Set the Stage (A Rivervue Community Theatre Romance, #2)

by Daniel De Lorne

  ‘Hey, Gabriel,’ Lexi said. ‘Didn’t realise you were joining us.’

  He stopped mid-step and looked to Sofia.

  ‘I hope that’s okay,’ Sofia said.

  ‘Of course! It’s lovely to see so much of Gabriel again.’

  He ducked his head and sat next to Sofia. Bruce pulled up a chair and Lexi brought hers in so they formed a tight circle. A couple of inches separated him from Gabriel, a slight movement of his knee and they’d touch. Not that he wanted to. Not that he had any desire to go back to when he and Gabriel used to be close. Not that they’d been too close. If they had been, then Gabriel wouldn’t have slept with Jason behind his back.

  Bruce shut his legs tight.

  ‘So, I’ve finished the set designs and I think you’re going to be really pleased,’ Sofia said.

  Only if they’re a couple of planks of wood and some supports.

  She opened her sketchpad but Gabriel was quick to take it from her hands and hold it for everyone to see. Gabriel tilted at the hip, his body rigid and back straight, muscles tensed. He was by no means a body builder but he was lithe and sinewy, his biceps compact and round, the kind that made Bruce’s jeans uncomfortable. And as Bruce leaned in to see the designs, a trace of crisp sandalwood whirled into his nose and kicked the embers of his old desire.

  He shut his eyes and breathed deep to regain his composure but that only brought in more of Gabriel’s scent, warmed his skin and threatened to make him combust. He forced his eyes open and down at Sofia’s drawings.

  ‘I thought for the Brachen scenes, we’d show the passing of the years with a mix of mechanical elements and lighting.’

  She indicated the placement of the backdrops and the way they moved, the shimmering of night and day across the pastures and the shift from the lush spring into fire-prone summer. But her descriptions became a hum as he tallied the metres of wood required, the nails, the bolts and screws, the hinges and pulleys. Sofia continued through one scene after another. He tried to appreciate how good they were—and they were good—but struggled to see beyond the increasing hours and supplies and his decreasing hourly rate.

  From Brachen to North Africa to Hollywood, the tension ratcheted up Bruce’s body, cramping his calves, his hamstrings, his guts. He brought his hand up to his mouth, his nails sliding between his teeth. His eyes burned into the pages, hoping they’d catch fire.

  But they didn’t. Heat must have been coming from somewhere because he was sweating.

  ‘And so that’s what I’ve come up with.’ Sofia beamed. ‘What do you think?’

  I’m a dead man. Bruce scrubbed his face with his hands.

  ‘I love it!’ Lexi squealed and the sound shattered in Bruce’s ear. ‘These are wonderful, Sofia. They’re exactly what I was hoping for. I think we might have to make a slight tweak on the Hollywood scene here to widen the interiors of the agent’s office but otherwise I’m thrilled. Bruce, what do you think?’

  Three pairs of eyes turned on him. Two glowed, one glowered.

  He swallowed, his throat bulging with the effort. ‘Well, they’re very … creative. I think you’ve done a great job, Sofia.’

  ‘But?’ The word shot from Gabriel’s lips and lodged in Bruce’s chest. Gabriel’s antagonism wounded but he wasn’t the one facing eviction.

  ‘But I was wondering if maybe simpler wouldn’t be better.’ He braced for a second assault.

  The enthusiasm crumbled from Sofia’s face and crashed into Bruce’s heart. He’d been prepared for Gabriel’s rancour, not for Sofia’s dismay. She opened her mouth to speak, but Gabriel cut across her.

  ‘These are simple.’ Gabriel’s hand waved over the page as if the whole thing could be done by magic. ‘They’re a couple of sheets of wood and a few screws and hinges.’

  Of course Mr Architect had an opinion on what was hard and what was easy. Hard was sticking around. Easy was running away.

  ‘All I’m saying is we could take out the moving parts and keep them static, do the rest with lighting,’ he said through clenched teeth. Gabriel didn’t look away and his defiant gaze sent the heat rushing up the back of Bruce’s neck. He broke the staring contest and took his case to Lexi. If he could convince her, then he might be saved. ‘Lexi, you don’t want to detract from what’s happening on stage with the actors. These sets are going to do that.’

  Lexi’s head tilted from side to side, trying to see things from both sides. Or trying to find a way to let Sofia down easily. ‘Well, I understand that perspective, Bruce, but I think Sofia’s designs will add rather than subtract from what I’m trying to do.’

  If his jaw closed any tighter, his teeth would crack.

  ‘They’re going to layer in a whole other level of magic to the experience, showing in all aspects the transition of Ron de Vue from simple country boy to wartime larrikin to Hollywood star. And here.’ She pointed at the page and spoke to Sofia. ‘How you’ve got them rapidly changing back and forth … With the lighting that’s going to be spectacular to show the turmoil he’s going through.’

  Screw Ron de Vue’s turmoil. What about mine?

  ‘You will be able to cope with this, won’t you, Bruce?’ Lexi asked. ‘If anyone can build it, you can.’

  It wasn’t about building it. If anything, this was a challenge he would welcome—when he had the time and wasn’t about to be made homeless.

  ‘I think we could do with some simplification.’

  ‘Fine,’ Gabriel said. ‘You come up with a solution and we’ll be happy to hear it, but I’ve been through these designs and I don’t see how we can make them any simpler.’

  Bruce narrowed his eyes at Gabriel. ‘We?’

  So Gabriel was the reason behind this sudden burst of creativity. Bruce recognised the style but he would have thought Gabriel would have the decency to not interfere. Gabriel had left Brachen behind long ago. He had no right to come here and tell them what to do.

  Gabriel showed no shame. If he felt any, it was bricked up behind that intractable glare. ‘I sketched them for Mum because she wasn’t able to. The ideas are hers but I couldn’t help it if she asked my professional opinion.’

  What would some hotshot architect from Sydney know about designing sets for a theatre?

  ‘And my professional opinion is that they’re too complex.’

  ‘Too difficult is what you mean, right? Too difficult for you to handle?’

  ‘I can build anything.’

  ‘Great. Then build these.’ Gabriel shot to his feet, forcing Bruce back into his seat. ‘Come on, Mamá.’

  ‘Gabriel,’ Lexi said, ‘I’m sure we can all work out something. Right, Bruce?’

  He was ready to launch out of his seat and argue Gabriel down. He’d flown back into Brachen without any remorse for the damage he’d done, for abandoning his mother, and expected them all to roll over. Well, Bruce wasn’t in the mood to have his belly scratched. But he glanced at Sofia as she put a shaky hand to her head, and the fight drained out of him.

  This will be the last thing she does for the theatre.

  He knew that with a certainty that he wasn’t sure either Gabriel or Sofia had accepted. He breathed out a long breath through his nostrils, his fists relaxing and opening. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest and looked up at Gabriel Mora.

  ‘I’ll make it work.’

  Gabriel nodded like he’d been dismissed and turned to help his mother up. Lexi had to lend a hand as well. Was it their arguing that drained her of her energy?

  As Sofia shuffled past him, she took his hand. ‘Thank you, Bruce. I know you’ll do a wonderful job. You always do.’

  Yeah. That was the problem.

  Chapter Nine

  For the better part of two hours, Gabriel watched Bruce paint the gazebo white. His gaze wasn’t so much on Bruce’s careful strokes but on the raising and lowering of his thick arm, on his back muscles bulging in that tight paint-splattered grey T-shirt, on the twist and turn of his rippled torso as
he dipped the brush and drained it of the excess.

  Watching paint dry never held such appeal.

  With the gazebo finished any second now and Bruce unlikely to grace their door again, Gabriel was waiting for the right moment to go out and apologise for his behaviour the night before. If that meant keeping both mooning eyes on him, then so be it. At least from his position leaning against the kitchen sink he was able to delay suffering Bruce’s ire.

  A few more strokes and Bruce was done. He stood back, examined his handiwork, put a dab here and there, then went to wash his brushes at the tap beneath the kitchen window. Gabriel ducked, hiding behind the cabinets before he realised what he’d just done. He hadn’t hidden from Bruce since he was fifteen. He’d been so tongue-tied around the Scarlet Samson that it had been easier to lurk in the shadows and watch from afar. He tilted his head back and banged it on the cupboard door, rattling the remnants of a migraine that had occupied the base of his skull since the meeting.

  Pull it together, Mora.

  He needed to make amends: for Sofia’s sake, if not for some long-lost friendship.

  It shouldn’t be hard to go out and say sorry for the way he’d acted. But it wasn’t saying sorry he was worried about; it was that Bruce might not accept his apology. There was only one way to find out.

  He crawled on his hands and knees out of the kitchen to a spot far enough away from the windows, stood up, pulled his T-shirt straight and ran a hand through his hair to get his fringe out of his eyes.

  Now or never.

  Or maybe in five minutes or never.

  Bruce’s shadow passed over the glass door—so long had Gabriel hesitated that Bruce had finished cleaning. Stomach jumping, he slid open the back door and walked to the edge of the verandah.

  ‘Are you finished?’

  Bruce crouched on the grass packing up his paint and tools, but at Gabriel’s voice he stiffened like someone had stuck a gun in his back and demanded his wallet. ‘Yes. I’ve got another job to get to.’

  After treating Bruce like some tradie trying to con them, he was lucky to get those few words.

  Bruce hammered the lid on the last paint tin with three firm hits. Each percussive thud pounded inside Gabriel’s head. He inched closer. ‘It looks amazing.’

  Amazing actually didn’t do it justice. The gazebo looked like it had been grown rather than built. No piece was too long or too short. No flecks of white paint from the beams and supports had spattered the brown rails or the varnished deck. Sofia was going to love sitting under it. She was keen to get the vines covering it with the sweet scent of night jasmine and the purple flush of hardenbergia. How beautiful it would be.

  Bruce grunted. ‘It’s what I was hired to do.’ He hefted the paint tins in one of his big hands, the bucket and paintbrushes in the other. ‘Any problems, have Sofia call me.’

  ‘As if there’d been any problems. You were always good with your hands.’

  Or so Jason had said.

  Bruce’s mouth twitched in the corner, but it was the start of a snarl rather than a smile. ‘That’s me then. I hope Sofia likes it.’ He walked away.

  ‘I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you yesterday,’ he blurted. ‘It was rude and I had no right and I apologise.’

  Bruce stopped and straightened to his full height. Man, he was tall. And those shoulders … Gabriel shook his head: he was meant to be apologising.

  ‘Fine.’ Just the one word and Bruce started marching again.

  Gabriel chased after him and put a hand on his arm. His skin was hot. ‘Please, Bruce, I really am sorry.’

  Bruce glared down at him with a look of cold stone that threatened to flatten him. But he had to resist. He couldn’t go on with this unspoken animosity swirling between them, not while he had Sofia to take care of.

  ‘Can I explain?’

  Bruce blew through his lips. ‘You don’t have to. I get it. You’re looking out for your mother and you want to push her vision through without concern for anyone else.’

  Bruce’s words rent jagged holes in Gabriel’s heart. He knew right where to strike. Repeatedly.

  ‘That’s not it.’ Even he struggled to hear his denial.

  ‘Really? I think you’re feeling guilty that you haven’t been around while she’s been sick and you’re trying to compensate.’

  Gabriel blinked at him, each rapid shuttering of his eye breaking apart the long-cherished belief that Bruce actually liked him.

  ‘Have I got that about right?’

  Bruce knew nothing. And for the first time Gabriel saw clearly what Bruce saw: a self-centred, uncaring, ungrateful son and friend. Where had that come from? They’d never exchanged angry words when they’d both lived in the same town. When he’d moved to Sydney, he’d tried to hold on to the friendship they once shared, but Bruce had severed those ties. Phone calls had gone unanswered, he’d even gone to Bruce’s house hoping to talk to him, by that stage knowing Jason had left him, but Bruce refused to speak to him. So they’d drifted apart and Bruce’s animosity had grown until it was palpable. He didn’t know if it could be fixed but he’d be damned if this holier-than-thou colossus was going to leave without knowing the truth.

  Gabriel ripped his phone from his pocket and searched for his call log with Sofia, then turned the screen to Bruce.

  ‘Look at this.’ His finger scrolled down the screen. ‘Look at the times. Look at the dates. Look how frequently I called her and you tell me when it happened.’ His voice cracked, and his throat burned. ‘You tell me when she first got sick, because she didn’t tell me. Not once in any of those calls going back six months, a year, two years, did she say she had anything other than a headache or a cold. And then I get a phone call from you telling me she’s in the hospital and I have to come home to find that everyone else knew she had cancer but me. You didn’t tell me. You could have. You of all people know what it’s like when parents keep secrets, so don’t you dare try to drown me with guilt.’

  His throat jammed and his eyes stung with barely held back tears, but he refused to look away.

  Bruce did.

  A breath shuddered out of Gabriel’s chest, and air rushed into his lungs, cooling his tears but not his anger.

  You were supposed to be my friend.

  Just a dream. Just a hope.

  Like hoping Sofia was better.

  Gabriel blinked away half-formed tears and sniffed. ‘What’s the use? Thanks for the gazebo.’ He turned back toward the house.

  ‘You’re right,’ Bruce said, stopping him. ‘I shouldn’t have treated you that way. I didn’t know Sofia hadn’t told you. I’m sorry for the way I behaved.’

  He breathed out a long breath. ‘I think we’ve both been acting badly lately.’ He wanted to ask why Bruce couldn’t bear to look at him since he’d come back, but he was worried what the answer would be. They were talking civilly to each other; that was the first wall cleared. And even these few kind words hummed inside Gabriel’s chest. He hated how much Bruce affected him, about as much as he hated the way caffeine gave him a rush. Addicted, he wanted more. ‘I don’t want to get in your way or tell you how to do your job, Bruce. Whatever you can make work with the set designs will still be awesome.’

  Bruce’s chest bulged as he huffed out air, the paint tins clanging in his hand. ‘Look, the designs Sofia came up with are great. Yes, they’re more complex than I think they need to be, but I’ll do them. I got caught off-guard yesterday. I’ve got a lot on my plate.’ His shoulders sagged like he was carrying a lot more than what he had in his hands.

  ‘Is everything alright, Bruce?’

  He opened his mouth to answer but stopped before any words came out. He nodded instead. There was a time when he hadn’t been so guarded. A time when it was just the two of them.

  ‘I’d better get going,’ Bruce said. ‘I’ve got another job and then I’ll be at the theatre tonight to make a start on the sets.’

  ‘Okay. I guess I’ll see you around.’ Gabriel wanted to fill
the void between them, but whatever words he used would plummet and smash. Bruce wasn’t ready to build a bridge. Just sets. He gave a small wave as the builder drove away. Maybe next time they met he’d summon the courage to ask Bruce why they fell apart.

  He took a closer look over the completed gazebo. He needed space to breathe before going back inside the house where the reality of his mother’s illness stole his oxygen. Outside the pressure lifted and he could enjoy the life on show in her garden.

  ‘Oh, it’s beautiful!’

  Sofia’s soft voice broke from behind him as she came out of the house in her dressing gown and slippers. He rushed over in case she needed the extra support but the joy at seeing the finished gazebo gave her strength. He hoped the paint fumes didn’t make her nauseated.

  ‘He’s done such a good job, hasn’t he?’ she said. ‘I can’t wait for the vines to grow.’

  ‘Should we go get them today?’

  ‘That’ll be lovely. If you’ve got the time.’

  ‘Mamá, what else am I going to do? I’m here for you, remember?’

  ‘I know, but I feel guilty that you’re not back in Sydney. Are you sure work doesn’t mind?’

  ‘Very sure.’ And he couldn’t have cared less if they did.

  She took her time walking around the gazebo, her eyes lit with excitement as she surveyed the whole garden and how everything fitted together. The water fountain and pond in the north-west corner, the rows of cucumbers and onions, strawberries and herbs in the patch at the back, a lemon tree jammed in the other corner, a collection of native shrubs on the eastern perimeter. There was only a small patch of grass, enough that could be easily maintained without needing an entire grounds team to care for it. Even so, the garden was large enough for one. Barely a day went by when she wasn’t tending it, but the amount she could do had decreased—pruning here and there, rather than tilling the soil and planting new vegetables. He’d have done it for her but he wasn’t a good gardener and needed her direction. The theatre used up her energy so there wasn’t enough left over to give horticultural instructions.