Sucker Punch (5 page)

“Either the theater is doing better than anyone realized,” Richie speculated, “or she’s blackmailing them.”

“Vonetta? Blackmail?” I laughed. “Not likely. She’s one of the most ethical people I know.”

“Then she must be rich. All I know is, I’m dying to meet Laurence.” Richie touched Dylan’s arm briefly, reassuring him that he had nothing to worry about.

Dylan didn’t appear concerned, and I felt another pang of envy over that. More than anything, I wanted to feel that kind of absolute trust in someone again. “What’s going on tonight?” I asked. “I thought rehearsals hadn’t started yet.”

“They haven’t,” Dylan said, swerving to avoid a patch of ice on the sidewalk. “Vonetta called a mandatory meeting for the whole company.”

“Oh. In that case, I shouldn’t bring my dinner in.”

Richie slipped behind us as we passed a couple walking in the other direction, then scurried up to walk three abreast again. “I’m sure it will be fine. Who’s going to care?”

“I don’t know,” I said with a shrug. “Alexander Pastorelli maybe? Or Laurence Nichols? Or both? I’m sure neither of them wants spectators hanging around before opening night.”

We reached the glass doors of the theater and stopped walking. I could see people milling about in the lobby. Some, I recognized—Gavin Trotter, Rachel Summers, Paisley Pringle—and some I didn’t, but this time the longing to be part of the group didn’t surprise me.

I’d been struggling ever since I came back to Paradise to find my place back among my friends and neighbors. Here was the perfect opportunity to get more involved, and I was turning my back on it.

Dylan followed my gaze, then slid a glance at me. “I’m surprised Vonetta hasn’t tagged you for a part.”

I wondered if he could sense my ambivalence. “She tried,” I admitted, “but the shop’s just too busy with the holiday right around the corner. I had to turn her down.”

“You’re going to be sorry you did that,” Richie predicted. “The script is hilarious. It’s one of those plays within a play about a group of silent movie actors making a talking version of
The Pirates of Penzance
. They’re all beautiful, but none of them can sing a note and their speaking voices are hideous so the director hires a bunch of ugly people to hide out in the sound booth and provide the voices.”

“It’s very clever, really,” Dylan said. “Like
Singin’ in the Rain
. I read the script when Richie brought it home. You should come with us and see what you think.”

It sounded fun, but my practical side held out. “Another time, maybe.”

“Oh, come on,” Richie urged. “What can it hurt? Who knows? Maybe you’ll get a chance meet Laurence Nichols.”

That got me moving. The promise of warmth after standing outside in subzero temperatures
and
a chance to see Laurence Nichols in person? Didn’t I deserve that much?

I trailed them inside and looked around for an out-of-the-way place to leave Max. I knew Vonetta wouldn’t mind him being in the Playhouse, but the rehearsal hall at the far end of the building was already crowded and I didn’t want to make things worse by squeezing a large dog into the mix. Besides, some people get nervous around Dobermans, and there might be strangers here tonight who didn’t know that Max is a total teddy bear.

I tried the door to the box office, found it unlocked, and settled Max in the corner with a promise to come back soon. I closed the door to keep him from wandering and followed the sound of voices to the center of activity.

I could almost picture two Abbys sitting on my shoulders, one urging me to turn around and walk away before I got caught up in the excitement, the other telling me that I could be in the play without ignoring my responsibilities at work.
Besides
, Bad Abby asked,
what kind of friend was I to turn my back on Vonetta after she’d come to me for help
?

Experience has taught me that I shouldn’t listen to that Abby. She’s the one who gets me into trouble. The one at the heart of all my regrets. She doesn’t care about my obligations, the success of the store, or my mental well-being. She doesn’t worry about making ends meet. She only cares about doing what seems fun or feels good at the moment. I know all that about her . . . but I followed her anyway.

It wouldn’t be long before I realized my mistake.

A wave of heat rolled over me as I stepped down into the rehearsal hall. Someone had cranked up the thermostat, and the warmth that had been so welcome in the lobby became oppressive in the crowd.

The rehearsal hall is a long room that runs the width of the building, front to back. It’s about a third as large as the stage, and it’s in this room that most of the preproduction work on any play being staged at the Playhouse takes place.

Overflow props too large to fit in the storage closets teetered in precarious-looking stacks in the corners. Mirrors lining two walls allow dancers to see their moves as they practice, and posters from previous productions cover another wall. A bank of windows looks out on the alley that runs between the Playhouse and the insurance office next door.

Dylan and Richie melted into the crowd, but Rachel bounded up to me before I could get both feet through the door. I wasn’t exactly surprised to see her in the cast. She’s been telling me for the past two years that her life’s ambition is to be a plus-sized model, and she rarely steps outside unless she’s ready for a photo shoot. Meanwhile, she runs the candle shop a few doors down from Divinity, and she’s in and out of my shop almost as much as she is her own.

“I didn’t know you were in the play!” she said, grabbing my arm and tugging me further into the room. Her short brown hair was carefully styled, her makeup perfect. Next to her I always feel like somebody’s frumpy older sister. “You should have told me. We could have come together.”

“I’m not in the play,” I told her. “No time. Dylan and Richie dragged me in with them tonight, but I’m only staying a minute.”

“Oh. Well that’s too bad. It would have been fun.” She craned to see over the crowd. “Can you believe this? What a zoo!”

That was an understatement. People had gathered in knots around the room. Some were catching up with each others’ lives, some were reciting lines, some singing—although no two seemed to be singing the same song. A couple of women made practice runs at dance steps, and I had to dodge the enthusiastic twirls of a young woman with pale blond hair.

The creative energy swirling around the room was almost palpable. Vonetta had obviously stirred up plenty of interest in the play, so it wasn’t as if she needed me. I could safely ignore the guilt trips my conscience kept trying to send me on.

Rachel spotted someone she needed to talk to and scooted off, leaving me to fend for myself. I felt out of place and uncomfortably conspicuous, so I hovered on the edge of the crowd where I wouldn’t have to keep explaining what I was doing there.

I caught a glimpse of Vonetta, who looked imperial in an emerald-colored caftan embellished with a bold design in gold, talking to Geoffrey Manwaring and a short man with a stocky build on the other side of the room. Paisley hovered at her side, almost embarrassingly eager to please. A few steps behind, almost hidden from view, a plump woman wearing a bored expression watched the chaos.

Since I wasn’t expecting to see her, it took almost a full second to recognize the bored woman as Vonetta’s daughter, Serena. Years ago, when we were both enamored of the theater, we’d spent hours in this room, but Serena’s love of the stage had clearly evaporated somewhere along the way. She didn’t look enamored of anything tonight.

I was surprised to see her in the rehearsal hall—not only because of her antipathy for the world of the stage, but because she’d been gone from Paradise almost as long as I had. I wondered why Vonetta hadn’t told me that she was back.

“Abby? Is that you?”

Making a mental note to connect with Serena later, I turned to see who was calling me and found Colleen Miller—Colleen
Brannigan—
surging through the crowd toward me. Colleen looked exactly the same. Her short hair was the same buttery blond it had been in school, and if she’d gained an ounce, she hid it well.

She hugged me as if we’d seen each other just yesterday. “I can’t believe you’re here. They told me you weren’t going to be in the play. Did you change your mind?”

I shook my head, but it was getting harder and harder to say no. “I just stopped by to see if Vonetta found enough people for the cast. Apparently, I didn’t need to worry.”

Colleen trailed her gaze around the crowded room. “We’ve had a pretty good turnout,” she agreed, “but the show isn’t completely cast yet.”

“Really? I’d have thought that people would be fighting each other for the chance to work with Laurence and Alexander.”

“They are,” Colleen said with a rueful smile. “Vonetta’s turned away so many people it makes my head spin. We could have had three casts already if she’d stop being so picky.”

“She has to be discriminating, doesn’t she? She’s casting for a couple of bigwigs.”

Colleen shrugged and tilted her head toward the men Vonetta was talking to. “Alexander knows what he’s getting into. This is semiprofessional theater, not Broadway. None of these actors are getting paid, and you’re not going to get star quality performances for nothing.”

“Is that Alexander?” I asked, feeling a faint flutter of disappointment. Aren’t superstars supposed to be tall, well-built, and handsome?

Colleen nodded. “And he’s on one tonight. I don’t know what’s going on over there, but he hasn’t been happy since he walked through the door.”

Sure enough, Alexander’s face had turned a mottled shade of red, and from where I stood it looked as if he could have throttled Geoffrey Manwaring cheerfully.
Get in line, buddy. Me first.
I wondered what Mr. Personality had done now.

Before I could find out, a sullen-looking man of about fifty came up behind us. His hair was more salt than pepper, and his stocky build was just starting to run to fat. He said something in Colleen’s ear and her smile faded. For a heartbeat she looked almost as unhappy as he did, but she smiled again and the shadows fled.

She took Smiley’s arm and pulled him forward. “This is Abby Shaw, an old friend from
way
too many years ago. Abby, my husband Doyle.”

Her husband? That surprised me. I would never have matched the two of them in a million years. I said I was pleased to meet him. Doyle mumbled something under his breath and pumped my hand once. Whether he’d said he was pleased to meet me or told me to go to hell was anyone’s guess.

“Well, I wish you were going to join us,” she said, returning to our conversation. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to change your mind?”

I laughed and shook my head. “I’ll admit it’s tempting, but I run the candy shop now, and Valentine’s Day . . .”

“Yeah, I know. Vonetta told me. We should at least get together for lunch now and then. Doyle and I are just over in Leadville.”

As the crow flies, Leadville is less than twenty miles from Paradise, but it takes at least forty-five minutes to drive there. I said “Yeah, we really should,” but I wondered if we ever would. “So you’ve stayed active in the theater,” I said. “Vonetta tells me you’re going to be stage manager.”

“Yes, and it’s a terrific opportunity. I can’t believe she hired me for this production.”

“Don’t be so modest. Vonetta’s loyal to her friends, but she wouldn’t risk this production just for friendship. You must be good at what you do.”

“I’ve worked with Laurence a few times,” Colleen said, ducking her head as if the admission embarrassed her. “And I’ve met Alexander. I just happened to be free when they needed someone.” The gleam of triumph in her eyes gave her away. She hadn’t landed this job by luck. She’d worked hard to get here.

Doyle spoke again, still too low for me to hear what he said, but the softness evaporated from Colleen’s expression and she rounded on her husband. “Stop it, Doyle,” she snarled. “I mean it. This is not the time or the place.”

Doyle snorted a harsh laugh, and I wondered if he’d been drinking. “You expect me to just sit back and pretend like I don’t know what’s going on?”

I didn’t have any trouble hearing him now, and neither did anyone around us. A few people fell silent, and several turned to see what was going on.

Colleen’s face flamed and anger sparked in her eyes. “
Nothing’s
going on. I’ve told you that a hundred times.”

Doyle barked another ugly laugh. “Yes. Yes, you have. So why don’t I believe you?”

Colleen’s eyes turned to stone. “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” she ground out, her voice almost too low for me to hear. “You have absolutely no reason to suspect me, and I
refuse
to let you destroy another job for me. If you can’t keep your suspicions to yourself, then please leave.”