Romance in the Rain Read online

  It was unsettling to momentarily step out alone into a swath of darkness as the outer floodlights of the Showboat were off. I tried not to be critical of Rodney for not offering to escort Lisa and I back to our dorms. Could be that he had to hurry to catch a bus. Not everyone had a Grandma Caldwell in their lives growing up to teach them good manners.

  At least it wasn’t raining, unusual for Seattle in January. But the half-moon was obscured by dark, bulging clouds, making it seem darker than usual. I quickened my step toward the first light pole.

  There was a clanging of metal just to my right. I froze, fearing someone was rushing up behind me on a bicycle, intending to give me a whack alongside the head. The memory of Ted Bundy, terrorizing the neighborhood just north of the university campus the prior decade, was never far from my thoughts when walking around at night alone. I spun around, swinging my backpack from my shoulders, prepared to give whomever it was a good whacking if they came too close.

  There was Ellis, a sheepish look on his face, pushing a red bike toward me.

  “Sorry to startle you,” he said. “Thought you might want someone to walk you home. It’s really dark tonight.”

  “Thanks,” I said, secretly pleased but turning around to conceal my smile. “But you really just want to see where I live. But, sorry, I have a roommate. I can’t invite you inside for coffee.”

  “I’m a cheap date. I’ll be happy to settle for a drink from the water fountain in the hallway.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was serious or just teasing, but I was happy not to walk alone in the dark.

  Ellis pulled alongside, continuing to walk his bike up the sidewalk. I noted that his book bag was slung across his left shoulder.

  We crossed the first intersection and continued uphill. If anything, Ellis was certainly persistent. Should I be flattered or fearful that I had a potential stalker?

  “Hope you’re not going too far out of your way,” I said, trying to direct the conversation away from accompanying me to my room.

  “Nah. Not much. I share a house with some guys not too far from the Burke-Gilman trail.

  I didn’t want to act too snoopy, so I didn’t follow up with another question. We walked along, Ellis screwing up his features as if wrestling with his thoughts.

  Disconcerted by the silence, I asked, “Nice death scene. Very believable. I think you’ll have a fine future as a corpse on Broadway.”

  “I’ll knock the audience dead.”

  I groaned in mock protestation. We neared the top of the next block and veered toward Lander.

  “I heard Peter has been warned not to hurt you with the knife prop,” I said, attempting to keep control of the conversation.

  “It’s nothing.” Ellis shrugged his shoulders. Then winced a little.

  I thought about the bruise on his right shoulder that I’d seen earlier at the pool. Liar! But I didn’t call him on it. I felt bad that he’d been injured and wondered if he’d told Peter to knock it off.

  We stepped onto the well-lit sidewalk on NE Campus Parkway, which ran along Lander Hall.

  “Thanks. I can take it from here.” I was tired and feeling a little confused. It had been a hectic and nerve-wracking evening, not only learning how to run the sound but also sharing a booth with two virtual strangers for several hours. And there was Gerald, who might be interested in me, maybe, and then there was Ellis, definitely interested.

  Ellis nervously twisted his hands on the handlebars of his bicycle. “Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night before rehearsal?” His voice was atypical, devoid of its usual enthusiasm. I was surprised he sounded so unsure of himself. He usually seemed so confident.

  “I… I’m not sure,” I stuttered, feeling foolish. I was eighteen, an adult. I should be able to handle a simple invitation from a man. “I mean to say…” Was I a stone dead idiot? “It’s shrimp night at the cafeteria.”

  Ellis looked so crestfallen, I didn’t have the heart to tell him, “No.” However, below those disappointed blue eyes and straight nose, there was that mustache! I recalled bright yellow mustard dripping from ragged hairs down onto his lips earlier that day and, although it was illogica l, wanted to wipe my face clean. When I was a little kid, my dad thought it was funny to eat a bowl of split pea soup or clam chowder and then give me lots of kisses, rubbing his facial hair all over my face and smearing leftover food onto my cheeks and chin.

  “Maybe some other time,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound too insincere. I wasn’t sure what I wanted.

  “I suppose some other night.” He sounded dejected, unconvinced.

  Ellis hopped onto his bike and spun around so quickly toward campus that I couldn’t catch the expression on his face. A surge of guilt wrenched up from deep within me and, surprisingly, I wished he wasn’t leaving.

  “I’m not asking you to marry me,” he mumbled. “I just want to go on a date.”

  He pedaled off.

  I stood there a moment, transfixed, not sure how to react to that startling comment.

  Then feeling deflated, like a bicycle tire that suddenly went flat, I trudged alone through the front door of the building and back to my room on the fifth floor.

  Scene 4

  After Thursday morning classes I finished up my play about Stephanie, feeling a great sense of satisfaction when typing “THE END”. After cleverly negotiating the obstacles of small town gossip and misunderstandings, she fell in love with the handsome local sheriff, a former lumberjack who nearly cut off his left leg with an ax and walked with a noticeable limp. I sighed, tapped the pages into a neat pile and slipped them into a folder for presentation in class Monday. I needed to take some lessons from Stephanie.

  And then, like a thunderbolt had knocked me between the eyes, it suddenly hit me: I was Stephanie. She was not a real person, but a product of my imagination. Sure, I was not the comeback queen, but given a little bit of time to contemplate what to say, I was capable of handling myself around men because Stephanie could.

  Grandma Caldwell came to mind once again. “Fly, fly, Kara!” she laughed, letting go of my tricycle and running after me as I peddled furiously down the sidewalk in front of her and Grandpa’s house. Missing Grandma a bit, I picked up the phone receiver to dial her number then looked at my watch. It was time to get ready to return to the Showboat.

  First tactic for the new, confident Kara: I dressed in a brown, plaid skirt that showed off my round butt and a green, cashmere sweater that brightened up my complexion. I also wore a bronze eye shadow that set off my hazel green eyes. No more wool sweaters, sweatshirts and jeans. I’d freeze for beauty. Well, mostly. I compromised with a pair of brown, twilled leg warmers.

  Second tactic: I arrived fifteen minutes early at the theater and scoured the lobby for Gerald. Not there. I ignored the two guys setting up the snack bar and coffee machines and sashayed into the auditorium and down the aisle. I was being proactive for once, taking the initiative.

  When I neared the stage I gazed about, as if examining the scenery, but I was really searching for Gerald. Douglas stood in front of a backdrop of green hills framing an ocean view. I grinned a sheepish hello, hoping he didn’t suspect I was searching for a guy. But he afforded me only a brief glance then resumed giving directions to an actor. I strolled casually in front of the stage, trying to peek at the backstage area from another angle, when I suddenly realized who the actor on the stage was—the knife-wielding maniac in the last act. I didn’t recognize Peter at first: His hair looked darker when the stage lights weren’t beaming down on him.

  “You need to be more careful with what you’re doing. He’s padded but you hit Ellis too hard again last night.”

  I froze, peering up toward the rafters yet keeping my ear trained in their direction.

  “Imagine the knife stopping just above his back. Like this.” Douglas raised his right hand then swung it down into her left palm. There was no slap. “You don’t really have to hit him. Just look like you are. It’s called acting, you
know.”

  The other guy muttered something that sounded defensive.

  “We’re both going to get into trouble if you don’t learn to cool it. Besides, you could break one of his ribs.”

  “Okay, okay.” Peter threw up his hands as if fending off her warning. As he turned to stalk off, he saw me and glowered, apparently upset that I’d overheard their conversation. I ignored his dark look and ambled back toward the lobby, contemplating what I’d overheard.

  It seemed to me that Peter didn’t like being told what to do. I wasn’t convinced he would listen to Douglas.

  If that was true, he was certainly in the wrong profession.

  In the lobby I delayed stepping into the production booth as long as possible, pathetically hoping that Gerald would walk by, but Rodney flashed the house lights and, sighing, I resumed my perch on the stool, hidden away in the far corner.

  “I need to warn you three about something.”

  My back was to the doorway but there was no doubt that Gerald was speaking.

  I yanked my headphones off and hurriedly fluffed my hair, while I swung around on my stool. Warn us? My stomach clutched with nerves.

  Gerald leaned against the doorway. Once again he was dressed all in black, a sweatshirt and tight jeans, with contrasting white sneakers. His black hair was tousled and slightly damp. I wondered if he’d just showered, since it hadn’t been raining—at least, not when I’d walked down to the theater. And I wondered, just briefly, how he compared in swim trunks to Ellis.

  “We’ve got an audience tonight. Full dress rehearsal.” Apparently I looked appalled because he added, “Don’t worry, Kara. You guys will do fine.”

  Great. Gerald probably thought I was a worrywart.

  “Jeanette’s friends will be in the audience and she tends to be…” He paused, searching for the correct phrase. “A little uptight when they’re here.”

  “Thanks a honeybunch for the warning,” Lisa purred, pushing back from the light console. She was deliberately blocking Gerald’s view of me from the doorway.

  I opened my mouth to hopefully say something witty yet demure, but Rodney intercepted me.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll keep these two troublemakers in line.”

  I placed a hand on Rodney’s shoulder to lean around him, feeling vulnerable as I was obviously trying to be seen. But darn it, I was going to step up to the plate and take a risk.

  Gerald grinned at me. Again, I felt my cheeks warm, blushing. I just couldn’t control what my face did at all. I wondered if actors could blush on command.

  “Most guys would love…” Gerald began.

  But Douglas, the director, clapped a hand on Gerald’s shoulder, drawing his attention away from the doorway.

  The door shut.

  Lisa gave me a Cheshire cat smile and slipped her headset on.

  So it was going to be like that, was it?

  Rodney thumped his chest. “Why chase after a pork chop, ladies, when you’ve already got steak?”

  I was mortified. Was it that apparent that Lisa and I were vying for Gerald’s attention? I was flunking the demure part of my scheme.

  “Because I prefer my meat rare,” Lisa said, turning her attention to the light board.

  “As you know, red is rare.” Rodney ran his hands through his hair.

  Act One began.

  I was surprised to notice that Ellis was in the first scene, milling around in the fashionably dressed crowd entering the mansion. Of course he would be in the play before being murdered in the last act. My heart lurched a little when I watched him greet one elegant blonde near a balustrade with a kiss on her gloved palm. Then the stage spun around for the next scene and he was gone.

  “No, no, no!” Jeanette squealed through the headsets after Lisa and Rodney pushed several banks of switches upward on the console. “Wrong lights! They’re supposed to be on the actors downstage, not upstage.”

  I was having difficulty focusing on my cues. There was way too much distracting chatter on the headsets between Jeanette and the light crew. It seemed like we couldn’t do anything right during the first act. Jeanette criticized nearly everything we did: The sound was always too loud or soft, the lights always late. And she forgot to turn off her speaker, because we could hear her arguing with Douglas and one of the actresses during the first intermission.

  After the second act, Jeanette stormed into the booth, yelling that we were laughing and talking too loudly and could be heard by the audience in the back rows: We needed to shut up and pay attention.

  After she slammed the door shut, Rodney commented, “Man, she’s on a rampage tonight.”

  I ignored him, watching the tape reel whirling around, playing the intermission music. I wondered if Gerald had done the right thing by warning us about Jeanette’s expectations that evening. Though the other two weren’t admitting to it, being amateurs, we were already anxious about screwing up, this being our first stage production. We didn’t need any more pressure placed upon us. Even though Gerald had tried to reassure us afterwards, it might have been better if he’d not said anything at all.

  “May I see your program?” I asked Rodney. I was curious to find the credit listing Gerald and discover his last name.

  “Pay attention!” Jeanette urged through the headsets. “Turn off the house lights!”

  “Come on, Kara,” Lisa said. “You can check him out later.” She smiled with her mouth but not her eyes, adding, “If you’ve got the nerve.”

  I froze, realizing that I had my finger resting on Gerald’s brief bio.

  Was it a warning?

  There was no reason for Lisa to act jealous, when she was obviously more successful, and comfortable, at captivating men than I was. With Rodney acting as a buffer between us, I was beginning to think she enjoyed taking pot shots at me.

  It turned out to be a distraction from my duties that ended up being disastrous.

  I should have been paying more attention to the sound reel, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the stage when Peter waved the gun at Ellis. Maybe absence really did make the heart grow fonder, because Ellis was rather handsome onstage in his black tux, his blonde, curly hair glowing angelically under the stage lights. He was, once again, begging for his life. I had to admit, he was a good actor: He seemed truly frightened.

  And maybe he really was scared. Peter sprayed spit as he shouted, waving the knife about; I could swear he looked red-faced, even from where I was sitting in the back. Maybe he was one of those wacko males who didn’t like being told what to do and would take it out on Ellis!

  “Light crew, pay attention! Cue 86!” Jeanette hissed.

  Ellis knocked the gun from Peter’s hand then dove to the stage to retrieve it. Enraged, Peter yanked out the butcher knife and plunged it into Ellis’ back.

  I could swear I saw Ellis grimace and pull his shoulders tightly toward one another as he slumped lifeless to the stage.

  Totally absorbed in watching Ellis for signs of distress, I forgot to keep an eye on the sound machine. Rodney bumped me with his elbow and I swung back to the tape reels, which were still spinning.

  Stunned, I tried to recall if the sound was running at that point in the act last night. I didn’t think it had, but I wasn’t sure.

  The sound switch to the auditorium was off, so the audience couldn’t hear anything. But did I accidentally let it run beyond the next sound cue, a very short span of tape?

  While trying to figure it out, I heard Jeanette bark out the next cue.

  I quickly spun the wheel to the black line, flipped the auditorium switch, and restarted the reel.

  “Oh no!” I heard Jeanette squeal.

  Horrified, I looked toward the stage. The actors were standing still as if transfixed, staring toward the audience, their jaws agape, while the overhead lights flickered on-and-off.

  “Turn off the intermission music!” Jeanette wailed.

  I could hear violins playing through the headsets. I snapped off the sound.


  Rodney laughed uproariously. “You’re supposed to be playing thunder, Kara!”

  “Should I play it now?” I asked anxiously, my hands shaking as I spun the wheel backward to locate the black line for the thunderstorm cue.

  “Too late,” moaned Jeanette. “The actors will have to improvise.”

  “Thanks, Kara.” Rodney tapped me lightly on the knee. “You’ve made Lisa and me look better now.”

  I felt like I’d been whacked with a large Styrofoam hammer. I wanted to slink out of the theater and never be seen by anyone from the play ever again. It was hard to focus on what I was doing. I rolled the tape back and forth, finding where the short span of booming thunder likely was and set the pointer at the following line for intermission music.

  “Oh, God, can’t you guys do anything right?” I heard Jeanette squeal. “You’ve got the wrong bank of lights on.”

  It seemed like an eternity till Jeanette finally gave me the cue for the finale. I toggled the switch, hoping that I didn’t accidentally set up the wrong loop again. The cheering audience drowned out the violin music. The actors on stage took their bows. The curtains dropped and the auditorium lights came up.

  I didn’t want the door to open. I was so embarrassed that I wanted to stay in that booth forever and never come out.

  I grabbed the program lying on the counter and searched for my name. Yep, there it was. The audience will read the production credits in their programs and afterwards remark to their friend or relative, “There it is. Sound by Kara Zoey Caldwell. Boy, did she screw up.”

  But what good would it do to sneak off? Everybody on the crew was committed to the production through Sunday afternoon’s matinee to earn our Shop Practical credit, and opening night was tomorrow night, Friday. A short run, yes, but to me it’d seem an agonizingly long eternity. As much as I wanted to slink off and die under a rock someplace, I had to be an adult and go down to the front of the auditorium and get served my just desserts by Jeanette and Douglas.