by Thea Dawson
She glanced at the clock. 4:45 am. If she went back to bed, she’d just toss and turn until it was time to get up anyway. She might as well get a head start on the day. She could get an hour of yoga and a run in before it was time to wake Charlotte.
19
They came in costume and met in the parking lot behind Gorman’s Farm & Garden Supply store.
Chris had flown in from LA late the night before. He’d had a busy trip that had included two days in Chicago, where he’d been a panel participant at a pop culture convention. Greeting fans and fielding questions about his role as Andrew Spark had been fun, but the best part of the convention had been meeting up with Vanessa and Jordan. They’d been on the same panel and had been able to catch up for dinner before heading off in their different directions. Although his romance with Vanessa was entirely fictional, she and Jordan had turned into genuinely good friends over the months they’d spent working on Galactic Crusaders, and he looked forward to seeing them again soon at the premier.
After Chicago, he’d headed back to LA, where he’d taped a couple of television appearances and had meetings with Sherri, Noel, and the producers of Galactic Crusaders, who were already talking eagerly about the sequel. It had been a productive couple of days, but he was eager to get back to the play—and back to Joy.
The parking lot was crowded with cars, floats, and people who would be marching. The Players were immediately recognizable by their costumes, and by the impressive float that they clustered around. He saw immediately that they had gone all out decorating it.
On either side, banners hung with the words, Silver Scene Players, Community Theater and the SSP logo on them. The bed of the trailer had been covered with what looked like Astroturf. Stanchions for the riders to hold on to had been disguised with vines and flowers, and poles had been erected in the corners with lights and more vines strung between them.
“Do you like it?” Cat asked breathlessly. “Rob and Luke and Wyatt fixed up the pallets and poles and stuff, and Zena and Charlotte and I designed it, and everyone worked on getting it decorated.”
“It’s really Cat’s design,” Charlotte said. “She’s done a lot of homecoming floats and stuff.” Zena nodded in agreement, and Cat smiled modestly at the ground.
“This is amazing.” Chris didn’t have to fake his admiration for the project. “You all did a great job. It looks beautiful.” He shook his head. “This looks like it must have been a ton of work.”
Cat shrugged. “Lots of people helped. It wasn’t a big deal.”
But the pride in her eyes suggested that it was a big deal, and that it meant a lot to her and the other players. Chris felt a twinge of guilt that he hadn’t been on hand to help—plus it would have been fun to be on hand for the excitement and team effort of creating the float.
He was distracted by the rumbling sound of a beat-up Ford Pinto. It parked in a cloud of dust and exhaust not far from the float. The door opened, Doreen climbed out, and one by one, the cast stopped talking and turned to stare.
She had traded her ubiquitous heavy metal concert t-shirt, jeans, and cigarette pack for a green leather corset that had created a voluptuous hourglass out of shapeless bulk. Swathes of tulle in shades of green and purple made up a billowing skirt and sleeves, and a ruched band of iridescent silk covered her chest. Her iron grey hair was now jet black and fell about her shoulders in thick, loose ringlets. Her lips were a deep maroon and her eyes were outlined in swooping black lines and shimmering violet eye shadow.
She was part fairy queen, part dominatrix, and all drama.
Someone—Chris thought it was Rob—whistled.
She ignored their stunned looks. “I’m gonna need one of you to help me with my wings,” she said, pulling a set of translucent wire-framed wings out of the passenger seat.
“Doreen.” Chris stepped over to her. “You look incredible.”
She gave a loud, braying laugh. “That little Simon fellow, he sure has a way with clothes. I stopped over at his house on the way here, and he did my makeup and my hair for me. I sure hope someone can do the same for the performance, I’d never be able to do it myself. He said to say hi to everyone and take lots of pictures.”
Chris nodded. “Absolutely. Lots of pictures.”
His gaze swept the cast. Krystal and Tracie, who were supposed to look like Athenian maidens, wore long, drapey white dresses and gladiator-style sandals. Krystal had lost a little weight in the week since he’d last seen her and looked tired, but she was making an effort to smile and talk to the other cast members. Wyatt, unfortunately, was on duty again, but Luke was there in a short toga, a sword strapped dashingly to his waist. Brice looked positively regal in a crown and dark purple robes with a green cape, the colors of which, Chris noted approvingly, complemented Doreen’s fairy-dominatrix outfit.
Cat, Zena, and the other fairies were dressed in wispy little dresses, circles of silk flowers embellishing their hair, wrists and waists, while the townsmen wore homespun-looking tunics over breeches. Charlotte’s Puck costume echoed the fairies’ dresses, but instead of being made of sheer, delicate fabric, it was made of dark green fake leather, giving her a tougher look. Rob had opted out of his regular costume in order to dress like a jester and was balancing carefully on his unicycle, juggling a few balls. Crew members and actors who hadn’t yet been fitted for costumes had selected a variety of colorful clothes from the costume closet. Chris himself was dressed like a troubadour, in a white silk shirt, brown breeches, tall suede boots, and floppy green hat with an enormous silk feather. It was hot, but he thought he looked both dashing and Shakespearian.
As he looked over the colorful costumes and the excited faces, optimism and excitement filled his chest, replacing the sense of regret that he’d missed out on building the float. They looked like a cast, a team. They looked like actors who could carry it off. A proud smile spread over his face.
There was just one person still missing—
Even as the thought crossed his mind, a silver Acura pulled up next to Doreen’s truck, and Joy got out.
For a moment Chris stopped breathing.
She was wearing the same dress she’d worn as Beatrice thirteen years earlier. It was a dark ruby red trimmed in gold brocade and laced tightly at the waist. The full skirt fell to the ground, but the low-cut neckline and the corset-like styling showed off the delicate line of her collarbone and the rounded tops of her breasts. Chris clenched his jaw as he forced himself not to stare at her cleavage.
“Yay, you look great!” Tracie called out to her, clapping her hands in excitement.
Joy smiled her thanks then turned and caught Chris’s eye. As soon as she saw him, her cheeks flushed.
“Remember this?” She indicated the dress, her voice overly casual. “Simon pulled it out of storage for me. Still fits!” She laughed self-consciously. “I’d forgotten how low cut it is,” she added.
He stepped closer to her and dropped his voice so that only she could hear him. “I pray thee now, tell me for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?”
Her eyes narrowed, and he wondered if she’d forgotten the lines, or if she recognized the longing in his voice as real, not acted. But then—
“For all of them together,” she whispered, and flashed him that seductive smile, the one that represented benefits, but nothing more. Then she turned to look at the assembled cast, glancing at the anachronistic watch on her wrist. “We should be starting soon, right?”
Chris collected himself. “Yeah. According to Luke, we’re in between the Girl Scouts and the high school gymnastics team.”
“Okay.” Joy went into administrator mode and addressed the group of actors. “Most important part: when the parade is over, I need costumes back. If you can take them off here, give them to me so I can take them back to the theater. If not, you can either meet me at the theater right after or bring them to the next rehearsal. But take care of them! Okay, main cast on the float to start. Throw candy, but not
too hard, we don’t want to hurt anyone. Everyone else is walking and handing out flyers,” she said loudly. “The float will stop at several points during the parade, so cast, you all can switch places. Walkers, if you get tired, you can ride. If you need sunscreen, I have some. The main things are smile, wave, and hand out as many flyers as you can. We want everyone to know when we’re performing.”
There had been some discussion about whether Chris should be on the float or on the ground. In the end, he’d opted to walk. He grabbed a sheaf of flyers from Joy, waited while a crew member started the truck, then walked with it as it took its place in line after a troop of earnest-looking Girl Scouts.
The float had been hitched to Luke’s pick-up truck, which he had reluctantly allowed Cat’s father to drive, and the cast members climbed aboard. Joy distributed flyers to all the walkers and made sure there were extras in the truck.
Chris clapped his hands for attention. “I’m running out of adjectives to describe how amazing all of you look. You look like Shakespearean actors, every one of you. And this float is incredible. If this doesn’t get people interested in coming to the performances, nothing will. I know it’s hot, but it’s just for an hour, so try to enjoy it. We’re all going to the Falls for a picnic lunch afterward, so we’ve got that to look forward to. Have fun!”
Cat’s dad started the engine, the cast faced forward, and slowly, the parade began to move.
They’d covered only a few blocks of the parade’s route when Joy started to regret her costume. She’d been thrilled to find that it still fit. Simon had designed it just for her when she’d played Beatrice; the ruby red flattered her skin tone and dark hair, and the style of it played up her waist and chest, which she and Simon had agreed were her best features. When she’d put it on again after thirteen years, she’d felt elegant and glamorous.
But now, she mostly felt hot.
She could feel sweat trickling between her breasts and down her back and had to resist the temptation to use the flyers to fan herself with instead of handing them out. She wished she’d worn a hat, but she didn’t own one that wouldn’t have looked ridiculous with the dress. Simon, bless him, had included pockets in the voluminous skirts of the dress, and she finally pulled out her sunglasses and put them on. They didn’t help against the heat, but they slowed the headache that was fast coming on.
She and Chris had started on opposite sides of the float, but somewhere around Market Street, he was strolling next to her. As people in the crowd realized who he was, there was a swell of noise, and a few brave souls darted into the street to ask for his autograph.
Chris, wisely, had brought a pen and signed his name on the flyer. Joy shook her head. If she’d been thinking, she would have had him sign all of them; his autograph would have ensured that fewer of them got thrown out at the end of the day. Live and learn.
Before he was completely swamped, he moved on, promising to sign autographs at the performances.
He caught up to her. “Having fun?”
She looked at him. He clearly was. His eyes were bright with excitement and energy seemed to roll off him. Of course, he was in his element—performing, which was what he loved to do best.
Joy, at this point, would have happily traded in the gorgeous dress for shorts and a tank top and a seat in the shade. “I’m a little hot,” she admitted.
“Do you want to go sit down on the float?” he asked. She was touched at the look of concern in his eyes. “We can’t have our production manager getting heat stroke.”
She shook her head. “I’m good. It’s not much longer.”
But the parade seemed to slow down the closer they got to the end.
“Probably a traffic jam at the end,” muttered Chris, who was eyeing her anxiously. She was feeling lightheaded now and slightly sick to her stomach. She had nothing but coffee for breakfast and now regretted not eating something more substantial. She gave up worrying about the flyers and began to fan her self with them.
He glanced at her. “You’re not looking good, Joy.”
She couldn’t hide it any longer. “No, I don’t feel good. The heat’s getting to me. Maybe I should sit on the float after all.”
“I dunno … you’ll still be in the sun. I’d like to get you inside somewhere, and get you out of that dress.” He looked around and took stock of their position. “You’ve got your keys with you? We’re only about half a block from the theater. It’s closer than Gorman’s.”
She was feeling more nauseated with every step. It would look bad to step out and away from the parade, but it would look a lot worse if she threw up or collapsed on the street. She nodded her agreement, but said, “You stay. One of the girls can go with me.”
“Nuh uh. If you faint, I can carry you. Charlotte has the keys to your car? I’ll have her collect the costumes and drive over to meet us at the theater.”
He waved Charlotte over and quickly explained the situation.
“Oh my God, Mom, you’re white as a sheet.”
Joy nodded. Despite the heat, her skin felt clammy and she desperately wanted to sit down.
“She’ll feel better as soon as she can sit down somewhere cool. We’ll see you in a bit.”
Chris steered Joy onto the sidewalk at a gap in the crowd and across a grassy corner of the quad.
“Think you can make it or do you need to sit down?”
“I don’t want to get the costume dirty,” she mumbled, swallowing and praying she wouldn’t throw up in front of Chris.
“Yeah, well, I don’t want you falling and getting hurt. We’re almost there. Do you have the keys to the theater?”
She fumbled in her pocket and produced her key ring. “Silver one with the pink plastic thingie,” she whispered. Her voice sounded strange and echoey in her ears.
He guided her up the short flight of steps to the theater’s back door, and let go of her in order to unlock the door. Black and yellow spots started swimming in front of her eyes, clouding her vision. A roaring noise in her ears drowned out all other sound.
“Chris? I think I’m going to faint,” she whispered.
Strong arms caught her as she fell.
20
She was lying on the faded couch in the green room when she woke up.
“How’re you feeling?”
She blinked. Chris was kneeling on the floor next to her, looking anxious. She tried to sit up, but he put a hand on her shoulder and pressed her down again.
“Easy, girl. Just rest for a moment. You feeling any better?”
She thought about it. The nausea and the vision spots were gone and the clammy feeling was fading. “Bit of a headache. How long was I out?”
“Just long enough for me to hit the vending machine. When you’re ready to sit up, I want you to drink this.” He held up a plastic bottle of water, frosted with little drops.
“Oh, that looks good.” She sat up carefully and let him open it and hand it to her. “Thank you,” she said gratefully after a long sip.
“Lie back down.”
“No, I’m fine—”
“Humor me,” he insisted, and she lay back down.
She no longer felt faint, but she did feel drained, and the lumpy cushions were surprisingly comfortable. She wasn’t sure if Chris had arranged the small pillow beneath her head or if it had been there already, but she was grateful for it. Still, she felt a little silly, lying there like an invalid.
“I can’t believe I fainted,” she said.
“I can. Hot day, long walk, no shade. I bet you didn’t eat breakfast, did you?”
She shot him a sheepish look. “No.”
He looked uncomfortable. “Any chance you’re … pregnant?”
She dropped her eyes and shook her head slightly. “Highly unlikely.”
She wasn’t sure if a swift look of disappointment crossed his face, but he said nothing, just continued to study her.
Finally, he said, “Well, if you can’t take care of yourself, I’ll have to take care of yo
u.”
She gave an exasperated snort. “Thank you, Prince Charming, but I’m fine. Really. Can I sit up now?”
“No.” His voice was short, and she looked at him in surprise. “We need to talk, Joy.”
She studied him. The concern that had lined his face had deepened into a kind of grim determination. “What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer immediately, but fetched a small stool from a corner and brought it over to the couch. He sat down on it, but didn’t meet her eyes.
“I like you,” he finally said. “I like you a lot. I don’t want to do this friends-with-benefits bullshit anymore. I want to hold your hand in public and take you out on real dates. Don’t get me wrong, the incredible, crazy sex is ... crazy and incredible—but I want more than that. And I’ll totally respect it if you don’t want more, but I can’t keep doing only the sex. I want to be able to take care of you, too.”
She slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position. He didn’t try to stop her this time. “Chris, I’m seven years older than you, and we live in different states. We were in a play together once. Beyond that, we really don’t have anything in common—”
“Bullshit,” he said again. “I don’t care about the age difference. You’re selling your house, anyway—move to California. Or I could fly up here whenever. It’s not that far, and I can afford it. And I admire you, Joy. I like the way you’re pitching in to help Victor and the Players. I like how determined you are to make things better for yourself and everyone around you. Like I said, if you don’t want us to be anything more, I’ll—well, I won’t understand exactly, but I’ll deal with it. But I can’t keep doing what we’re doing if there’s no chance of it going anywhere.”
She sipped at her water, less now because she was thirsty than to give herself time to think. “Chris, I like you a lot too, but … look, you might not care about the age difference now, but you will sooner or later. What if you want kids? I’m not even sure if I can have kids anymore.”
