“If you think a knobby-kneed sixth-grader tumbling head over heels down stone steps is graceful, then I guess she was.” Eddi stuck her tongue out.
Jenny laughed outright. “You are so mean, Eddi!” she complained. “Come on, Calvin, let’s take our positions before she tells more of my dark past.”
“Hey, maybe I want to know about your past,” Calvin teased.
“Don’t forget to tell him about the bank robbery, then, Jenny,” Eddi called as they walked toward center stage, just behind Dave.
“Oh, get outta here,” Jenny returned.
Cheri remained silent during the exchange. When Eddi followed the direction of her gaze, it rested upon Dave, whom she eyed with a hint of speculation. Eddi hoped she’d ask no questions. Yesterday evening Cheri had commented on seeing Eddi and Dave come out of the dugout together. The last thing Eddi needed was for a thread of gossip to link her and Dave in more than just their acting roles.
Dave walked toward his aunt while Cheri stared after him. “You know, Eddi . . .” She looped her arm through Eddi’s as they walked on stage. “Dave watches you a lot. Have you noticed?”
“No—not in the least,” Eddi blurted. Although, Eddi recalled, he knew exactly where I was last night when he summoned me to the dugout interrogation. And he found me easy enough tonight when he pestered me about the painting.
“He’s probably the most wealthy man in all of Cherokee County,” Cheri continued. “If you played your cards right—”
“A happy marriage is based on more than money, Cheri,” Eddi countered.
“Oh, but my mother always said it was as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor man.” Cheri nodded sagely, and her waist-long ponytail swayed against her cotton dress.
“Apparently, she never met Dave Davidson,” Eddi quipped.
“Well, I’d say he liked what he saw when he met you.” Cheri leaned toward Eddi as if she were disclosing a national security secret. “He’s had a whole town full of single women after him for three years. Not once has he given one of them the attention he’s giving you.”
Cheri’s very suggestion made Eddi feel as if Dave were watching her. She hunched her shoulders, laughed, and hoped her mirth sounded genuine. “If he’s giving me attention it’s because he wants to harass me,” she said. “It’s not because he likes what he sees. Mark my word, he’s looking for a way to take shots at me.” The new stage floor creaked beneath them as if to refute Eddi’s claim.
“You Boswick women are certainly an interesting lot, that’s all I know,” Cheri said as her attention drifted to the back of the set.
“Why do you say that?” Eddi followed her focus.
Jenny and Calvin had settled onto a velvet settee near the faux fireplace. He leaned toward Jenny, who sedately lowered her head. Calvin’s smile held a hint of uncertainty. While Eddi had seen Jenny’s exact moves hundreds of times, she wondered about Calvin’s interpretation.
“Does Jenny care much for Cal?” Cheri asked.
“Yes, I believe she likes him a lot,” Eddi assured her. “That’s all she’s talked about since she arrived last night.”
“She doesn’t show it that much. You know, Eddi, I don’t believe Cal is half as rich as Dave, but he does have a solid inheritance from his father. That, plus his practice will make some woman a good catch. If I were your sister, I’d make certain he knew I was interested.”
“Jenny is interested in marrying for love, not money. I think she’s wise to use some caution.” Eddi softened her expression and tempered her words so they didn’t sound too harsh. Nevertheless, she kept her tones firm. “While you might be able to fall in love with a rich man as easily as a poor man, you can be as miserable with a rich man as a poor man any day. No amount of money can substitute for a heaven-on-earth marriage.”
Cheri’s hazel eyes took on an obstinate gleam. “Here’s hoping you find yours, but there is such a thing as setting the stakes too high,” she claimed as if she were a renowned consultant on matters of the heart.
I’d rather them be too high than too low, Eddi thought, and for once she chose not to express herself. Last week Cheri had confessed that precious few men had ever admitted an interest in her. Eddi wondered if that was because Cheri seemed determined to purposefully make herself unattractive. Her cotton dress, the color of a dirty camel, drained her complexion and magnified the dark circles under her eyes.
After years of repelling the opposite sex, Cheri may have lost faith in marrying for love. Eddi stubbornly clung to her youthful dreams. She would never compromise her standards for the sake of money—never.
As Cheri drifted toward her position near the fireplace, Dave brooded his way across the set. After a brief hesitation, he approached Calvin and Jenny and sat down in a commanding armchair as if he owned the place.
He might as well, Eddi thought and speculated about how much he must have donated toward his aunt’s dream.
“Okay, as I said earlier, we’ll be practicing all of Act One, including the famous dance scene between Darcy and Elizabeth,” Mrs. DeBloom announced.
Calvin and Jenny picked up the scripts they’d placed on the coffee table. The shuffling of turning pages announced that the rest of the cast would likewise be reading their lines. Dave’s gaze, however, remained fixed upon his aunt. He propped his elbows on the armrests and made a tent with his fingers, no script in sight.
“Remember, this nineteenth-century dance scene is a metaphor for the whole book as well as Austen’s style of crafting her novels,” Mrs. DeBloom continued. “It serves as a model for the way Darcy and Elizabeth move together and pull apart throughout the entire story.” She turned toward Eddi. “It’s important that you two put everything you’ve got into it,” she said and encompassed Dave with a graceful shift of her hand. “Let’s make it sparkle, shall we?”
Eddi realized she was staring at Dave when he looked at her. All traces of the person who kindly assisted her on the steps had vanished. In his place, sat the lazy-eyed lion who offered only a smirk and a silent challenge. Eddi determined she would not miss one letter of her lines that night. She knew the whole scene by heart. Eddi would not only pronounce her part with finesse and precision, she determined to out-act Dave.
Carissa Barclay arrived near Dave, her script in hand. She knelt beside his chair and posed a request. Dave began thumbing through her script. When he stopped, he pointed to a page on the right and said something. Eddi watched the redhead for several seconds as she leaned against the chair’s arm and discussed the scene with Dave. Whatever had stopped her from showing up at the previous practices, Eddi sensed she was now here to stay. Carissa’s posture and expression assured Dave and anyone else that she was ready and available for him.
More power to her, Eddi thought. Maybe they’ll ride off into the sunset and be miserable together.
She didn’t bother hiding her limp as she walked toward her position at right front. Eddi’s shins ached as if they’d been assaulted with a baseball bat. Wondering how she would get through the dance scene without stumbling, Eddi glanced at Jenny. Frowning, her sister thumbed through her script, and she and Calvin stopped at intermittent points for brief discussions.
Mrs. DeBloom approached Carissa. With the cast in a state of continuing conversation, Eddi couldn’t detect the gist of Mrs. DeBloom’s comments until Carissa looked at Jenny. She rose and followed Mrs. DeBloom toward Jenny and Calvin. Smiling, Jenny stood and the two women shook hands as Mrs. DeBloom made introductions. Carissa seemed perfectly amiable to Jenny, who returned her overtures with a warmth of expression she’d yet to use with Calvin. Eddi speculated that the two must be discussing the possibilities of sharing the role of Bingley’s sister, Carolyn.
Soon, Mrs. DeBloom called the group to order and the practice began. Tonight’s efforts went more smoothly than any yet. While only Eddi and Dave had their parts completely memorized, many were beginning to feel the rhythm of their characters while connecting with the nuances of the play.
<
br /> Eddi fulfilled her goal of not missing a line. By the time she found herself in the flow of the famous nineteenth-century dance scene, she detected a trace of respect in Dave’s eyes—as if he’d finally realized that she really could act. Furthermore, Eddi couldn’t deny that Dave was a natural on stage, despite his initial protests. Clearly, Mrs. DeBloom knew her nephew well.
But none of his talents nullified his flaws. While Dave played the role of an admirable hero, Eddi could never respect his true character. As if the hateful things he’d said to her and about her weren’t enough, he’d stopped a commendable young man from going into the ministry because of his own petty jealousy. She could only imagine the number of people Rick Wallace could have impacted were he given the opportunity to work for Christ. The longer she mulled over Rick’s story, the more perturbed she became. In that instance, Dave had gone beyond merely expressing his dislike. He had interfered with the work of God, thus putting himself in the place of God.
As the simple flute and guitar music floated across the stage, Eddi concentrated on not limping through the dance that flowed just as Mrs. DeBloom had anticipated. She and Dave participated with a whole line of dancers who schooled their features into a mask of calm contentment. Numerous times she and Dave drew near and parted, all the while exchanging banter with the precision of two skilled actors.
During the dance’s halfway mark, Eddi and Dave walked down the middle of the line of couples, as planned. They stopped at the end. Last week, they’d practiced nothing but the dance until the whole group had it down. Now, Eddi found it nearly second nature to keep step with the music while engaging in conversation. Soon, Dave began their final dialogue sequence—a dialogue that took on the undercurrent of Rick’s betrayal.
“‘Do you and your sisters often walk to Meryton?’” Dave posed the question as if he were the best bred British gentleman.
“‘Yes, we do,’” Eddi answered as the flautist and guitarist kept perfect rhythm with a light, simple tune. “‘When you met us there the other day we had just been forming a new acquaintance.’”
Dave scowled, exactly on cue, and Eddi noted with what adeptness he expressed disapproval. “‘Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends—whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain.’”
“‘He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship, and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life,’” Eddi said.
Dave took her hand. They stepped together and then parted as they joined the line again. Eddi went beyond acting and looked into Dave’s soul. “‘I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy,’” she continued as they grew nearer, “‘that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its being created.’”
“‘I am,’” he answered with all of Darcy’s typical gravity.
“‘And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?’” She marveled that a man of his success could have clung to a childhood prejudice enough to actually destroy Rick’s chance in the ministry.
“‘I hope not,’” Dave answered and responded to her scrutiny by narrowing his right eye.
“‘It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion to be secure of judging properly at first,’” she challenged as they moved in cadence with each beat.
“‘May I ask to what these questions tend?’” he asked. The shuffle of footsteps mingled with their own.
“‘Merely to the illustration of your character. I am trying to make it out.’” Actually, I’ve already made it out, Eddi thought with a slight frown that wasn’t written in the script.
“‘And what is your success?’” Dave asked as if he really cared.
“‘I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.’” Eddi produced the arched smile that so characterized Elizabeth Bennet.
“‘I can readily believe that reports may vary greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either.’” Dave reached for her hand as the two faced one another before preparing to part.
“‘But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity.’” Eddi concentrated on her lines and told herself her palms were clammy because of the effort of acting.
“‘I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours,’” Dave’s words took on a personal caress that would have brought color to Eddi’s cheeks had she been the blushing variety. Fortunately, she hadn’t blushed since grade school, and she didn’t intend to start now.
Dave held her hands one measure longer than the script allowed, and Eddi didn’t stop him. With a daredevil twist of his hips, he pulled her away from the archaic dance line and flowed into a slow waltz. Eddi, caught by surprise, followed his steps before she realized what she was doing. His dashing smile remained intact as he silently dared her to stop him. Snared by the moment, Eddi felt as if she were under Dave’s hypnotic powers. Powers that hinted at more than just a dance. Powers that made her feel like Cinderella in the arms of her prince. He had twirled her across left center stage for six rotations when Mrs. DeBloom’s exasperated voice broke the moment.
“Mr. Davidson, what do you think you’re doing? None of this is in the script!”
The guitarist and flautist stopped their tune while the rest of the cast broke into laughter.
“Oops!” Dave said. “I must have forgotten my part.”
He loosened his hold on Eddi, who was as breathless from shock as from pleasure—a pleasure she would never admit. Dave had proven as graceful a waltzer as he was an actor. She stepped behind a wingback chair, gripped the top, and feigned an irritated stance. If the rest of the cast suspected that Eddi hadn’t wanted the waltz to end, the rumors would fly.
I don’t like him, Eddi told herself. I do not!
Mrs. DeBloom marched onto the stage. With a condescending huff and a yank on her straight dress, she waved her arms. “Let’s just call this practice to an end.” She checked her watch. “We’ve been here nearly two hours anyway. You’ve been great!”
She glowered at Dave, yet her attempt at disapproval dissolved into a doting smile. “Well, most of you, anyway,” she added, as if Dave could never hold her disapproval for long.
Fourteen
“Oh, Aunt Maddy, you’re such a slave driver,” Dave drawled and got the exact result he wished for. The group on stage erupted into another round of mirth, and his aunt continued in her offended pretense. Dave knew better than to believe his aunt could ever be really angry with him—not for very long, anyway.
Eddi chose that moment to exit the stage. He wasn’t certain how she got away. All he knew was that his arms were now empty. The woman who had filled them was sauntering across stage as if she couldn’t care less that they’d just shared a special moment or that he would be dancing with her all night . . . in his dreams.
“Next practice Monday night at Dave’s place,” Mrs. DeBloom announced. “They’ll be painting this stage then. I’ll be in touch Monday morning.”
Pretending nonchalance, Dave wandered to a safe vantage behind the velvet curtains. He was at an angle where he could watch Eddi but she couldn’t see him. He couldn’t say what had possessed him to step into that waltz with her—perhaps a wild impulse to sweep her off her feet. Her shocked expression attested that the act had certainly surprised her, so much that she’d failed to resist. Dave wondered if those seconds had left her as eager for more as they had him.
Eddi trotted down the steps and neared her parents. Only when she got within six feet of them did she slow into a slight limp. Dave tilted his head and knitted his brows. He hoped that his spontaneous dance hadn’t irritated her wounds from the fall up the stairs.
As soon as Eddi stopped by her parents’ table, her father stood and patted her on the back as if h
e were offering congratulations for a good practice. Dave had to admit Eddi had performed stupendously. Mrs. Boswick was so focused upon Jenny and Calvin that she offered little feedback for Eddi.
Hand in hand Calvin and his lady walked toward the family cluster. Dave grimaced and wondered why Jenny didn’t wear an engagement ring. Certainly she must have more in common with her flighty younger sister than with Eddi, who seemed by far the most stable of the three sisters—or their mother, for that matter.
Linda burst upon the scene with Rick on one arm and the blond guy on the other. Dave crossed his arms and watched Eddi as she approached Rick. She smiled up at him as if he were a trusted friend in whom she held the utmost confidence.
Dave’s mouth twitched. By now Eddi was supposed to be seeing through the moron’s act and taking steps to remove him from her family. But Dave saw no signs that Eddi detected one shred of Rick’s Dr. Jekyll–Mr. Hyde personality.
Could it be that Rick has poisoned Eddi with a twisted lie? he thought. He fooled even you, Dave reminded himself. Why shouldn’t he be able to fool Eddi? Dave stepped from behind the curtains and strode toward the short flight of stairs that led offstage. Even if his family pride wouldn’t allow him to tell Eddi the whole story, perhaps a well-placed hint would give her enough information to make her question Rick’s sincerity.
Before he descended the first step, he was halted by Carissa’s calling his name. He pivoted to face the eager redhead while keeping Eddi visible from the corner of his eyes.
“Cal and I are inviting a group of people over to his place tonight for dessert and coffee. Want to come?” she asked with a glossy-lipped smile that said she’d love to be a part of his world.
“Uh . . .” Dave tore his attention from Carissa just as Eddi slipped through the parlor door with Rick close behind.
“I guess you’re wondering if Eddi Boswick will be there to bother you, but I’m not including her,” Carissa offered with haughty assurance. “Mrs. DeBloom says the two of you really can’t stand each other.”
First Impressions: A Contemporary Retelling of Pride and Prejudice Page 14
