When the Music Stops (6 page)

Now Marta sat in the center section of the dark auditorium waiting for Mr. Ryan and the teenagers to arrive. Just then a handful of young teens tromped down the aisle, chatting and laughing. Marta stood as Hal appeared on the stage. “Welcome, everyone! Please join us in the front rows, and let’s talk about the play.”

The shuffling bodies settled. Hal introduced the storyline of the play. “So you see, it’s going to be fun, especially adding the dances Marta’s offered to create for you. We’re lucky to have a professional dancer. I’ll let Marta explain her ideas to you.”

Marta stood and felt their eyes follow her as she moved to sit on the edge of the stage. She straightened her spine and scrutinized the students. “We’ll be using the music from
The Carnival of the Animals
to create dances for each animal. I’ll teach you the basic steps, then create details to make each of your animals distinctive. But don’t worry, these will be simple steps, enough to keep it fun and not embarrass you in front of your friends. You’ll perform an opening group dance, a solo, and another group dance during the final party scene.

Hal announced their roles. “Neil, you’re the tortoise; Pam, the butterfly; Terry and Valerie, the hens; Willis, the elephant; and George, the kangaroo. You’re invited to ham up your dances as long as you don’t get silly and forget your lines.”

The teens laughed and poked each other but showed little enthusiasm for the play. Marta hoped they’d perk up and put energy into their roles as the production moved forward.

Hal continued. “We’ll provide a schedule with the times you’ll need to be here. Plan on Tuesday and Thursday mornings for practicing your lines and Wednesdays afternoons for learning your dances. Tell your parents each practice lasts ninety minutes and we need you here on time, every day. Questions?”

No hands raised so Hal handed out the scripts. “You’re on your own learning your lines. Come ready to work, but also to have fun. Let’s read through the script to familiarize all of us with the story.”

h

Marta returned home with notes scribbled in the margins of her script and set to work creating simple steps for the teens.
The Carnival of the Animals
remained a personal favorite. Now she had the opportunity to use the music and steps she and Lynne taught the little girls in Billings, plus add her own touches. In all, she’d use seven selections from Saint-Saëns music. She’d create fifteen minutes of movements. That matched the time she’d traditionally be on stage when she danced professionally. Hopefully the teens were up for it.

Strangely, even though she guessed she was a scant five years older than the junior high actors, she felt a deep chasm separating them. Must be her year away on her own that created the gap. Regardless, she hoped they’d arrive for each rehearsal with more enthusiasm than they brought today, making her task considerably easier.

The teen play changed how she spent her day. She got up early and sat with her mom as she prepared for work. Then she spent time adjusting the dance steps and making or embellishing costumes before she hopped on the bus for the theater. Back at home she fixed dinner and once again readjusted the dances and costumes before her mom returned home. She forgot about taking diet pills, so perhaps her life had begun to change for the better and she’d focus on using her natural energy. Speaking with Miss Holland took a backseat to the teen play, but she needed to schedule her visit soon.

Wednesday afternoon dance rehearsals started with mixed results. Valerie, Terry, and Pam belonged to a dance team and learned their dances with ease. Marta added more detailed choreography to their two-minute solos.

The teen boys, Neil, Willis, and George, needed their simplified dances. Tortoise Neil’s and Elephant Willis’s slow-moving dances gave them time to think before they moved. Poor George shuffled like a lost cause. His feet became entangled throughout his brief yet fast-paced kangaroo solo.

“Marta, I don’t know if I can do this,” George said. “I mean I want to be in the play and all, but I don’t want to be laughed at.”

“George, you’re doing fine. Lift your feet a little higher, like this.” Marta demonstrated, then danced beside George to guide him. “Remember, this is a kids’ play and it’s supposed to be humorous.”

Sure enough, when he lifted his feet he performed the steps perfectly and started adding humor to his role.

h

The end of June, Marta received another call from Hal Ryan. “I understand the dance lessons are going well. I appreciate your taking over that job.”

“Thanks. It’s fun working with the teens. It’s a cute play. I’m certain the community will enjoy it.”

“That’s great to hear. Now more good news for you. Dennis, the set designer, hasn’t found qualified help, so he’ll call you before Monday to give you the opportunity to try your hand at building sets and helping paint them as well. It will be a bit of a time crunch with the sets needing to be completed as close to July tenth as possible.”

“I’ll do my best. I’m excited to help make sets. Watching the crew assemble them always fascinated me. Thanks, Mr. Ryan.”

“Call me Hal. Prepare to get messy, Marta. Would you be interested in taking subscription calls and doing other odd jobs?”

“Yes, I’d love whatever work you have for me. I did reception jobs in Billings.”

“How did you fit that in with your career?”

“I didn’t. I worked at a hotel while I had a cast on my leg and couldn’t dance.”

“That must have been disappointing, but we’re glad to have you working with us.”

“Thanks, Hal.” Marta hung up the phone and sat at the kitchen table feeling a mix of emotions. Hal, a near stranger, took the time to commiserate. Madame Cosper, artistic director of the ballet company, never shared any compassion for Marta’s injury and recovery. Some day she hoped to understand why Madame didn’t care or didn’t like her.

Marta jumped up. No good came from dwelling on her past. Having jobs allowed her to send money to pay her doctor and hospital bills in Billings. If the set design job worked out, she’d start a nest egg toward getting a place of her own and a car.

h

“And that’s the KING 5 News at Noon for Tuesday, July 7th, 1958.” Marta clicked off the television. She retrieved the mail and flipped through it for her near-daily letter from Steve. No letter today; must be busy, or waiting until he received more than a postcard from her. Would he care to hear about her sewing or that she returned from set making each day wearing a rainbow of paint blots with splotches of dried wheat paste? Maybe. She really should write back to him.

Building sets proved to be backbreaking, but she’d learned a lot the past few days. Dennis, the carpenter who worked on set construction after hours, surprised her. Their first encounter reminded her of meeting Steve. Both began as a mishmash of misunderstandings.

That first afternoon, she’d arrived early and sat waiting on the apron of the stage. He was thirty minutes late. With her luck he’d be an old bald headed guy with a beer belly and unable to bend over.

As Marta prepared to leave, assuming he wasn’t coming, a young, blonde man sauntered down the aisle carrying two tool boxes. “So, you’re Marta and you want to become a set designer?”

“Not really,” she said. Boy, her image of the carpenter missed the mark. “I need a job. Hal said you needed a set builder and someone to help paint.”

Dennis grinned and shook his head. “Hal always caves for a lovely face.”

Marta’s smile faded. “Excuse me? I’m a hard worker, I can—“

“Forget I said that. It’s just that I need more than a painter. My new carpentry business is taking off so I need someone to build sets, not just make them pretty.”

“So, you took one look at me and thought I couldn’t do this?”

“Yeah, that’s right. You’re what, five feet tall and weigh ninety pounds dripping wet? Many of our sets are eight feet tall and weigh more than you do. Do you even know how to swing a hammer?”

She pulled her mouth taut to hold back a retort that rushed to be spoken, but she knew her face gave away her frustration.

Dennis closed his eyes and shook his head. “Look. That sounded cruel but I need muscle more than art.”

“Do you always judge people so quickly? How do you know I can’t do it?”

Dennis lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay. Let’s see what you’ve got.” He opened his tool boxes. “Hand me the T-square, a claw hammer, and a dozen eight penny nails.”

Marta rummaged through his tool boxes and handed him the square and the correct hammer. She held a similar hammer as she faced him. “You don’t have any
eights
in your box. Is there another place I can check, or do you want to use
sixteens?
Or, would a lighter nail work?”

Dennis raised one eyebrow. His jaw dropped open as if he’d won a thousand dollar Bingo game. “Okay, Marta!” He walked to the wings and returned with a coffee can of nails. His sly smile and nod defrosted her anger.

Over the next three hours, they assembled frames, attached plywood, and moved on to building a platform. The steady beat of hammering released months of Marta’s frustration one stroke at a time.

After they collected tools and prepared to leave for the evening, Marta sat on the apron resting with her feet dangling over the edge. A flutter of interest in Dennis ran through her as she watched his back muscles flex when he wrestled with the plywood tops. Too bad he acted like such a jerk. She’d like a few new friends, but expecting a busy guy like Dennis to become a friend was pushing her luck.

He sat down beside her and wiped his sweaty forehead. “I owe you an apology. How do you know so much about carpentry?”

“I only learned the basics when I helped my dad on projects.”

“Is he a carpenter?”

Marta shook her head. “He worked as an electrician in the shipyard.”

“What does he do now?”

“He died several years ago. I helped him on minor repairs.”

“Good for you. When you need carpentry help, call me. I’ll make time to help.” He raised one eyebrow again like Sean on the soap opera. “Better yet, how ‘bout we talk over dinner this weekend? My treat.”

Marta fingered the necklace from Steve that hung on a chain inside her shirt. “Thanks, but I’m kind of in a relationship.”

“Really?” Dennis drew a set of quotation marks in the air as he continued to speak. “How can you
kinda
be in a relationship?”

Marta closed her eyes and clamped her lips together. She hopped off the stage, snagged her purse from a seat in the front row, and took several deep breaths before she turned back to speak to Dennis. “We’re done for tonight aren’t we?”

Dennis nodded and cocked his head to one side. “See you tomorrow at five?”

“I’ll be here,” she said over her shoulder as she marched up the aisle toward the exit.

As she crossed to the bus stop, the necklace bounced against her sweaty skin. What was wrong with her? Flirting with Dennis, the first cute guy she met? She promised Steve she’d be in a committed relationship with him. He was buried in college projects as well as his job at the paper and still found time to write and call her. Dennis’s pre-judgment of her skills made her furious, yet she continued flirting with him. This wasn’t like her at all.

For the next two days, she worked diligently but didn’t invite conversation with Dennis. He gave her directions, but his friendliness had cooled. “Now that we’ve primed the flats, I’ll have the art students sketch the forest on the canvas backdrops. Follow the colors as indicated on each section. Paint them at night before you leave so they’ll dry by the next morning’s rehearsal. Set the maché cave sections aside; the kids will need to pretend for now. Any questions?”

Marta shook her head. “Nope.”

“Okay then. I’m done until the next play. Contact Hal if you need any help.” He packed up his tools and walked toward the wings. “Thanks for your help.”

“Wait!” Marta swallowed hard. “I want to apologize for being huffy the other day.”

Dennis turned to face her. His eyebrow lifted again. “Is that what you call it, huffy?”

“Okay. Rude might be a better word. Your offer for dinner caught me off guard.”

“Are you always ‘on guard,’ Marta?”

Was she? She shrugged. “I guess.”

“No need to explain. I got the message loud and clear. You’re ‘sorta’ in a relationship.” He shrugged. “I suggested dinner, not a wedding proposal.”

“I know. I overreacted. How about I treat you to a meal? We’re having a picnic at my mom’s next Sunday at two o’clock. I’d like you to come.”

“You’re asking me on a date? That surprises me since you’re dating Mr. Sorta.”

Marta started to protest but stopped when she saw him point both index fingers toward her and wink.

“Gotcha, Marta.” He bowed. “I’d love to come.”

Before she could say anything else, he’d left the auditorium. What had she done?

h

The picnic proved to be more of an adventure than she’d anticipated. The guests were a mix of her mom’s and Robert’s friends his twenty-one year old daughter, Alice. Was it her button nose, her curly blonde hair, her curves, or her perky personality that attracted Dennis’s attention? He couldn’t take his eyes off her.