by Fiona Greene
‘Maybe.’ Mark stepped closer. ‘Hey, you okay? You look rattled.’
‘I’m okay.’ Lexi pushed her cup into the centre of the table and stood. ‘I should go. I’m working on the run sheets today. And the sets. The Bicentennial Festival won’t wait.’ Excuse after excuse poured from her mouth. She didn’t care. She had to get off the balcony.
‘Okay.’ Mark followed her back into the lounge and took her cup. ‘Hope I didn’t freak you out with that ghost thing. It’s probably just Emma watching too much tweeny TV and making stuff up.’
‘Not at all,’ Lexi lied, as she headed for the door. ‘Most kids have imaginary friends.’
She was running when she hit the driveway, and it wasn’t until she was in the car and had careened around the corner that she took a moment.
A bandaid where his heart should have been.
Her breath was coming in tiny gasps and she made a conscious effort to stay calm.
The skin over her heart tingled, right over the memorial tattoo she’d never shown another soul.
The tattoo that commemorated her dead son, Caleb Joseph. The CJ of CJ’s Youth Theatre.
And not just her son, but his too.
Mark’s dead son. Which made him Emma’s big brother.
The pain, usually locked tight in her heart, forced its way out. She closed her eyes, owned the hurt and then whispered their poem—hers and Caleb’s, the one Rosa had pressed into her hand the night she’d lost her son.
A single tear escaped, and Lexi wiped it away.
Emma didn’t know about Caleb. Emma couldn’t know. No-one here knew about Caleb.
Not even Mark Conroy.
Chapter Seven
There was nothing like the silence of a deserted theatre.
With the kids at camp, and the theatre on a three-day hiatus, Lexi sat in the stalls and triple-checked the run sheet for the final act. Having matched the audio files with the live action, she had to make sure it was seamless.
Larrikin was coming together exactly as she’d planned, despite all the drama that surrounded the production.
This was going to be the most successful run that Rivervue had ever presented. And also the most stressful.
At least she had the rest of the morning to herself. She thought she’d be okay with Mark in her workspace, but his presence was messing with her head. Her desk had been her sanctuary, but now she found herself avoiding it and choosing to tuck herself away in a quiet corner somewhere else in the complex.
Her co-worker-free time was minimal, and she needed to get this finished before Mark returned from a meeting with the mayor.
Alone, she was able to work without fear of discovery. Whenever he appeared, she’d have to revert her thinking back to ‘Lexi hasn’t quite finished the play’ and act the disorganised creative. Running the two timelines—the real and the pretend—and keeping the story straight was getting harder and harder as opening night crept closer. Ironically, the work she had been able to give Mark had freed her up substantially, making it a little easier for her to keep the lie going.
Mayor Forsdyke was going to be super pissed off when he realised that.
So was Mark.
Lexi blew out a big breath. She was comfortable with the subterfuge most of the time, but she was generally honest in her personal life and definitely in business.
Mark appeared one hundred per cent committed to what he’d been asked to do, and lying to him, and the rest of the team, didn’t sit well with her. His feeling of betrayal was going to be worse because of their shared history and the fact that it happened right under his nose. But mostly, because they’d learned to work together. Like adults. They might be on opposing teams but they’d kept it civil. If not for the fact that he was planning on shutting her theatre, she might have liked working with him.
Two weeks.
Fourteen more days and she’d be able to reveal that the play was a Draven. Then they’d be close enough to opening night that cancellation wasn’t an option, but far enough out that she could change out all of the dummy printed materials, make the last-minute adjustments she was keeping from everyone—even the actors—and unleash the promotion package that was guaranteed to deliver a sell-out.
A Draven was a gift to a struggling theatre company like hers. She’d already confirmed Rivervue would be staging the first original production of a Draven in Australia, so she owed it to the play and the playwright to make it work, even if the subterfuge left her vulnerable. Soon she’d release act three to the company, and there was bound to be controversy as the two timelines converged in the finale.
But that wasn’t the last surprise she had up her sleeve. A black USB drive had also arrived in the post with Draven’s rubber band–bound manuscript, and the audio files on it had been so moving, she hadn’t stopped thinking about them since. Then, inspiration had struck.
She could thank a chance encounter with Kenzie’s friend Dylan for that. He didn’t speak, yet they never had any trouble communicating. His eyes and his movement did the talking for him.
That’s what she wanted in those final scenes.
Almost a silent-movie vibe, but with audio narration from the files on that USB drive, instead of the actor speaking Ron de Vue’s words. A tiny tweak with potential for a huge impact.
It was risky, but if she pulled it off, act three would leap off the stage and into the audience’s hearts.
And that’s what made being a creative director so energising.
Her mobile rang. ‘Hi, it’s Lexi.’
‘Hey, it’s Mark.’
Her heart pounded, and automatically she covered the real run sheet with the decoy. Clearly, she was still rattled after that morning’s conversation about Emma’s imaginary friend. ‘Hi. Everything okay?’
‘Yes. I’m ringing about an opportunity.’ Mark was all business. ‘I’ve got a walk-through booked at the old Butter Factory at four this afternoon.’
‘And?’
‘And I wondered if you wanted to come along.’
Why now? Why not a month ago, before she was buried deep in preproduction. She glanced down at the run sheets. There was more than enough work to fill her day but the opportunity to get into the Butter Factory, and to discover what Council was planning …
‘This should have happened months ago. And I should have been the first person invited,’ she said crisply. ‘Is it a Council visit? Back of house? Access all areas?’
‘Yes, for the Council. I don’t see why not.’
‘I’m in.’
Mark stayed silent for a few seconds and she wondered if she’d jumped too quickly. Maybe fallen into some sort of trap.
‘Great.’
‘Will I meet you out there?’
‘How about I pick you up? We could grab something for dinner, after?’
‘Dinner?’
‘Yeah, that meal at the end of the day. The Edgy Veggie is trialling some new products: vego grazing platters and grazing boxes as high-end takeaway for picnics and festivals. The mayor asked me to investigate. That sort of thing equals tourism if it’s done right. You know, Council organises a free concert in the park, local places do the food. Accommodation gets booked out and everyone benefits.’
‘Or Council could, you know, use an existing theatre space that’s already operating, to bring people to the town.’
Mark sighed. ‘Council is always looking for options.’
‘Other options,’ Lexi corrected. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d say the mayor is trying to avoid using Rivervue.’ There. She’d said it. ‘Anyway, yes I’m interested in the tour of the Butter Factory.’
‘And dinner?’
Lexi tapped her nail against her top teeth. Going to dinner had the hallmarks of being ‘in bed with the enemy’ and she was trying to avoid anything that could be construed that way. Friday night on Main Street didn’t send the right message. But she’d heard such good things about the grazing platters that the Edgy Veggie was offering. ‘Oh, alright.’ She
paused. ‘Could we do the takeaway box? Throw a picnic blanket in.’
‘Okay.’ Mark sounded confused, and she couldn’t blame him.
‘Sorry. I’m a bit off today. I’d appreciate a bit of peace and quiet to finish the week,’ she offered by way of apology. ‘Too many things to do.’
‘That’s okay. I’ll ring them now and see if they can do the boxes.’ He paused. ‘Okay to come in my car? Save the planet?’
‘Is the mayor in your car?’
‘No. There’s a lot of things I do for the mayor, but driving is not one of them. It’ll be just us. Pick you up at ten to four?’
Should she? Lexi gave herself a mental shrug. It was business. What could possibly happen? ‘Thanks. I’ll be waiting out the front.’
They finished the call then Lexi closed her laptop and walked down the main aisle of the theatre.
A golden opportunity? Or ulterior motive?
This wasn’t how she liked to work.
Spending time with Mark was slowly, but surely, driving her batty. Everything that drew her to him in Sydney drew her to him again here. Staging Larrikin without the secrecy, and without the threat to the theatre, would have been hard enough. Keeping it hidden with Mark’s constant scrutiny made it so much harder. And the yearning to throw caution to the wind and let Mark know how she was starting to feel about him made the whole situation damn near impossible.
‘Right.’ She tried to gather her wayward thoughts and focus on business.
Wardrobe and sets.
The two areas she’d marked as areas of concern on the run sheet. Both had lost key, long-term staff. And while she’d been lucky enough to replace both her stage manager and her lead designer, she knew the challenges that could come with adding new team members. Particularly when there was no clear communication in writing for her new people to follow.
Lexi traversed the narrow back-of-house corridor to the workshop.
‘Hi, Bruce?’ Deep silence greeted her from the workshop. She flipped the light, hoping to see some of the designs complete, but Bruce had covered them with sheets.
Just as she’d asked.
Disappointed, she cut through the deserted rehearsal room and back to costumes. Here the silence was deeper. She took a moment to remember Sofia. Everyone in town was feeling the loss of Rivervue’s designer. Her generosity, her smile, the love she had for Gabe. A shining star in their theatre community who would never see the end result of all her hard work on Larrikin’s sets and costumes. In theatre, everyone was family.
This hurt like losing her own mother might.
Though nothing like losing CJ.
In many respects, she’d had discussions with Gabe’s mother that potentially she should have had with her own mother. Except her own mother wasn’t interested. On days like today, when her heart was breaking over the loss of Sofia, that truth hurt so much.
Lexi made a note to include a formal remembrance to Sofia in the Larrikin program.
Then she added another to check in on Gabe. She’d had an illuminating conversation with their main seamstress, Angela, a few days earlier, and once Gabe was on his way back from that dark cave of losing his mum, she wanted to talk to him about it.
Lastly, she scribbled a reluctant reminder to send an invite to opening night to her parents.
They wouldn’t come. There was no support for their wastrel of a daughter, and her ridiculous theatre job. But that wouldn’t stop her inviting them.
What sort of parent could turn their back on a daughter who’d made a single life-changing mistake and spent the next seventeen years trying to atone for it?
As always, she couldn’t come up with an answer.
Chapter Eight
Lexi returned to her office and locked the run sheets in her desk drawer with the original script. Mark might not be there, but his presence was everywhere, and it was making her nervous. The smell of his cologne, his gear on the hot desk. The scrutiny.
Like a bug under a microscope.
Maybe she should take the weekend off? Get some distance and some perspective. Rivervue was deserted. It wasn’t as if she needed to be there.
She pulled her document wallet out, unlocked the drawer, then packed everything she might need: the draft program, the run sheets, the battered notebook that had become her bible on all things Larrikin.
Then she rummaged around in the back of her stationery drawer, delighted to retrieve a chocolate bar. Home was a long way from town if she needed chocolate, and this weekend was the kind of weekend where she might need some Vitamin Cocoa.
Especially if that afternoon didn’t go well.
Lexi checked her watch. Just under an hour until Mark was picking her up. She looked at her desk and the carefully packed document wallet. She didn’t want to start anything and be in the middle of it when he arrived.
She paced to the window and back to her desk. Nope, she couldn’t settle.
Back to the window.
Over the river, the Friday exodus had started at the local school. A few kids went early and fast, then a wave of kids meandered down School Street and fanned out across Main Street. Others headed in the opposite direction for the fleet of buses that did the school run out to the farming communities.
‘Camp!’
She’d forgotten all about her Sydney campers. She grabbed her phone and checked for updates in their secured loop. Plenty of selfies with harbour backdrops to start with, then the selfies petered out, and photos from the group leaders started to appear. Everyone, even Kenzie, had changed into their black T-shirts and pants, as requested in the brief, and they were working hard. Expression, physical reaction, movement, they’d done a lot of drills in a short period of time. Now it was all about lighting and setting and stage management.
Even Kenzie looked like she was finally getting some sleep. And given the amount of midnight-feasting undoubtedly going on that was saying something.
Great work.
Lexi added a single comment to the main post, then logged herself out. It was bad enough she hadn’t felt she could travel to Sydney, she didn’t need to rub salt in her own wound by watching it unfold over the weekend. If they needed her, they would ring.
‘Hashtag FOMO,’ she grumbled aloud.
That lonely chocolate bar didn’t seem enough for a weekend of solitude. If she was quick, she’d be able to get over to the grocery store and get some more. Decision made, she grabbed her purse and ran down the stairs to the dock. She checked she had her pass card, then let herself out and headed over the bridge into town.
Immediately, she started to feel better. Less pressured.
Free.
What a ridiculous notion. She didn’t need to be free of Rivervue. She loved Rivervue, and the community within it and around it. Rivervue wasn’t just work. Rivervue was family.
And what if you fail to keep Rivervue safe?
She set foot on the opposite bank and glanced back at the historic theatre, the windows glinting in the mid-afternoon sun. A view that was normally calming, that made her feel welcome.
Not today.
What was wrong with her?
She gave herself a big mental shake as she crossed the road and entered the grocery store. She grabbed a basket and headed for the chocolate aisle. The individual bars weren’t going to cut it, so she shopped the family blocks. Mint, caramel and plain.
Then she cruised down the chip aisle and threw a bag of chips in.
‘Chips, chocolate and caffeine. The single girl’s three food groups. And to complete the trilogy …’ She added a bottle of cola to the basket.
‘Having a party, are we?’ Deborah, the owner, started scanning her groceries.
‘Something like that.’
‘You need to let your hair down, love. You work too hard over there, and that stupid proposal to shut you down. Ooh, I get so mad every time I think about it.’
‘Well, we’re going to fight until the end, you know that. Our new play is going to be fabulous.’ Lexi p
icked up her groceries. ‘Anyway, must away. I’ve got a meeting at four.’
There was a spring to her step as she started the return journey and it wasn’t the eco-sack full of junk food causing it. That little bit of support from one of the town stalwarts had cheered her up.
Fifteen minutes later she was downstairs again, waiting on the pavement, her laptop, document wallet and junk food all stuffed into her eco-sack. It would have been nice to run it all home before Mark picked her up, but she didn’t have time and she didn’t want to leave her valuables in her car, so the sack came with her.
Mark pulled up in his silver SUV and as she opened the door, she was hit, right in the chest, by Mark the CEO. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi.’ Lexi’s mouth went dry. The black tailored suit pants fitted in all the right places and he’d paired them with a crisp white shirt, narrow black tie and black boots. Every inch the business man.
Lexi looked down at the pedal pushers and lime green blouse she’d donned that morning and started to worry. No, there was no such thing as corporate wear for a theatre director. She was fine.
She tucked her gear in the footwell of the back seat then climbed in.
She didn’t know what to say to him after her abrupt departure that morning, so she went with the very safe, very neutral, ‘Nice ride.’
‘Yeah.’ He eased the car over the speedbump at the exit, then turned towards the Butter Factory. ‘Good size, especially if you’re taking multiple kids anywhere, and it’s pretty good on the fuel.’
They lapsed into silence and it wasn’t until they were turning into the Butter Factory car park that Mark spoke again. ‘This is a preliminary walkthrough of the space. Nothing more.’
‘Okay.’
‘And if the proposal goes ahead, it’s likely there would need to be renovations here.’
‘Right.’
‘The mayor won’t talk about either of those things.’ Mark concentrated on reversing into a park.
‘Good to know.’ She paused. ‘Why do I get the feeling the Mark Conroy who first entered my office wouldn’t have warned me about that?’
‘About what?’ He shifted into park then winked at her.
