by R. L. Syme
Mason was just about to the kitchen when the lights went out. He ran the last few steps and came around the corner, through the door, into the tiny prep space.
He could barely make out the outlines of his two brothers in the dark. A little bit of light crept into the kitchen from the dressing rooms on the other side of the hallway.
“It must be a breaker.” Tyson’s voice came from the corner of the kitchen. “I can see the lights on across the hall.”
“I think they plugged in one too many appliances.” Mason chuckled, thinking of all the things trying to share power, just in this quadrant. They had roasters piled up in every available outlet in the kitchen and the number of mistletoe lights alone out in the lobby had already overtaxed the tiny theater’s circuits.
A tiny shard of light blinded Mason and Cash laughed from a couple of feet away. The beam stopped.
“These dumb keychain flashlights are good for something.” Cash flashed the little accessory on again, only aiming it at the floor this time. It lit up the cords that hung down to every outlet.
Mason forced the air from his lungs. They weren’t going to be able to do anything with no electricity. “How much longer do we need on the roulade?”
“Maybe half an hour if we have to.” Tyson clinked against something and Cash threw the bolt of light up and illuminated their oldest brother about to knock over one of the roasters.
“Ok, let’s move away from the counters.” Mason tried to remember the outline of the kitchen in his mind. Off to his left, the light blue flames flickered under the potatoes. “Cash, throw me those keys. I’ll go find the breaker.”
The key ring thudded against his chest and he cupped it in his hand. Cash shuffled to the wall. “I’ll keep an eye on the potatoes.”
Mason flickered the button on the tiny but potent flashlight and followed the beam into the hallway. When he passed the heavy curtain, the lobby was so dark, he couldn’t make out anything but shadows.
“Gillian?” he called out. He turned off the flashlight and scanned the darkened room. Something clunked against a big hollow object far away.
“Ow.” Gillian’s voice was tiny and pained. His first instinct was still to go to her, but he wasn’t sure he could forget the I-Hate-You speech.
“Jill.”
“Don’t call me that.” Her exasperated tone cut through the silence.
Mason clicked the button on the flashlight and pointed it at the floor. “I’ve got a flashlight, Gillian. Point me toward the breaker box.”
Bianca’s shrill voice rang out. “Gillian, get these lights back on!”
Mason flipped the light over to the corner of the room where Bianca knelt behind the wassail table. Mason unclicked the button, unsure of how long the tiny battery would laugh.
“Do you know where the back door is?” Gillian asked, her voice far away.
Mason shook his head, then realized she couldn’t see him when she continued to wait. “I do not, no.”
Gillian sighed and Mason heard her thunk against something again. “Dammit,” she swore. “Bianca, do you know where the breaker is?”
A little squeal sounded from his right. “Gillian. Get these lights back on.” Bianca’s voice dropped about an octave and Mason leaned back in shock.
Gillian hit something again and Mason lighted up the path in front of her. He tried not to linger for too long on those shapely legs of hers, or the way her dress sparkled around those familiar curves.
“I will show you where the breaker box is.” Gillian sailed past him and plucked the keys from his hands. The long, weak beam of light, sailed out in front of her and Mason skipped to keep up.
The curtain slid apart and they were in the hallway.
“Thank God there’s still electricity in the dressing rooms.” Gillian’s voice was barely audible. “The kids still have all their make-up and warm-ups to do. We’re so behind schedule.”
Mason followed her down the hall, past the kitchen and around the corner to where he assumed the bathrooms were located, given the signs on the wall. Just next to the bathroom door was some kind of closet, and then a door to the outside. It had a small sliver of window on one side through which Mason could see the driving snow. Gillian took a deep breath and opened the door.
A small eave hung along the back side of the building and if they hugged the wall, they could stay out of the snow. But the cold was bracing. It cut Mason down to his bones.
Gillian shivered and waved the beam to their right. “Along the back here, there’s a cable that runs into a sort of shed thing. That’s where the breaker box is.”
Mason could just make out the black, thick cable running along the wall. He put his hand on it to follow it along the building, but after about four feet, it jumped up above his reach, almost to the roof. He could almost see it, still, against the pinkish brown of the exterior paint job.
He turned back to Gillian. “Can you shine that along over here?”
“I am. I don’t think it will reach far enough.”
He was about to ask her to throw the keys when she stepped off the little cement block in front of the door and into the mud. Mason couldn’t help chuckling to himself. She would always be a Montana girl, even in her fancy clothes.
The little light came closer and as they walked along the building, they came to a door. Mason wrenched it open and Gillian stood at the mouth of the dark room. The little flashlight flickered off for a moment.
“I think it’s along that wall.”
When she put the light back on, little illumination as it was, Mason saw stacks of what must have been scenes and backdrops lining both walls.
This would be a fire marshal’s nightmare.
He found a small pathway down the middle and carefully picked his way down the long, narrow footpath. But as he got farther into the storage room, he could no longer see.
Once again, he was just about to call for Gillian to throw him the keys when she came walking behind him.
“Be careful of those,” she said, bobbing the flashlight down toward his feet. “They’re all hand-painted.”
“I’m being careful.”
“I’m sure you are, I just wanted to let you know what you were dealing with.”
“I’m not a child, Gillian. I know when to be careful.”
She didn’t speak and stopped following him. The light got dimmer as he made his way through the sets. On the other side was a dark, black space, in which he could make out nothing.
“Toss me the keys.”
“Hang on, I’m coming.”
“They’re my brother’s keys for God’s sake.”
“Don’t swear at me. I’m just afraid that if I toss them and miss, then we have no light and who knows if we could find them again in here.”
Mason dropped his hands with a sigh. “I wasn’t swearing at you.”
“Well, you know what I mean.”
“Apparently, I don’t.”
She made progress toward him again and when she was just about to the end of the sets, he inadvertently reached out for her arm to steady her as she stepped onto the uneven ground.
As soon as their skin touched, she jerked back and lost her balance. She was about to go toppling into the set, but Mason had a quick enough response so he could slip his arm around her back just before she completely lost her balance.
He pulled her against him and the light flickered off again. With a strong grip around her, he walked her back away from the dangerous footing and set her on the dark ground.
With their chests pressed together as such, he could feel her racing heartbeat. For just a moment, he allowed himself to remember what it had been like to hold her like this. How he had missed it, even if he hadn’t always been able to admit it.
He could just make out the outline of her face in the residual light from either the moon or the streetlights outside. Her eyes were wide, as was her mouth. Mason graciously couldn’t make out the expression in her eyes, because he had a feeling i
t bordered on hatred. He expected her to wrench away in disgust.
Instead, she dipped.
Whenever they would be embracing or lying together and they were close enough to kiss, she would always dip her head toward him and wait for him to come the rest of the way to kiss her.
Heat washed over him and he felt nerve endings and muscles come alive that he hadn’t used in years. Pieces of him that were really only awake around Gillian.
He wanted nothing more than to meet her halfway. Instead, he released her and turned to the back wall. “Can you shine the light over here?”
In a moment, the beam appeared. He could see the squat grey box hanging low on the wall. On the front, there was a hand-written list of probable causes for electrical failure.
“If the stage lights cause the failure, flip #13,” he read. “If the sound booth causes the failure…” Mason turned back to Gillian. “This happens often, does it?”
“More often than we’d like, generally speaking.”
He fingered his way down the list until he got to kitchen. After opening the box and flipping the appropriate switch, he waited for a long moment. “Do you think there’s any way for us to tell whether it worked or not?”
“Not unless one of us goes back inside and the other one stays here just in case.”
“I guess we can risk it. At least I know how to get back here, now.” He closed the box and made to follow Gillian down the skinny aisle again.
She toppled a bit on the first step and he slipped his hand under her elbow to steady her. With a violent jerk, she wrenched away from him again.
Mason sighed and tried not to let the anger fester. “What is that all about, anyway?”
“What is what about?”
“You won’t let me touch you. Am I a criminal, Gillian?”
She stopped walking and took a deep breath. “You are not a criminal.”
“But you hate me and you won’t let me touch you.” Something sank inside as he said the words aloud. So much had changed in such a short time. He couldn’t help that he wanted it back again now. After seeing her, seeing the woman she’d become… he wanted her back.
“I don’t…” She put her hands on the back-facing set in front of her. “I should never have said that, Mason. I don’t hate you.”
“It sure felt like you did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Look, Jill. I know that we’ve got our history and some of it is bad.” He touched her arm and she glanced up at him. “But some of it is good.”
Gillian inched away from him and sniffled. “Not for me, Mason. You just don’t get it.”
“No, I get it. I hurt you. I’m so sorry.” He let his hand drop. He should stop trying to touch her when she obviously didn’t want to be touched. But he couldn’t help how much he wanted to hold her. Kiss her. Make love to her again. Everything in him wanted it.
She started walking again.
Mason let her walk away. He had been the one to leave, even if he was pushed. He had to own that one.
When she got to the door, she stopped and let the light flicker off. She stood with her hands at her sides, her shoulders shaking, and stared at him.
“I don’t know if you really do get it, Mason.”
“Then fill me in.” He stumbled in his haste to reach her, but as he neared, she backed away.
“You’re really going to make me talk about it.”
“When else are we going to be alone, Jill? You as much as told me we’d never see each other again after tonight.”
“My job is on the line here! I can’t think about anything else except making this night come off without a hitch.”
He could see more of her face now, and wet patches lined her cheeks where tears had just been. “I don’t want to get in the way of that.”
Her fists balled around the keys, which made a crunching sound as she punched his chest. “Will you stop that?”
“Stop what?”
“Being helpful and heroic.” She choked on the last word and tears began to flow again. “It was so much easier to hate you when you were in California.”
Mason felt the shift as palpably as if she’d touched him. She had opened up something inside and snapped. He gathered her into his arms and held her. Mason cradled the back of her head against his shoulder and let her cry.
Normally, he wasn’t great with crying. But this crying was fixing something in her. He could just feel it.
She finally pulled back and looked up into his face. “I really do want to hate you.”
“You can hate me all you want.” Electricity sizzled between them and Mason wasn’t sure if it was turning the lights back on, or igniting some kind of fire inside the two of them, but he was nearly sweating.
He dropped his lips to hers and relished the touch of her feather-soft skin against his, the movement of her tongue against his. It was like being back five years in the past. Before everything started to hurt.
“Mason,” she whispered, pulling her lips away. He loved that sound, his name in her breathy voice, it sounded like an invitation.
He pulled her body into his and spun her around and out the door, pressing her against the building as he deepened the kiss. Her moans were enough to drive him on.
She clutched at his neck as he kissed down the side of her face, toward her ear, and then down to her nape. Her leg climbed up the side of his body, as though reaching to hook itself somewhere.
The cold nipped at his back, but everything else around him was warm and comforting. At last.
“Wait,” came her breathless protest. “Stop.”
It took every ounce of fortified strength he possessed to really stop and pull back. He just wanted to keep driving. He wanted her again, and every part of his body knew it.
Mason heaved a breath, nearly collapsing into the building, but tried to keep his body distant from hers.
“What are we doing?” She met his eyes. “This is why I didn’t want you to be here.” Gillian pushed at his chest. Not a violent action, not a hateful gesture, but she wanted him away.
He rolled away and stood next to her, his back against the rough stucco-esque face of the building. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this.” Her voice trembled and he reached for her again, but she scooted toward the back door. “Please, Mason. Just don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
“Gillian.”
But she was gone and through the back door before he could come up with a reason for her to stay.
Gillian knew she couldn’t hide in the ticket office all night. At some point, guests would start showing up. But for the time being, it was the only place she could quietly finish crying and reapplying her makeup.
It was the only place no one would bother her, because they thought she was working.
But really, her heart was breaking all over again. She just couldn’t stop replaying Mason’s kiss in her head, and all that she wanted it to mean.
And yet the one thing she promised herself when he left was that she would never let him hurt her like that again. No matter what kind of stunt he pulled, she would never let him in.
She had loved him so completely and he had abandoned her. She couldn’t let him have that kind of power over her heart again.
But when he had her up against the building, his hands on her body, his tongue in her mouth… all she could think was how much she wanted him to do that forever.
“Gillian!” Arthur’s voice rang through the lobby, even drowning out the bad Christmas music Bianca had decided to put on. Sounded like Perry Como or something awful like that.
She wiped the tears from her cheeks and pulled out her compact. “I’m in here, Arthur.”
Her giant of a boss appeared in the doorway and filled most of it as he stood, watching her reapply her makeup.
“Willa told me that Reeds might not even make it tonight.” His face attempted an even keel, but his voice showed his worry. “You know I was going to make my big pitch
tonight.”
“I know that, Arthur.”
“Then what happens if they don’t make it? How am I ever going to make this new building happen without them?”
Gillian slammed her compact onto the desk. “I can’t control the weather! What do you want me to tell you?”
“That all this money isn’t just a big waste.” Arthur pointed out onto the street, where it was still snowing. “That our patrons are going to come through that door. That Temecula Reed is going to laugh at my jokes and her husband is gong to look down Bianca’s dress and they’re going to fund our proposal to rebuild the theater.”
Gillian cringed. So that was Arthur’s big pitch? To foist his nearly-half-boob little wife on the man and hope he had a thing for cleavage that would make him forget his financial better judgment?
God, they were in trouble.
“I don’t have time to worry about those things right now, Arthur.” She took the compact and her purse and pushed by him, out of the office. “Right now, I have to warm up my actors and make sure everything is ready for the play to begin.
“You just remember, young lady. I don’t owe you anything. My ex-wife left strict instructions about what couldn’t be changed, and your job was not among them.”
Gillian’s heart dropped. If only Dimity had known what would happen to the theater in her absence. A writing hermitage in England was all well and good until your stand-in started firing all the help.
The first months Dimity had been gone had most definitely been full of check-ins and calls and emails from overseas. But once she settled into her real writing routine, no one but Arthur had heard from her.
Now, Gillian wasn’t even certain that if she emailed or called, Dimity would answer. She was so deep into her writing cave, as she termed it. And as the legal half-owner, Arthur certainly had the ability to fire her.
She wound her way back to the boy’s dressing room to check in on their progress. Make-up and hair and costumes were all done. They sat around in a circle playing diction games and occasionally jumping up to stretch.
This was her biggest blessing, working with Dimity. While Arthur was a loose cannon and Bianca was an insufferable and tacky distraction, Dimity had created a program here that ensured the young actors would never be the source of her frustration.
