Acting on Impulse (Silverweed Falls Book 2)

by Thea Dawson

  She kissed Simon on the cheek in greeting, and he vanished into the kitchen with the promise of tea. Slipping into the seat by Victor’s bed, she gently took his hand in hers, which he squeezed gently in greeting.

  “How are you feeling, Victor?” she asked.

  His voice was hoarse and barely audible. “Excellent job … so proud of you and Chris and the Players … Thank you.”

  She smiled. “Thank you. I enjoyed doing it.” And she had. The purpose she’d found in the play, and the Players, had brought new meaning into her life.

  Victor moved his head in an infinitesimal nod. “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “Me? Oh … I’m fine.” She smiled reassuringly at him.

  He fixed her with a steady gaze until she dropped her eyes. “You’re not fine, Joy,” he whispered hoarsely. “Is it Chris?”

  She frowned and bit her lip. “Victor, don’t worry about us. Just rest—”

  He waved a weak hand at her in a gesture of impatience. “Don’t condescend to me just because I’m dying. You love him?”

  Joy studied the pillow without meeting Victor’s eyes. “Yes … I do love Chris, but ... it’s like living in a fishbowl. Everyone watching you all the time. Talking about you. Gossiping. There’s no privacy. “

  Victor was silent for a long moment until she glanced at him, wondering if he’d fallen asleep. “Is that really worth … giving him up for?” he finally said. She had to lean in to hear him.

  She sighed. “It’s not that I want to give him up. I just don’t want to live my life wondering what people are saying about us. He’s too young for me, anyway.”

  Victor shook his head, so slightly that it barely trembled. “I’m ten years older than Simon … Doesn’t really matter in the long run.”

  Joy pressed her lips together. “It’s different.”

  Victor’s mouth lifted on one side. “Because ...? It doesn’t matter, Joy. Your age, his age, what people say ... none of it really matters.” He took a deep breath, his eyes on the ceiling. “Did I ever tell you how Simon and I met?”

  Joy shook her head.

  “He was … my student … when I taught drama at Columbia in the early eighties. I was very much still in the closet, and Simon ...” Victor smiled faintly. “The closet that could hold Simon hasn’t been built yet.” He shook his head again, more forcefully this time. His memories of Simon seemed to be giving him strength. “He was even more flamboyant then than he is now.” He fell silent again.

  “Victor, if you’re tired—” Joy started, but he gripped her hand.

  “We fell in love. I insisted that he graduate before we started seeing each other, and the minute he did ...” Victor shrugged fondly. “But I still wanted to keep it secret. I didn’t want anyone to know … about us. Simon ...” Victor made a small motion with his hand, “he didn’t like being my secret. He said he deserved better … than to be loved by someone who was ashamed of him.” Victor’s voice was barely audible now. “And he broke up with me.”

  “How did you get back together?” Joy asked gently. She had known Victor and Simon for thirteen years, but had never heard this story.

  Victor’s expression grew bleak and he was silent for almost a full minute. Joy was about to ask him if he wanted to rest when he continued.

  “Not long … after we broke up, I ran into Simon at a funeral. Mutual friend of ours … incredibly talented young man … could have been a great singer if he’d lived.” Victor tilted his head slightly to look her in the eye. “This was … early 1980s, remember. Friends of ours were dying … all the time. None of us knew how much time we had left.”

  Victor’s eyes dimmed. He coughed and continued.

  “Simon cornered me at Ted’s wake. Told me … I had to stop worrying about what people thought and just live the life I was supposed to live … Said I owed it to Ted … to all the young men who didn’t get that chance.”

  “It was a risk, though, wasn’t it? Coming out of the closet back then?”

  Victor managed a slight shrug. “Maybe ... but when I look back now … I don’t remember why I was so worried about it.” His weary grey eyes met Joy’s green ones for a moment before she looked away.

  “I understand what you’re saying,” she said softly. “But, Victor, to have your photos all over the internet like that, strangers tweeting about you and saying all kinds of things ... it’s horrible. It’s such an invasion of privacy.”

  “I know.” He gave her hand a weak squeeze. “No one … likes having their private lives talked about. Believe me, I know. But it’s not worth … missing out on life. If I hadn’t listened … I would have missed a life with the man I love.”

  Joy’s eyes stung with tears. Unable to speak, she just nodded.

  Victor’s breathing was labored now and she could feel his hand growing limp in hers.

  “You’re tired,” she whispered. “I should let you rest.”

  “Promise me … Joy … that you won’t … miss out.”

  Her tears fell on the sheets next to him, and she dragged a sleeve across her face trying to wipe them away. “I’ll try, Victor. I promise.”

  It was Sunday afternoon and the applause for the final matinee still rang in Chris’s ears. Backstage, the actors high fived and hugged each other.

  “That was a phenomenal end to the season, people!” he roared. “Great job!”

  “We were damned good, weren’t we?” Doreen laughed loudly and high-fived him.

  All around him the bustle continued. Family members had made their way backstage now and were hugging and congratulating members of the cast and crew. Joy’s friend Molly was in tears of excitement as she hugged a red-faced Cat. “It wasn’t even that big a role, Mom,” Cat muttered, but she didn’t look displeased. Rob was directing crew members to begin packing up props, costumes, and lights; they would come back the next day to take away the stage and the larger pieces of scenery.

  Joy, with Charlotte’s help, was collecting costumes as cast members shed them, hanging them up on a portable garment rack that could roll straight into the van they’d rented to transport all the equipment. She looked radiant, as pleased as Chris was about the performances.

  He’d helped Luke disassemble the backdrop curtains and left him, Moira, and Zena to fold them and hang them carefully over another garment rack. He began to make his way through the crowd toward Joy. She and Charlotte would be leaving the next day for college. Before she got back, he was scheduled to fly out to Arizona for two weeks for some preliminary shooting for Crusaders 2. He wasn’t sure when he would have another chance to talk to her.

  He’d taken only a couple of steps when a red-haired woman with a microphone stepped in front of him. Beside her was a cameraman who angled himself to get them both in the frame.

  “Chris, are you pleased with the way this performance went?” The red head thrust the mic in his face. He smiled out of habit. A couple of TV station vans were parked on the path by the duck pond, and all around him, it seemed, reporters were flocking toward him, cameras and microphones at the ready.

  “I was thrilled. This cast did an amazing job. We had a lot of fun putting this together, and I think it really showed.”

  More reporters crowded around him.

  “Chris, what was it like doing community theater after Galactic Crusaders?”

  “Chris, will you be back again next summer?”

  “Chris, what’s your next project going to be?”

  Force of habit kept a smile on his face, and he answered questions with polite platitudes, hardly listening to them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Joy watching the small mob around him, a look of concern on her face.

  Was she afraid he’d hit someone again? He wouldn’t. The days of letting his temper get the better of him were over. Was she simply daunted by the press, reminded again of the differences in their lives? There was less he could do about that; as long as he was a star, the press would be part of his life.

  He was answering
a question about Vanessa and Vince’s engagement as Joy was pulling a phone out of her pocket, and he watched her face fall as she answered it. Over the heads of a dozen milling reporters he caught her eye, and he knew.

  “Excuse me,” he said. Politely but firmly he pushed his way through the cameras and microphones and got to her, wrapping his arms around her as she hung up.

  “That was Simon,” she said, her voice cracking. “Victor’s gone.”

  31

  The memorial service was held, appropriately enough, at the University Theater two weeks later. Joy was touched to see how many people were there; a couple hundred at least. Most of the cast from Midsummer Night’s Dream had made the effort. Charlotte had flown up from college the day before and was now sitting next to her in the shabby, velvet-covered seats. Cat, Zena and Moira sat just behind them. Moira had forgone the black lipstick and heavy eyeliner in favor of more natural makeup, looking younger, prettier and somewhat vulnerable as a result. Wyatt and Tracie sat near the front; Luke entered, and she saw him greet Krystal, but there were no empty seats near her and he went to sit by Rob.

  Chris was there, of course. He’d arrived after she had, and she’d watched him sweep the audience with his gaze, looking, she knew, for her. Their eyes met and they exchanged brief smiles, but even as they did so, Brice and Doreen took the seats to her other side, filling her row, and Chris slipped into an empty seat in the front. Joy was aware of Charlotte glancing at her sideways, but neither of them said anything.

  Joy turned instead to study Brice and Doreen sitting side by side, holding hands. Doreen dabbed her eyes and sniffed loudly as one by one, friends, relatives and colleagues got up on stage to share memories of Victor.

  The speeches moved Joy, but she didn’t get up to give one herself. She listened instead, as Simon, Brice, and Luke and many others got up to share their best stories about Victor. Chris, naturally, gave a wonderful speech, funny, poignant, and inspiring, as he recounted the myriad ways that Victor had helped him grow as an actor, and as a person. Even Charlotte got up to talk about how Victor had helped her prepare for her role in Hedda Gabler and how the experience had given her a confidence she’d never had before. Throughout it all, Joy was moved, frequently to the point of tears, but she stayed in her seat.

  “Don’t you want to say anything, Mom?” Charlotte whispered when she left the stage and slipped back into the seat beside her.

  Joy shook her head. She had her own stories, of course, about how much the Players had meant to her, about how touched she’d been by Victor’s interest in Charlotte’s acting, by the dinners and tea and countless small gestures of kindness that he and Simon had shown her as her marriage had fallen apart in front of the entire town. But she had no desire to share them. It wasn’t fear of public speaking or of being seen and talked about. It was simply that she had experienced so many emotional highs and lows over the past two years, especially in the past three months; now she was at peace and content to observe without interacting. She knew in her heart that Simon—and Victor, wherever he was—would understand.

  After the speeches, there was an on-stage potluck. Mourners went out to their cars and returned with casseroles, cakes and salads. Rob and Luke set up the same tables that had been used for the silent auction, and in just minutes, they were groaning with the weight of dishes and drinks.

  It was a little like a cast party, Joy thought, glancing around at the assembled mourners as they collected their lunch and stood and sat in small groups recounting stories about Victor, referencing in-jokes about plays they’d been in with him, and catching up with mutual friends they hadn’t seen in months or years.

  She wandered through the throng, greeting familiar faces, shaking hands, hugging and kissing, but never staying in one place for more than a minute or two. Finally, after reaching the table full of food, she filled a plastic cup with sparkling water, and turned to look for Chris, who was talking to Brice and Simon. She caught his eye and again they exchanged brief smiles. Not ready to face him in front of a crowd, she slipped into the wings, through the green room, and out the back door.

  Behind her, the door swung shut and locked. She should have found something to prop it open, but it wouldn’t be a big deal to go around to the front of the building or one of the side doors.

  It wasn’t raining, but the cool air was damp and the skies were low and grey, and there were few people around. She took in a deep breath of the cool air and leaned against the railing, appreciating the quiet campus.

  Behind her, the door opened and Chris stepped out.

  “Thought I might find you out here,” he said. He was dressed in a somber tailored suit, looking just as handsome but more serious and mature than usual.

  She gave him a small smile. “Hi. I wasn’t feeling all that social,” she said.

  “Oh. I’ll leave you alone, if you like—” He gestured at the door, but she shook her head.

  “No, you’re fine. It’s locked now anyway. I enjoyed the speech you gave.”

  “Thanks.” He put his hands in his pockets and shivered. “Hard to believe it was summer just a couple weeks ago.”

  “Fall comes quickly in Oregon,” she observed, taking a sip of her water.

  “What have you been up to?” he asked. His tone was nonchalant, but she could sense the hesitation in it, as if he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to hear what she had to say.

  “Got Charlotte off to college. Of course, she came right back for this. I’ve been cleaning out the house—we have an accepted offer,” she said, looking out at the stretch of grass at the foot of the steps where fallen leaves had collected. “And I handed in my resignation a couple of days ago. I’m still working there part-time until they replace me, but the search is going well. I think they’ll find someone soon.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  She looked out onto the damp green lawn. She was in a holding pattern at the moment, hoping to find work that felt meaningful but willing to take her time about it. “Don’t know yet. I took a three-month lease on Professor Estrada’s house. I move in next week as soon as your lease is up. I figured it would give me time to think a bit.”

  “No kidding?” His face lit up. “It’s a nice house. You got to watch out for the window in the bathroom, though. The latch is loose.”

  She laughed softly. “I’ll be careful.” There was a pause. “How are things going for you?”

  “Good.” He nodded. “Looks like we might have backing for Vanessa’s movie, the art film about the porn star.”

  “That’s wonderful,” she said, sincerely happy for both him and Vanessa. “You’ll be in it?”

  “Yeah. It’s a good role. I’m excited about it. And we’ll be starting shooting for Galactic Crusaders 2 in November. Won’t actually be out until the summer after next, though.”

  She smiled warmly at him, pleased that things were going well.

  They stood in silence for a few minutes, each of them looking out at the grey day.

  He cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking more about establishing that foundation we talked about.”

  “Really?” She felt a spark of interest light up in her.

  He nodded and turned slightly to stare up at the theater building. He put a hand on the old stone exterior. “Yeah, Sherri, my publicist, has been after me to do some good in the world anyway. I was thinking I’d like to name the foundation after my dad. I think he’d have liked the idea of helping out other artists.” Joy nodded her approval. “And I’d like to start here.” He slapped the damp brick wall. “Either renovate this old beast or knock it down and build a new one.” He looked at her, and she could see the seriousness in his eyes along with that hint of uncertainty. “Do you think that’s something your university would be interested in?”

  She looked up at the theater towering above them, and the little spark he’d ignited grew into a small flame. She nodded slowly. “It hasn’t been a priority for them, but I don’t think they’d say no. It would p
robably be a couple million dollars at least, though, depending on whether we renovate or start from scratch.”

  “I wonder if it would be possible to do a little of both,” he said, stepping back from the building to stand beside her. They both looked up at it. “I love the classic way it looks on the outside. You think we could just gut it and start fresh inside, bring the interior up to date, but leave most of the outside alone?”

  She contemplated the old building. “We’d have to talk to some architects, but we did something similar a few years ago with the library. Of course, we’d have to make sure it was all up to code and the board would have to approve it, but …” She chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Would you like me to set up a meeting with Harvey Carmichael, my boss?” A sense of excitement that she hadn’t felt since the play ended was growing in her. She loved the idea of renovating the old theater, which had been home to so much laughter, tears, memories, and well, drama.

  “I’d need your help, though,” Chris was saying. “I don’t know anything about running a foundation or even about making a donation. I mean, I don’t want to just write a check; I want to be involved. Not to like, run the show or anything,” he added quickly “Just to … you know, make sure it’s as good as it should be.”

  “Yes, of course, of course,” she murmured, her mind racing ahead to the various possibilities, who they should consult, how to present it to Harvey, to the Board … Her face blossomed into a smile. “Victor would have loved this idea. How long will you be in town? We could meet Harvey on Monday.”

  “I could totally stay through Monday,” he assured her. “Maybe if you’re free this afternoon or tomorrow, we could get together to talk about it more?”

  He was no longer looking at the theater but at her, and she turned to meet his gaze. “Charlotte’s staying with me,” she said, “… but I think she’ll probably be spending time with her friends this evening.”

  He grinned at her, turning on the world-famous charm. “Dinner, then?”

  He’d been watching her, of course, waiting for a moment when he could approach her. He’d seen her slip quietly through the crowded theater, smiling politely but not really engaging with anyone. He’d trailed her through the green room, pausing just long enough to relish the memories that the shabby room held for him, before stepping outside into the fresh air, letting the door close behind him.