I set the score on the piano and cracked open the bottled water. Cindi Fox walked past, carrying paint cans and brushes. I smiled at her and she beamed in my direction. Camille told me Cindi was thrilled to help with the set and costumes.
Camille quieted the group and began an upbeat speech about responsibility and teamwork. When finished, she asked Molly to hand out the scripts. The noise level rose and the group started acting up again. Lisa sat quietly in the front row, thankfully without her mother. I felt a pang of empathy for her. The poor girl had her share of troubles with a parent like Agnes.
“Everyone, please take a seat! Make sure if you are a principal, you have a black folder. Everyone else needs a blue folder with choral music. Mike? Could you please go up to the booth and give us more light up here?”
Camille’s melodic voice rang out across the room, and the youngsters scrambled back into their seats near the stage.
“Now, I know for some of you, it’s your first show, and some of the terms I use might be confusing.”
She smiled down from the stage at a small group of junior high students. They clustered together uncertainly, watching the older teens in awe .
“Let’s start with some basic definitions. Stage left is to your left as you stand on stage and face the audience. Stage right is to your right. Downstage is toward the audience. Upstage is toward the curtain.” She paused for a breath and jumped down from the stage. “Understand?”
The newest members of the club nodded their heads eagerly. The seniors lounged in a group, yawning to display their boredom. Armand whispered in Molly’s ear, his hooded eyes gleaming. Molly’s eyes bulged, and she whacked him on the arm.
Camille glanced at him, ignoring the interruption. “Okay! We have a lot to do today. You won’t be busy all the time, so if you remembered to bring your homework, you’ll be ahead of the game. I’m going to start with what we call blocking a scene. That means we’ll go through the scene bit by bit and I’ll basically tell you where to stand and what to do with yourself while you’re moving around. We’ll choreograph a few dance steps, and then try to put it all together with the music. Okay?”
She clapped her hands and the babble of voices rose to a crescendo. I played a section from the intro to Act 2, and she herded ten girls on stage for the beginning of the “Free To Love” number. Camille sang the song to give the girls a feeling for the scene. She jumped up on stage, singing in a clear, soprano voice.
Winds will kiss your soul
If you let your hair grow
Just open your arms wide
And join us in the tide
You’re free to love, Baby
Toss out the rules, lady
Dance ‘round the knoll
Make your spirit whole
You’re free to love, Bab y
Toss out the rules, lady
Dance ‘round the knoll
Make your spirit whole
Winds will kiss your soul
If you let your hair grow
Just open your arms wide
And join us in the tide
You’re free to love, Baby
Toss out the rules, lady
Dance ‘round the knoll
Make your spirit whole
When I wrote the music, I’d never expected that my soon-to-be second wife would stand before me on stage and wow me. Her voice was as pretty as Molly’s, but of course more mature. Again, I watched in fascination. Another surprise.
She bounced from girl to girl, singing as she assigned names to each of them. For the next forty minutes, she positioned the girls in two groups that wound around the stage, doing spins, jazz squares, shimmies, and striking classic sixties poses. Cindi carried a box to the stage at Camille’s request. She handed out brightly colored granny glasses to each girl and a black beret to Nelson, who reached for it from the auditorium floor below the stage.
The boys came next. Camille taught them the twirls, head snaps, and spins that would complement the girls’ movements. They were handed multi-colored, tie-dyed headbands.
Nelson revealed a wonderfully sardonic voice, singing the dark refrain from “Woodstock or Bust” that bounced beneath the upbeat melody the girls sang.
They think they have evolved
That their problems will be solve d
Wait ‘til they arrive
In Woodstock.
And fight for their lives
At Woodstock.
They think they have evolved
That their problems will be solved
Wait ‘til they arrive
In Woodstock.
And fight for their lives
At Woodstock.
He wore a black turtleneck and slim black chinos, flitting about the stage in the black beret and waving a pipe in the air. Although no one else had dressed so fully for their parts, he seemed perfectly suited for the role of the erudite, pompous writer.
After two hours, the teens knew their moves and positions fairly well. I figured the weeks ahead would strengthen the actions and draw out the showmanship needed to polish the performance.
Superintendent Marshall arrived at noon with five sheet pizzas and six liters of soda. I helped him serve the cast while Camille bopped from group to group, chatting and joking with them.
When lunch was over, Camille drew me into the chorus room and closed the door. Her eyes shone with excitement. “This is going to be the best show, ever.” She threw her arms around me.
I held her close and kissed her softly on the lips. She kissed me back enthusiastically; underpinning my control. Heat invaded my body and without thinking I started to walk her backwards toward the wall, kissing her deeper and holding her tighter.
Jonesy burst into the room. He stopped dead, opened his mouth, shut it again, and peered at us through his thick glasses.
Camille whirled away from me and busied herself with music on the desk.
Jonesy looked from Camille, to me, and back again to Camille. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He lowered his eyes and backed out of the room.
Chapter Fourteen
C amille and I returned to the auditorium and went back to work. We blocked the next scene between loud thunderclaps.
Surprised we could hear the storm so well from inside the brick building, I glanced up when it intensified and the structure actually seemed to tremble under the assault.
Lou Marshall flew through the back doors and strode to the front of the hall, waving his arms to get everyone’s attention. “Folks! Listen up! We’ve just had an advisory from the State Police.” He stopped when no one paid attention and practically screamed the next words. “I need you to listen! ”
The room full of teens finally quieted down.
“There’s an advisory to stay indoors for the next thirty minutes! Do you hear me? Stay inside. No exceptions. There have been several bad lightning strikes in the area, and someone just reported a small twister in Nunda.”
The group gasped. Tornados were extremely rare in Upstate New York. Lou walked toward the back of the hall and turned one more time to the subdued gathering. “Okay. Carry on. I didn’t want to—”
Before he could finish, the overhead lights flickered and we were thrust into darkness. A few of the girls screamed.
Lou struggled to make himself heard over the uproar. “Everyone, please. Stay exactly where you are! Nobody move. We don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
I sat motionless on the piano bench in the pitch black, wondering when the generator would kick in. Scurrying feet raced down one aisle, followed by a thud and a curse.
Camille raised her voice above the din. “Who’s that running? Come on now, you heard Mr. Marshall. We need you to stay put. ”
The room was still. Low, raspy breathing came from my right. The footsteps suddenly resumed, running faster. It sounded as if the joker had jumped onto the stage.
A low voice whispered, “Bitch!”
Camille’s surprised cry rang out, followed by a crash.
H
ad the sicko pushed her? I shot to my feet. “Camille?”
No response.
I groped along the piano and started in the direction of the stage.
The students quickly became hysterical, crying and calling to each other in the darkness.
Raising my voice, I called to the superintendent. “Marshall!”
He answered from the back of the auditorium. “That you, Professor?”
“Yes. I think Camille fell. We need some light.”
Before Marshall could repeat the request, Randy Sherman peered ghoulishly behind the flame of his lighter. He handed it to me and gasped when he saw Camille crumpled on the floor.
I ran to her side and knelt with my heart slamming beneath my ribs, trying to assess the damage. She’d fallen three-and-a-half feet from the raised stage and had landed on a music stand on the floor below. A trickle of blood ran from her temple.
I couldn’t rouse her.
Marshall quickly joined me, panting from his downhill sprint. He leaned over, his face working with emotion.
In the recesses of my mind, I idly wondered how deep his feelings were for her.
After a few seconds of shock, he roared into action. “Which one of you kids has a cell phone?”
A dozen voices piped up and they all began searching in the dim light of the single flame for their backpacks.
The first to reach hers was Molly Frost. “Got it!” she shouted, jogging down the aisle to Marshall’s side.
Marshall turned to her, grabbed the phone, and dialed 911. A few more teens turned on their flashlight apps on their cell phones and formed a semicircle around Camille. Much as I hated the fact that so many kids were single-mindedly attached to their cells these days, I was glad for the light.
She lay still. Her breathing was shallow, but regular. I lifted one of her wrists and found her pulse. It was steady.
Flickering lights shone from the back of the auditorium. The school janitors played their heavy-duty flashlights over the room, moving closer. Frank Swensen, the supervisor, shouted to Marshall.
I stemmed the trickle of her blood with my shirt, catching pieces of conversation around me. It appeared the backup generator was on the fritz and that we’d be in the dark until the power lines were repaired.
Marshall herded the teens into a group and told them to gather their belongings. Frank offered to walk them out to the lobby where they could call their parents for rides home or carpool with those old enough to drive. The buzzing group shuffled out of the theatre, and emergency workers rushed past them down the aisle toward Camille.
I brushed a loose curl from her brow and called her name. “Camille? Honey? Can you hear me?”
Her eyes fluttered open when the EMTs arrived at her side. My pounding heart subsided. I backed away and watched the experts examine her under the wavering beam of a high-powered flashlight.
Chapter Fifteen
P ower was restored to the school by the time the ambulance crew finished evaluating Camille. Against their advice, she refused the ambulance ride to the hospital. She did, however, begrudgingly allow me to drive her to Doc Mattson’s office. He advised an x-ray of her ribs and a CAT scan to rule out a skull fracture, but finally settled on twenty-four hours of bed rest with close observation after her stubborn refusal to get any tests run.
After tucking her into bed at her place, I drove two miles down the road to my garden to pick vegetables. I hugged my grandson, patted my canine buddy, Max, tasted Mrs. Pierce’s homemade cobbler, and sorted through the mail. Finally, I grabbed a basket and made my way across the drenched lawn to the garden.
Clouds rolled across the clearing skies and shafts of sunlight burst through, filtering to the ground. The warmth flooding the air was restorative. I paused to soak in nature’s therapy. It would have to last a long time. September was nearly over, and with the busy rehearsal schedule for Spirit Me Away , my days in the garden would be numbered.
I stood hip deep in tomato plants, surveying the bountiful crop of cherry red, streaked purple, yellow-orange, and spotted green tomatoes. An avid seed collector, I loved to experiment with new varieties. I found a cluster of plump yellow tomatoes, and pulled the warm fruit from the vines causing raindrops to splatter to the black plastic at my feet. Next, I moved to a row of Blue Lake green beans. I pulled up my small garden scooter, wiped off the seat, and slid along the row, collecting the most tender of specimens.
A boyish sense of excitement shot through me and I laughed out loud.
I really want to impress her .
In minutes, a mound of beans filled the basket beside the tomatoes. Next, I gathered cucumbers, dill, and aromatic cilantro leaves. Taking one last look, I picked up the heavy basket and headed for the car.
On the way back to the driveway, I thought about Camille’s avoidance of the hospital. I sympathized and shared her sentiment. Having practically lived at the hospital during Elsbeth’s depressive crises and my father’s unsuccessful battle with cancer, I was loathe to set foot there again. Dr. Mattson understood this and had been a port in many a storm for us.
I hefted the overflowing basket of produce into the passenger seat of my Outback, and checked over the remaining groceries I’d hastily packed into a brown paper bag. Satisfied, I got in and started the engine.
I started to worry about Monday night—our next rehearsal. Would she be up to it? I snorted and chuckled at my ridiculous thought. Even if she were trussed in traction, Camille would find a way.
I reached her driveway in three minutes. Ginger jumped down from a red bud tree and trotted toward the car. I slowly pulled up close to the garage and opened the door. Before I was able to swing my legs around, The hefty orange tabby plopped into my lap.
“Well, hello there, kitty.” I laughed and stroked her fur.
Ginger stood in my lap on her hind legs, placed her front paws on my chest, and began to lick my chin with her sandpaper tongue. She purred, rhythmically kneading her claws into my shirt.
“Okay, okay, Gingerella,” I said. “That’s enough!” I set the enormous cat on the driveway. She immediately vaulted back into the car, bounded over me, and then settled on top of the brown bag of groceries.
“Wait just one second. That’s not for you.”
She’d started to sit on the bag, but stopped midstream and began to sniff around the edges. Her whiskers twitched and her tail curled into a striped orange question mark above her body.
“That’s our dinner, Ginger.”
She looked at me as if she understood, licking her paws to hide her embarrassment. I moved her again and managed to gather my produce and close the door before she could sneak back into the car.
Chapter Sixteen
B oris’ sharp bark echoed through the house when I came in through the back door and dumped the overflowing basket and packages on the kitchen table. One stray tomato bounced out of the basket and rolled along the wooden floor toward the dining room. Boris flounced after it, his long, soft ears flapping. The mini-dachshund maneuvered his little body to the treasure. He nosed around it with his tail whipping like a metronome. Finally bored with it, he trotted into the kitchen and looked up at me expectantly, his tail still wagging.
“What is it, buddy? Do you want something?”
Boris waved his sable plume and stared at me. He’d been outside an hour earlier, but I asked him again just to be sure.
“Do you wanna go out, Boris?”
He stayed still, his eyes riveted on me.
“Do you want some water?”
No response. I glanced at his water dish. It was full. He’d eaten an hour ago, just before I’d made the quick jaunt to my garden. His bushy tail wagged rapidly back and forth, but his focus stayed on me.
Suddenly, I had it. “Want a chewy, boy? Is that it?”
Boris began to dance in circles. His toenails tapped on the linoleum floor. He bounced over to a cupboard door, sat down, and stared at it. I opened the door and took out a new, chicken-basted rawhide chewy. B
oris took it gently from my hand and trotted to the braided rug under the dining room table, where he vigorously worked on his treat.
I skipped up the stairs two at a time to Camille’s room. “I’m back. Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?”
She smiled at me from her pile of pillows and dropped the September/October issue of Country Living onto the white bedspread. “I’m okay, Gus. Please don’t go to any trouble. ”
“It’s no trouble, my love. I’m glad to be here.”
She tried to smile, but winced instead, shifting against the pillows.
I hurried to her side and helped her sit up. “Where do you hurt?”
Camille raised the hem of her pajama top, revealing yellow and purple bruised ribs. It had worsened since I’d settled her in bed earlier.
“Whoa. You’re turning every color of the rainbow. How about some Advil?”
“Okay.” Her face tightened and she lay back against the pillows.
I brought her the pills and sat on the edge of the bed, holding her hand. Anger surged through me when I thought about Armand Lugio and his vile temper.
It must have been Armand . Who else would have done such a thing?
Although it could’ve been one of the boys who were cut from the show, they hadn’t been on the set. Who else harbored such powerful anger toward Camille? I ached to grab him by his Brazilian neck and punch his handsome face. After picturing the satisfying scene, I drew in a deep breath and decided this wasn’t the time to discuss him.
“I’m going down to make supper. Will you be okay up here?”
She nodded and tried to smile. I kissed her hand and picked up the magazine that had slipped to the floor. Although the attack on her had been horrible, I found myself eager to take care of her.
I bounded down the stairs and into the living room where I selected highlights from “Carmen” to cook by. A large pot of jasmine rice steamed as I prepared the Gaeng Kua Sapparod. It had recently become one of my favorite Thai dishes and I was eager to share it with Camille.
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