Sucker Punch (4 page)

“He said yes, so he must not have minded too much. So you’re his casting director?”

She nodded. “I need reliable people in the cast,” she said again. “The play is likely to have a larger audience than usual. We’ve already scheduled a longer run than normal.”

“Not to mention the media,” Paisley said.

Vonetta waved off the suggestion. “There may be some media attention, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I can’t even think about that until I know I have the cast in place.”

“But I’m not really an actor, Vonetta. You know that.”

“You did a fine job in
The King and I
.”

“That was a long time ago,” I reminded her. “All I had to do was sit in the corner and look like a devoted member of Brian Hubbard’s harem.”

Vonetta laughed softly. “You did more than that. As I recall, you had quite a nice singing voice.”

“I have a lousy singing voice,” I said firmly.

“I seem to recall you being quite disappointed when you were cast as a member of the chorus. Weren’t you interested in one of the more prominent roles?”

“I wanted to be a dancer, but I was sixteen and in shape. And I had no idea that I had absolutely no talent.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Vonetta waved a hand and beamed up at me. “It doesn’t really matter anyway. I
don’t
need a singer, I need someone with rhythm. You don’t have to be a professional dancer.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. And you really should believe me when I say I wouldn’t be any good. I haven’t danced in years. I’m so out of shape, I’d embarrass the entire cast if I tried now.” Not to mention myself. “My thighs haven’t come within speaking distance of dance tights in years, and they aren’t about to renew their acquaintance now.”

Vonetta laughed. “Then I guess it won’t make any difference to you that Laurence Nichols is musical director?”

So there
was
a connection. But she wasn’t fighting fair. Anyone with an interest in music or theater would trip their mother for a chance to work with him. Not that I
had
an interest.

“So that’s why Laurence Nichols’s manager was in here this morning. They’re here for your play.”

Vonetta’s expression changed subtly. “You’ve met Geoffrey.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Lucky me.”

“Don’t let him turn you off,” Paisley urged. “Laurence has agreed to work on the production as a favor to Alexander. And Alexander hired Colleen Brannigan—you remember, Colleen Miller?—as stage manager. Come on, you know you want to see her again.”

For all four years of high school, Colleen and I had been inseparable. In fact, she’d been another member of Brian Hubbard’s harem, and the time we’d spent hanging out together offstage had almost made up for the disappointing roles we’d been assigned. Knowing that she’d be at the theater every day for the next few weeks exerted a powerful tug.

But I couldn’t ignore the facts. “It’s almost Valentine’s Day,” I said. “I have no time, no talent, and no training.”

“We’re casting now,” Vonetta said. “We won’t even start rehearsals for a few more days. You’d have plenty of time after the holiday to become familiar with the part.”

“But I—”

Paisley glowered at me. “I don’t know how you can turn Vonetta down. She’s never been anything but supportive of you. Didn’t she start selling some of your candy from the concession stand a few months ago?”

“You don’t have to tell me how supportive Vonetta has been,” I said, trying not to let my irritation show, “and I appreciate everything she’s done.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

It had been a long day, and I didn’t have the energy or the patience for this. Before I could zap Paisley back, Vonetta rose majestically from her chair. “Ladies, please. Don’t create bad feelings over something so minor. If you really don’t want to be in the play, I won’t press you.”

She looked disappointed, and I suffered a sharp pang of guilt. “I
can’t
be in the play,” I said again. “There’s a difference.”

“You can’t blame me for trying, right? I’m sure I’ll find people to fill all the roles eventually.”

“Of course you will. Everyone loves the Playhouse, and they love working with you.”

“We’ll hope, won’t we?” She gathered her coat and scarf, and smiled fondly at Paisley, who was shooting daggers at me from beneath knit brows. “It looks as if you’ll get your wish after all, Paisley. If you want the role of Isabel, it’s yours. I just hope you aren’t taking on more than you can handle.”

Paisley gave me one last look and turned to Vonetta with a smile. “I’ll be fine. Mom’s at the salon every day, and she knows how much this means to me.”

“If you change your mind,” Vonetta said as she pulled on her coat again, “you know where to find me.”

I stood there for a minute after they left, trying to get a handle on what I was feeling. I hated turning Vonetta down. I could have kicked myself for passing up the chance to meet and work with Laurence Nichols. And that slow curl of envy for Paisley hadn’t gone away.

But what choice did I have? I couldn’t turn my back on Divinity either. Not to mention the fact that Karen would have killed me if I’d said yes.

The next two days passed in a blur of sugar, cream, caramel, and chocolate. A large order of white Russian truffles for a luncheon at the golf course kept me working late into the night so I couldn’t even slip away to check Jawarski’s mail. On Saturday evening, I turned the key in the lock promptly at seven and went up to my apartment on the third floor above the shop to gather Max, my Doberman pinscher, and head over to Jawarski’s house.

Since we used the second floor to store orders waiting for delivery and candy that wouldn’t fit into the displays, Max had been confined to the apartment while I worked. Judging from the bits of wicker in the middle of my living room floor, the claw marks on the kitchen door, and the mound of dirty clothes Max had dragged into the hall to sleep on, the long hours I’d been working had taken their toll on both of us.

The temperature still hovered right around zero, so cold it hurt to breathe, and the Jetta coughed a couple of times before it finally cranked over. Max didn’t seem to mind, but he was so glad to be around people he wouldn’t have minded anything.

While I chugged across town, I phoned my nieces, Dana and Danielle. They’re seniors in high school and involved in everything. They’re also tough negotiators, but the promise of an empty apartment for a few hours after school gave me the upper hand for once. After some discussion, we struck a bargain. They’d spend time with Max every afternoon until after the holiday, I’d provide soda and chips, and Max would stop chewing my stuff.

I hung up as I pulled into Jawarski’s driveway in front of his unnaturally dark house.
I
would have left a light on, but I’d spent twenty years in the city, so I also locked the Jetta when I parked it. Just another way Jawarski and I were different.

Max and I climbed out into the cold and trudged to the mailbox on the curb. I pulled out a handful of junk mail and a couple of bills and carted it up the walk to the front door. “Well, this is it, Max,” I said as I turned the key in the lock. “Feels a little weird to be here without him, doesn’t it?”

Max didn’t seem to think so. He nudged open the door with his nose and trotted into the kitchen with his stubby tail wagging expectantly. Unfamiliar shadows danced across the walls as I fumbled for the light switch.

When I could finally see, I tossed the mail onto the kitchen table and stood for a minute just breathing in the atmosphere. It smelled like Jawarski in here—a mixture of coffee and spice and something else that was pure Jawarski. At least
that
was familiar. I’d been married to Roger for twenty years, and I’d known him almost as well as I knew myself—or I’d thought I did. Jawarski and I had only been flirting with this relationship for two years, and he was still an unknown quantity. If Jawarski and I decided to make a commitment, would he ever become as familiar as Roger had? Did I want him to?

Maybe that’s why I was having so much trouble letting Jawarski past my internal security gates. I missed the idea of belonging with someone and having a routine that felt as comfortable as my own skin. But the thought of living with a relative stranger, of waking up to unfamiliar tousled hair and morning breath made a spiny knot of panic twist in my stomach.

A shiver rattled me out of my thoughts, and I realized for the first time that the house was icy cold. Either Jawarski had turned down the heat while he was gone, or the wind had blown out the pilot light.

Hoping I wouldn’t have to crawl around in the basement to get the furnace going, I nudged up the thermostat a few degrees. A few seconds later I heard the gratifying sound of the furnace kicking on, followed by the smell of burning dust.

I thanked my lucky stars and turned the thermostat down again, then turned on the kitchen faucet to a low trickle to keep the pipes from freezing. After checking the windows and doors to make sure they were all shut and locked, I led Max outside and locked the door behind me.

On my way back to the Jetta, I realized that I was going to have to sort through my commitment issues or Karen’s predictions would come true. Eventually, Jawarski would get tired of my uncertainty. Anyone would.

But that was a job for another night. I had two whole weeks to think about our relationship. I didn’t have to do it tonight.

As I drove back through town, I cranked up the stereo and warbled along with Carrie Underwood. Snow, unmelted since the last big storm, lay piled against the sides of the road. Slush and dirty spray from passing cars had turned it all an ugly shade of gray.

My voice cracked on a high note, and I lapsed into silence. Why on earth Vonetta would want
this
voice in her play was beyond me. But I’d heard Paisley singing along to the piped in music at the Curl, and I knew she wasn’t any better.

Two blocks from home, I decided to be smart and pick up dinner rather than relying on the questionable supplies in my kitchen. I ran through my options quickly and settled my taste buds on a bratwurst sandwich and macaroni salad from the deli. The perfect comfort food for a cold winter night.

I pulled into the first empty parking spot I came across, clipped on Max’s leash, and climbed out into the freezing cold. Two cars away, Dylan Wagstaff and Richie Bellieu stepped onto the curb in front of me.

The two men have been life partners for years. They also own the Silver River Inn, a bed-and-breakfast on the north end of town. When you meet Richie, you’re left with no doubt about his sexual preferences. Dylan’s a bit less obvious.

Neither of them noticed me at first. Dylan was arguing mildly with Richie, whose attention was riveted on something inside the satchel slung over his shoulder.

“Hey there,” I said as they drew even with me. “What are you two doing?”

Richie’s head shot up in surprise. When he saw Max and me, he flapped a hand at me and flung himself on Max’s neck. Richie and my dog are members of an elite mutual admiration society, and they never let a chance to indulge slip past them.

As he watched them, a smile replaced the frown on Dylan’s face. “Hey there yourself,” he said to me. “Haven’t seen you around in a while. You must be busy.”

“Valentine’s Day,” I said. We’d been friends through two seasons already, so he knew how things were. “Have you guys eaten? I was just going to pick something up, but if you’re free—”

Richie gave Max one last air-kiss and stood. “Sorry, Abs. We ate before we left home.” He started walking slowly, and the rest of us followed. “If you don’t want to eat alone, why don’t you grab some takeout and bring it to the Playhouse? I’m sure nobody would mind.”

Ice crunched beneath our feet as we walked, and the cold made talking difficult. Or maybe it was the unexpected jolt of envy that snuck up the center of my chest. “You guys are going to the theater? Does that mean you’re in the play?”

Richie nodded so fast, he looked like a bobblehead doll. “
I
am. Dylan volunteered for the stage crew so we could do something together.” He grinned at his partner and added, “Something away from the inn.”

I tried to imagine Jawarski and me searching for extracurricular activities to share, but the picture wouldn’t form. We were both too independent, I guess. Or we had nothing in common. I wasn’t sure which.

“Sounds great. I had no idea you were interested in theater.”

“Oh, sure,” Richie said. “I’ve always wanted to be on stage. Besides,
Laurence Nichols
is the musical director.” He shot a guilty smile at Dylan. “I’m sorry. I know I’m taken, but there’s just something about him, you know?”

I think we all knew.

“Snaring him for the play is quite a coup for Vonetta,” Dylan said. “I wonder how she managed to get both Laurence Nichols
and
Alexander Pastorelli for the same production?”