Take a Bow (A Rivervue Community Theatre Romance, #3)

by Fiona Greene

  Or maybe the last one. If Lucy was okay with that.

  She stretched, but she didn’t get up.

  Not yet.

  The last few weeks had delivered it all. Yet, here they were. Ready to premiere Larrikin by Draven to the world. Well, perhaps not ready yet—a few tweaks still to be made—but come eight o’clock tonight, they’d be ready.

  She lay back on her pillow and stared at the ceiling. Any sane person would opt for a sleep-in because tonight was going to be a late one. Tomorrow would be no better with both a matinee and evening performance. But instead of feeling exhausted, she was invigorated.

  Alive.

  The joy of the Rivervue community flowed through her. Everyone— Kenzie, Richard, Gabe, Bruce, Emma, Toby, Mitchell, Vanessa—had stepped up that little bit more once they realised the importance of the gift of a Draven. They’d exceeded her expectations. Sofia’s tragic loss had shaken them, but they’d come back stronger—a moving tribute to one of Rivervue’s finest.

  Her team was freaking awesome. No, they were stratospheres past awesome. That’s what was making what she had to do next so hard.

  Lexi blew out a big sigh.

  Mark was still treating her like she was invisible. Sure, he engaged at work, but outside of that, nothing. It wasn’t cold, it wasn’t nasty. It was just … nothing.

  Even with its bustling main street and plentiful shops, Brachen wasn’t a big enough town for her to live in if that’s how their relationship would be. She wanted Mark in her life and, if he wasn’t, then she was leaving Rivervue and Brachen.

  Butterflies flipped in her stomach. Once the Draven run was over, she’d be gone.

  She’d fielded a call from a Queensland city theatre the moment the Draven news got out. She was halfway through the call before she realised it was a phone interview.

  Every day she turned this decision inside out and upside down, and no matter how she looked at it, she couldn’t stay.

  Not with Mark. And not without him.

  And definitely not in a pared-back Rivervue in a butter factory five miles out of town.

  All mention of the Rivervue Revitalisation had been dropped since the announcement of the Draven, but that wasn’t reassuring her. If the mayor could tie glory from the play to the redevelopment, then she was pretty sure he would.

  But all of that faded into insignificance next to that brief reconnection with Mark that had been snatched away before they’d explored where it could take them.

  He was in her life, but he wasn’t. She’d seen him around and talked to him at length about Larrikin but there’d been nothing personal. No recognition of what happened that weekend.

  And to her surprise, he’d been at the theatre many nights after work, building and painting and running over the bridge to Dasha’s for coffee. Heck, she’d even seen Angela, their seamstress, trying to teach him to hand sew.

  All of those little snippets of contact had ripped her heart out all over again. Seeing Mark at work, having lost him in her personal life, was worse than not seeing him at all. She had to be on guard all the time.

  And she hated that.

  So she’d decided that Larrikin was going to be her last production at Rivervue.

  Emptiness gnawed at her every time she thought about leaving her team and her friends, and her cottage.

  But with no chance of a relationship with Mark, now was the right time to move on. She could leave with her head held high, having given Rivervue the best chance of longevity in its current location. Oh, and with the staging of a Draven to her credit. That, alone, made her employable anywhere, and she closed her eyes and gave thanks to whoever was looking down on her from above.

  ‘Stop.’ She pushed to bare feet. Today was a day for celebration, and she was going to honour opening night the best way she knew how, by giving the people of Brachen a kick-arse production unlike anything they’d ever seen before.

  No matter what.

  An hour later she was pulling into the car park. It was still too early for a takeaway coffee in town, so she’d swung out to the highway and stopped at the Roadhouse for the trucker’s special. It was as tall as her forearm but guaranteed enough caffeine to get her through the day.

  She pulled her backpack and the garment bag holding her dress from the car and headed into the theatre. At least if everything unravelled today, she didn’t need to go home to get changed.

  Lexi dropped her gear into her office and headed for the main stage. She left the house lights off and flicked on the stage wash then crept down the aisle and sat in the front row.

  She rested her coffee on the armrest and breathed in the magic.

  The set for the first act had already been positioned, an LA apartment, essential for telling Ron de Vue’s Hollywood history from where it ended.

  His death.

  The discovery of his memoirs.

  Waiting in the wings was a silent Brachen, with architectural details still visible in the town today included in the set design. Bruce had built them to perfection. She almost expected if she took the footbridge over to Main Street there’d be jagged holes in a few buildings, those pieces relocated here and married together. She smiled at the fanciful notion.

  ‘How’s it going?’

  Lexi started, then grabbed for the monster coffee that was teetering on the armrest. ‘Oh hi, Mark.’

  Of all the people she’d expected might be here this early, Mark Conroy wasn’t one of them.

  ‘Hi.’ He slid into the seat two over from hers. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Lexi smiled. ‘We’re at the stage where you can’t plan anymore. From here on in, it’s all reactionary.’

  ‘That’s good, right?’

  ‘It is. It’s one of my things though, to come in early on the day of opening night and wake the stage.’

  ‘Sounds good.’ They sat in silence for a few seconds, then Mark spoke. ‘Lex, I wanted you to hear it from me first.’

  Something in his tone made her stiffen. ‘Yes.’ She closed her eyes and waited.

  ‘Emma’s real excited about tonight, so she asked if her mum could come.’ He cleared his throat. ‘And her granddad.’

  It took a second to sink in. ‘Your father?’

  He stared straight ahead. ‘Yes.’

  Tonight, of all nights.

  ‘That’s great.’ Hopefully, Mark would never know the stab in the chest his words had caused. ‘I know Emma missed her mum a lot when she first moved here. She must miss her granddad too.’ Lexi focused on the apartment laid out in front of her on the stage. ‘So, I guess it’s a good thing that my parents had another appointment and couldn’t come.’

  Mark’s head snapped around. ‘I never thought of that.’ He wiped his hand over his brow. ‘Disaster averted. The actors playing to no-one because everyone in the audience was watching the real drama unfolding in the family seats.’

  Lexi’s gut churned. Chances were, both sets of parents had forgotten the others’ existence, but the thought of her mother shouting at Mark’s father made her want to vomit.

  ‘Do you have VIP?’

  ‘Yeah. It seemed the easiest to do.’

  Lexi made a mental note to check and, if she could, further upgrade the seating for Mark’s guests. She always held some good seats, just in case. Chalk it up to superstition. ‘Great. Well I guess I better let you get back to it.’

  Mark didn’t move.

  Lexi’s senses went on high alert.

  ‘There’s one other thing.’ Mark cleared his throat. ‘Forsdyke is planning an announcement at the end of the run. On Sunday. He won’t tell me what it is.’

  Anger lanced through her. ‘Couldn’t he at least give us the run? Let us celebrate before he demolishes my company.’ She stared at the set. ‘Anything you think we can do to delay it?’

  ‘Fire alarm?’ Mark joked, then when he saw her face he said, ‘No, don’t set off a fire alarm. Please.’

  ‘No fire jokes.’ Lexi’s mood went dark. ‘So
mething would need to be legitimately on fire for me to set off the fire alarm.’ Immediately she thought of Forsdyke’s collection of shiny suits and how flammable they might be, but she couldn’t even go there. ‘He couldn’t wait until afterwards? Let the team go out on a high?’

  Mark shook his head. ‘Sunday night.’ He pushed to his feet. ‘Sorry, Lex.’

  She closed her eyes and ground out. ‘I don’t think you are sorry.’

  He stopped and turned back to her, eyes blazing. ‘Then you’re wrong. You and I have a lot of history, and it hasn’t ended well, but I respect your role in this theatre, and I respect what you’ve tried to do here. If you can’t see that …’

  He strode over to the stage and disappeared into the wings.

  Lexi’s heart tore into a million pieces. Once she was sure he was gone, she dropped her head into her hands and scrubbed at her eyes. Only an hour earlier she’d patted herself on the back that nothing could possibly go wrong now.

  She was so wrong.

  Fighting fires seemed to be the order of the day. Someone put their heel through the hem of their costume, one of her juniors was stung by a bee hiding in a floral arrangement in the foyer and his parents had taken him over to Nowra for the anti-allergy shot, and the catering truck had broken down smack bang in the middle of the driveway.

  But even with all of those disasters, at seven-thirty she returned to the theatre floor, showered, hair blow-dried into a sleek bob, and wearing a sleeveless evening gown in gold that gathered at the waist then fell in soft folds to the floor.

  The fabric was plain, but the bodice was embellished with a floral drape, made entirely of sequins, that shimmered as she walked. The dress was so gorgeous, she kept her accessories minimal—teardrop earrings and nude heels.

  She pulled the entire cast and crew together for a briefing. Her back-of-house team were in their Larrikin T-shirts and jeans, her actors in costume. ‘Team, we’ve worked hard, each and every one of us, and I wanted to thank you all for everything you’ve given to this production. The sets are exceptional, the costumes way more than I could ever have expected, the lighting is magic. My actors—you’ve dug deep within yourself and you’ve brought the work that Draven gifted to our theatre to life, and I can’t thank you enough.’ She paused as her team broke out into spontaneous applause. ‘I also wanted to stop and acknowledge Sofia Mora’s passing with a minute’s silence. Sofia gave so much to our theatre, and to this production in particular. Each and every one of you on stage has something Sofia touched or worked on, so she lives on in this production. For Sofia.’

  ‘For Sofia,’ the Rivervue cast and crew repeated before falling silent.

  In the background the distant hum of the crowd and the clink of glasses continued, but behind the stage it was completely silent. Everyone stopped, and everyone remembered. When Lexi looked around, a few of her longtimers were wiping away a tear. Lexi closed her eyes. Sofia’d made this dress and without her expertise, it wouldn’t drape as well as it did. As long as she lived, she’d keep this dress, a tangible reminder of her friend. She threw a small prayer up, and hoped Sofia was looking down on them.

  The minute had well and truly passed before the cast and crew returned to the here and now. ‘I believe in each and every one of you and I know you’re going to nail the opening night of Larrikin. I’m heading upstairs to greet the VIPs. I’ll be back here at 7.55, okay? I’ll give the five-minute call, as always.’ The team nodded, and she closed the huddle the way they always did. ‘Rivervue,’ she called.

  ‘Rivervue,’ they replied.

  A shiver worked its way down her spine. No matter how many productions she did, that moment of connection, just before they opened, was the magic that made all the stress and hustle of pre-production worthwhile.

  Lexi was smiling as she slipped into the VIP lounge where her volunteer ambassadors, Theresa and Jennifer, were hosting the mayor, some dignitaries from the parliament, and a mix of theatre critics, visitors and families.

  And then she saw Mark.

  Her heart stopped.

  He was in a tuxedo, with a crisp white shirt, and black bow tie. Having only ever seen him in his suit a handful of times, Lexi couldn’t believe her eyes. He was gorgeous.

  And completely unattainable.

  He was standing with a thin woman with long dark hair, wearing a purple dress. Lexi squinted, but she couldn’t see much resemblance to Emma. The older man she recognised instantly, although Mark’s father had lost that stern austerity she remembered. He’d shrunk in height and put on a little weight. Now he was softer, the sort of grandfather that cuddled. Although she was pretty sure Mark said he was in a home now. With dementia. That’s when she noticed the woman with him was wearing an ID card. Some sort of carer.

  Lexi worked the room but avoided that corner.

  Five minutes out, she slipped backstage and wished her team well, then headed back into the theatre. As eight o’clock rolled around an expectant hush fell over the crowd.

  Lexi closed her eyes and listened. She wanted to savour this moment. Wrap up a thousand little memories and keep them for the day when River-vue was nothing but a distant memory.

  Then, gradually, the floor lights went down, and the opening score brought the production to life. The stage lights flicked on and the audience was transported to Ron de Vue’s LA apartment and dropped into the life of the Larrikin.

  Lexi watched the audience reaction and excitement ripped through her. A full house watched the stage, spellbound. There was laughter where there should have been laughter, and sympathy where there should have been sympathy.

  Without meaning to, she honed in on Mark, sitting with Emma’s mother. She witnessed something she’d never be able to unsee. While Mark was fixated on the stage, Emma’s mother was watching Mark. Lexi swallowed hard. Her expression was predatory, but changed whenever Mark turned his head.

  Lexi tried to remember the history of their break-up. Emma had said something about her mother going to live with a boyfriend, and taking her. Mark had fought for custody. She knew Emma had ended up back with her father because her mother had given her back. Mark was scarred by her lies.

  Lexi didn’t have the full picture, but she had enough. She forced her attention back to the production.

  The split timeline was unfolding perfectly, and soon enough it was Emma’s turn to take the stage.

  Lexi’s heart felt like it would break free from her chest, watching shy, cautious Emma burst forth as young Mary. She should have kept her mind on the production, but she found herself searching out Mark in the audience.

  Lexi clutched at her chest.

  Oh. My. Heart.

  Mark was perched on the edge of his seat, his face lit with pride and love. He was truly beaming at the stage and his daughter. Next to him, Emma’s mother was touching his arm, and talking. He was ignoring her, focusing solely on his daughter. Lexi’s gaze swung back to Mark and she drank her fill of him, watching the love and pride he had for his child.

  Things she’d always wanted from him for their child. Things that weren’t meant to be.

  She tucked that memory of Mark away with all the others she’d gathered over the last little while and returned her attention to Larrikin.

  ***

  They didn’t have intermission. The play, with its dual timelines and vignettes of Ron’s life, didn’t support a clean break. Instead they rapidly transitioned between scenes with the lights down. Each time, conversation buzzed through the audience.

  Rivervue was presenting a very different image of Ron de Vue to the popular legend disseminated by the Brachen Historical Society and printed on every plaque and monument in the place. Everyone wanted to know exactly how he was going to make a special appearance in the show. And when. During their brief lulls for set changes, they questioned this telling of history; some even going so far as to start searching on their smartphones. But only during the transitions.

  During the performance, they were silent. Attentiv
e. Enthralled.

  Lexi was on the edge of her seat for the final act, where the true relationship between Ron and Mary played out to a cleverly crafted series of snippets taken from the audio that Ron had used to record his memoirs.

  She mouthed Ron’s words that she knew by heart as the cast threw every-thing into a series of vignettes showing the real reason Ron de Vue never returned to Brachen.

  The kiss that shouldn’t have been.

  Mary pushing Ron away.

  Crossing her hands over her body. The last time she would ever see him.

  ‘Ah, Mary, I always understood why you wanted me to go but did it have to be to war? Was death my sentence for loving you?’

  There were audible gasps from the audience. Lexi teared up at the stark reality of Ron’s torment. And Mary’s horror.

  The brilliance of the Draven.

  ‘… a smile that I broke. That I never deserved.’

  Richard brought the iconic image of Ron de Vue—slouch hat and boots—to life and the spotlight focused in on him.

  Toby stepped into scene, right in front of Richard, who wrapped his arms around the child. Old Ron cradling young Ron.

  ‘I’m no Larrikin. I am just a boy.’

  The spot narrowed further.

  ‘But this boy will always … always love Mondays. Because that was the day I first saw Mary’s heart.’

  Blackout.

  There was absolute silence in the theatre for the longest time. Lexi’s heartbeat echoed loudly in her ears.

  Then the audience erupted.

  Thunderous applause echoed across the stage, and when the running lights faded in to show the entire cast, the standing ovation began to unfold, from the front stalls, working its way back across the crowd until everyone was standing. And clapping. And cheering.

  Lexi put her hand on her heart and for a microsecond closed her eyes.

  Success.

  They’d done it. They’d taken the Draven and they’d made it work. She started to shake.

  As she watched, the ensemble cast took several bows. Then they stood as the lighting crew ran a series of pastel colours across the stage, reminiscent of a child’s toy. The flashes continued chasing across the stage waiting for the crowd to quiet.