Boo Hiss

by Rene Gutteridge

  Mariée whizzed over to the other side. The woman still didn’t know her stage left from her stage right. It was maddening. Lois fingered her hair for one last fluff and drew in a deep breath. “Now, let’s take it from the top. I want everyone concentrating. The focus should be on one woman. Me and Lotus. Understand?”

  Everyone nodded. The lights dimmed. Wolfe stepped forward. “News in a small town travels fast And it wasn’t long before everyone caught wind of Gibb’s affections for Lotus. He was able to control the whole town, but could he control the one woman he ever loved? Could he win Lotus back?”

  Wolfe stepped back, right on cue. Mariée walked forward, humming and skipping along next to the painted backdrop of trees. They discovered early on that Mariée couldn’t skip and whistle, so now she was humming. If ever there was a casting mistake …

  “Lotus?” Martin walked in, right on cue. She loved that intense look he could give when he played Gibb, the mayor. His eyebrows would scrunch together. His lips would spread tight. He dragged his left foot in a somewhat unattractive way, but overall, he owned the character of Gibb.

  “Why, Gibb. What are you doing here on this fine afternoon? Bird watching?”

  “If ever there was a more beautiful humming bird, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it” Lois had to add that line to compensate for Mariées lack of whistling ability. Originally it had been a bluebird. “What are you doing here?”

  Mariée tried as best she could to look in despair. “I shouldn’t say.”

  “Why not? It’s me. Gibb.”

  “In complicated.”

  “I know complicated. You’re talking to the mayor who single-handedly brought this town back to life after our most famous actor, the great Plum Blazey, was so tragically killed. The town grieved, and wondered what in the world would come of it. But we’ve rebounded, and look at us now. Were thriving, despite the fact that were known as the town that killed the greatest actor to ever live. I know and can handle complications.”

  Mariée turned to him, right on cue. “Okay. It all started the night before last.”

  “Wednesday?”

  “Tuesday.”

  “Well, that would be two nights ago.”

  “I know. The night before last.”

  “But it’s not evening yet.”

  Lois had to add those lines in attempt to compensate for Mariée’s perpetual dazed and confused look. She figured Lotus could be a bit of an airhead. It wouldn’t take much away from the character.

  “It doesn’t matter what day it was! The fact of the matter is that I’ve fallen in love with Bart!” A bit melodramatic, but she managed to carry it off.

  “The sheriff? But how?”

  “The same way it always happens with you, Gibb. You’re married to your job. Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that you might not be the marrying type? Oh sure, you love the romance of it all. But when it comes to commitment, you really just can’t manage it.”

  “I’ve been a changed man for a long time. You just haven’t noticed.”

  “Gibb, you haven’t been changed since you were in diapers.”

  Lois howled. That was a good line. Everyone turned to her.

  “Don’t look at me!” she yelled. She clapped her hands, indicating everyone should stop for a moment. “We haven’t addressed this yet, so now is probably a good time. The fact of the matter is that you’re going to have to anticipate some laughs from the audience. Don’t jump into your next line. Wait until the laughter settles down, give it a little pause, or the audience is not going to hear the next line, which is so vital to the play. Okay?” She gestured toward Martin.

  “Change, Lotus, comes from the gut, not the diaper pail And I know what I’ve lost. I know that you were the perfect woman for me, and I blew it. I was selfish and uncaring. I always thought the grass was greener on the other side, and I never realized what I—”

  “Martin, I need you to be more pathetic. Slump your shoulders and look like a loser.”

  Martin nodded, complying.

  Mariée turned again, this time toward the audience so they could see the angst in her face. The angst turned out to be an awkward grimace, but at least it was emotion. “Gibb, you will always be special to me. But I can’t take the risk anymore. I love Bart. And I always will.”

  The sheriff entered on cue. “Somebody call my name?”

  “Bart!” Mariée squealed, jumping into his arms and hugging him. She’d written in a kiss, but everyone was totally grossed out by it. Bart extended his hand toward Gibb. “Gibb.”

  Gibb didn’t shake it. “I won’t shake the hand of the man that stole my woman.”

  “I didn’t steal her. You let her go when you refused to give this spectacular woman the love she deserved. “ “I’m still the better man.”

  “You’re a good mayor, Gibb. You’ve done a lot for this town. But it’s time to let Lotus go into the arms of the man she truly loves.”

  Lois sat back in her seat as the lights faded. The lines were said perfectly. The set turned out better than she expected. The lights were right on cue. But there was something not right. Something that was holding this play back from being what she’d envisioned it to be.

  In the dark, Lois knew who it was. She was standing center stage with hair color 49 glowing in the dark.

  Ainsley was cooking as fast as she could, whipping up batter for cookies, cupcakes, and brownies. She’d spent her day shopping, then trying on her clothes. Now she was behind on everything she needed to do for the church celebration tomorrow. She’d never waited until this late to prepare for a catering job.

  She was just about to pour the fourth batch of brownies into the pan when the doorbell rang. She smiled. Right on time.

  She wiped her hands and did a quick check in the oven mirror. She’d bought this little number yesterday. It was a cotton sweat suit with silk trim and a matching T-shirt to go underneath. She’d spent an hour this evening getting her ponytail to look like she hadn’t thought twice about it.

  Opening the door, she said, “Hello, Katelyn!”

  “Hi Ainsley!” Katelyn walked in wearing belted jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt. Her hair was pulled back on top, with a few wisps hanging around her face. At her side was a young man, who Ainsley guessed was her son. “I brought Willem as an expert taste tester.”

  “Willem, welcome to our home,” Ainsley said, bending down to his level. “I bet you like chocolate chip cookies, huh?”

  “They’re not my favorite.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ve got brownies, too. Do you like brownies?”

  “Depends how moist they are.”

  Ainsley stood up and looked at Katelyn. “A little chef in the making, isn’t he?”

  “I’ve enrolled him in cooking classes this winter.”

  “How … how old is he?”

  “Five,” she said, walking into the kitchen. “I know, he seems a lot older, doesn’t he? He’s in all the gifted programs.”

  “What’s he gifted in?”

  “Life.” Katelyn scrutinized a plate of cookies like they were about to do something very impressive, like get up and walk away. “So tell me how it’s going. It smells wonderful. They are doing wonders with those boxed brownie numbers, aren’t they?”

  “They’re all from scratch. Please, go ahead and try one.”

  Katelyn picked one up and took a nibble. “You’ll have to share your diet secrets with me later. How do you stay so slim? What are you wearing? A size two?”

  Ainsley frowned. “No, I’m a size … size …”

  “I’ve got a ton of out-of-date clothes you can have. So you’ve got the drinks taken care of?”

  “We’ll have tea and lemonade.”

  Katelyn made herself comfortable on a barstool while Willem sat on the floor to play with the dogs. “Tea and lemonade. That’s cute. This town, as quaint and tender as it is, is ready to be shaken up a little, don’t you think?”

  “Shaken up how?”

  “Don’t pretend
you don’t see how enthusiastic the citizens are about some of the changes that have been made. This sleepy little town was just begging for a slice of the modern life. And that is the genius of a ‘burb, no matter what kind of ‘burb it is.” Katelyn watched Willem while she spoke. “It’s having it both ways, you see. You get all the perks of modern life, while enjoying fresh air, green backyards and towering trees.”

  Ainsley stirred her batter, trying to keep her calm. “But what about the values that keep a small town safe? Those will be in jeopardy, won’t they?”

  “Oh, those can be implemented in creative ways. Believe me. I lived in a suburb for years, yet we still managed to work in that root beer float you all are so fond of.”

  “I’m not talking about root beer floats. I’m talking about values. I’m talking about how we all look out for one another. How we know everyone’s relatives, even those that don’t live here. I’m talking about the expectation that when you walk down Main Street, at least one person is going to wave at you. And if you get sick or have a baby, you’re going to have meals for four weeks straight.”

  “Honey, listen. Meals are no problem. We have a list. It assures that all funerals and births will be covered by a choice of five different casseroles, including bread and salad. We even have pre-signed cards for any occasion. The Card Coordinator just sticks them right in the mail whenever one is needed. All she needs is a stamp, which we of course reimburse her for on a monthly basis out of our Generosity Fund, where we’ve raised money by selling off the extra frozen casseroles at the end of the month. It’s actually so self-maintaining that we don’t even have to call each other anymore. Everyone knows what they are supposed to do and they just do it.”

  “I’ve always done most of it myself. A few people help, if it’s a really big family.”

  “See? This way you only have to work on the first Tuesday of every month, which will leave more time for you to expand your company.”

  “Sounds complicated.”

  “Oh, you’ll get the hang of it. I can show you how to program your cell phone to remind you that you’re on casserole call if you want.”

  “Maybe another time.”

  She took another bite of brownie. “You really should try the boxed kind, Ainsley. They taste just as good.”

  “Oh, but you should try my lemon tart. It can fool you. It’s dusted on the top with powdered sugar so you think it’s going to be nice and sweet, but as soon as you bite into it, it’s really sour.” Ainsley folded her arms and stared hard at Katelyn. This was a woman she was beginning to not like much at all.

  “Willem, honey, we have to go.”

  “So quickly?” Ainsley left the smile on her face.

  “Tomorrow is going to be a big hit. But right now I have to go to the town hall.”

  “Why?”

  “I have to address the picketers who are marching up and down the front steps and making reference to the devil.”

  Wolfe was not sure he’d ever felt more exhausted. The anxiety over the day that had followed him from place to place since this morning seemed to build with every hour. If he could just put himself out of his misery. Or find Butch. He’d managed to make it through the rehearsal saying most of his lines correctly, and trying his best to portray the ghost of a dead actor who had now become the narrator to the love life of a small town.

  Lois had lectured everybody about what time call was, then had to explain that no, she wasn’t going to call them on the phone to tell them to come, that it was the name for what time the cast arrived before a play. She then set out the schedule for the final rehearsal.

  He was walking out the back when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was the sheriff.

  “Hey there!” Wolfe said. “You did a great job tonight. Really. You don’t have the easiest part.”

  The sheriff shrugged. “Thanks. It’s kind of fun.”

  “You look upset. Are you okay?”

  The sheriff pulled Wolfe into a quiet corner. “I think I’ve upset Lois. All week I’ve been trying some suggestions from Butch. I don’t know how, but he knew about Lois. The guy’s got a sixth sense or something.”

  “Um … what kind of suggestions?”

  “Well, you name it, I’ve tried it. I wore a hot pink shirt. Butch said that it shows I’m secure with my manliness. I tried to text-message her, but I got a little confused. I tried to send U R 2 GR8, but I think it might’ve read R U280#.”

  Wolfe winced. That probably didn’t go over well.

  “She’s been pretty cold to me tonight. I’ve tried to talk to her several times, and she just kind of blows me off. I can’t imagine what I’ve done. My only thought is that maybe she’s decided she likes Martin better.”

  Martin had scurried out of there ten minutes ago mumbling something about picketers and the mayor’s new jogging habit.

  “Maybe she’s just nervous about the play.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. To tell you the truth, Wolfe, I’m having a hard time figuring this woman out. I’m trying really hard. I swear it. But when you get down to it, I don’t know what to do with her or how to make her feel secure. Things are so much different these days. Love seems different. How do I know what she’s thinking?”

  “I can’t say I’m an expert on women,” Wolfe said, “but I can tell you that I was once a really good writer, and if I had to guess, the best way to figure out Lois is to take a close look at her play.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Study it, you know? Every writer puts at least a little bit of himself or herself into the work.”

  The sheriff looked down at the script he was holding. “The thing is … I don’t get this play. Nothing about it makes sense. Except the ending. Bart gets the girl. That’s all I know. It jumps around so much it nearly makes me dizzy trying to figure it all out. So I stopped trying to figure it out. I just say my lines when I’m supposed to, and everything seems to work out.”

  “Maybe you need to read between the lines. Why is this character of Lotus so important to the play? to the writer?”

  “I’m a logical man. I see things in black and white.”

  “For example, my book The Empty House. It was about an old, abandoned house that’s surrounded by ghostly legends. A lonely teenager makes it his home and becomes attached to the ghosts there, who end up killing anyone who tries to harm him. Years later, I realized that grew out of my feelings of abandonment when my parents died.”

  The sheriff was shaking his head.

  “I wish I could be of more help,” Wolfe said.

  “Maybe I’ll give it a try. Go home and study it, figure out what she’s trying to say about the world. Right?”

  “That’s a good start.”

  “Well, thanks.”

  “Hey, have you seen Butch today?”

  “Butch? No, I haven’t. Not since early this morning. Why?”

  “No reason.”

  “He may be at the rally.”

  “What rally?”

  “Over at the town hall. I’m headed there now. Apparently there’s an uproar over flavored coffee or something.” The sheriff left, and Wolfe fell against the wall, slapping his hands against his face.

  The last thing Lois had told them was to get a good night’s rest so they’d be refreshed for tomorrow’s dress rehearsal. Good luck with that.

  “Oliver?” Melb asked. “You seem uptight. Are you okay?” She’d watched Oliver move from room to room all evening, like he was looking for a set of lost keys or something.

  “Just a stressful day at work.”

  “Look, I know Wolfe isn’t the most talented salesman who ever lived, but there will be other cars.”

  “You can’t think that way,” Oliver said, coming out of the guest bedroom for the fourth time this evening. “Every car could be your last.”

  “Well, sit down, will you? You’re making me a nervous wreck.”

  He stopped and looked at her with sincere eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to do th
at. How are you feeling otherwise?”

  “Good,” Melb smiled. “I’m feeling optimistic about our future, very relaxed.” She glanced at the clock. “Oh my goodness! Oliver, hurry! Fluff the pillows! Pick up the newspapers on the floor! Oh! Where’s my dust rag?”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “The reverend will be here any moment!”

  “So?”

  “He’s our pastor! We can’t possibly let him see how we really live! Hurry! Over there! Close the door to the movie cabinet!”

  The doorbell rang.

  She ran across the living room scooping up everything she could. She dumped it into the coat closet.

  “How do I look?”

  “Fine.”

  “Do I look serene?”

  “You are breathing hard.”

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Why is Reverend Peck here, anyway?”

  “I asked him to come by and bless the baby and our future and our … secular sports magazine! Ahh!” Melb waggled her finger at the coffee table. “Oliver, get it, hurry!”

  Oliver rushed over, and as he was sliding it under a couch cushion, Melb answered the door. “Reverend Peck, so nice to see you. Won’t you come into our home?”

  “Thank you,” he said, stepping in.

  He was about to take off his coat. “Oh, you better keep that on. It’s chilly in here,” Melb said, stepping in front of the coat closet just in case he got a crazy idea like putting his coat in there.

  He shook Oliver’s hand. “I hear congratulations are in order, Oliver. The secrets out.”

  “It was Wolfe’s fault!” Oliver shouted.

  The reverend’s hand slipped from his, and Melb gasped.

  “The baby’s not yours?” the reverend whispered through the fright-fid expression on his face.

  Oliver turned bright red. “The baby? I thought we were talking about … Yes, I mean. The baby’s mine. Of course, the baby. I thought you were talking about … the dust on the floor. Wolfe left the door open today.”