the Reverend did. I stood by and watched. He walked to the centre of the stage and took the M.D. by the arm, directed her into the wings by gentle but determined pressure, thrust her towards me then turned back to Severn who was shaking with rage. I didn’t hear what the Reverend said, the M.D. was screaming in my ear at the time, but, whatever it was, it must have worked because Severn turned back to the microphone he was adjusting. The M.D. snorted like a draught horse and flounced offstage.
The Reverend was still kneeling on the floor, talking quietly to Severn at the microphone when Seth burst up the stairs, demanding to know what was going on. I started to explain but he pushed past me, grabbed Severn by his shirt front and hauled him to his feet.
“Keep out of it!” he snarled a warning to the Reverend before the smaller man had a chance to open his mouth.
“Don’t push your luck any more, Jura.” Seth gave Severn a bone-rattling shake. “And if you’ve got a problem with me, or with Aiden or Meredith, you deal with us, don’t take it out on the mor... on the members of the society.”
Severn stumbled backwards as Seth let go. A fake street lamp stopped him from falling. He leant against it, breathing heavily for a few seconds then he straightened up and walked determinedly back to Seth.
“I don’t have a problem with you,” he replied coldly. “Unless it was you who moved the microphone. I have a problem with an idiot musician.”
Seth glared at him. Something was happening between them that I didn’t understand. For a minute I thought Seth was going to argue, or even hit him, but he didn’t. He just gave Severn a shove like he was reminding him who was boss, then he backed off. The Reverend let out a deep sigh and said nothing.
And just then, Tasha arrived. Spot on bad timing. I loved it.
She flounced up and grabbed Severn by the arm.
“Ah, there you are,” she simpered, managing the patented Tasha bottom-wiggle-and-chest-upthrust manoeuvre as she spoke.
Severn looked down slowly, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he carefully removed her hands from his arm. He paused before answering in a tone so cold you could have ice-skated on it.
“Tasha, get out of my face!”
It was the best thing I’d heard all day.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I left Tasha standing centre stage, gobsmacked. It seemed the only right place to be at the moment was outside the theatre, out in the daylight. Matinees are weird that way. It’s so dark in the theatre, especially backstage, and usually you are there at night so it’s dark outside as well. But with matinees you walk out of the door and into another world. There are people everywhere, shopping, talking and driving by, and it’s so bright. The sun is shining. That’s the weirdest thing. After hours in the dark the brightness almost hurts.
I squinted up my eyes into the sunlight and turned from the end of the alley towards the little street of old-fashioned shops opposite the theatre entrance. The street was historic and had recently been closed to traffic by the city council to allow the coffee bars and restaurants to set their tables up outside. Now it was full of little tourist shops crammed with expensive and rare items that I could never afford. I wandered past the lady’s lingerie shop and tried to imagine what some of the slinky, silky pieces would feel like to wear. Then I imagined what they would look like on my round-in-all-the-wrong-places body and moved on hurriedly. As I approached the shop that sold antique jewellery, I realised Olivia and Meredith were standing in the doorway, looking in the windows. Olivia was still wearing her medieval creation and Meredith had changed into something similar, although hers was dark green. Both were wearing dark glasses and huge felt hats with large floppy brims.
“Oh look,” Olivia was saying in her quaint, high-pitched, sing-songy voice. “It’s got a broken wing. It can’t fly. Poor little sparrow, all broken. Can’t fly, can’t fly.”
“Can’t fly, can’t fly,” Meredith joined her in a chant that sounded like little school children in a playground. Then her tone changed. “Lucky for it, then. Little sparrows that learn to fly just get eaten by great, big hawks!” The last three words were stressed in a nasty voice like a child would say “big, scary witch”, complete with talon-like moves with her hands. Then they saw me, giggled like little girls and ran off down the street, hand in hand, laughing and chanting “can’t fly, can’t fly”.
I was totally bemused. I mean, they’re adults, right? Yet they sounded and acted like kids of five or six. It didn’t make any sense. I stopped to look in the jewellery shop window to see what they had been talking about. Amongst the collection of old rings and watches lay a tiny bluebird on a chain. There was a crack across the blue porcelain of its body and one wing-tip had been broken off. The price tag had a huge “reduced” sign on it. The bird looked sad.
I stared at the various items in the window for a few minutes, my gaze returning frequently to the little injured bird. I knew how it felt. Out of place amongst all the flash stuff, it reminded me of myself, with my Australian accent and not-so-thin body, out of place amongst the trendy, been-together-since-kindergarten group I went to school with. I made a rash decision, hauled my wallet out of my back pocket and strode into the shop. A few moments later, the little bird secured around my neck, I headed back to the theatre to prepare for the second show.
By the time I returned Olivia and Meredith had already changed out of their dresses back into black trousers and sweatshirts and were hard at work moving scenery into place. I couldn’t figure out how they had got
back and got changed so fast, especially as they had run off in the opposite direction to the theatre, but I didn’t have time to think about it too deeply as Beth grabbed my arm and dragged me off to help her with the park bench. Later I was to add it to all the little things that didn’t make sense until it was too late.
I saw Mum and Grant arrive back while I was setting the bench so as soon as the task was completed I hurried off to Mum’s dressing room. I’ve learned from experience that doing the right, daughterly thing can reap rewards and I was right - she had brought me coke and a bag of barbeque flavoured Pringles. She wanted to sit and have a meaningful talk about Dad’s proposal that I go to Australia but I managed to keep her off the subject till it was too late. The thirty minute call came over the dressing room speakers and Mum had to start her vocal warm-ups so I was able to grab my chips and dash to the safety of the scenery dock.
The stage door was open when I reached the dock so I wandered out to put my now empty chip container into the rubbish skip. I threw in the Pringles container and slammed the lid then grabbed a few last gasps of fresh air and rays of sunshine before wandering slowly back into the gloom of the dock. As my eyes adjusted to the dark I saw Tasha and the other dancers strutting their way across the stage, waggling their red feathers. My mind played a bizarre memory trick. I saw the dancers strutting, Mum hacking that casserole chicken and heard Olivia and Meredith chant “Can’t fly, can’t fly.”
“Nasty things feathers. Make a right mess.”
“What the ...? Where did you come from?” I exclaimed, startled, as Finn appeared beside me, pushing a large broom and carrying several of the dancers’ moulted red feathers. He laughed softly, touching his finger to his nose in a gesture that said “my secret”. I muttered something unintelligible and turned away, my heart pounding. Had he read my mind? Where had he materialised from? He had certainly made no noise arriving. I took a deep breath and pulled myself together.
There were now only fifteen minutes to go till show time, the audience was starting to fill the seats and the dancers should not have been anywhere near the stage. It gave me a sense of power to be able to order them off the stage and into the wings and Tasha’s catty remarks and evil glare didn’t phase me at all, especially as Severn caught the whole thing from where he was checking microphones in the corner. He gave me a wicked grin and a thumbs-up sign which turned to two raised fingers to Tasha’s retreating plumed behind.
The second show seemed to fly past with hardly any mistakes, partly due to the extra effort everyone was putting in to make sure they weren’t the one to screw up and partly because of the S.M.’s dire threats of revenge on anyone who did. Plus, it was Saturday night and everyone, cast and crew, was looking forwards to the first real party of the season.
CHAPTER NINE
One of the good things about parties is seeing the sides of people they don’t normally show. Like teachers getting drunk. Dilly Davenport became quite entertaining as the evening wore on.
I had changed out of my crew blacks, not because I didn’t like wearing them, quite the opposite. But I knew they had to survive one more show before I could spare them to the washing machine and I also knew that, with my luck, I’d spill something on them that wouldn’t sponge off. So as soon as we arrived home after the evening performance, I ducked off to my room and swapped them for a white t-shirt and a long grape-coloured skirt. To finish it off, I threw on my white muslin shirt and my Doc Marten eight-hole cherry reds.
Ok, I know what you’re thinking. Riley Lowe in a skirt? Yeah, well, it happens sometimes, when I’m in the mood. And, let’s be honest here, if you were in my situation and faced with a male with the most gorgeous eyes you’ve ever seen and a predatory Tasha, wouldn’t you use any ammunition at your disposal? I mean, he’s only ever seen me in black jeans that make my backside rival the one on the horse that carts the Japanese tourists around the Square and he’s so slim. I had to do something!
For most of the evening, though, I thought my careful planning had all been in vain. The Borman crew was a no-show. Part of me was really disappointed and the other half decided on a conscious effort not to care. Who was he anyway? So what? But when Mum asked me if “my sound man” was coming and I just shrugged and muttered “I don’t know”, I don’t think she was fooled at all.
I think what made it worse was that Tasha didn’t notice that Severn wasn’t there. She was having plenty of fun flirting with the horde of panting young chorus men. And with Jason Broderick.
I must admit, I got pretty hooked watching this part of the action.
Jason Broderick is your classic tall, dark, handsome type, the sort that gets lead roles on afternoon soap operas. He’d already been a guest villain on “Shortland Street”. He’s twenty eight. I know that because I overheard Grant and some of the committee members talking when they were hiring him. That makes him twelve years older than Tasha and about a hundred years younger than Dilly Davenport. Well, okay, about five years but teachers are all prehistoric. Even if he was nearer my age, I still wouldn’t fancy him. It would be like going out with a walkie-talkie Ken doll. I guess that made him an ideal target for Tasha the Barbie clone.
And she certainly targeted him. From the moment he made his late but strategically planned entrance, she was straight in like an exocet missile. I’ll swear she’s got a radar beacon built into the underwiring in her bra. They made a perfect couple. He posed and flashed his perfect white teeth and she laughed in carefully modulated tones at all his pathetic jokes.
That was about when Dilly Davenport started sinking back Grant’s cheap sparkling white supermarket wine by the pint glass. Then the competition began.
Dilly had more theatrical experience, so she knew how to command an audience. Her voice became louder, her hand movements more extravagant. Everybody, including me, became “Darling” and “Sweetie” and every man who came within grabbing distance was hauled around the floor in a quick tango or a slow waltz.
Tasha was not to be outdone. It took only one eyelash bat to convince one of her panting horde to change the cd and it was Tasha’s turn on the floor in a reckless display of the latest dance steps. Dilly sank another wine and took up the challenge, matching her step for step. She may be a teacher but, I’ll give her one thing, that woman can dance. Jason clapped but I wasn’t sure who it was for.
I was so busy watching the battle, I didn’t notice the others until the computer froze. Grant had taken a couple of his friends into his office to play on his new toy or to “surf the net” as he insisted on calling it. But he’d done something wrong and the whole machine had locked up. He came out looking sheepish and made a general announcement to the room asking if anyone knew how to fix computers. I only realised Severn was there when I heard his distinctive voice ask “hardware or software?” It was another hour before I got to talk to him.
By that time most of the party had gone home to get some sleep and only the hardiest party-goers were still slugging it out in the lounge. Tasha had been carried off by an attentive horde member after being horribly sick in the front garden. Mum was still playing the hostess but I could tell by the look in her eyes that she just wished they would all leave.
I thought a cup of coffee could be a good idea but the kitchen was in use. Dilly and Jason were locked hips and lips and he was muttering about how she, presumably Tasha, didn’t mean anything and how she, presumably Dilly, was all he wanted. I backed off, leaving them to it and headed towards my room, running straight into Grant and Severn as they finally emerged from Grant’s office. Severn smiled.
“Join us for coffee?” Grant inquired.
“I was just going to make some but the kitchen’s...um...taken,” I faltered.
Grant got the hint and laughed. He swung towards the kitchen door, making as much noise as possible. The ploy worked as Dilly and Jason were casually reading the review by the time we walked into the room. They excused themselves quickly and left. Grant put the electric jug on to boil then asked if I’
d take over while he went to find Mum.
Can I help? Severn asked shyly.
“Yeah, grab some mugs,” I said, pointing in the direction of the cupboards.
Severn found four and brought them to the bench where he put them down in front of me.
“I’m sorry I didn’t speak to you today,” he began.
“It’s okay,” I said, a bit embarrassed. “You sounded like you were having a bad day.”
“Yes,” Severn gave a self-depreciating laugh. “You could say that. But I had no right to take it out on you. I’m sorry. Am I forgiven?”
I nodded, mumbled and risked looking up into his eyes. The smile was gone, replaced with a gentle, serious expression. Without any more words, he put his arms around me and pulled me to him. I closed my eyes and relaxed into the strength of his body, the warm rush of his breath against my face and the heady rush as his lips came down on mine.
A warm tingle ran down my spine as his firm grasp drew my body hard against his. With a small groan of pleasure, I let my lips part in invitation to his questing tongue.
He kissed me long and hard, then pulled away with a gentle smile.
“This is not getting the coffee made,” he said softly.
“No, it isn’t,” I replied.
Both his statement and my reply were stupid but it was one of those moments when you know you have to say something to bring things back to normal, so anything will do. But things weren’t back to normal. For one thing, his hands were still locked firmly around my waist and for another, mine were locked just as tightly around his.
Under my fingers I could feel two hard muscles running up his back, one on either side of his spine. I wasn’t thinking about coffee as I let my fingers touch them again. He shivered slightly under my touch and moved his hands to move mine to his hips.
“Don’t touch me there, please,” he whispered.
I wanted to ask why but he put his fingers to my lips to stop me asking.
Blood in the Wings Page 4
