Showstopper (11 page)

I shot him another look, and then I handed Matt the financial report Susan had prepared and printed out while I'd been changing into my business attire. It was an organized and sophisticated accounting of our expenses and profits with regard to the first show.

“Impressive,” said Matt. “You guys pulled in some serious cash.”

“We did,” I conceded. “Unfortunately, in showbiz, you've got to spend money to make money.”

Matt nodded knowingly. “Same thing in the landscaping business. I finagled myself a line of credit with Mr. Krause down at the filling station. Gotta keep that ride-on running, after all, and these headphones weren't cheap. I'm saving up to buy a mountain bike. I was hoping to have enough money by the middle of the summer, but it looks like I'm going to
have to wait until fall.”

“Which brings me back to the angel thing,” I said with a smile. “Matt, what if I told you there was a way for you to make twice as much money in half the time?”

“Double my money?” His eyebrows lifted slightly. “I'm listening.”

“In theater,
angel
is the term for someone who invests money in a show. Basically, it's a financial backer.”

“Okay.”

“So here's what I'm offering. You invest a certain amount of cash in our upcoming show. Cash we can use to buy props and costumes and for other incidentals that might come up. After the show, when we've gotten our ticket revenue, we'll pay you back . . . double what you invested.”

Matt's eyes lit up. “You're kidding.”

“Nope.” I shook my head. “So for instance, using round numbers, let's say you invest two hundred dollars.”

“Do you
have
two hundred dollars?” Austin asked skeptically.

Matt hesitated, then nodded.

“Perfect,” I said. “So if you agree to be our angel, you'd entrust us with that two hundred for the next three weeks. You'll still be able to gas up your mower, thanks to Mr. Krause.”

“Just curious,” said Susan, popping into the kitchen to help herself to lemonade. “Is that line of credit only good for fuel, or can you use it at Krause's mini-mart for beef jerky and raspberry slushees?”

I gave Susan a glare. “Were you eavesdropping?”

“Not until he mentioned Krause's. You know I love slushees.”

“That's not exactly pertinent at the moment,” I said through my teeth.

“Slushees are always pertinent,” she replied with a grin, flouncing back into the family room with her drink.

I turned back to Matt with a hopeful look. “You invest two hundred bucks and you get back four hundred. Without even lifting a finger.”

He considered this carefully. “What if you don't make enough money to pay me back that much?”

I shook my head and pointed to the financial statement in front of him. “Not gonna happen.”

“I admire your confidence,” he said. “But c'mon, Anya. As a businesswoman, you know there's no such thing as a sure bet. Anything can happen.”

I couldn't argue with that, not when there was a busted water main less than half a mile away to prove his point.

“Okay, well, how about this? We guarantee at the very
least you'll get your original investment back . . . with ten percent interest. That's a twenty-dollar profit.”

“You can buy a lot of slushees with twenty bucks!” Susan called from the family room.

Matt was quiet for a long moment, and I was sure we'd lost him. Then he picked up the program and examined it thoughtfully.

“Mr. Davenport cuts his own grass,” he said at last.

I frowned, not getting the connection. “So?”

“You've seen his yard, right?”

“Of course. It's the biggest, fanciest one in the whole neighborhood.”

Matt nodded, and an expression of yearning flickered across his face. “Two and a quarter acres, perennial beds, boxwood hedges, and all those climbing roses on the pergola.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Austin impatiently. “Davenport's got a green thumb. We get it. What's that got to do with us?”

“The Davenports' son, Kyle, used to do all the yard work, but he's backpacking through Europe this summer.”

“Good for Kyle,” snapped Austin. “Again, how is that relevant?”

Matt grinned, flipping through the program. “I could make a real bundle if I had Mr. Davenport as a client.”

He was leading up to something; I just wasn't sure what.
I leaned back in my chair, folded my arms, and cocked my head. “So why don't you?” I asked. “Have him as a client, I mean.”

“Because I'm a horticulturist, not a door-to-door salesman. Between your yard and the Fleisches' and the Quandts', I don't have time to ring every doorbell in the neighborhood, trying to drum up more business. My mom offered to call the ladies in her book club to see if any of them needed a landscaper, but that felt way too babyish.”

I smiled because I knew exactly what he meant. It was, after all, the whole reason I'd set up this meeting with him, instead of just asking my parents for a loan.

“But if I could find a way to do some effective advertising,” Matt continued, “aimed directly at the residents of the Random Farms neighborhood . . . well, I might get Mr. Davenport's attention. And Mrs. Campbell's, too. Have you seen the amount of dandelions in her yard?”

“So you're saying you want to advertise in our theater program?” I said, finally catching on.

“A full-page ad,” he said, “at no cost to me. And it should identify me as an investor. I think your audience would like knowing they're doing business with a patron of the arts.”

Okay, A) I loved that Matt Witten could use the term
patron of the arts
in conversation, and B) it was a brilliant
idea and a great compromise! Even if, by some horrible chance,
The Odd-yssey
didn't earn enough to double Matt's investment, he'd still benefit from the free advertising. And it was very professional; Broadway Playbills (like the one I'd sold to Sophia Ciancio) always featured advertisements.

“Done!” I said, reaching out to shake Matt's hand, and not even minding the smudges of black engine grease on his knuckles. Then I grabbed a pen and quickly jotted down the specifics of our deal: the doubling of his two-hundred-dollar investment, or (should things go terribly wrong) the return of it in full with 10 percent interest, and a full-page ad to be designed by him.

Matt looked over the document, then signed the paper as Susan returned to put her empty glass into the sink.

“So I'm an angel?” said Matt, meeting my eyes and giving me another great smile.

“Oh, I can practically see the wings sprouting between your shoulder blades as we speak,” deadpanned Susan. “Just watch out you don't damage your halo when you put those headphones back on.”

I was glad she said something because, for some reason, with Matt smiling at me like that, I was having trouble finding my voice.

“We'll scan it and e-mail a copy to you right away,” Austin
promised Matt, then downed the rest of his lemonade.

“You know,” said Matt, “there's that huge overgrown meadow behind the old clubhouse.”

“Clubhouse
theater
,” I corrected. “But what about the meadow?”

“I've asked Healy a few times if he'd pay me to clean it up. But he says there's no point in landscaping property nobody sees or uses.” He gave me a grin. “Think you could use your influence to get him to reconsider?”

“Mr. Healy's got his hands full at the moment, with the water-main break and all,” I reminded him. “But if the opportunity arises, I'll definitely mention it.”

“Thanks, Anya.”

“Thank you, Matt.”

Austin practically leaped off his barstool to show Matt to the door. When he came back, I poured him a second lemonade and we raised our glasses in a toast.

“To angels!” I said.

“Even the ones who smell like grass and gasoline,” Austin added.

I giggled as we downed our drinks.

CHAPTER

10

On Monday morning the cast of Random Farms met on the steps of the Chappaqua Community Center.

Papa Harold drove Susan and me, as well as Spencer, Jane, and Maddie. The rest of the kids either biked or arranged car pools. Gracie's big brother, Nick, drove her along with Elle and Travis. I had to laugh because Nick was driving the car he used to deliver pizzas for their uncle George's restaurant. It had the words
DEMETRIUS'S PIZZA
emblazoned on the side, and even a loudspeaker attached to the roof!

I was surprised when Nick got out of the car and opened the trunk. He carefully removed something wrapped in a soft flannel cloth, which he handed to Gracie. Then he got back into the car and drove off.

“Does anyone else smell pepperoni?” Susan asked as Elle and Travis joined us.

“That's what happens when you get dropped off by the pizza guy.” Elle sighed, sniffing her sleeve.

“Could be worse,” Travis noted. “We could smell like anchovies.”

“Look on the bright side,” said Susan. “You'll never be late for rehearsal.”

“Why not?” asked Elle, scraping a glop of old mozzarella from the bottom of her sneaker.

“Because Demetrius's promises to deliver in thirty minutes or less!”

“What's that?” I asked Gracie when she reached the steps.

Gracie unveiled the object. “It was a gift to my dad from his papou,” she explained.

I looked at the peculiar-looking item cradled in Gracie's arms. It was clearly some sort of musical instrument, like a guitar without a neck, or a baby harp.

“It's beautiful,” said Susan. “What's it called?”

“A kithara,” said Gracie. “When I told my dad we were doing a version of
The Odyssey
, he thought we might be able to use it.”

“Wow,” said Austin. “Awesome lyre.”

Gracie scowled. “Who are you calling a liar? It
is
a kithara and my dad
did
say we could use it!”

“I'm not calling you a liar, Gracie,” Austin clarified. “I'm
calling the kithara a lyre. It's just another name for it.” He reached out for the instrument. “May I?”

Gracie handed him the instrument. Austin plinked the strings. It made a sound similar to a guitar, but a little deeper and pluckier.

“Can I try?” asked Joey.

“Wait!” I said. “That thing didn't, like, belong to Apollo or anything, right? It's not some priceless artifact unearthed from a Greek ruin, is it?”

Gracie giggled. “It's just a good reproduction. Not a toy, but not an archeological treasure, either.”

“Well, be careful anyway,” I advised Joey as Austin presented the lyre to him.

Joey examined it. He was at first tripped up by the fact that this instrument had ten strings, whereas his acoustic guitar had only six. But after a minute or so, he was strumming away like an old pro. “I bet I can find a lyre tutorial on YouTube,” he said. “Gracie, mind if I take this home for practice?”

“That's fine,” said Gracie.

“All right, everyone,” I said. “Let's go inside.”

We entered the lobby, and I went to the desk to retrieve the key Mrs. Crandall had left for us. Seconds later we were stepping into the theater.

For a moment everyone just stared in silence.

“This is great!” cried Jane at last.

“It's huge,” said Maddie.

“Check out all the lights!” Deon said breathlessly, eyeing the spots and canisters suspended above the stage. “And there's a sound system! Man, I think I've died and gone to heaven.”

I wasn't sure I liked the idea of my cast being so awed by this place. I understood that the plush auditorium seating and the gorgeous velvet curtain were impressive. But that didn't make me feel any better about their excitement level. I didn't want them to love it more than they loved the clubhouse theater.

“It'll do for now,” Austin pronounced diplomatically. “We'll make the best of it, and get back home just as soon as we can.”

“Like Odysseus,” said Teddy.

I smiled, pleased he'd made the same connection Austin and I had.

“Speaking of Odysseus,” said Maddie, “are you guys going to post the cast list?”

“Yes,” I said, turning to Susan. “Did you remember to bring the Scotch tape?”

As soon as I stuck the list to the wall, I stepped back to avoid being trampled by my eager and curious cast. Susan,
of course, hung back with Austin and me, as did Maxie, Brittany, Gina, Deon, and Joey.

There were a lot of happy squeals and no small amount of confused whispers. After a minute or so, Travis turned away from the list, wearing a puzzled expression.

“This says I'm playing Athena
and
a pig. What's up with that?”

“That's kind of a surprise,” I explained. “We're casting everyone in dual roles.”

“Why?” asked Jane.

“Simple math,” said Teddy, who seemed pleased with having been given the title role of Odysseus. “There are more parts than actors.”

“They do it on Broadway all the time,” I explained. “In
Peter Pan
, for example, the parts of Captain Hook and Mr. Darling are traditionally played by the same actor. But in that case, it has less to do with math than making an artistic statement.”

“It's going to make for some challenging costume changes,” Maxie observed.

Elle giggled. “Max, that's not the only challenge you're going to be dealing with.”

“Whaddya mean?”

Elle pointed to the cast list. “Says here you're in the show.
You're a member of Odysseus's army
and
you're one of Penelope's suitors.”

Maxie blinked. “I am? But I didn't audition.”

“Neither did Deon or Brittany or the rest of the crew,” Spencer pointed out. “But they've all got parts, too.”