by Thea Dawson
There seemed to be many more auction items than Joy remembered there being. Some guests perused the offerings, bending down to write their bids; others circulated around the stage, chatting in small groups and drinking their wine.
Mingling with the crowd was Chris, dressed handsomely in a tailored suit. Joy watched him shake hands with the mayor, then pose for selfies with him and his wife. In the opposite corner, a petite brunette was standing in a small crowd of admiring men, shrieking with laughter.
“That’s Vanessa!” Joy breathed.
“Jordan Rhimes is here too, see? Behind Chris? I cannot believe you met him, Mom, and you didn’t tell me how totally hot he is in real life.”
Sure enough, not far from Chris, a tall, thin, strikingly handsome black man was shaking hands and smiling at people.
“Well, well,” Simon said quietly. “Looks like our boy came through for us after all.”
“Wait till you see some of those auction items!” whispered Charlotte. “C’mon.”
She led the way up the stairs to the stage.
Joy had forgotten about the wine she still held in her hand, but she took an absentminded sip now as she looked around the crowded stage, then blinked in surprise. The wine was very good, far superior to the mid-level wine that the University had made available for the cancelled fundraiser.
She caught Charlotte looking at her.
“Is it good?” Charlotte asked. “Chris went to Laughing Vine and ordered ten cases of their best wines directly from the owner, then invited her here as his guest. I think that’s her.” She gestured toward an attractive blond woman about ten years older than Joy who was studying the auction offerings. As Joy watched, she swooped down on one and wrote a bid on a clipboard. “And it looks like we have another bid, ladies and gentlemen.” Charlotte grinned triumphantly.
Krystal, dressed in her Grecian gown, a wreath of vines in her hair, walked up to them carrying a try of miniature quiches, which she offered with a knowing smile. She still hadn’t regained the cheerful confidence she’d had before, but she looked happier than Joy had seen her in a while.
“This is incredible,” Joy said in a low voice. “I’m really impressed with what you’ve all done here.”
“We did a lot, but Chris brought in the big guns,” Krystal confided. “He got the producers to donate some cool stuff from Crusaders for the auction, he hired carpenters to make the tunnel—did Charlotte tell you about the wine? And he personally called every single person who’d bought one of the original tickets—”
“Then he started calling people like the mayor and Marta Pressfield,” Charlotte added. “But I was the one who found the lute player,” she added proudly. “On Craig’s List.”
“Well done.” Joy had just noticed someone talking to Vanessa. “Dear God, is that the provost? We’re breaking about a hundred university rules here—”
Krystal looked over her shoulder just as Vanessa’s voice rang across the stage.
“You asshole!” Vanessa doubled over, giggling and grabbing the provost’s arm. The provost roared with laughter.
“I think Vanessa has it covered,” Krystal said.
“She just called the provost an asshole.” Charlotte sounded mildly awed.
“It’s her way of saying she cares,” explained her mother. “I don’t think he minded.”
Chris had left the mayor and his wife in Jordan’s hands and strolled over to them. “Well, what do you think?” he asked.
He looked impeccable in his tailored suit, his hair and beard freshly trimmed and styled. To most of the guests, he probably projected an air of easy confidence, but Joy could see a hint of trepidation in his eyes.
She gave him a small, reassuring smile. “It’s wonderful,” she said quietly. “You did a great job.”
Simon nodded his agreement as he shook Chris’s hand. “You’ve done well, Chris. Thank you.” He cleared his throat lightly. “Now, would you excuse me? I’m going to check out what goodies you found us for the auction.”
“Oh. Yeah. I’m supposed to help with the serving and stuff. I’ll see you in a bit.” Charlotte took off in the direction of the green room, presumably to change into her costume, leaving Chris and Joy alone.
“Well, that was subtle,” Chris observed. He took a deep breath. “I know this doesn’t make up for ruining the first one, but I hope it will help.”
Joy looked around. “Actually, I think it might make up for ruining the first one. I wish I’d thought to have you bring in a few Hollywood stars the first time around.”
He shook his head. “I should have thought of it myself. I was too engrossed in thinking about the play and … stuff.” Their eyes met again. “I know this isn’t the time or place, but I’d like to talk to you soon,” he said quietly. She acceded with a slight nod. “In the meantime, let me introduce you to Marta and the mayor and maybe a few other people who can be helpful to the Players.”
An hour and a half passed by in a blink. Some of Silverweed’s most influential citizens were there. Many of them promised ongoing support to the cause, and all promised to be at one of the performances. Marta Pressfield, who’d placed the winning bid on a week at Vanessa’s cabin in Aspen, promised that she would keep a weekend free at the vineyard for the Players the following summer.
“I think it would be a wonderful way to give back to the community,” she exclaimed, as if it had been her idea all along.
Even the provost was in a jolly mood. “I was never here,” he said to Joy with a playful wink. “But I think we can make sure this little group continues to be able to use the theater. Perhaps next year we can arrange a few performances in it.”
After the guests had left, Vanessa and Jordan retreated to their hotel after many hugs and thanks, and Joy pitched in to help with the cleanup. Fortunately, with almost the entire cast there, it didn’t take long, though she was aware of Chris’s eyes on her the whole time. Dishes and glasses were stacked back in boxes to go back to the rental company they’d come from, the fake grass was rolled up and put carefully aside for use in the actual performances, the enchanted tunnel was stripped of its lights and vines, the frame was left for carpenters to disassemble the following day, and the lute player was sent home with a generous tip.
Chris gave a short speech thanking everyone for chipping in. “Rehearsal tomorrow night, seven o’clock as usual,” he finished by reminding them.
Joy picked up her purse and cast about looking for Charlotte, but Chris was beside her before she could take a step.
“Can we talk?”
Her stomach twisted, but she nodded. “Yes …” She looked around the rapidly emptying room. “Let me get Simon and Charlotte home, and I’ll meet you at your place.”
“Deal.”
She knocked on his door half an hour later, thinking of the first time that she’d come to his house, and the unbelievable sex that had followed. She’d been full of swagger and self-confidence then, born along on a tide of hormones and a reawakened zest for life. Now, she felt subdued and unsure of herself, no longer sure of what she wanted at all.
He opened the door and let her in. He looked less confident himself, the cockiness gone, replaced with a tired calm. He ushered her into the living room where she sat on the couch. He took the armchair next to her.
“Thank you again for tonight,” she said. “I had a quick look at the bids. If everyone pays up, we should clear close to fifty grand, and I think it’s safe to say we’ve got community support behind us.”
A look of relief crossed his face as he nodded. “Least I could do,” he mumbled.
Silence as they stared at each other.
“What happened with … that guy you hit?” she asked, anxiety audible in her voice.
He scratched his beard. “My lawyer talked him out of pressing charges. His own record’s not all that clean—a couple other celebrities have restraining orders against him—and he was just as happy to take some money and not have everyone digging up the dirt on him.�
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Joy frowned at the brightly patterned carpet at her feet. “You live in a strange world.”
He nodded in agreement. “I can’t argue. It’s a lonelier world, though, without you in it.”
She smiled a little but didn’t look up at him. “Chris—”
“Joy—” he said at the same time.
He gestured for her to go first.
She swallowed. “Chris, I have so much going on right now. The play, selling my house, getting ready to take Charlotte to college. I’m trying to decide whether I should quit my job or go for a promotion …” She closed her eyes, trying to find the right words to express how she was feeling. “I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done this summer, taking on the play, fixing the fundraiser—”
“Bringing the press down on you like a hoard of demon spawn?” he added with a wry smile.
Her lips twitched. “Well, yeah, and that … I think I need a little space to kind of get clear in my head about what I want.” She glanced up at him, noting the way his jawline tensed. “I’m sorry,” she added softly.
He nodded. “Fair enough,” he said, but he looked grim. “And no need to be sorry. I was the one who screwed up.” He stared at the coffee table while she tried to think of something to say. “The next couple of weeks are going to be pretty crazy for me too,” he continued. “I have to be back to LA in between the performance weekends, so I won’t be around much.” He raised his eyes to hers. “Do you think maybe in a few weeks, when it’s all over, we could revisit the whole situation?”
She studied the bright, geometric patterns of the rug. Would waiting a few weeks be giving him—or her— false hope? Or would it be a chance to deal with some of the other big situations in her life so that she could focus fully on her future with Chris? Finally she nodded slightly.
“Let’s talk again then. Maybe once I get Charlotte settled in college.”
“Fair enough,” he said again. And although he didn’t look particularly happy, she could see that some of the tension had drained from his face and shoulders. He was relieved that she had at least left the door open. “I’m a lousy host,” he said suddenly. “I should have offered you a drink or something.”
She shook her head and stood up. “It’s okay. I should go. I’ll see you at rehearsal.” She felt a sudden pang, knowing that rehearsals would be over forever soon.
He walked her to the door. For a moment, as she stood on the threshold, she thought he might say something else or kiss her or at least take her in his arms, and she wondered if she’d be able to resist him … But he just smiled, a little sadly.
“Good night, Joy. I’ll see you at rehearsal.”
30
Actors in costume weren’t allowed out of the changing tents that had been set up behind the set, so Joy stood next to the stage area by herself and watched Perry Park fill up.
The broad field in front of the stage was filling rapidly with blankets and low chairs. Families and couples unpacked picnic baskets and chatted with their neighbors. Thanks to Krystal’s newspaper articles and Chris’s notoriety, there were more people in the audience than she could ever remember there being, and camera crews from network affiliates in Portland and Salem were arranged on the edge of the crowd.
She had helped Simon settle Victor in a special section toward the center back before the other audience members had begun to filter into the park.
Victor was fading rapidly; he spoke less, he looked like he’d aged several years in just a few weeks, and even small gestures seemed to take an enormous amount of energy. Simon was handling it stoically, but she could see evidence of the strain on him as well. His eyes were tired, and his once cheerful face was set in an almost permanent expression of concern now.
She swept the crowd looking for other familiar faces. Beth and Molly were there; Joy smiled to hear Molly proudly—and loudly—telling people on a neighboring picnic blanket that her daughter was in the play. She spotted Richard next to a pretty blond woman who, from her casual clothing and friendly expression, looked like she might be the polar opposite of his ex-wife; they were surrounded by a surprising number of children. Joy was pleased to see that Richard looked relaxed and happy.
Near the front, she saw Harvey sitting with an attractive woman close to his age. So Harvey had a girlfriend—that was news. Then to her surprise, she saw Taylor join them. The little girl she’d brought with her climbed straight into the older woman’s lap and gave her a hug. Joy looked at them curiously. There was a story there … but it wasn’t hers, so she turned away and looked up at the stage.
It was magnificent. Under Rob’s direction, the cast had assembled a platform stage that could be easily transported to and from the park. Moira, to everyone’s surprise, had taken the lead in designing the set. Under her direction, the cast had painted a backdrop of Grecian-style columns and marble statues to represent the City of Athens, where the first and last scenes took place. At the beginning of Act Two, actors would draw green curtains that had been richly decorated with vines, flowers, and tiny lights over the painted background to represent the magical forest. The stage itself, including two angled platforms, had been entirely covered with the same grassy material they’d used for the float and at the fundraiser. It made the scenery look green and bucolic, and also muffled the actors’ footsteps, which would otherwise have echoed on the hard wooden stage.
Chris had kicked in extra money so that they could justify the elaborate lighting that Rob had set up. Rob had arranged a series of footlights at the edge of the stage and somehow set them to gradually grow brighter as the evening darkened. They’d also invested in a portable spotlight that sat on the ground in front of the stage and could be swiveled to illuminate either the actors or the audience.
There was a lot that could go wrong. Moira’s curtains were heavy, and the rods that held them had been jerry rigged by Luke without enough time to test them thoroughly; Rob had been fussing with the lights up until just a few minutes ago; and Zena was still doing make-up.
Joy glanced back at Victor and Simon and prayed, again, that the performance would go well.
Unable to hold still, she crept backstage to the marquee-style tent where the cast was waiting. The actors were talking in hushed voices but there was an air of palpable excitement. Ten minutes ago, the tent had been a frantic hotbed of activity as people rushed to get ready. Now they were all in costume, anyone who needed a prop had it, and there was nothing to do but wait.
“Time?” asked an anxious voice. Doreen was dressed as Hippolyta now, wearing a toga over her green corset. She looked magnificent, but under the heavy makeup, she was pale.
“Five minutes. You’re going to be fine,” Joy reassured her.
Doreen set her shoulders. “I can’t believe I talked myself into doing this. And I have to do it all over again four more times.”
“Once the matinee next Sunday is done, you can relax. Get yourself a six pack and a floatie.”
Doreen managed an anxious laugh. “Never sounded so good.” She wandered away to talk to Brice.
Then Chris was standing in front of her.
Nerves that had nothing to do with the performance swept her. “Can I do anything more to help?” she asked.
He shook his head. He was smiling a little, but his overall expression was serious. “You get to go enjoy the play now.”
Everyone knew their lines and had their costumes. There were few props, and only one costume change, which Doreen and Brice could take care of themselves. There would be some organizing to be done afterward, and again for the next four performances, but for all intents and purposes, her work was done.
“Good!” she nodded briskly. “I’ll see you after the performance.”
He nodded back. “Joy, do you think—”
“Chris, you’re up,” Rob interrupted in a whisper. “Give me a second to get out to the spotlight then go. I’ll turn it on as soon as you’re center stage.”
“Break a leg,” she whispered,
and ran out behind Rob to go find her seat.
“He’ll be leaving us soon, I think.”
The first set of performances had gone off without a hitch. The actors performed well, the scenery held together, the audience had loved it.
Now it was the Wednesday in between the performance weekends, and Joy was helping Charlotte pack as rain sluiced down the bedroom windows. Simon’s voice over the phone was steady but shot through with grief, and Joy’s heart ached for him.
Luke and Chris had helped see Victor home after Friday night. He’d clearly been exhausted, but he’d managed a congratulations and a satisfied smile at the end of the performance. Since then though, Joy knew that he’d been failing quickly, slipping in and out of consciousness. They’d produced the play just in time.
“I’m sorry, Simon. How can I help?”
“He’d like to see you, if you’ve got a few minutes.”
“Of course I do. Shall I come over now?”
“Yes, darling, if you could. I think the sooner, the better.”
As she walked into Simon and Victor’s house twenty minutes later, she remembered being there just three months ago. It had been a glorious spring day. She’d brought flowers, then Simon and Victor had sprung Chris on her before ordering them to go get coffee and talk over the play.
Today her hands were empty, it was pouring rain, and there were no surprises. Just Simon, his face exhausted and grey, and Victor, lying in the hospital bed, looking more frail and shrunken than ever.
