Where the Heart Leads (20 page)

The curtain went up at seven, but Moira drove in two hours early in case there were any last-minute developments she needed to take care of. It was anxious mother syndrome, she knew, but she couldn't help it. This was the first show she'd ever directed without a drama professor hanging over her. It was also the first show she'd ever directed that would have a general admission audience, not other theater majors or students looking for cheap entertainment.

And the first show she'd staked the rest of her life on.

Everything seemed to be going well so far. The final dress rehearsal had hit several small bumps and a mountain or two, but Billie Joe had finally figured out which was her right foot and which was her left, Rafe's police helmet had arrived yesterday, Sammy had jerry-rigged the injured flat, no one else had come down with pinkeye, and the spotlight was finally clamped tight enough that it wasn't slipping all over the stage.

Moira smiled as the driver in front of her put on his brake lights to slow down, then sped up when the traffic light changed. The red taillights and green traffic lights glowing in the dark looked like Christmas decorations. At this time of year, everything did.

She resumed speed and thought about what she was going to say to the cast before the play, when they would join hands in a circle in the traditional show of solidarity. Probably the same thing she'd heard from her directors—own your character, break a leg, and no matter what happens, keep on going with a smile on your face.

Keep a smile on your face.

Come to think of it, that was good advice for her too, especially since Arthur Sawyer would be interviewing her for the
Retriever
before the performance tonight.

A worm of panic slithered through her gut. Would Boyd Yancey accompany him? After all, if his editor wasn't interested in the story unless he could get it in before the play opened, this would be his last chance.

She turned into the museum parking lot and, for good luck, parked in the same spot she'd taken five weeks ago, when she'd first met the people who were now so important in her life—Pendleton Swaim, Vashti, Xandra and Fleurette, Travis…Rafe.

A BMW sedan honked at her and pulled in beside her. Sergio and Desdemona climbed out and accompanied her across the street.

This was as good a time as any to ask them about
Pirates of Penzance
and
Cinderella
.

“What are your plans for the spring, Sergio? I'm thinking of a Gilbert and Sullivan lead for you.”

He avoided her eyes. “I'm thinking of leaving right after the show, so I probably won't be around. My uncle in New York wants to introduce me to a few big names up there, and a friend of mine and I may go up there right after the show and see what happens.”

Clunk.
Her ship hit the rocks. No way Phillip Schoenfeldt could pass for a twenty-one-year-old apprentice pirate.

“That's terrific! I wish you well!” She turned to his sister. “What about you, Desdemona? Are you hitching a ride with Sergio to the Big Apple?”

The ballerina shook her head. “Dancers are a dime a dozen in New York, and I don't want to do what I'd have to do to stand out from the crowd. I've decided to stick around Bosque Bend and sign up for the nursing program at the community college in Waco.”

“Would you still have time to do theater?”

“Of course. It's my outlet.”

Moira nodded. At least
Cinderella
was still an option.

Percy Washington was struggling to get into a dove-gray morning coat that was a shade too small for him as Rafe walked into the men's dressing room.

Percy shrugged his shoulders to ease the fit. “I hate to tell you, Rafe, but the Rockefeller Bank isn't holding together. It's failed.”

“Clever, guy, but that flat is just plain too big.” Rafe lifted his police uniform off the costume rack. “The balance board I put in should have taken care of it—unless someone hit up against it again backstage. I'll check it out after I get dressed.”

“By the way, I saw Moira out in the hall when I was coming in. People were lined up to shake her hand, and, man, she's gone Hollywood on us. That dress—wow! It looked like it had been made for her to wear to the Oscars.” Percy dusted off his homburg and twirled his cane. “I figure a lot of people came to the play just so they can say they've met Moira Farrar.”

“She's doing us proud, Percy.” Rafe took off his jacket and shirt and sat down at the makeup counter.

Moira usually dressed down, but not tonight. He'd caught a glimpse of her as he walked back to the dressing room. That dress fit her every inch along the way, and he'd bet she didn't have a bra on. If this were Friday, he'd be taking her home with him and finding out for sure.

He touched the ring box in his pocket just to be sure it was still there. She'd liked this set, he knew—had even tried them on—which he took to mean that she was coming around.

He opened a can of dark-toned pancake and smeared it on his face so the lights wouldn't wash him out, then darkened his eyebrows and picked up his handlebar mustache clip. Most of the guys in the cast had been issued mustaches. Not Sergio, of course. The Dreamer was a shadow figure, and besides, Sergio looked too young for a full mustache.

Percy took a final look at the mirror and twirled his cane. “I'm going off to guard the Rockefeller Bank before anyone knocks it over again.”

“Give me a few more minutes and I'll be out there.” Rafe zipped up his navy-blue pants and reached for his double-breasted jacket. Sammy, Sergio, and Buck came in as he was closing the Velcro strips.

Sammy told him the Rockefeller Bank had fallen on hard times, Sergio said it had gone broke, and Buck just stood there grinning.

Rafe rolled his eyes and reached for his truncheon, helmet, and big copper badge. He'd better prop up that damn flat before the whole world reported in.

Moira met Art Sawyer—who was unaccompanied—in a far corner of the auditorium behind the ropes. It was the most private place she could think of.

“Thank you for your time, Ms. Farrar. First of all I want to offer my condolences on the death of your late husband. I've seen every one of Colin Sanger's films, and the world will be a sadder place without him.”

She gave him the usual sad smile and mumbled a thank you. Hopefully, having once expressed his condolences, Sawyer would never mention Colin's name again.

He took a small spiral notebook out of his breast pocket and poised a pen above it. “Now, tell me about Pendleton Swaim's play.”

That
she could do. Her smile was real this time.
Gift of the Magi
is a wonderfully heartwarming story, and it's so appropriate for Christmas, not just because of the subject matter but because of the theme—love.”

Love…

Rafe had walked her through the jewelry store so many times the past week and a half that she knew all the clerks by their first names. If he was trying to wear her down, he was doing a good job of it.

But she didn't want to make a commitment until every second of Boyd Yancey's deadline had passed. For all she knew, he was out in the hall, ready to pounce when she emerged from the interview with Art. Pray God Yancey wouldn't show up and she'd be safe.

More important, Rafe was safe.

She posed next to a blow-up of the
Gift of the Magi
poster in the hall outside the auditorium for Sawyer's camera, then dared the devil by staying there till the ten-minute light blinked, talking to people she knew and people she didn't. If Yancey showed, he'd have to get in line like everyone else.

Once she entered the auditorium again, so many people on the aisle wanted to welcome her to Bosque Bend that it took her the full ten minutes to get down to her reserved seat. It was on the first row, at the end, as near to the stage steps as she could get, in case she needed to run backstage and save the day.

Astrid and Aaron, she knew, had prime seats in the tenth row beside Enid and a group from Floravista. Xandra and Fleurette, dressed in their usual black—did they ever wear any other color?—were on the front row at the other side of the stage, probably with the same motive she had.

The theater darkened, the audience hushed, and Vashti played the opening chords of the overture. Carmen lifted her bow and came in on the third measure.

The show had started and Yancey hadn't appeared. Relief flooded through her. Now she could sit back and enjoy the show.

The overture ended, paused, then started up again in a variation Moira had never heard before. Something was wrong. Vashti and Carmen were stalling.

Moira jerked as a loud thud sounded from behind the curtain, then another, followed by a muffled yell. There was a buzz of speculation in the seats around her.

The Athertons headed into a third version of the overture, this time with Carmen taking the lead and her mother playing an accompaniment

Moira fixed a smile on her face, and she half rose in her chair, preparing herself to walk up onto the stage and make a long, rambling speech about how wonderful it was to work in community theater. She knew how to handle this situation—was it an unwritten rule that something always went wrong on opening night.

A thumbs-up came through the side of the curtain, and she sat down again.

Vashti nodded at Carmen and finished off the fourth run-through of the overture with a thundering chord.

The theater was silent with expectation.

Moira went cold. It was make-or-break time.

A New York copper strolled out in front of the curtain, slapping his truncheon into his hand four times to set the beat, and began singing. His unaccompanied voice filled the auditorium.

Moira let herself breathe. Rafe was good—even better than in rehearsal. Some people were like that. An audience brought it out in them. No wonder he was so popular.

Applause erupted at the end of the first verse, and Vashti waited for it to die down before playing the introduction to the street scene. The grand drape opened slowly on a frozen stage, a 1900s tableau of Christmas in New York.

Not a soul moved—not even Wendy Nixon, bless her.

As soon as Rafe walked back across the stage and launched into the second verse, the stage came to life in double-time. The bootblacks lined themselves up and shined shoes in rapid rhythm, the Loughlin girls trundled their hoops onto the scene, and the flower girls darted back and forth, alternately playing with each other and peddling limp violets to people hurrying along the street.

The tempo increased by the second as the stage bustled with activity approaching frenzy. As the chorus came in for the third verse. Rafe dropped down to a strong obbligato below them, and the activity evolved into a round dance with the children running in and out between the adults, tagging each other.

The pace slowed as Phil and Micaela entered the scene. And Moira's eyes wandered over to Rafe, standing on his mark at the side of the stage like a wooden Indian. Her heart warmed.

Boyd Yancey hadn't shown up. The monkey was off her back. She could accept Rafe's ring.

M
oira rushed backstage at intermission to congratulate everybody on a great first act and find out what had been the cause of the delay in opening the curtain.

“Percy knocked down the bank flat,” Billie Joe explained. “And each time he tried to set it up, it fell down again.”

Moira laughed with relief. She'd been half afraid Buck was going after Sammy for moving in on Desdemona.

The ten-minute warning blinked, and she hurried out the back door of the greenroom into the second-floor hall of the museum, planning to go up the stairs and make a grand entrance through the auditorium entrance.

Crap.
What was the door to the docent's room doing hanging open? Moira felt around her purse for her key ring as she walked toward the door. She'd better go close it up. None of the museum rooms were supposed to be open after hours.

She stopped in her tracks. Was that someone talking or a vibration from the floor above or was someone in there? She slipped out of her shoes, approached the door, and peeked in.

The room was dark enough that she couldn't see exactly what was going on, but she recognized the people in the room—Buck and Sergio, and they had their arms around one another.

She backed up quietly, stepped back into her shoes, and headed for the stairs.

That explained a lot.

The curtain opened on the second act, and Moira watched as Micaela and Phil pushed through to their happy ending. Jim had lost his job and Della couldn't find work so they exchanged the useless comb and the useless watch fob on Christmas Eve, which made them realize how much they loved each other. After sinking into the depths of despair, Jim started writing short stories and Della finally got herself hired to mop the milliner's floor at night. Within a month, Della, who'd been playing with the hats when she was alone in the shop, had risen to head designer, and Jim had sold his first short story to the
McClure's Magazine
.

Simplistic, but it worked. Now for the last big scene.

The curtain opened on the tableau again, but this time, thanks to a clever light filter, snow was falling. The chorus sang about the snow and danced around a papier-mâché snowman, as Della and Jim walked down the avenue again. But this time, she had on a huge hat and the hem of her dress flipped up enough to show off her shiny spats, while Jim was not only wearing a cutaway jacket and striped trousers, but sported a big gold pocket watch.

The chorus moved in behind them to support the final number, and the curtain closed. Carmen lowered her violin, and Vashti folded her hands on her lap, then looked expectantly toward the stage.

Somebody in the audience started to clap, then stopped as Rafe marched out in front of the curtain and slapped the truncheon into his hand four times.

He slapped the truncheon four more times and walked offstage.

The audience sprang to its feet and exploded with applause that kept on coming, and Moira joined them, clapping her hands till they hurt.

As everyone lined up in the wings for curtain calls, Rafe tossed his truncheon a few extra times just for the joy of it. A standing ovation was pro forma in small-town Texas, but the multiple rolls of applause were voluntary. The show was socko—a success, a big success.

This was when he should approach Moira again. Not when they got to the truck or back to the house, but now, as soon as he went backstage to escort her to the lectern.

The curtain call line moved forward one by one, and he heard the audience roaring with applause, probably for Billie Joe, who was always a favorite. Next would come Sergio, after which he himself would march out, slap his palm with his truncheon, and join hands with the rest of the players as Micaela and Phil took their solo bows.

Then there'd be a pause as he fetched Moira from the wings so she could thank everyone involved and say a few words about the theater guild.

He checked the ring in his pocket.

That's when he'd strike.

Standing backstage, Moira analyzed each round of the applause as she watched the curtain call. Everyone cheered the chorus and children. Billie Joe was obviously popular. Sergio seemed to have a strong teenage following. And Rafe got yells as well as applause. Phil's audience appeal seemed a little weak, but Micaela's more than made up for it.

Oops. She'd better pay attention. Rafe had left the line and was coming over to escort her to the lectern.

But instead of taking her arm, he lifted her left hand and kissed her ring finger. His eyes sparkled at her.

“Are you ready?”

His voice was a deep-down whisper, and she knew he was asking her about more than walking onstage. She knew what her answer was too—the same as it had been when he asked her to join him for lunch and to go home with him on Halloween night.

“Yes.”

Rafe reached into his pocket, and slipped a diamond-encrusted ring on her finger, then escorted her to the lectern and stepped back into the cast lineup.

The audience greeted her with light applause and listened politely as she expressed her appreciation of everyone involved in the production. Vashti and Pen received special citations, of course, and the Fontaine sisters were asked to stand in place. She ended by thanking the audience for coming, made a pitch for the theater guild, and invited everyone to the cast party in the boardroom across the hall.

Her role fulfilled, she turned to Rafe to be escorted off so the cast could take a final bow, but instead he walked up to the lectern and took her left hand in his.

She looked at him in surprise, then understood and smiled, not a closed-mouth widening of the lips, but a big, open smile that brought happiness to the world and joy to the universe.

He lifted her hand so everyone could see the ring, and the audience gave them a standing ovation.

A voice that sounded like Sammy Schuler's yelled from the curtain call lineup, “Kiss! Kiss!” The audience took up the chant, and Moira looked up at Rafe.

“Always let the paying customers have what they want,” he said, taking her in his arms and giving her a lot more than a stage kiss.

The cast party was a madhouse, like every other opening night celebration Moira had ever been to. It seemed like the whole audience had accepted her invitation to come to the cast party, and every single one of them was also determined to offer her and Rafe congratulations, count the diamonds in her ring, and ask highly personal questions about their living arrangements.

Enid and Astrid joined the impromptu receiving line, of course, and Enid garnered almost as many congratulations as she and Rafe did. He stayed with her during the initial bombardment, then escaped to the dressing room to change clothes, wipe off his stage makeup, and ditch the handlebar mustache, so she had no defense when his Aunt Clarice cornered her with a long, very involved story about the family's first indication of Rafe's artistic talents.

After the first ten minutes, Donna Sue, who'd been standing nearby for moral support, flashed a dimpled smile and interrupted.

“Babes, let me borrow Moira for a few minutes, okay? She hasn't had a thing to eat—not even a cracker—since breakfast, and we need to get some nourishment down her.”

She took Moira's arm and walked her over to goodies table. The hot wings, skewered shrimp, and fajitas that the members of the city council had supplied had been pretty well picked over, and the doughnuts, kolaches, and sliced sheet cake from the Loughlin Bakery existed only in memory, but she was able to score a couple of decent-looking shrimp Donna Sue helped her extract a ginger ale from the ice tub under the table.

“How did you know I'd skipped lunch?” Moira asked as she popped the top off the bottle.

“I didn't, babes, but you needed rescuing.”

Opening a Diet Coke, Donna Sue took a major swig of it, then stiffened as she looked behind Moira. She lowered her voice so Moira could barely make out what she was saying.

“Don't look now, but Buck's father—he's a total ass—is heading this way. I had a huge run-in with him—it was monumental—about casting a black guy as the mayor in
The Music Man
.” She backed off as if she were searching for a last remaining doughnut. “Babes, you're on your own on this one.”

Moira affixed the standard smile to her face as Dolph Overton Sr. introduced himself and his wife, complimented her on the play, told her how fortunate she was to be marrying Rafe, and that Buck had been seeing a Waco debutante so he and his wife were expecting a marriage in their family soon too.

Moira didn't know what to say so she nodded pleasantly and tried to start a light conversation with his wife, which didn't go anywhere. It was an awkward situation but Moira noticed that Stu Schlossnagel was fast approaching, and the load of kinfolk he had with him looked big enough to overpower the Overtons.

Stu was ruthless about claiming her attention.

“Hey, Moira, I want you to meet my dad and his wife! They're in town just for the show! And my sisters are here too! And my grandma!”

An elderly woman with well-trained blue-tinted hair clasped her hand. “Ooh La La thanks you for the full-page ad in the playbill, Ms. Farrar.” She gave Moira's coiffure cut a critical look over. “Looks like you're due for a trim. We'd love to see you at the shop. I can guarantee a discount.”

Stu looked embarrassed and tried to step in, which gave the Fontaines the opportunity to bring selected parents over to meet Moira.

Next came the Bentons, then Sammy's father, then Travis, and surprisingly Rocky.

She picked up Moira's hand, admired her ring, and laughed charmingly, like a bird greeting springtime.

“Well, that pretty much seals the deal, doesn't it? No turning back now.”