Tread the Boards (A Rivervue Community Theatre Romance, #1)

by Nikki Logan

  Dylan then finally broke the spell. ‘So … now that we can talk, are we going to talk about how good you are?’ He lifted the script pages off the bed.

  Everything in her clenched tight. ‘Nope.’

  He wanted to argue, she could see it. But she’d just been gracious enough not to dump on him from a great height for lying to her; he was in no position to push.

  ‘Alrighty.’

  ‘I shouldn’t even have these pages,’ she admitted, stuffing them into a drawer on the nearby worktable. ‘Lexi asked me to run off all the cast and crew copies and I kind of … kept a set. Just the first act.’

  As if that made it less dishonourable. She was kidding herself saying she just wanted to read a Draven. Really, she just couldn’t wait to get those pages and be alone with them.

  ‘I’m not judging,’ he rumbled.

  But she was. And she knew that others would, too, if they knew.

  ‘It’s not something I do in public. It’s just for me.’ She lifted her eyes back to his and then wondered when she’d dropped them. ‘Does that make sense?’

  His long fingers slid over hers. Just half. Kind of crooked. But his touch was as reassuring as the honesty in his gaze.

  ‘To a kid raised to speak with a therapy dog? Yeah, it does, Kenzie. I get it.’

  Her name sounded amazing on his lips. Foreign and exotic and … sexy.

  ‘Thank you.’ His fingers were warm and sure and it was too easy to slide one thumb up and over his to link them together.

  Way too easy.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about you working here,’ Kenzie said as soon as she arrived the next day. ‘About a way to make you being silent less weird. For others,’ she rushed when he raised a single brow. ‘So they don’t push you before you’re ready.’

  He felt strangely heartened that Kenzie thought he would ever be ready. It had been a long time since anyone had declared faith in him. His own doing of course. That tended to happen when you cut yourself off from everyone who knew you.

  ‘I could talk to them if I really had to, Kenzie. I’m not that kid anymore. I can make myself.’

  ‘Well, you don’t want it to be under duress, right? That’s not fun for anyone. I’m thinking we could just keep you very much behind the scenes: out of sight out of mind. This is community theatre. People come and go on their own schedules. So we just make your schedule nights and very much backstage. Minimise contact. You can make connections in your own time. As you’re comfortable.’

  Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Doing it once was already a miracle.

  ‘Sure. Me lurking around in the shadows is going to be less weird than just not speaking …’

  ‘I think you’re overestimating how interesting you are, Dylan. And maybe underestimating how much work everyone has to do getting Larrikin staged in record time. The crew have way too much to do and the cast …’ She glanced kind of longingly at the stage above their heads. ‘They won’t be on the scene for a couple of weeks yet. Lexi’s just about to advertise the audition dates.’

  ‘Are you going to try out?’

  She brought her gaze back to him and it was the flattest he’d seen it. ‘Are you?’

  He whistled as she pushed past him and headed for the door. ‘Wow. Making fun of the mute—’

  ‘Oh please.’

  ‘—class act, Kenzie.’

  She turned so fast he barrelled right into her. Her slim fingers came up and pressed against his chest to steady them both, her lashes fluttering over denim-coloured eyes until she snatched her hand away.

  ‘Shush.’ Was she a little bit breathless, or was he imagining it? ‘You are the least disabled person I’ve ever met. You not speaking to anyone is no weirder than if you were French. Get over yourself.’

  He loved Australians. So pragmatic.

  They spent the morning going over the extensive props list for Larrikin, and then Kenzie gave him three separate pages with the stage directions for Phantom’s brief appearance. All walk-on, sit, walk-off roles. Neither the props list nor Phantom’s pages were from the full script. Someone had transcribed only the bits each person would need to do their job.

  ‘That’s it? Just three pages? That’s all I get?’

  ‘Lexi wants us to focus on individual scenes right now rather than on the whole play. She’s going to release it to us act by act.’

  He stared at her. ‘That’s an awkward way to tackle a production. Isn’t it?’

  Kenzie’s shrug was carefully casual. ‘I guess that’s why she’s called creative director. This is something new. Something challenging.’

  Sure was. Still, as far as Phantom’s involvement went, he had what he needed. ‘I guess I’ll teach him to take his cues from the wings,’ he mused. ‘In fact, you should give them to him, Kenzie.’

  Her head came up. ‘Me? Why?’

  ‘In case … you know … if anything happens. If I’m not here.’ He cleared the sudden clog in his throat. Would this be the first time his words dried right up, again? ‘Just in case. So that he’s used to taking instructions from you.’

  She stared at him somewhat suspiciously. ‘Just in case. Right.’

  How could she know? Leaving was kind of what he did. He lived by arrivals and departures.

  ‘And what if something happens to me?’ Kenzie posited. ‘Just in case.’

  She had a point. ‘Maybe we could train him to recognise symbols instead.’

  ‘Like flashcards?’

  ‘Yeah. Big ones. That way anyone can hold them up offstage and direct him.’

  That would certainly also help given the bright stage lights. Phantom had excellent vision but no doubt with a half-dozen hundred-watt fresnels washing over the stage, all their subtle hand signals would be useless.

  ‘Good idea.’ Kenzie immediately began rummaging on a nearby shelf. ‘I have stiff card here. And paint. How many do you think we’ll need?’

  As she planned out her new task, Dylan looked back down at the three pages in his fist, his heart heavy. He’d done this before. Numerous times. You’d think that he’d be used to it by now, but past experience didn’t make the upcoming weeks any easier to imagine. He’d trusted Kenzie with the truth of his childhood, couldn’t he maybe trust her with the rest? How liberating would it be to be able to tell someone? To tell her.

  But he had an entire career and a legal contract with his agency that said he couldn’t. Not a soul. And besides, if Kenzie was angry with him for feigning deafness, how furious would she be when she discovered that he’d seen the lines on these pages before?

  That they originally came from the laptop hidden under his borrowed feather pillow.

  Chapter Five

  Dylan tucked his handful of toiletries back into their battered little pouch and smacked his smooth-shaven cheeks to bring a bit of colour into them. He haunted this place enough without adding the hint of actual ghost courtesy of his Canadian-winter complexion. Then he turned for the door to the unisex bathroom.

  What was Lexi’s deal, going to so much trouble to disguise the name of Larrikin’s author? She’d taken Draven’s name off every page of the script, including the first one. And she’d transposed chunks of descriptive information they needed to design the sets into one new master document with zero identifiers on it. That meant that no-one needed to see ahead, towards the end of the play, to do their job. Yet. Presumably Lexi would reveal all when she was ready.

  The question was why was she delaying it? Why was she keeping it close to her chest now?

  Was Larrikin actually no good? A Draven wasn’t a godsend if it sucked. But Lexi could just as easily have shoved it into the bottom of the nearest filing cabinet if it was that terrible, and who would know?

  No-one.

  Most of Rivervue’s crew believed Lexi had written Larrikin, so they were being extra careful not to quiz her about all the mystery out of respect for her process. That made her deception all the easier to execute.

  More so, his deception
.

  This is what he did. This was part of the Draven thing even if no-one knew the whole of it. He wrote a work of particular significance for a single community and then he went and lived in that community during the play’s production. Lived and listened and watched and bedded right in with the people bringing his works to life. Like he was doing here in Brachen.

  He just didn’t tell them.

  It was how he rolled. It was how he breathed. Only part of his art was digging down into the truth of tales that everyone thought they knew inside and out, reframing them, sometimes exposing them. Part of his art came from watching those tales be interpreted by communities—from the inside. Like he had as a kid. Watching. Always watching. He’d stay long enough to see them take wing at the full tech-run and then he’d just … vanish. Back from whence he came. With no-one any the wiser.

  He tossed his travel towel over his shoulder and stepped out of Rivervue’s backstage bathroom, pleasantly damp. But it was one hundred per cent habit that made him pull his hoodie up over his face before opening the door.

  Lurker is as lurker does.

  He’d become proficient at keeping a low profile inside the theatre. Most people knew he was around, but Kenzie was right, they weren’t all that troubled by him. They had better things to be focusing on and Phantom was the social lubricant that helped ease his passage. A dog in the venue was fun for everyone, especially the kids in CJ’s Youth Theatre that Lexi ran to help keep Rivervue afloat—and just barely above the surface.

  Rivervue’s wobbly bottom line only made Lexi’s secrecy all the more strange. People went nuts for his work. So keeping it quiet was a bit like finding gold and then burying it back into the ground. Her approach definitely was intriguing.

  ‘Oh. Hello.’

  A young, sweet face peered up at him from below a tidy middle part. The girl’s hair was tethered in bunches down behind her ears. Dylan flipped the hood on his sweater back down and gently adjusted his damp hair. Hood or no hood, when words wouldn’t come out of his mouth, murmurs among the townfolk would eventually start. The last thing he ever wanted to do was to freak anyone out, particularly a young girl who looked no older than ten. And particularly a young girl—alone—in a dimly lit corridor outside of bathrooms. The world was not made like that anymore. It would be a travesty for a misinterpretation to see him booted from the theatre just as he had a legitimate reason to be in it.

  Dylan took a deep breath and ignored his thumping heart—years of experience had finally taught him that it wouldn’t actually beat itself to death no matter what his anxiety whispered. He concentrated hard on pushing sound forward, visualising it rolling uphill towards his front teeth.

  ‘Hi.’ It wasn’t as effortless as it had been with Kenzie, but the word did at least manage to tumble off his tongue. And once one was out, others followed like co-dependent sheep. All he had to do was keep breathing. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Emma. I’m an actress.’ The kid’s head tilted. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Dylan. Definitely not an actress.’

  ‘I know I should say “actor”, but I like “actress” better.’ It reminds me of all those old Hollywood films that Lexi likes.’ Her face broke out into a pair of adorable dimples that reminded him too much of Kenzie. Then she crouched in front of him and received a face full of doggie snout. ‘And who’s this?’

  ‘This slobbery fool is Phantom. He’s deaf but he’s pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Oh. Poor puppy.’

  Emma received another tongue swipe for her trouble. ‘Don’t feel too sorry for him. He milks it for everything it’s worth.’

  She studied Phantom’s bi-coloured markings.

  ‘I like his face. Looks like he’s wearing a half mask.’ Her blue eyes shot wide. ‘Oh! I just got his name. Ha. I love Phantom of the Opera. Did you know that Lexi is casting a new play soon?’ The kid barely drew breath as she took the ninety-degree turn. ‘We just helped her put audition notices up around town. Two weeks before rehearsals. Such a long wait, but Lexi says she needs every moment for pre-production. I. May. Die!’

  Heh. Kids. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘And there’s four big parts for kids!’ She grinned. ‘And some smaller ones.’

  It was impossible not to tease her. ‘Any roles for actresses?’

  He knew full well there was. And if there wasn’t, he might have set about writing one, pronto.

  ‘Yes!’ Emma’s reply was mostly a squeal.

  ‘Well, good luck auditioning. You’d be great.’

  Her little face scrunched. ‘You don’t even know if I’m any good.’

  ‘I don’t need to know. You seem like a natural.’

  ‘That’s what Dad says, but he’s kind of got to say that, doesn’t he? It’s a dad thing.’

  Dylan recognised the dream trembling on the edge of an abyss and he wasn’t about to be the one to tip it over.

  ‘I don’t know. Dads usually don’t lie about this stuff. If he says you’re good, I’d believe him.’

  ‘You think? He used to say it all the time but he only started coming to my plays when Mum sent me here to live with him.’

  Dylan’s heart squeezed for a kid dispossessed. Maybe literally.

  ‘Well, now that he’s seeing them his opinion is better informed, right?’

  He loved how serious her little face got as she thought about that. Like every word he’d uttered had reached her.

  The very best kind of words. Not a single one wasted.

  ‘I guess. Yeah. Thanks Dylan!’ Her smile lit up the dim hallway. Down the hall, someone clapped their hands loudly in another room. ‘Well, I’d better go. I’m only supposed to be a minute at the bathroom.’

  ‘No problems. All the best with your audition.’

  ‘Bye,’ she called, already heading down the hall. ‘Bye, Phantom!’

  And then she was gone, like a butterfly on a breeze. Kids. Always the same no matter what part of the world you were in. As for the next generation of theatre tragics … hopefully Emma would find her experience as transformative as his had been. But for different reasons.

  He signalled to Phantom and they padded up the corridor. All was quiet inside the theatre and the privacy was a chance to check things out. Maybe he’d get a clue as to why Lexi Spencer was keeping her goldmine under such tight wraps. Kenzie worked days at her veterinary clinic which worked well with his help-out-at-night thing, and it left him free to work on Draven’s next project uninterrupted during the day.

  Out in the foyer he found a cluster of casting notices pinned to the noticeboard; Emma had been right that Lexi had taken that step at least.

  L A R R I K I N ! — THE WOMAN BEHIND THE MAN BEHIND THE LEGEND.

  That tagline wasn’t his, but he sure liked it. Summed things up nicely. And, around here, de Vue certainly was legendary. Peppered down the notice were rehearsal and performance dates, along with a list of the main roles on offer and the number to text for an audition slot in the next week.

  Rivervue Community Theatre is a not-for-profit group. All participation is voluntary. Best suited to those for whom creativity, excitement and passion are their own reward.

  Yep, these were his people. And this was his church. Magic happened every day onstage. And off it too—in the hustle and bustle surrounding it. Even in the stalls he’d feel the ghosts of audiences past—their energy, their emotion—still lingering in a way that was almost corporeal. The older the theatre, the better. This one was about to turn fifty, Lexi had told him as she’d signed him up as a volunteer. So many tales interpreted by many deeply passionate people over five decades—it amplified on the stage’s wooden boards, all two-hundred square metres of them just through those heavy doors behind him.

  He never got quite the same thrill standing in a professional theatre company. Something about the exchange of money changed the entire vibe for him.

  ‘Thinking of giving it a go?’ a voice asked behind him. He spun to face Lexi. Today she was we
aring polka dots up top and a full skirt. Very Minnie Mouse. But also very her. ‘We have some non-speaking roles.’

  He could reply to her if he worked on it hard enough—let her in on the truth. But the way he figured it, he only had so many words left in him over his lifetime and he didn’t like to spend them too casually. Not when any of his workarounds would do the job just as effectively. Talking to a kid was one thing but revealing a lie to someone who’d been kind to you … that needed a bit of finessing.

  Sure enough, Lexi filled the silence easily. ‘This new work, it’s a little … provocative.’

  And there it was. The reason for all the secrecy.

  ‘Ron de Vue is a bit of a national hero around here,’ she continued, chatting so that he didn’t have to. ‘Around the world really. And this work tests that …’ she cleared her throat ‘… a bit.’

  He could understand that. Draven’s name on the posters was probably more of a red flag than her little theatre could casually wave around. She obviously had a strategy.

  ‘It’s important, though. In more ways than one,’ Lexi went on, and there was so much else under those simple words. Was she simply a champion of truth or was there more going on here? ‘So here we are! Auditioning already. We’d love to have you, if you want to be involved. You don’t have to be sequestered in the shadows like some spectre.’

  He smiled, carefully folded Lexi’s notice and slipped it into his pocket, leaving half a dozen more still dangling from the pin-up board ready for others to take.

  ‘Text me,’ Lexi mimed before continuing her path through to the backstage area. She turned back to face him again. ‘We’ll find you something.’

  Just five months earlier, he’d plucked a similar bit of paper off a noticeboard in a little old timber theatre in Boston. His previous work. His previous lurk. Usually, he just filed them away in his ever-growing collection and occasionally brought them out when he needed inspiration on a particularly difficult play. To remind him what it was all about.

  But this one …

  Lexi’s simple words had given him an idea. She was right. Some things just needed to be lured out of the shadows.