The End of the Line (17 page)

Peter
cleared his throat. “One of the contractors I worked for told me if I ever
needed anything to give him a call. I can get doors and framing supplies from
him for free.”

“Really?”
Latesha asked, exchanging hopeful glances with Mary.

“That
won’t be a problem,” Peter said, “but hanging doors properly is a bit of an
art. Is there a carpenter in Beechwood who could donate a few hours?”

Mary
scrunched up her face and thought about it. Suddenly a light went on in her
head. “Your father is a carpenter, Latesha.”

“Was,”
Latesha corrected immediately, totally caught off-guard by the suggestion.
“Since the accident he won’t even leave the house. He’d refuse to do it.”

“It
sure would be a big help,” Mary argued.

“There’s
no way my father would do that.”

“Would
you mind if I ask him?” Peter suddenly proposed.

Latesha
lowered her face and looked up at him with an expression of amused disbelief.
“Say what?”

“The
worst that can happen is that he’ll say no.”

“The
worst thing that can happen is that he’ll throw you out of the house,” Latesha
warned him with a meaningful look. “You have no idea.”

“I
don’t care,” Peter said with a shrug. “I’m willing to try.”

Latesha
looked hard at him, as if trying to decipher this befuddling puzzle before her.
“No,” she said in a tone that left no room for debate.

“Let
Peter ask him,” Mary encouraged. “He might agree if a stranger explains the
situation.”

“Introduce
me to him, Latesha,” Peter insisted. “We’ll let the chips fall where they
will.”

Latesha
shook her head. “He doesn’t even want you in Beechwood,” she said bluntly.
“There’s no way my father would let you step one foot in our house, or even on
our property.”

“Oh,
is that so?” Peter said sarcastically, much to the surprise of both Mary and
Latesha.

Latesha
looked almost angry. “That’s so.”

“Hmm,”
Peter mumbled. “Are you saying your father wouldn’t even let a delivery person
cross his threshold if that man was white?”

Mary
looked uncomfortable, but she had no intention of intruding in the
conversation.

“That’s
different,” Latesha said.

“Why?”
Peter instantly replied.

“Because.”

“Because
why?” he challenged.

“Forget
it!” Latesha exclaimed, her eyes hot. “End of discussion!”

He
looked about for a few moments with a look of resignation and finished drinking
his cup of tea. “Well, it’s time to go.” He picked up his things. “Good bye,
Mary.”

“Good
bye, Peter,” Mary said with a sad look.

He
turned to Latesha. “Good bye, Ms. Thomas.”

Latesha
frowned and bit her lip and then hurriedly left the office without responding
to him. Mary was surprised by Latesha’s actions and made a strange face at
Peter. He shrugged, held his hands in front of himself, then walked out of the
office. Latesha was standing on the other side of the center and leaning
against the jukebox, her back to him. He looked at her and then started walking
toward the door. Just as he was about to reach it, Latesha called his name.

“Yes?”
he asked, slowly turning to her.

Latesha
walked up to him, a look of tremendous conflict in her features. “I’d like to
thank you for installing the lights.”

“You’re
welcome.”

Mary
stood in the doorway of the office, gave Peter a strange look, and then closed
the door. Latesha heard the door close, turned around for a moment to confirm
it, and then looked back to Peter. She knew that Mary, in her way, was allowing
them to speak in private.. This would be the last time they ever spoke to or
saw each other, and because of that Latesha greatly appreciated her friend’s
gesture.

“I’d
like to thank you for all that you’ve done,” Latesha said, knitting her brows.
“You didn’t even know anyone and you’ve been very nice to us.”

The
front door opened and a group of ten black men and women entered. They were
surprised to see a white man in the community center and all of them looked at
him strangely, as if they wanted him to explain the reason he was there. Mary
opened the office door and quickly walked toward them, calling out greetings.
They called back but all of them kept staring at Peter.

“This
is Peter Elsworth,” Mary said with a huge smile. “He did some electrical work
for us.”

“Oh,”
several of them said, glad for the explanation.

But
it was obvious by the way Latesha and Peter were interacting that there was
something else happening. The women picked up on it immediately and studied
Latesha’s face for some clue to her thoughts, but she would not look any of
them in the eyes. A couple of the men stared at Peter with unfriendly
expressions and then walked past him. Peter looked at Latesha and forced a
smile. She smirked. He turned to walk out the door, but just as he reached for
the handle, Latesha followed him and spoke to him in a cracking voice.

“Before
you go,” she said, “could you show us how those stage lights work?”

He
turned back to her with a sigh. “It’s pretty straightforward,” he said with a
tired expression.

“Could
you?” she asked again.

“All
right,” he conceded. “I’ll just put my things in the truck and be right back.”

*
* * *

Latesha
hurried back to Mary and the others who were now standing in a loose group.
“Peter is an electrician and he fixed a lot of things for free,” Mary
explained. “We wouldn’t have passed inspection and the play would have been
canceled if not for him.”

“Why
would he do it for free?” one of the women asked Latesha.

“He’s
really cute,” one of the other women said. “Does he like you, Latesha?”

Latesha
made a sour expression.

“Does
she like him?” one of the men asked in a confrontational way, catching her eye
with a look of reprimand.

Latesha
looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole.

“That’s
none of our business, Tyrone,” Mary insisted.

“Her
daddy sure wouldn’t like it,” Tyrone said. “He’s old school. Big time.”

“Be
nice to him!” Mary said in a firm voice, her eyes flashing. “I mean it!”

“Whatever,”
Tyrone said, waving his hand in dismissal as he walked to the stage.

Peter
opened the door and walked toward the group. Mary formally introduced him and
most greeted him in a friendly way, but Tyrone and a few others held back,
pretending they were busy doing something else.

“Why
don’t you run through a few scenes,” Mary suggested to the actors, “and Peter
will turn on the stage lights while you’re actually performing. I want to see
how much of a difference it makes.”

“Yes,
we’ll compare,” Latesha said. She turned to Peter. “Would that be all right? Do
you have a few minutes?”

“A
few,” he replied.

“Okay,
Ms. Director,” Mary said to Latesha. “It’s all yours.”

Latesha
rolled her eyes. “All right, everyone, take your places.”

One
of the women held open her hands. “What scene do you want us to do, Latesha?”

“Whatever
you want to do, I guess,” Latesha answered tentatively.

The
actors discussed it among themselves and then took their places on stage. They
performed a quick run-through of selected scenes, but, by any assessment, the
play needed a lot of work. The secondary actors were solid, but Juliet was
simply awful. It was obvious she had absolutely no talent and though no one
said it, they all knew her presence detracted from rather than enhanced the
production. Beyond that, the absence of a Romeo completely destroyed any
semblance of a real play. It was a farce and everybody knew it.

“I
see a lot of promise,” Latesha lied after watching a parade of Juliet’s
mistakes and poor timing. The lack of enthusiasm was palpable. “We still have
ten days to perfect it.”

“Perfect
it?” Tyrone said, shaking his head. “I’m just hoping they don’t mistake this
play for a vaudeville act. It sucks, Latesha.”

“It
doesn’t suck,” Mary reprimanded with a scowl. “It just needs to be smoothed
out.”

Tyrone
laughed at her. “It needs to be thrown out.”

The
others made faces and nodded in agreement.

“It
needs to be thrown out with the garbage and run over with a truck,” Tyrone
stated. “Some of us still don’t know all our lines, there are no sets, and we
don’t have a full ensemble. Reality is, we’re going to have to call this play
Juliet because we don’t even have a male lead.” He paused. “It sucks!”

“Why
don’t you be Romeo, Tyrone?” Mary queried.

“I’m
having a hard enough time remembering my lines as it is,” he said. “We all have
jobs or school and it’s hard to find the time for this.”

“We’re
going to have to practice every day,” Latesha informed them. “If we don’t,
we’re going to get laughed off the stage.”

“They
won’t be laughing,” Tyrone said, “they’ll be booing. The play is a disaster. Admit
it.” He groaned loudly. “I hate this. I’ve always been a winner. We won
regionals in soccer in elementary school and won provincials in basketball in
junior high and high school. Win, win, win. I’ve always been associated with
winners. I like winning. I like applause. I like being respected for what I do.
But this freaking sucks. It’s pathetic. It’s a loser. You’d have to be a
flipping idiot not to see that. There’s no way we can turn this crappy
production around in ten days. No way. It’s too bad I’m not a quitter, or I’d
be out of here.”

Latesha
stepped forward. “We’re all frustrated and that’s understandable. But we’re
going to do our best and we’re going to turn this thing around. I don’t want to
be laughed at either. Our pride is at stake and we all have the same challenge.
We have to make this a good play and we have to start getting positive.”

“She’s
right,” Mary said. “This is the homestretch. We have to put the pedal to the
medal.”

“I’ll
do anything,” Tyrone said, “just so long as no one throws tomatoes at us.”

Latesha
sighed and casually glanced at Peter. “Could you turn on the lights when I give
you the signal?”

“Sure.”

“All
right, people,” Latesha said with false enthusiasm, “let’s run through the
opening scene again, except this time Peter will turn on the lights. We’ll see
if that makes a difference.”

“Yeah,
it’ll make a difference all right,” Tyrone quipped. “Now they’ll be able to see
our mistakes even better.”

“Positive!”
Latesha directed.

Mary
smirked at him. “Yes, Tyrone, be positive. The last thing we need is negative
energy. It goes through the whole troupe.”

“All
right,” he mumbled, taking a deep breath.

Latesha
cleared her throat. “Positions everyone!”

The
actors looked at each other and then prepared to again rehearse the start of the
play. This time they took it more seriously and there were sections of several
minutes running when everything seemed quite professional. But every time there
was a speaking part for Romeo, the cast would just pause for a few seconds,
then continue as if he had spoken his part. It looked and sounded foolish, but
the group worked around the glaring flaw. This suspension of disbelief carried
only so far, however, and the energy and concentration inevitably started to
wane. Sensing this, Latesha turned and gestured to Peter. He switched on a bank
of soft lights and instantly the atmosphere changed. Then he alternated
lighting patterns, bathing the stage in pastel colors.

“Cool!”
Tyrone exclaimed, looking around with a sense of wonder. “Now if we had some
sets, if we had a Romeo, if everyone could remember their lines.”

“All
right, Tyrone,” Mary said. “We get the picture.”

Latesha
looked at her watch and saw that it was nine o’clock. “Let’s take a break,” she
suggested. “Then we’ll come back in twenty minutes and rehearse the first scene
over again.”

The
others agreed and decided to go to the store for coffee and snacks. Talking
animatedly, they walked as a group out the door. Mary was the last to leave and
she turned around to see Latesha still standing by the stage. Peter was up on
it adjusting one of the lights.

“Are
you coming, Latesha?” Mary called.

Latesha
looked up at her. “I’ll stay here and go over a few things.”

“All
right.” She called: “Would you like a cup of coffee or anything, Peter?”

“No,
thank you,” he said. “I’m just getting ready to leave.”

Latesha
did not look up or acknowledge him in any way, but Mary, a sad look on her
face, gave a friendly wave. Peter smiled and waved back. Mary left the center
and closed the door behind her, leaving Latesha and Peter alone. For several
minutes they did not speak, even pretending not to be aware of each other’s
presence, but, in fact, they were aware only of each other. Latesha walked up
to the jukebox and looked over the titles.

“Did
Mary tell you about the new tradition she’s starting?” she asked without
looking at Peter.

“Yes.
I haven’t chosen a song yet, though. Have you?”

“I’m
doing that right now,” she said thoughtfully. She pressed a couple buttons. “I
love this song.”

“What
is it?”

“
One
by U2 with Mary J. Blige.”

The
song started to play. The sound quality of the jukebox was rich and the
acoustics of the hall were outstanding. As it played, Latesha kept her head
lowered, refusing to look at him, though his eyes were affixed to her. In time
she slowly spun around, leaned against the jukebox and faced him. She stared
into Peter’s eyes as Mary J. Blige sang her heart out. Peter walked down the
steps directly toward her and stopped a few feet away. Painted on the floor
between them was a thick black sideline used for basketball. He did not cross
it, nor did she, but they looked at each other without speaking until the song
ended.