by Max Henry
With a name like Mary, you might be forgiven for thinking our stage manager is a sweet lady, but there’s nothing sweet about her rock-solid five-foot-four stature. With earplugs that could be mistaken for counterweights, and a short, choppy hairstyle that screams “I will fuck you up”, she commands the space with nothing short of tyrannical charm.
“Doodles!” she greets, using the nickname she gave me the first time she spotted my extensive ink work. “Glad you could make it back.”
Given how I’ve barely managed to scrape in on time, it was definitely a good thing I didn’t head over and check on the random car and driver. “I missed you too much, Mary. Couldn’t stay away.”
She gives me a sly smirk, and then turns to address the group. Crew members all run through their routines as Mary outlines the same rules as she does every time, adding on performance notes taken from the last show. Our riggers strap their gloves; the lighting technician making scribbled notes on his jotter as Mary gives him pointers about cues that need tightening up. The runners check each other’s outfits over, ensuring they’re still completely blacked out, our youngest member tucking his green-tipped hair beneath a black knitted beanie.
Satisfied we’re all suitably threatened into making sure the show goes off without a hitch, Mary sends us to our stations. I make my way toward front-of-house with Bevan and our other spotlight operator, Susie.
“Kelly came into the pub,” Bevan states, his head down. “Probably a good thing you went home for dinner.”
“Yeah?” I try to act aloof, but they both know how relieved that near-miss will make me. Small-town gossip doesn’t allow for many secrets.
“She said Jared paid you a visit last week,” Susie adds. “Seemed real happy about it.”
“Bet the bitch did.” The three of us round the steps that lead up to the balcony and our stations.
“You haven’t seen him in ages, though.” Bevan glances across at me.
Rehearsals, especially technical ones when we have to fine-tune our sequences and cues, leave a lot of time for chatting over the headsets. A lot.
“Nope.” I pull my gloves and water from my bag, and then tuck it beneath Bevan’s sound desk. “He wants me to sell the house.”
“What?” Susie tosses her belongings on top of mine, Bevan promptly shunting them all aside with his foot as he takes his seat. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I was in denial, I guess. Hoped if I didn’t talk about it, then it wouldn’t happen. He said he wants to cut all ties from me.”
Susie frowns, shaking her head. Jared may be her second cousin, but the two of them couldn’t be any more different. “He’s a right arse, isn’t he?”
“I’m not ready to move.” I stay focused on my fingerless gloves as I tug them on, one by one. “But I don’t think I have any choice.”
“Bullshit.” Bevan pops his cans over his ears and flicks the power switch to tune in. “You’ve got options, Cammie. We’ll talk about it after, yeah? Mary’s doing a mic check.”
“Shoot.” Susie dashes off to her stand as I make my way behind the last row of seats to mine.
I put my own headset on and flick the power switch before turning on the spotlight so it can warm up.
“Spot one?” Mary calls through the line in hushed tones.
I glance over at Susie as she wrestles with her cord.
“Spot one?” Mary repeats less enthusiastically.
I flick my mic switch and answer, “She’s tangled at the moment.”
“Hello, Spot Two.”
Susie finally slides her headset on and shrugs across the rows of seats at me. “Did I miss my call?”
“You sure did,” Mary replies. “One box to Susie.”
The after-party is always a messy affair, and being a not-for-profit, the drama group doesn’t like paying for the food and alcohol. They’d rather reinvest any money made into the next production, which is why we have a penalty system. Any infractions during the run of a show incur a payment of a box of beer, or wine. Simple. Knock on wood, I’m still on nothing owed.
“Cam, you on?” our head rigger asks.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Make it quick, guys,” Mary warns.
“Make sure you find me after, Cammie,” he says. “The missus has some stuff for you to take to the fundraiser on Wednesday.”
“Sure thing.”
“What are you wrapped up in this time?” Susie asks.
I slide my gels out to check they’re still okay—no spots, or melted patches. “Kindergarten has their disco.”
“You still doing that?” Mary adds dryly.
“I am.” My light illuminates the wall next to the stage as I slide the cover out to check I’m good to go. Susie’s matches mine on the other side. “I have the time spare, so I figure why not?”
A collective groan comes from Susie and Bevan as Mary orders hush over the line. The house lights dip on her cue, signalling five minutes to curtain.
The familiar panic creeps in as the chatter of the audience dies down, the last people rushing to their seats. My gaze roams over the rows, mind-mapping where all the children sit. We’ve got plans in place should there be an emergency, but even so, the worry within doesn’t settle until I know where the children in the audience are and what their closest exit is.
The cue comes through for the house lights to go out entirely, and I position my hands on the grips for the spotlight, turning my focus instead to the welcome burn of the brilliant light encased beside my arm, and the show that unfolds before us.
An hour and a half of bright colours, movement, and rowdy tunes.
An hour and a half where I can pretend I’m anywhere but here.
Anywhere but where she isn’t anymore.
FOUR
Duke
What kind of mechanic’s shop closes at three in the afternoon? The only one in town, that’s what. Turns out the arsehole cop knew what he was talking about.
The silhouette of the branches above me dance across the stars in the sky as I lie on the roof of the car, weighing my options. I could walk into town—however far that is—and try for a room at some cheap motel. But then that leaves the vehicle out here all night with nobody to watch it, and I know what these country roads are like. It’s some scene straight from a Mad Max movie: the car enters dusk as one complete unit and remerges at dawn as a stripped former shell of itself.
My brother may be a jerk, but that doesn’t mean I need to be one, too. I can at least make sure he gets his investment back in as best shape as I can. Would be a whole lot easier to do if the fucking driveshaft hadn’t decided to obliterate on me, but it is what it is.
I already pushed my luck with the cop, only just managing to talk my way back out of the handcuffs. Seems that a few friendly remarks about the current rugby season is enough to sway any red-blooded male around. By the time he released my hands, he’d already mapped out half his fantasy team and was asking me for my picks on the semi-finals.
I got let go with a warning on two conditions: one, I don’t eye-fuck his cousin again, and two, the car is off the roadside in the next twenty-four hours. Seems even he isn’t so confident it’s safe to leave it out here, calling it a “distraction” for bored youth.
Which brings me to the only logical solution: sleep in the car and wait out rescue in the morning.
Fuck my life.
The dark and I don’t mix. It’s the exact reason why I lie here with the torch on my phone turned on, draining the battery while I do my utmost to pretend I’m not attuned to every creak and scratch of the trees around me.
In my mind, it’s not a matter of if there’s a threat; it’s a matter of where.
As though my prayers have been heard, the sweeping arc of headlights brings the branches above me to life in an array of lush greens and yellows. I push up on my elbows and spot the hottie’s BMW paused at the end of her driveway. The brake lights go out, and the reverse lights come on as she slowly eases back on
to the road. I shift around on the roof until I’m seated on the front edge, my legs over the windscreen, and watch as she brings the coupe to a stop nose-to-nose with the HQ. Seems it won’t be my fault if I’m caught looking at the cousin then, after all.
Without breaking my line of sight from her, I reach behind me and pat around on the steel until I locate my phone and then switch the torch off. Her door opens, and a black boot hits the ground before she completely emerges from the car.
“Hey there,” I call out, pressing my phone into my palm until it hurts.
She shuts the car door and steps toward me. “Do you need some help?” Fuck me—the voice is as gorgeous as the woman herself.
“You could say that.”
Tingles spread through my hand as I grip the phone to the point of near crushing the case. The guy I picked the car up off? Piece of piss to deal with. And the cop? Easy enough, given the interaction took place in the daylight. But when the moon is dim, concealed behind a bank of lazy clouds? Fuck my night time anxiety.
“Have you broken down?” The woman frowns, walking around the hood to the driver’s side. The long cardigan she wears billows around her legs as she moves, her silvery grey hair tucked up in a loose bun beneath a baggy black knitted hat. I narrow my gaze on her, confirming what I thought as the headlights catch the metal—her nose is pierced underneath like a damn bull. Different.
“I called the shop in town for a tow, but they were closed.” I run my eye over the curve of her arse, the swell of her tits highlighted by the light behind her. “Your cousin helpfully advised I’d have trouble getting a truck that late in the day.”
She stops walking as I slide down the windscreen and shuffle across the hood to hop to the ground. “Yeah. Archie has to get his kids from school. Things have been tough since he became a single dad, but he does what he needs to.”
“Sounds like a busy man.”
“He is.” She tips her head to the side, clearly checking me out as her gaze drops to my feet and then climbs back up. “Shane didn’t give you too much trouble?”
“That the cop’s name?”
“Yeah.” She chews on her bottom lip before saying, “He can be a bit intense sometimes.”
Understatement. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“So …”
“So?”
“You planning on camping out here overnight?”
I grimace and rub a hand over the back of my neck. “Not saying anything bad about your town—”
“But?”
“But I’d rather not leave the car sitting out here in the open all night, so I don’t really have much of a choice.” I chuckle, nudging the nosecone with my boot. “Even if it is a piece of shit.”
“Understood.” She brings a hand to her throat as she stares off over my shoulder in thought. My eyes are drawn to the detailed line-work she has there. “Look, I don’t normally do this kind of thing for complete strangers, but you’re welcome to leave it on my driveway for the night so you can find somewhere better to stay. There’s heaps of room to park it in the turning bay.”
I twist and gauge the distance to her place. “As great as that sounds, it’s a heavy old tank of a car. I might struggle to get it over there.”
“So I’ll help you push it, get it started, and then I’ll jump in to steer.”
I whip my gaze back around and settle on her earnest eyes, rimmed in black. “Are you sure?”
Her arms lift at her sides. “I’m here offering, aren’t I?”
“I guess you are.” I size her up, estimating whether what little grunt she could add would be worth it or not. “Tell you what, I’ll give it a try first while you steer, and if I need your help to push I’ll let you know.”
“Sure.” She doesn’t argue the point any further as she marches her heavy boots back to her car, and promptly drops into the driver’s seat. Within seconds, she has the coupe backed up at ninety degrees to the HQ so that her headlights illuminate our path.
I pocket my phone and bend down to tighten the laces on my boots. Fucking Cody isn’t going to believe a word I say when I tell him about this pretty little Good Samaritan. Might give the arsehole incentive to go out and get his own goddamn car next time, though.
The woman in question passes by, and promptly opens the door of the HQ to take her place behind the wheel. “It’s in neutral?”
“Yeah.” I step up beside her as she looks around the dash. “The handbrake is just there.”
She follows where I point. “Awesome. Let’s do this then, muscles.”
“Beware,” I tell her as I wind down the window. “It doesn’t have power-steering.”
She smiles up at me as I shut the door. “I kind of figured that.” She gives her slender arms a sneaky flex. “I’m stronger than I look.”
I hesitate like the creeper I am, lost in the way her cheeks pinch in as she grins. She’s a definite diamond in the rough, a sweet surprise on what’s turning out to be a hell of a day.
The grass is already damp underfoot thanks to the cooler temperature now the sun’s gone down. My boots slip as I give the HQ its first shunt to get it moving, but thankfully, I don’t end up face planting in the dirt, instead putting the car into a decent roll towards the driveway.
By the time we get the vehicle outside her house, I’m jogging behind it, hands braced on the boot, breaths coming short and fast. I let go, watching the car roll as she curves it around to tuck the HQ off to the side of the large gravelled parking bay. Her arms have to be burning with how hard she would have wrenched the steering wheel to get it turned so tight.
“Thanks for this,” I call as she steps out of the car. “I’ll leave you my number in case you need to get in touch about it before I turn up with the tow truck.”
She shuts the door behind her and dusts her palms off on her leggings. “That would be great. I’m sure it’ll be fine where it is, though.” She steps up before me and offers her hand. “I’m Cammie, by the way.”
“Duke.” I give her hand a couple of quick pumps, equally disturbed by the fact I broke my personal bubble willingly, and the fact that I liked it.
Her eyes hold mine a fraction too long, and she smiles, small and shy. “You need a lift into town?”
“I don’t want to put you out more than I already have.” I take the keys she offers, and head for the car to retrieve my overnight bag. “I can walk.”
Hopefully the phone battery holds out that long.
“Rubbish,” she calls after me. “It’s pitch black on that road, Duke.” Cammie lifts her hands palms out, eyebrows raised as she wanders over. “Now, I’m not saying anything about my town either, but not everyone’s eyesight is what it’s cracked up to be. I mean, we’ve got a few old-timers who live out in these parts, and as much as I hate the fact they do it, I’m also aware they drive home after one too many at the pub or RSA.” She reaches the car and props a hip into the side panel while she watches me gather my stuff, her arms folded. “You’d be a hell of a lot safer, and I’d feel a hell of a lot better, if I just dropped you off wherever you’re booked for the night.”
Girl sure can talk. “I’m not booked anywhere.” I heft my bag out and close the boot with my free hand.
“Oh. I’m sure the roadhouse would still have a spare bed if the motel is full. We can ring ahead if you like?”
“Might be a good idea. Don’t suppose you know the name of the place so I can look it up?” I dump the bag at my feet and pull my phone out.
Her lips turn upward, the sparkly bullring touching her top one as she does. “I should, I drive past it enough.” She sighs. “You know what? Come inside and I’ll grab the Yellow Pages.”
My next breath catches in my throat as she takes off toward the driveway. Out here, I have options. I’m not caged in by etiquette and social convention. Inside her house, the spotlight’s on me if I need to step out. Everything I try to hide creeps that much closer to the surface, dangerously so.
“Hang out at the fron
t door,” she calls as she merges into the darkness of the driveway. “I’ll go get my car first.”
My mouth is dry, my hand gripped tightly to my phone again to bring me back to reality. She’s just being nice. She’s not a threat. I snatch up my bag and head toward her porch as she vanishes from sight, engulfed by the night.
I’m totally fucked.
One social interaction with somebody who genuinely wants to help, and I’m a thousand miles away again, wondering who is really a friend and who is a foe.
Nobody can be trusted—it’s a lesson I learnt the hard way.
Especially not myself.
FIVE
Cammie
That man has some serious walls stacked up around him. I rub my arms as I head back to the car, partly from the chill of the night, but mostly from the apprehension he causes me.
I’ve always been the kind of person who can’t sit idly by and watch somebody struggle when I’m perfectly able to help. But shit, I think Mum might be right: my empathy will be the death of me.
I can’t pick what it is about the guy that makes me wary of him, just that it’s not a fear-for-your-life kind of panic. More like I’m waiting for him to destroy me emotionally as a person before he vanishes as quickly as he appeared in our neck of the woods.
I know why I offered to drive him into town. It wasn’t purely for his safety. It was because a forty-minute round trip, plus however long it takes to find him a place for the night, gives me the distraction I search for day-in, day-out. Half an hour, an hour. However long it takes to sort out Duke is less time I have to spend lying in the dark, lamenting the silence.
It was never quiet before. I never appreciated that until all I was left with were the echoes of my thoughts.
He sits on the porch as I bring the Beamer up to my parking spot beside the house. Military-style boots leave me wondering what his history is, why a clearly fit and regimented man sits lost on the porch of a weathered old villa, presumably miles from home.
His dark and cautious gaze tracks me as I walk toward him, turning my keys over in my hand to find the right one.
