Premiere: A Love Story (12 page)

They laughed and were again swimming in nostalgia.

“But, yes . . . I remember.”

“It’s pretty much the same, maybe a few more kids, but it hasn’t changed.”

“Probably never will. Ari’s son, do you remember Namir?”

Peter nodded.

“Well, he finally took over their hummus and pita stand, so that’s new. Namir and Melanie are having their first baby this Christmas, also new.”

They walked and Peter looked around. He tasted the cinnamon roll samples and helped Sam pick out avocados. The hum of a farmer’s market, any farmer’s market, reminded Peter of home, but this one with Sam was special. He gave himself this time with her and focused on what was right with his hometown. Locals, people they had known their whole lives selling goods they had sampled and brought home for their parents since they could remember. He was right, it was all the same, and yet it felt different to be back. Sam felt different. She had grown up, the sun lit the highlights in her dark hair, and he was so grateful she seemed to be letting him get closer. He had loved her his whole life. He would find a way back to her.

“Peter!”

A woman called from behind. They both turned toward her voice.

“Brandy. Look, Peter, it’s Brandy.”

Sam’s smile was deep as she held off a laugh. Brandy went to Junior High with them, and even though Grady had warned Peter she was a barracuda, Peter had asked her to the eighth grade dance with disastrous consequences. By the time they were all in high school Brandy had herself a reputation for being very, well, friendly, with the entire football team.

“It is . . . Brandy.”

Peter was gracious as always.

“Oh my God, it’s you. Wow! Welcome home! I’ve heard so much about your success. You look so . . . oh, hi Sam. Peter, you look great. Wow!”

Sam rolled her eyes as Brandy continued to salivate over Peter.

“Thanks, you look great too. How’ve you been?”

Peter looked at Sam, bewildered.

“Oh, you know, good. I’m better now. You’ve gotten taller and your hair . . . very New York. How’s it in the Big Apple?”

Peter tried not to laugh and managed what came off as a warm smile.

“It’s . . . big. Listen, great to see you, Brandy.”

“Oh, you too.”

She touched his arm.

“Hey, while you’re in town, you should come by and see me. Mother and Daddy bought me a new house, and it’s so lonely.”

She made a little pouty face, and Sam had to turn away, pretending to look at the radish sprouts.

“Ah, well, I’m swamped with the play, but if there’s time. Nice to see you.”

“You too, you too, Peter.”

Brandy walked off in her wedges and stupidly tight pants. Peter turned toward Sam, his lips pursed. He squinted his eyes in thought.

“Did she wink at me?”

“Oh, well . . . she sure did, Peter. Wow!”

Mocking Brandy, she held his bicep.

“You’ve gotten so big!”

Sam burst with laughter and tried not to notice that Peter’s biceps were in fact quite nice.

“Cut it out,” Peter said, pulling his arm away and gently pushing at her.

Sam bought the sprouts her mother wanted, and they continued through the market.

“Brandy never gave me the time of day. Remember she wouldn’t go to the formal with me unless I picked her up with a car and driver? Christ, we were in the eighth grade and now, now she’s lonely? What the hell?”

Sam’s sides were hurting now from laughing.

“You’re all grown up now.”

He shot her a warning glance.

“Seriously. You’re more, maybe she’s drawn to your . . .”

Sam gestured toward Peter’s body.

“Yeah, yeah I’m glad you’re having fun with this. Give me some of those bags.”

She handed him two of the bags and they walked toward the bikes.

“I am having fun. Thanks for . . .”

Peter stopped by the bikes and looked at Sam.

“Thanks for coming,” she said.

Sam knew she should check herself, be angry or bitter, pull back, but she couldn’t help it. It was like walking in the sun. He warmed her. She was never more herself than when she was with Peter. Even now, she wanted to pretend nothing had happened and just throw herself into telling him her secrets, asking him about his life. Sam had so many memories, but the pull of what Peter was now, the man she was discovering, was intoxicating. He was more comfortable with himself, as if New York had given him the strength to be his full self. Maybe it was time to admit to herself that she still wanted him. She couldn’t allow him back into her heart, but there was no sense in lying to herself. She couldn’t start over or stop feeling. He had been her friend and her lover, she was at least ready to stop hiding.

Peter could look at her all day, be with her all day. It was clear, hiding behind his glasses, that was why he came back. In spite of everything he abhorred about who he had been in this town, she was here, and he couldn’t stay away.

“Thanks for bringing me back, back here. It was great, seriously.”

Peter loaded the bags in the baskets. They had to pay attention to the increased traffic on Sierra Madre Boulevard, so they rode again in silence, with nothing but the cars buzzing by and the smell of fresh cut grass. A bit later, they turned onto Oak Knoll and then into their neighborhood. They were now able to ride side by side, under speckles of sunlight falling through the canopied trees.

When Peter had arrived in Pasadena, he thought his feelings for Sam might have diminished over time. Maybe they had both moved on, changed even, and he would be released of the heart aching need. He glanced over at her now, smiling, cheeks flushed with sunlight dancing on her face and he knew he would need her forever. Now if he only knew how to find her heart again.

Chapter Twelve

M
onday was insane. As Susan Cathner would say, “it all hit the fan,” on about every level at the Playhouse. They lost an air conditioning unit at the bungalow where they housed their community outreach program, Child’s Play. Today was the first day of summer camp, and July without air conditioning was not a good thing. The Playhouse used the revenue from this camp to fund their student matinees, which allowed under-privileged, or at-risk children, to attend their productions, at no cost, throughout the year. Campers and parents were complaining and threatening to pull.

Sam arranged for fans and rented an emergency air conditioning unit that would arrive Tuesday morning. She spent Monday morning on the phone trying to convince the credit card company to extend their credit limit an additional five thousand dollars to pay for a new unit they could have in by Friday. Candice even cancelled her meeting with the board and got on the phone to patrons to see if anyone was feeling particularly generous. They were not.

“Ben just called. The emergency unit is on and running, so there’s air . . .” Candice said, and Sam pulled the phone from her ear, letting the on-hold music play into her shoulder.

“That’s great news!”

“But,” Candice said with a sigh.

“Always a but.”

“The damn thing is so loud he can’t hear the students in the improv workshop.”

“Shit, can they move the unit back?” Sam asked, still keeping an ear out for her call.

“No, he said he was going to switch to voice and movement exercises and practice projecting over the noise.”

Ben was an actor who grew up taking classes at the Playhouse and now routinely came back to teach. He was a true gem and knew how to handle the challenges of being low on funds.

“Don’t you just love Ben? So resourceful.”

The bad music coming from the phone stopped, Sam held up her finger, signaling to Candice to hang on. The very curt credit card lady returned to tell Sam that they would give them an additional three thousand, but that was all they could do. Sam thanked her graciously, hung up, and told Candice it was approved and that she was ordering the unit. Candice sighed. For the first time that morning, she took a sip of her coffee and returned to her office.

Sam would make up the two thousand-dollar difference. Candice never looked at the statements. She told herself when she started this job that she needed to work within the budgets, but sometimes it simply didn’t work out. Sam had the money, she told herself, she was a patron too, and so she would make another anonymous donation. Candice didn’t need to know. Kids needed air and Child’s Play was too important. Sam ordered the unit, confirmed delivery Friday morning, and sent out an email to parents with an update that would hopefully appease them. With that fairly under control, she moved on to the next fire.

Sam pulled up the email she had been working on before the air unit fiasco. She was sure happy to see that Brad, their main housekeeper, had agreed to stay on and that he was willing to look into an organic floor cleaning product at least for the rehearsal and run of
Looking In.
Julie had managed to bring Brad to the point of resignation by yelling at him as he cleaned the stage. She was obsessing about some cleaner he was using, concerned it would pull up her masking. She also thought it was triggering her allergies.
Christ!

Brad had humored Julie for the first couple of weeks of rehearsal, but yelling was the last straw. His resignation was stated as bold as could be, arriving in Sam’s email in the morning. Sam had called Brad, first thing, and told him they could not lose him. Brad vented to her that Julie was a nutcase but agreed to stop by the supply store and return that afternoon. In turn, Sam had agreed to talk to Julie and reiterate that, while Brad was still willing to work with her, he was a grown man and would not be yelled at. Sam would stop by the theater, bring Julie some lunch, and smooth it over. Maybe a fan would work for Julie too, she thought with a smile.

Candice walked in holding doughnuts.
God bless her!

“Do you ever wonder why we do this?” she asked, plopping herself down in a tattered yellow chair Sam had coveted and then stolen during the wrap party for their production of
Oklahoma
two years ago. It spoke to her, and she bribed the set designer with two six packs of Kilt Lifter.

“Do what . . . exactly?” Sam asked, chomping into the chocolate-covered doughnut Candice had handed her.

“This insanity. Why do I always feel like we are trudging uphill with like three hundred pounds on our backs?”

Sam laughed.

“Because we are. Today it’s a two-ton air conditioning unit.”

Candice rolled her eyes and leaned forward on Sam’s desk.

“It’s only a bad day, right? Maybe this week things will smooth out again for a few days at least.”

“Sam, why do you do this? You don’t need this aggravation; you could be working in Los Angeles or running a little boutique. I’m sure your daddy would buy you anything you wanted. It’s days like this that I wonder what keeps you here.”

Sam finished her doughnut, shamelessly licked her fingers, and took her first deep breath of the morning. She tried to ignore the “daddy” comment, she was used to it from Candice, but loved her anyway. She knew the answer to her question, this was an easy one.

“Well, I need it, aggravation and all. Everything we do from Playwright’s Project to big productions, all of it. It’s the soul of our city, and I want to feed that soul more than anything. And . . . I’m good at it. I like the details and maybe I like that the focus isn’t all on me. It’s a different kind of pressure, plus it’s good to do something you love.”

“And you love this, this crazy job?”

“I do. Pissed off Child’s Play parents and all, I can’t imagine doing anything else. Maybe it’s the joy of helping an underdog or the appeal of finding a way to be in the theater without the insanity of being an actress.”

“Wait, you didn’t love running from one humiliating audition after another? Antacid commercials can be so exciting.”

They both laughed, and Sam noticed Candice’s new Jimmy Choo sandals.

“And umm, you’re not stuck here either. You love it as much as I do.”

“True. When it all comes together, once you sift through all the garbage . . . it’s like being in charge of the glitter.”

“Maybe we’re just crazy?”

“Now that is probably very true.”

Candice rose to head back to her office, right as Liz, their one and only assistant, came in looking a little crazed herself. Liz was still fresh-faced, right out of college. She had a short crop of brown hair, and she wore Converse.

“Um . . . I’m not sure who wants this . . . but . . .” Liz said chewing on her nail.

“Spit it out, Liz,” Candice barked.

“There’s a guy on line two who is very upset. He’s from the Coalition for Family Something, and he’s rambling about some hammer he’s going to bring down on us if we proceed with staging
Bent
at the Black Box?”

Candice looked at Sam, and they both rolled their eyes. Another non-fun part of the job.

“That’s not until March of next year. They’re already starting?” Sam asked.

“He seems very . . . passionate about being mean. What is the Coalition . . . ?” Liz asked.

“For the Protection of Family Values!” Candice and Sam both said together.

“Is his name Gary?” Sam asked as they both laughed.

“Yes, Gary the family values guy.”

She still seemed pretty flustered. Sam knew Gary, so his punch had worn off. Liz had only started a few months ago, so Sam could understand her surprise.

“Liz, Sam will handle Gary,” Candice said over her shoulder as she left with her remaining doughnuts.

“Sam, tell Gary we’ll give him a front row seat so when the play opens and the beautiful gay man walks out onstage in the buff, he’ll get a full-frontal view.”

Liz looked confused. Sam laughed and assured Candice it would be her pleasure.

“Gary, Happy Monday, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call this time?” Sam asked, picking up the phone and smiling as Liz backed out slowly and closed her door.

Gary proceeded to rant and rave about what a depraved and deviant play
Bent
was, and how they, and Sam in particular, were responsible for contributing to the moral decay of society. Gary was, and always had been, passionate about his beliefs. The problem, Sam thought, with him and other people she had spoken with in his organization, was that their fire and brimstone was all based in fear. Fear of the unknown, fear or things that were different, or people and lifestyles they didn’t understand.