Theater Nights Are Murder

by Libby Klein

  The auditions progressed in a similar fashion from there. The ladies all read for the part of Donna across from Royce to keep things simple. Many of them flirted with Royce, and Neil had to remind them that Donna wouldn’t be throwing herself at Sam. Mrs. Davis was allowed to sing Tanya’s number, “Does Your Mother Know,” because she told Neil she would rather be in the chorus than play Donna, and because Neil was tired of fighting with the ladies. Mrs. Dodson made a bit of a fuss that she didn’t want to try out for Donna either, and if she got the part, she would refuse to do it. She wanted to try out for Rosie, the chubby cookbook author. She rather tanked the delivery of her lines across from Royce, but she made up for it with a fantastic rendition of “Take a Chance on Me” and surprised everyone when she ditched her cane and threw some seventies dance moves in with the number.

  Finally, Aunt Ginny was called to the stage. She wouldn’t look at Royce, and she couldn’t hide her nerves. Royce delivered his lines with more feeling than he had with any other audition, and I found I was on the edge of my seat with my heart pounding. I knew I wasn’t the only one. The room was still, and all eyes were on the stage. Even Iggy missed his cue to begin the music. At one point in the song, Royce spun Aunt Ginny to face him, and every jaw dropped as we thought he was going to kiss her right there, but she spun away with her next line.

  “Brilliant!” Neil was on his feet when the number was over. “That’s the emotion I’m talking about!”

  Yeah, well, I guess it would be since they’ve lived the part.

  Aunt Ginny was flushed with excitement and relief when she retook her seat. “How was I?”

  I hugged her. “You were the best.”

  Mrs. Dodson and Mrs. Davis turned around on their seats and giggled excitedly. “That was fantastic. There’s no way you’re not Donna.”

  Aunt Ginny played with a gold locket she wore around her neck. “Donna? I don’t want to be Donna. I want to be Tanya.”

  Mother Gibson patted her on the shoulder. “We know, honey.”

  Even Fiona was full of praise. “Nice job. You didn’t upstage Royce.”

  We sat through two long hours of tryouts with the same lines and the same songs. In the end, I think Neil was regretting the whole idea. The one moment of comedy was when Duke took the stage and chose an avant-garde scene from his play, The Naked Burg, instead of reading the lines he was given. They were the wrong words, but, I mean, they were delivered really well. Even Royce applauded his efforts.

  It was a long night and we were all happy to wrap things up. We stretched and gathered our things. The ladies were discussing going out to celebrate before the results were posted and had the potential to bring any hard feelings. I told them I thought that was a great idea, so they suggested that I drive them. Once again, snared by my helpfulness.

  Neil hugged his notes to his chest. “You have all done very well. You should be proud of yourselves. It will be a hard decision, but I’ll have the parts posted in the morning. We can’t put on a production without a team behind the scenes, so if you didn’t get a part this time around, I hope you will consider volunteering to work on the stage crew. This play can bring a lot of money into the Center for more programs. The county gives us a very small budget for special events, so we need some donations to pay for most of our activities and supplies.” Then Neil looked from me to Iggy. “We especially need some young muscle to do the heavy lifting.”

  I shifted my gaze to avoid eye contact. Good luck with that.

  Iggy slumped over so hard I was afraid he’d pop a vertebra.

  Neil stopped to grab Aunt Ginny’s hand on his way by. “You were wonderful, Ginny.” He winked at her and headed up the center aisle.

  Blanche noticed the exchange and sneered.

  Aunt Ginny stuck her tongue out in return.

  While Aunt Ginny had her tongue out, she was interrupted by a certain ex-boyfriend. “Ginny, you were fantastic.”

  Aunt Ginny froze and snapped her tongue back into her mouth. Her voice lilted as she responded. “Oh, why, thank you, Royce. We’ll see how it all turns out in the morning, I suppose.”

  Royce’s eyes roved to Aunt Ginny’s neck and he smiled. “You still have the locket I gave you on prom night.”

  Aunt Ginny froze with her hand on the chain. “Oh, this old thing? I forgot I was wearing it.”

  Fiona was pulling on Royce’s sleeve, but he was fixed on Aunt Ginny. “Would you care to join me for a drink sometime?”

  Blanche was a few feet away, but she was leaning hard around Duke, watching.

  Aunt Ginny blinked a couple of times. “Oh, well . . . I . . .”

  Fiona yanked on Royce’s arm and pulled him down the aisle toward the door. “No, sir! You’ve been away from home long enough! Iggy and I need some time with you.”

  Royce winked at Aunt Ginny. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ginger.”

  I nudged Aunt Ginny. “Ooh, Ginger, is that his pet name for you?”

  Aunt Ginny waved me off. “It’s been too long, who remembers?” Her face broke into a wide grin.

  Chapter Eight

  I had to drag myself out of bed to go make the muffins. My head was pounding. Aunt Ginny and her friends kept me out until two a.m. celebrating their successful auditions and preloading some good vibes before the results were posted. Aunt Ginny was still sleeping it off, and Figaro cracked an eye open, then rolled over and went back to sleep. I was on my own this morning, so I got dressed, ran a brush through my teeth and another through my hair, threw on some tinted foundation and mascara, and now I was sitting at the coffee bar of La Dolce Vita with my eyes closed.

  “Okay, Bella. Open your eyes and tell me what you think of this.” Gia was holding a steaming cappuccino mug.

  “Mmm.” I blew on it and sipped. “Ooh, that’s good. What is it? Strawberry?”

  Gia cocked his head to the side and gave me a single nod. He was waiting for something else.

  “And chocolate?” I took another sip. “Is this the coconut almond milk you usually use?”

  Gia wiggled his eyebrows. “Cashew milk. I made it yesterday after you left.”

  “I love it. This would be perfect for Valentine’s Day.”

  “You are reading my mind.”

  “I’m going to have to come up with some Valentine’s goodies for the pastry case. What do you think about a Paleo chocolate-strawberry muffin to pair with this latte?”

  Gia leaned against the back counter and crossed his arms. “Sounds great.”

  “Ooh, I know. How about a strawberry muffin with white chocolate chips and a chocolate muffin with strawberry pieces? We can call them Stud Muffins and Baby Cakes.”

  Gia shook his head and chuckled. “I love it. È perfetto.”

  “I can also make some Paleo linzer hearts with seedless raspberry jam for the sweets.”

  “Very nice. What do you think about some rose macarons?”

  “I think you’re trying to kill me.”

  Gia laughed softly and came toward me. “You obsess too much. Your macarons are perfect.”

  “I’m not sure they’re ready for sale.”

  He took my hands in his. “You have made thousands. And the seagulls are so fat from eating the ones you threw out in the alley, they can hardly lift off the ground. Stop worrying.” He kissed my hands. “I promise to love them with all my heart.”

  I tried to swallow, but a lump was caught in my throat. Gia leaned in to kiss me. My brain screamed, Stop it, you might be leading him on! But my heart screamed back, Can’t hear you, la la la!

  Before Gia’s lips touched mine, we heard the disgruntled snort of the Northern Italian Rhino, “Bah!” followed by a string of Italian obscenities. I could swear I heard the word “fornicator” in there.

  “Momma.” Gia walked around the bar to wrap his mother in a bear hug. She stood about four foot ten up and down, and another four foot ten from side to side. With a tight gray bun over an ever-present scowl. Somehow, she managed to smile beatifically at Gia w
ith one eye while putting a hex on me with the other. She was accompanied today with a rail of an old man in a brown suit carrying a matching, beat-up brown briefcase.

  “Zio Alfio, this is Poppy. Poppy, my uncle Alfio. He is here to draw up some papers for me.”

  I put out my hand to shake Zio Alfio’s, but the man looked me up and down like a wolf at a jackrabbit buffet. Zio Alfio made some gestures and head bobbles that clearly meant something about my boobs.

  Momma smacked Zio Alfio on the back of the head.

  Gia stepped in between us, laughing nervously. “Hey, okay, Zio. Va bene, no?”

  Gia led his uncle to a polished wood table in the front room and I waved a tentative hello to Mrs. Larusso. Momma returned her usual reply of antipathy.

  “Well, I’d better get to the kitchen and start to workin’. Those muffins aren’t gonna make themselves.” Good lord, I sound like a hillbilly, gonna catch me a possum.

  Momma turned and headed for the front door. I grabbed my latte and got out of there. Can you imagine her being someone’s mother-in-law? That thought stopped me in my tracks and I almost dropped my latte. Score one point for Team Tim. His mother hates me, but she lives in Florida.

  I set out my gluten-free ingredients for the morning. I was making cozy Hot Cocoa muffins with mini marshmallows, Cinnamon Crumb cakes, and a pan of Blueberry Bliss bars for tonight. I was chopping and measuring when Gia’s sister blew in the back door.

  “I see Momma was in.”

  “You just missed her.”

  Karla’s waist was impossibly small, her makeup impeccably applied, and her lush, mink-brown hair wrapped in a perfect topknot. “Heard all about your near miss with debauchery.”

  I dropped my knife. “What?!”

  Karla laughed and wrapped an apron around her designer jeans. “Momma said she got here just in time to prevent you from defiling her precious baby boy.”

  “I did not . . . He . . .” Okay. Count to ten. Measure your almond meal. Imagine winning the lottery and sending Karla and Momma to Naples for the rest of their lives.

  Karla didn’t care. She just wanted to fluster me. She tossed her hand over her head and went out to wipe down the counters.

  A minute later, Gia came in and stood very close to me with his back against the counter. He had a cryptic grin on his face.

  I laughed and took a step to the left to make some room. He followed me with a step closer.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.” He popped a couple of blueberries in his mouth and grinned. “So, the nonnas had you out past your bedtime last night?”

  I measured and stirred sour cream into the cake batter. “Those ladies are exhausting. First of all, Mrs. Davis could drink a Marine under the table on his best days. Mrs. Dodson, who won’t broker any nonsense, made forty-seven dollars in tips dancing the hustle on top of the bar. And Aunt Ginny convinced the DJ to let her take over for an hour while he went on an extended break.”

  “How’d she make that happen?”

  “She bribed him. The bar liked her style so much, they’re thinking about starting Motown Mondays as a weekly theme.”

  Gia was laughing so hard, he was holding his sides. “What were you doing while all this was going on?”

  “Oh, I was busy. Yeah. Mr. Ricardo asked me to be his wingman while he tried to pick up a couple college girls two tables over.”

  “Did he succeed?”

  “I saw one of them considering it and called her an Uber.”

  “I wish I could have seen that.”

  “You’ll have to come with us next time.” I poured the cake batter into my pan and sprinkled it with the filling.

  Gia gently wiped some flour off my cheek and ran his thumb over my lips.

  My knees shook and my heart galloped around the kitchen before coming back to my chest.

  I layered the rest of the batter over the filling and Gia helped me sprinkle it with the crumb topping.

  He took the sheet pan and popped it in the oven for me. “How did the audition go?”

  “Aunt Ginny did great. I can’t imagine her not getting the lead. But if she does, she’ll be playing across from a Broadway star who spent his life onstage.”

  “What’s he doing here in the old people show?”

  I shrugged. “Pfft. Apparently, he grew up here, and now he’s retired. He’s also”—I paused for effect—“Aunt Ginny’s old boyfriend from high school.”

  Gia’s jaw dropped. “No!”

  I nodded and started whisking the eggs into the muffin batter. “Aunt Ginny is very nervous about being in the play with him. She doesn’t want to get the lead role in the love story because she has some unresolved feelings of her own.”

  “Sure. Sometimes it’s better for the past to stay in the past.”

  “True, but a piece of her heart will always be his. Old flames are hard to extinguish.”

  Gia popped another blueberry in his mouth. “Mm-hmm. Maybe if it was meant to be, it would have worked out the first time.”

  I whipped the batter against the side of the bowl. “I guess. But don’t you think sometimes the timing is just off? What if this is finally their chance to be together?”

  “Don’t you think if he really loved her he would have fought for her the first time around?”

  “What if he just didn’t know how? What if she messed things up so badly his heart was too broken?”

  “How deep was his love if he couldn’t man up after some heartbreak to win her back?”

  “What if he was wrong? Maybe the fact that he’s here now means she should make it right.” I whacked the bowl on the counter to deflate some of the air bubbles.

  “If he could spend all those years apart from her and not be in agony, he doesn’t deserve her.”

  “Maybe he’s just realizing that now. Maybe she’s supposed to give him a second chance.”

  “Or maybe there’s someone else she’s supposed to be with.”

  “How is she supposed to know which one to choose!” The room was silent but for the deafening sound of my heart thudding in my ears.

  Gia cradled the back of my head in his hands and brought his lips down to still the trembling of mine. “Bella, you should choose who your heart tells you to.”

  Chapter Nine

  I flew home after making Gia’s baked goods. My heart was sick. I planned to curl up in bed and hide under the covers until I knew what I wanted. Of course, by the time I realized what I wanted, what I wanted might not want me back anymore.

  A gust of wind caught the storm door and it burst from my hand, hitting the wooden siding with a bang. Figaro shot across the foyer like a bullet train from the library to the dining room. I was hanging up my coat when Aunt Ginny hollered from the kitchen. “Poppy, is that you?”

  “Yes.” Who else would it be? I shut the front door and considered kicking it.

  Aunt Ginny came down the hallway wiping her hands on an apron. “Thelma texted me that they were on their way over with news. Either that or they’re coming with pies. Thelma doesn’t know how to text. Anyway, I thought maybe you were them. You look pale. Did something happen at the coffee shop?”

  “No.” My lip trembled.

  Aunt Ginny tilted her head and looked at me through sad eyes. She patted my arm. “Give yourself time. You’ve only been home a few months.”

  I was about to head to bed to spend the day wallowing when a fracas rambled its way up the front walk.

  First, Mrs. Davis was loudly whispering, “I just don’t know how she’ll take the news.”

  Then we heard Mother Gibson say, “She’s going to find out one way or another. Better to come from us.”

  That was followed with the loud tap-tap of Mrs. Dodson’s cane. A sign that she was in deep thought about what to add to the conversation.

  We exchanged nervous glances, and Aunt Ginny steeled herself for the fallout. The biddies were camped on the porch not-so-quietly discussing which of them was to break the news to her
.

  “Should I just put them out of their misery?”

  Aunt Ginny nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”

  I flung the door open on a very surprised trio.

  After a jump, Mother Gibson forced a smile. “Well, don’t you look lovely today, Ginny. Is that a new blouse?”

  Mrs. Dodson held up a small carrot cake and grinned, showing a full set of dentures.

  “Is that a consolation cake?” Aunt Ginny looked from one lady to the next. Mrs. Davis’s lips turned down to a frown and trembled slightly. “This is why you’re all terrible card players. Get in here.”

  Aunt Ginny took the cake while I helped Mrs. Dodson out of her coat and hung it up. “I’ll go make some coffee.”

  I said a silent prayer for Aunt Ginny to be able to weather the storm about to come while I boiled the water and made up the tray with various creams and sugars. By the time I joined the somber crew in the dining room, they’d laid the table with a china dessert setting for five. I raised my eyebrows at Aunt Ginny.

  She shrugged. “Paper plates never cheer anyone up.”

  I sat expectantly, awaiting the results of the cast list Mrs. Dodson held up. “We all agreed this would not come between us.”

  Each of the ladies gave a nod, but they all watched Aunt Ginny as they did.

  Mrs. Dodson continued. “It seems that I have been cast in the role of Rosie, the chef and cookbook author.”

  Aunt Ginny nodded and shifted her gaze to Mrs. Davis.

  Mrs. Davis swallowed hard. “And I’ll be performing the part of Tanya, the sexy friend.”

  Uh-oh.

  Aunt Ginny nodded again. “And . . .”

  Mrs. Dodson smoothed the paper in her hands. “And Blanche Carrigan will be the part of Donna, across from Royce.”

  I sucked in a lungful of air and held it.

  Aunt Ginny narrowed her eyes. “What did I get? Sophie?”

  The three ladies shook their heads no.

  “Old Greek lady number one?”

  The ladies shook their heads again.

  “Two?” Aunt Ginny’s eyes were darting around the table.

  Mrs. Dodson handed her the cast list.

  Aunt Ginny took it with trembling hands. Her eyes narrowed. “Blanche Carrigan’s understudy!” She balled up the paper and threw it across the table.