Romance in the Rain Page 19

  “I’m all aflutter with anticipation.” Rodney waved his hands in the air, wriggling his fingers like little bird wings.

  “You can’t tell me now?” I spun the sound reel and set up the first cue.

  “No. I want you to suffer a little.”

  “Oooh, dramatic tension,” Rodney said.

  “Shut up!” Lisa and I insisted in unison as the house lights came down.

  The play began.

  At intermission Rodney whipped off his headset. “I have no intention of leaving this booth and missing your little catfight.”

  “Watch that you don’t get scratched, sitting between us,” Lisa said.

  I was getting impatient with their banter. What did Lisa have to tell me?

  Lisa slipped off her headset, rummaged around in her purse, pulled out a stick of gum, unwrapped it, popped the Juicy Fruit into her mouth, chewed and chewed and chewed, then finally condescended to speak.

  “You were missed at the party last night.”

  My heart sank. Could she be talking about Gerald? However, if so, would Lisa be acting like a cat with a mouse squirming between her teeth?

  “By the big star of the production.”

  “Who is that?” I asked, puzzled.

  “The big dead beat.”

  Rodney and I shrugged our shoulders at one another. What was the girl talking about?

  “You know,” Lisa insisted, stretching the word “know” out three beats. “Mr. excitement.”

  “That would be me,” Rodney said.

  “Don’t be a jackass,” Lisa snapped.

  Jeanette interrupted, asking to the light crew to bring down the house lights.

  “Guess it’ll wait till next intermission.” Smirking, Lisa turned away from me, put on her headphones, and Act Two began.

  My mind was a morass all during the act. Who would be asking about me? Not Ellis. He was angry with me. And hadn’t walked me home last night. It couldn’t be Gerald: Lisa clearly had a crush on him and wouldn’t be thrilled if he was asking about me.

  Who was Mr. Excitement?

  My jaw dropped in horror.

  Not Peter! Not the crazed, knife-wielding automaton!

  There was no way. No way would I want anything to do with a guy who was clearly out of control. If he couldn’t be trusted not to injure a fellow actor on the stage in front of hundreds of people, I certainly couldn’t trust I’d be safe alone with him.

  Soon as I popped on the intermission music after Act Two I insisted Lisa tell us whom she was talking about.

  “The dead guy on stage.”

  “Ellis?”

  Lisa pulled the gum out of her mouth and stuck it under the light console. “Yeah. He was wondering why you weren’t there at the party last night.”

  Stunned, I froze. Ellis was asking about me? He knew where to find me: in the booth at the back of the theater. It wasn’t like I was hiding.

  “You told him I was sick, right?” I must have sounded overeager, because both Lisa and Rodney grinned ear-to-ear.

  “See, Lisa, Kara was never a threat,” Rodney said. “She prefers the stiff to Gerald, your precious artist with the oversized brush.”

  I tried to keep my response light-hearted, but even I could hear the nervous quiver in my voice. “So what else did Ellis say?” I hated to betray that I had any interest in the guy, but I really wanted to know what he’d said last night.

  “Thought you were sweet on Gerald.”

  “Oh, you know she is,” Rodney interrupted, apparently wanting to be a part of the cat-and-mouse game Lisa was playing. “A tall, good-looking guy with the fairy dust of paint sprinkled in his dark hair. What woman wouldn’t prefer him to this hunk of love.” Rodney pounded himself on the chest in a mock imitation of a gorilla.

  “But I set Ellis straight. Last night I made it plain that Gerald was mine.”

  “No question about that,” Rodney said cheerfully. “Your lips nearly disappeared down his throat when you two were making out on the couch.

  I rolled my eyes. How much real interest Gerald had in Lisa was questionable. He’d walked her home the first night yet afterwards showed far too much interest in another woman, myself, the following evening. Gerald wasn’t ready to give up playing the field.

  Ironically, it was the actor on the stage, not the guy behind the scenes, who seemed to have more integrity.

  Had Ellis been lying? Telling me he was faking interest in me in a fit of jealousy?

  Thursday night Gerald had blocked my exit from the seat row and placed his hand upon my shoulder while speaking to me. Had Ellis been watching from the stage and mistaken the encounter for a more intimate moment, believing that we were making plans of some sort to meet after the show?

  Although I was still feeling rundown from being ill, I warmed inside.

  Lisa and Rodney brought the lights down for the Third Act.

  But now what? Should I speak to Ellis? Or wait for him to approach me?

  Grandma Caldwell spoke in my imagination, her thick hair faded to a dusty red, crinkles of mirth at the corners of her eyes and mouth.

  “Time to soar, Kara.”

  Scene 6: Denouement

  “Man, Peter’s really wailing on the guy tonight,” Rodney exclaimed, his tone a curious mixture of concern and morbid fascination.

  Horrified, yet anxious not to miss the thunderstorm cue, I took a peek toward the stage then focused on the sound reel. When Ellis made his appearance in the third act, I was surprised my heartbeat quickened. Not only was he stately and elegant in his tux, but also, for the first time I noticed how smooth his movements were.

  Maybe I really did like guys with mustard yellow mustaches after all.

  The play ended. The crowd cheered with a standing ovation. I soon wove my way toward the stage through the patrons crowding the aisle to offer Ellis my congratulations. It was a lame excuse to speak to him, but I was grasping at any old straw that came to mind.

  Ellis lay on the stage, unmoving. Douglas, bent over, held Ellis by the wrist, apparently checking his pulse. Peter, aka Mr. Mack The Knife, paced back and forth behind them with apparent agitation, hands gripping the sides of his face in anxiety. It didn’t seem to me that he was acting, but was truly alarmed.

  Had Peter really gone too far this time?

  Concern overshadowing self-preservation, I sprang to the stage and ran to Ellis’ side.

  “Ellis, are you hurt?” I cried, not caring at that moment who was watching.

  Douglas rolled him onto his back. Ellis’ eyelids were squeezed tight, his face contorted in pain.

  “I hate myself!” Peter wailed dramatically.

  I didn’t care what Peter thought about himself. He was a first class ass in my book.

  I grabbed at Ellis’ hand and clasped it tightly in both hands. He looked so helpless, lying there. It was heartbreaking, like a wounded lion cub. I longed to stroke his golden curls, to reassure him that someone who cared was beside him, but didn’t dare go that far. “Hang in there, Ellis! I’m sure it won’t take long for an ambulance to get here! The hospital is right down the street!”

  I was pleased to see that my cry of concern brought a smile to his face.

  What happened next shocked me.

  Ellis sprang to his feet, my hand still clutched in his.

  Peter yelped in surprise and leapt backwards. “Hell! You scared the living daylights out of me!”

  “We just wanted to teach you a lesson,” Douglas said. “Maybe now you’ll stop wailing on him like he’s a hunk of dead meat.”

  Relieved that Ellis was not seriously injured, I suddenly became self-conscious, aware that I’d betrayed feelings for him in front of all of the actors, stage crew, and whoever else in the audience was leisurely winding their way out of the auditorium.

  I tried to pull away, but Ellis gripped my hand tightly. “This was a nice surprise.”

  Flustered, I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to look away, but his sparkling blue eyes were bur
rowing straight into mine. For the first time I realized there was not only humor in those eyes, but kindness.

  Ellis glanced over at Peter and Douglas.

  “I think he’s telling us to scram,” Douglas commented to Peter.

  And they exited stage left.

  “I suppose this means you might still want to go out with me?” I wanted to project self-assurance, but my voice was trembling. Maybe Ellis was accustomed to displaying his soul and emotions out on the stage in front of others, but I wasn’t.

  He gave one of his million dollar ear-to-ear smiles. “Sorry to be such a butt the other night, but I thought you were gaming me, leading me on to make Gerald jealous. Lisa cleared up that little misunderstanding last night.”

  I peeked to my left and noticed that Jeanette, Douglas, and the rest of the crew were taking their seats in the first two rows for the post performance review. I began sweating with nervousness and, sensitive to the few dozen pairs of eyes drilling at me from behind, I couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say.

  “So, walk me home tonight?” I asked.

  “Soon as I’ve changed.” He winked and, to my horror, pranced quite inelegantly off the stage.

  Rodney punched me in the right arm when I took my seat next to him. “You’ve got yourself a live one there.”

  Jeanette was grinning happily at me as if we shared a lovely secret.

  I was beginning to like Jeanette, even when she chastised me a few minutes later for being late with the music for the second intermission.

  Ellis accompanied me down to the theater the next afternoon for the final show, a matinee. He left his bike at his apartment and we walked hand-in-hand, like the two giggling young adults we were.

  Lisa met me in the booth, scowling, scarcely saying a word to me during both shows.

  “She’s mad at Gerald,” Rodney whispered to me during the first intermission. “He was too busy to meet with her last night and, apparently, tonight too.”

  After the performance, Jeanette and Douglas declared the show a success.

  Before I met Ellis in the lobby, I tapped Lisa on the shoulder and whispered into her ear, “Gerald doesn’t realize how lucky he is.”

  She teared up but didn’t respond.

  I couldn’t think of anything else comforting to say. Fortunately, I was rescued by Ellis, bounding into the lobby from the auditorium, a surprising whirlwind of energy.

  A clean-shaven Ellis.

  He must’ve noted my look of surprise, for he rubbed at his face before taking my hand.

  “You’re quite exuberant this afternoon,” I said, feeling a little flustered. I hadn’t noticed how handsome Ellis was. That mustache had prevented my eyes, and my heart, from seeing who he truly was.

  “Easy when you’re lying down on the job. Think I’ll make a career out of playing dead men.”

  We strolled down the gangplank and out onto shore. Surprisingly, it wasn’t raining. The pale afternoon sun slipped below lumbering, charcoal grey clouds, welcoming twilight.

  He spun us both around to face the Showboat Theater. Light spilled from the faux ship windows and fluttered in the lightly rolling waves of Lake Washington.

  “It’s been declared a fire hazard,” he said. “Ironic, since part of the problem is that it’s full of asbestos, a fire retardant. Sad, but unless the Showboat Theater Committee can raise the funds to save it, the University is going to tear it down.”

  “Yeah,” I said absentmindedly, because that’s not really what I wanted to talk about. “You’ve shaved.” I added shyly, “You look nice.”

  “Life of an actor. Constantly changing your appearance for the role you’re playing.”

  “Are you acting now?” I still wasn’t 100% assured that his intentions were genuine. After all, he’d lied once. Perhaps he was lying now? How could I be certain? He wanted to make a career as an actor. Was I perceptive enough to tell when he was sincere or not?

  Ellis responded by leaning over and kissing me, gently, as if asking for further permission.

  “That was nice too,” he said as he broke away.

  Was the future ever guaranteed? Like Grandma Caldwell would say, “Set your course and fly the plane forward.”

  Gram must’ve had a hundred of those WWII-inspired Air Force truisms to share as I was growing up.

  Gerald was leaning on the guardrail of the Showboat, watching us. I turned uphill and walked away, arm-in-arm with Ellis.

  About the Author

  Dawn grew up in the Seattle area and attended the University of Washington during the late 70s/early 80s, graduating with an Honors Degree in English, emphasizing Creative Writing. She was also a Drama major for a year and worked crew at the Showboat Theater on a graduate student play. The theater was renowned for its turntable stage and its charming décor, mimicking a Mississippi steamboat. She’s sad that it had to be demolished.

  She is also a cartoonist, Flash animator, and caricaturist with a preference for comedy writing, publishing a cartoon comedy mystery novel, Cattle Capers™: Search For The MooMoo Pearl, the first of a series available on Amazon.com and other online bookstores. She’s proud to be a member of the Seattle-based Rainy Day Writers. You can view her work or contact her at: www.CattleCapers.com, Twitter@CattleCapers, or like her fan page on Facebook under Cattle Capers.

  Shelter From The Storm

  By

  Clare Tisdale

  Chapter 1

  Seattle, Washington State, August 2011

  It was dusk when JD arrived at the beach house. He parked on the grassy verge of the hill above it, next to a beat-up beige minivan. The sunset was breathtaking and he sat in the truck watching the molten gold and crimson drama play itself out over the ocean. He wound down the window and breathed the salt tang of the air. A Nirvana song came on the radio. I’m home, he thought, trying the words out to see whether they fit. Seven years was a long time to be away.

  He got out of the truck, rolling his shoulders and neck to relieve the stiffness caused by hours of freeway driving. A sliver of anxiety lodged in his gut as he opened the wooden gate with its rusty iron numbers that matched those scrawled on the piece of paper in his hand. His sneakers crunched on the gravel path.

  The small house pressed its contours against the gathering darkness like an animal hunkering down for the night. A light shone in the window. The front stoop was decorated with stacks of white shells and a hanging mobile made out of fishing line, driftwood and multicolored bits of sea glass.

  JD knocked on the door and waited, but there was no response. He knocked again and started when a dark shape appeared in the window. A black cat stood on the sill observing him, the tip of its tail twitching. It rubbed its body against the glass and arched its back, as though being stroked by an invisible hand.

  Perhaps the place was haunted. JD jigged in place. He really needed to take a leak. It looked as if he’d be bedding down in the truck tonight. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. He had a down sleeping bag stowed behind the front seat that would keep him warm, even on a cool Seattle summer night.

  JD headed for the nearest bush and unzipped his jeans. It was a huge relief to get the 7-11 Big Gulp out of his system.

  Behind him, the porch light came on.

  “Hello? Who’s out there?”

  In his haste to zip up, JD almost wet himself. Turning, he saw the figure of a woman in a white shift dress standing in the open doorway.

  “Sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t think anyone was home.” He wiped his palms on his jeans and walked toward her, but decided against offering his hand. She shrank back at the sight of him, and he didn’t blame her. With two days of stubble on his chin and road-weariness infiltrating his every pore he wasn’t at his most presentable. “I’m JD. Parker’s friend from high school.” Please God, let Parker have mentioned me to this girl.

  “JD.” Her eyes gleamed in the shadows like two dark pools. “What’s that stand for?”

  “James Douglas. Last name’s Cal
dwell.”

  The cat slipped out of the house and took a couple of running steps toward him. JD stooped and held out his hand. “Here, kitty.” She moved forward to sniff his fingers. “Pretty kitty,” he said, rubbing behind her ears. “I forgot how cold it can be here in the summer. I haven’t been this far north in a while.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Here, originally. But I’ve been living in L.A. for years”

  “And now you’re back.”

  “Yeah. Starting over. Parker said I could maybe crash here for a few days…”

  Her face closed up. She retreated into the house and he thought she might close the door in his face. Instead, she crooked her head to one side. “You better come in.”

  “Thank you. Thank you very much,” he said, relieved. Maybe Parker would come home soon and save him from this awkward situation.

  He stepped into a large room that comprised mudroom, kitchen, living and dining room in one. A row of Shaker-style wooden pegs by the door held a black knit cardigan, a long scarf and an umbrella. The kitchen was a narrow galley directly in front of him, separated from the rest of the room by a long counter. On the opposite side of the counter were two barstools; behind them, a rectangular wooden table with four chairs. A fat ceramic vase on the table overflowed with yellow roses in full bloom. Against the far wall was a rumpled couch covered with a cream-colored slip cloth. Two bookshelves made out of cinderblocks and two-by-fours held an assortment of books and clay vessels. There was no television. The room was painted white and had an airy, open feel. A large seascape against the back wall showed a Pacific Northwest beach at high tide, framed on either side by rocky cliffs. The waves rolled out to the horizon, drawing the viewer into the painting.

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  “A glass of water.”

  She gestured to one of the barstools. “Sit down. I’ll get it.”