by Mary Hughes
Dammit, I had to concentrate on my part, not blue-eyed hunks. Business Truth #2 was “Focus on the job at hand”. I couldn’t get distracted, not with my dreams so close I could taste them, like tasting beautifully defined lips…crap.
I lifted my clarinet, concentrating on fingering the upcoming tornado, not fingering gorgeous…shizzle. Concentrating on the music, not musical baritones murmuring babi sweetly in my…phooey.
This was going to be harder than I thought.
By the time we got our break two hours later, I decided I’d overreacted. The guy couldn’t have been as gorgeous as I thought. I’d been swept off my feet, waking romantic fantasies and understimulated hormones (being the dutiful daughter means I don’t date much).
I’d test his nongorgeousness by giving him another look-see. Snatching up my water bottle, I stood.
Next to me, the woman playing reed one rose too and stretched out her back, throwing her pregnant belly into relief.
Nixie Emerson is the only person in my world smaller than me. At five feet even, wearing clothes bought in the kids’ department at Target before she got pregnant, she could have doubled as a Munchkin—until she opened her mouth. A punk rocker, Nixie could swear like a Marine. When you could understand her. She used a mishmash of cultural metaphors and punkspeak, a kind of a Star Trek: TNG “Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra” for the terminally tattooed and pierced.
“Hey, Nixie,” I said. “I’m going to find a water fountain. You want anything?”
“Nah, I’m chill,” Nixie said. “Want some aitch-two, Julian?”
That was to her husband, on her other side, wiping down his cello. Talk about gorgeous—Julian was the original poster boy for Yowsa. He said, “After that first half? Beer, maybe.”
“You talking about rehearsal? Or that thing with Dumbass?”
“Dumbass?” I asked.
She turned to me. “Yeah, Director Dumbass. You know, the guy who dinged Takashi about the headset, then screeched all his directions voice-naked?”
“He was rather colorful.”
“The rehearsal,” Julian said. “Missed light cues, sound cues, lines dropped. Tin Man’s plate sliding off his bony body. Kids behaving like rampaging monkeys. I can’t believe we open in just four days.”
“The stars are exceptional,” I said. “That’ll help.”
“And the pit’s fearsome great.” Nixie grinned and popped another vertebra.
“Maybe, but the rest was a train wreck.” Julian set his cello on its ribs. “All those sugar-rush Munchkins chasing Toto didn’t help. The director’s screeching and cajoling made it worse.”
I shrugged. “It’s the first rehearsal with all the players. Not everyone is professional, and there’s a lot to coordinate.” I reveled in it all, even the flubbed lines. The pulse and thrum of life past the edge was so un-Meiers Corners. “It’ll be miraculously wonderful by Thursday night.”
“It had better be.” Julian’s tone was dark.
“True dat,” Nixie said. “I’m not planning on NYC but I know a lot are.”
“The backer’s not coming until closing night. We have time.” I double-checked my flute and clarinet on their homemade pegs. “At least long enough for me to find some freeway-broad shoulders…I mean water.”
As I set my sax on my chair, flutist Rocky Hrbek leaned up, her wealth of shining chestnut hair falling forward. She pushed it back as if it was an annoyance instead of a hunk-magnet. “Um, Junior…” She shoved at the bridge of her clunky glasses. “Not to be presumptuous or anything. But I could use some water too. Can I go with you?”
I shook my head at her “presumption”. Rocky had been overweight and acne-ridden in high school and still saw herself that way. Though she was slim and gorgeous now, nobody in the Corners had bothered to correct her. She was just as shy and unsure of herself as she’d been in the black cesspool known as seventh grade.
Fortunately it didn’t matter when it came to her playing. Hell on wheels in band, first-chair flute her freshman year, she’d only gotten better.
“Sure. C’mon.”
She grabbed her water bottle, tucked her flute case under her arm and followed me out of the pit. I’d left my flute on its stand, but mine was a thousand-dollar Armstrong and hers was a twenty-thousand-dollar gold Miyazawa. Or maybe she just saw it as one of her few faithful friends.
“Do you know where the water fountain is?” she asked as we hit the aisle.
“Probably near the restrooms. Let’s try the outer lobby.” The PAC had two lobby areas, outer and inner. The building’s main entrance led to the outer lobby, with ticket counters and restrooms. Straight through the outer lobby was a set of doors leading to the inner lobby. The inner lobby had two sets of double doors leading into the audience section of the theater, or the house. As we made our way up the house aisle, a couple of Munchkins zipped past, knocking into me. A harried-looking teenager ran after them. “How’ve you been?”
“Good.” Rocky swayed to avoid the worst of the Munchkin meteors. “How’re things at the sausage store?”
I pushed through the house doors and we schussed over the thick red carpet of the inner lobby. “Working our asses off to make ends meet, but that’s par for a mom-and-pop shop.” I shouldered open the outer lobby doors, revealing two stories of new sage walls, contemporary art and recessed natural light. “Somebody put real money behind this remodeling. You’d never know this used to be a toilet paper factory.”
Rocky slid her glasses up on her nose and looked around. “Mayor Meier did some tax credits and a special loan program at the bank. He’s pushing to get all the city’s empty buildings retenanted. Oh look, there’s the drinking fountain.”
The hiss of water zeroed my attention on the far wall. Dorothy had just bent her beautiful, graceful head to take a drink.
Standing behind her like a personal shield was Mr. Couldn’t-Be-That-Gorgeous. He wasn’t.
He was more.
A glow of sapphire eyes, a flash of dangerous planes, the impression of broad shoulders. Glimpses through lowered house lights and dark wings hadn’t prepared me for seeing him in full light for the first time.
Big became huge, several inches over six feet, deceptive because he was perfectly proportioned, like Tom Cruise in reverse. Broad shoulders were really acres wide, flaring from a narrow, flat waist. He had perfectly chiseled features, his five o’clock shadow emphasizing a honed jaw, his perfect skin taut over sharp bones, his lips masculine yet bold. His black hair gleamed under the lights, thick and lustrous.
Great Braunschweiger, he was beyond gorgeous, as in punch-out-my-heart-and-use-it-to-club-me-senseless stunning.
A sudden, searing need to know his name pushed me toward him.
Rocky’s hand on my shoulder stopped me. “Junior, wait. They’re busy.”
“How do you know?” And busy doing what?
“Look at her back. It’s bowed. Whatever she’s hearing, she’s not liking it.”
Rocky was right. Shove a trombone up my ass and play “Yankee Doodle”. I’d violated Business Truth #6 of my parents’ Eightfold Business Path—“Keep your eyes open and on the customer”. It told a savvy shopkeeper what the customer was looking for. And what would Mr. Gorgeous be buying, Junior? I shook myself.
As if Dorothy had heard our whispers all the way across the lobby, she turned toward us. Without stage lights washing her out, she was as stunning as he was. Her eyes were the bright green of spring leaves, framed by coal-black lashes and filled with intelligence and determination that made them even more striking.
Here was no little girl, but a young woman of consequence.
Her expression eased into a welcoming smile. “Please, come have a drink. Don’t mind Glynn and me.”
Her soft voice carried across the lobby, great acoustics or a truly brilliant actress. As we approached, she stepped back from the water fountain, leaving her hulking male no choice but to do the same.
“Thanks,” I said.
“
You’re in the pit, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” I eyed Glynn (such a lovely, musical name, lyrical as his deep baritone…phooey, when did I go poetic over names?). If he wanted to be alone with her, he didn’t give me any nonverbal hints. Of course, if he wanted to be alone with her, he shouldn’t have hogged the water fountain to do it.
The drinking fountain activated with a side lever handle. I turned it halfway to get a moderate stream and sipped.
Rocky said, “I like your Dorothy.”
“Thank you.” The young woman gave a silvery laugh. “I have to admit, she’s a bit of typecasting for a small-town Iowa girl like me.”
“Iowa?” I backed off for Rocky. “I thought all the stars were from New York. Where in Iowa are you from?”
“Coralville. I’m not quite New York yet.”
“I bought my flute in Coralville,” Rocky said between sips. “It’s not so small. Just a few miles from the University of Iowa.”
The girl gave Rocky a dazzling smile. “Most folks think we’re all corn and cattle. I’m Mishela.” She held out a hand.
Rocky shook. “I’m Rocky. This is Gunter Marie, but everyone calls her Junior.”
“My parents’ idea,” I said. “Hey, it’s better than a female Gunter.” Mishela’s hand, when I took it, was slim yet strong. I nodded nonchalantly at Mr. Gorgeous. Well, trying to be nonchalant. “And your shadow?”
Mishela gave me a rueful smile. “Glynn Rhys-Jenkins. But I call him Warden.”
“Mishela.” The warning in his tone was plain.
“Custodian? Keeper?” She smiled at him, a playful beaming that, aimed at anyone else, would have turned him into a pile of mush.
Glynn just glowered. “Seventeen is not too old to spank.”
Her smile turned saucy. “Some might say it’s the perfect age to spank.” She touched a finger to his massive chest. “If you were my type.”
Glynn’s glower darkened. “Just because Elias lets you get away with your sass—”
Oh great, a lovers’ quarrel. I suffered a rush of heat, backed away. “Nice meeting you both. But, um—”
“I’m sorry. Please don’t go.” Mishela turned from Glynn to touch my arm. “It would be nice to talk to other women. Especially other performers.”
Her tone caught at me. She seemed…lonely. Even if she was older than I thought, she was still a young woman away from home. I heard myself say, “Want to do something after rehearsal? Sodas at Nieman’s Bar?”
She perked up immediately. “I’d love to. If you don’t mind the looming watcher.”
Big, muscular Glynn, watching us… My belly heated and my panties felt a little too tight. Which annoyed the crap out of me (I had goals), so I said, “He doesn’t have to come.” And promptly flushed. Come. Perfectly innocent, except in connection with this hunk of striding sex…in the same sentence…much less the same room…uh. “We’re adults, Rocky and I. We’ll chaperone you.”
“Mishela doesn’t go anywhere without me.” Glynn crossed arms, pumping his bold chest into the opening of his jacket. Mounds of muscle strained against cotton and leather. My eyes fell out my head and my panties shot directly to broil. Phooey.
“Glynn speaks. End of discussion.” Mishela sighed. “My guardian would agree.”
Rocky and I exchanged a glance. So who was Glynn, beyond being insanely gorgeous? Her brother? Bodyguard? Lover?
A clap sounded behind us. “Places, ladies.” Coral-and-chartreuse buzzed past and through a side door.
“Yes, Mr. Dumas,” Mishela called after him.
Ah, Dumas. That explained Nixie’s Director Dumbass.
“You heard the man.” Glynn took Mishela’s elbow and hustled her toward the theater.
She called back to Rocky and me, “Nice meeting you both. See you after rehearsal.”
“Well, that was interesting.” I saw Rocky juggle flute case, water bottle and fountain handle and automatically stepped in to help, twisting the handle so Rocky could fill her bottle…all the while trying not to panic. Glynn was even better than I remembered. How could I focus on duty and goals now?
Sure, the music would absorb me during rehearsal, but what about after? We were going out for drinks together, for pity’s sake. How could I avoid seeing him, wanting to touch, to kiss…no, Rocky would stop me. And Mishela. She’d joked about Glynn the Warden, but how could any woman not want such a prime male? If I got too familiar with Glynn, she’d intervene. “Mishela sure doesn’t look seventeen.”
“She doesn’t. I wonder when she figured out she’s gay.”
My hand jerked on the handle, spraying water. “What? How do you figure that?”
“Didn’t you catch it?” Rocky pushed her nose piece. “The comment about ‘if you were my type’?”
“Well, yeah, but…wasn’t she flirting with Glynn?”
“More teasing him, like a sister.”
“And his sticking to her?”
“Protective hovering.” Rocky capped her water, only half-full because of my ham-hand on the handle, and started back. “Maybe he’s her bodyguard.”
My underwear roller coaster had evidently made me miss some things. I felt strangely lightheaded and lighthearted—missing yet another obvious fact, this one about me.
Then I thought of a downer. If Mishela was gay, only Rocky would stop me if I slid my hands under Glynn’s black jacket to pet those broad shoulders…panic flared and I ran to catch up.
Rocky said, “So how do you know Glynn?”
“I don’t.”
“Oh.” The normally neutral syllable was lengthened and pitched high, filling it with her skepticism.
“I don’t,” I repeated, as if saying it again would convince her. “I just met him tonight.”
“So I only imagined he was looking at you ‘that way’?” She elbowed open the house doors and trotted down the aisle.
“What way?”
“Like he wanted to eat you up. Which reminds me, did you see Rob brought pit chocolate?”
My voice wouldn’t work. Glynn was looking hungrily at me?
Panic flared anew. More people. I needed more people between me and Glynn. Rocky, and…and… “Rob brought chocolate?” Speaking of hungry, I’d worked my folks’ register right up until time to go and hadn’t had dinner. I couldn’t think. “Chocolate goes straight to my pads.”
“Think that’ll stop Nixie?”
“No. But with her tiny body, if she doesn’t eat every hour she’ll implode.”
“Her metabolism,” Rocky agreed. “Worse now that she’s pregnant. Good thing Julian feeds her regularly.”
Hey. Nixie and Julian were more people. I could ask them to come to Nieman’s.
And Takashi, who stopped me outside the pit.
But before I could harangue…I mean ask him if he wanted to go out, he said, “Dumas noticed a solo missing. I didn’t tell him specifically it was you but…” He fingered his baton. “Try to be on time tomorrow, hai?”
I winced. “Of course.”
Could have been worse. At least Takashi had covered for me. But Dumas had noticed, a ding against my professional image. I sank into my seat. Then I straightened, determined to play my ass off.
Next to me, Nixie was chowing down on Rob’s bag of chocolate bars. Seeing me, she offered the bag.
“That’s cruel,” I said. “You know I can’t have any until we’re done. Not unless I want a two-hundred-dollar repad.”
She snatched the bag back, chomped down another bar and heaved a contented sigh. “Shoulda brought a toothbrush.” She grinned, showed me her foldaway.
“Buy me one for Christmas. Hey, I’ve got a new joke.”
Her husband Julian groaned, but Nixie stopped chomping. “Feckin’ awesome. Lay it down.”
“A conductor and a viola player are in the middle of the road. Which do you run over first, and why?”
“The conductor,” Nixie said. “They’re all puffed with their authority. Except for Takashi.”
�
�The violist.” Julian set his bow on his stand. “All your jokes are bad viola jokes.”
“Nope,” I said. “The conductor. Business before pleasure.”
Nixie laughed. Julian’s head jerked up.
Steve, the Gollum-like assistant, darted from stage right across the proscenium. He had what looked like a pair of pink and green bikini underwear dangling from his hand. A dark jacket arrowed after, Mr. Chiseled ‘n Sexy. I frowned. Nixie half-rose.
“Stay here.” Julian snapped to his feet, one hand on her shoulder. “Stay out of trouble.” He vaulted onto stage and dashed after Misters Gollum and Gorgeous on very long legs of his own. Nixie sat.
“What was all that about?” I asked.
She shrugged. “They’re trying to catch Steve to ask for a headset? It’s theater people. Who knows?”
“Julian is theater?”
“No. But if there’s any trouble, he’s the suit who’ll have to deal with it with his Lawyerly Loquaciousness. He’s probably just mitigating the risk factors or whatever has more syllables than is healthy.”
“I see.” I didn’t, but had given up figuring out the weirdness that seemed to follow Nixie around. “Speaking of trouble, how much can you cause, weighed down by ten pounds of kid?”
Nixie unwrapped chocolate. “If I put my mind to it, or just on instinct?”
“Sorry, forgot who I’m talking to.” I snorted. “By the way, Rocky and I are meeting Dorothy at Nieman’s after rehearsal. Want to come?”
She stopped mid-unwrap. “You guys and Mishela? Going out at night…with Mishela…uh-uh. Not a good idea.”
“What? Why not?”
“Well, because…um.” She hesitated, not at all like herself.
“Why not?” I repeated.
At that moment, Mishela emerged stage left and stalked across the stage, something pink clenched in her fist. As she disappeared into the wings, Takashi gave a short, hissed “Entr’acte” and raised his baton to start the second half. “Why not” would have to wait.
