The teacher's last remarks were warnings. "Don't get nervous and stitch too tight. It willbuckle the canvas. Don't stint on imagination. Make strips, odd sizes of rectangles or triangles. I'm giving each of you a packet of gridded paper to experiment with. There are also markers if you want to outline your pattern on the canvas. Don't worry, it will disappear when the work is washed. Remember to mark the canvas on the threads, not on the valleys between them.
"Wash your hands well before each session of work," she went on. "All this is in the packet, along with the right size blunt needles, and leather thimbles if you need them. We'll meet again on Thursday at the same time and see how much progress everyone has made. Have fun. And it's not a contest. It's just for fun. Keep that in mind.
"And my final advice is the most important, even though I mentioned it fleetingly already. Just like in knitting, crocheting, and sewing, use a light hand. It will save your fingers and keep the work looking good. If you work too tight, it will hurt you and your project both."
When Jane and Shelley arrived at the theater early that evening, Jane was astonished at the size and faded grandeur of the building. She tried the door, which was locked. "Never mind. I have a key," Shelley said.
The large lobby, which had held up a little better than the outside, was truly grand. Elaborate
gold-foiled trim around the two-story-high ceiling. Red marble floors. The same marble for pillars.
Shelley guided them through the large seating area. Jane admired the balconies, but was surprised that there was nobody on the stage. They heard voices and followed them to a room well behind the stage where there was a long table and chairs crammed close together. The backstage part of the theater wasn't nearly as grand as the public spaces. There had apparently been renovations several times. Some of the walls weren't even painted.
Three people were already there, pouring over scripts that looked fairly well worn. The young man at the head of the table stood up and said, "You must be Mrs. Nowack and Mrs. Jeffry. I'm Steven Imry. I'm the playwright and the Director." Jane could hear the capital D in his voice.
He continued, "I'm a graduate of the theater school at the college. I'm more than halfway through my master 's degree, and this is the second full-length play I've directed. Like the students among us who are on the Fast Track program, so are we. That's why we're rehearsing at night from six to ten. You're the ladies who are feeding us, right?",
Jane instinctively didn't like the look of him. He had deep frown lines on his forehead. His sandy hair was thinning. He wore old clothes thatwere all a little bit too big for him. And worst of all, he was one of those men with a tiny lump of beard just under his lower lip. She always thought this sort of mini-goatee looked like the man had chewed up a dead mouse and left a piece of the fur under his lip. She couldn't imagine why somebody would make himself look disgusting on purpose.
"So to speak," Shelley said with a hint of hauteur in her voice. "I've arranged for the catering and want to keep an eye on the people I've chosen to do it."
"And you?" he asked, turning to Jane.
"I'm just a taster and observer," she admitted.
She was still considering him. It was more than his appearance that bothered her, though. His voice was too loud. His clothing was shabby and he didn't smell quite clean. It seemed to her that it was a deliberate fashion statement.
Jane and Shelley sat down at the far end of the room. There were two rows of chairs apart from those around the table. Shelley looked at Jane and asked, "What's in that big bag you have? It's not your laptop bag."
Jane reached into the brown canvas bag and pulled out a rolled-up lightweight fabric that was flat and had about forty clear, soft plastic pockets. Many of them were filled with the different colored flosses she'd bought at the needlepoint shop that morning. Each color had a label and a piece
of the floss itself tied around it so she could be sure to buy the right color if she needed more. One clear plastic pocket held tiny scissors and one contained four extra needles. Jane was pretty certain she'd lose at least two of them before she was done with this project.
"What a neat thing! I didn't see that in the shop," Shelley said.
"No. It's meant for jewelry. I have one for you, too. A couple of well-meaning people who mistakenly thought I might own lots of jewelry have given them to me over the years. I knew I'd eventually find some other use for them."
Three
You're not the only one here, Steve," another man said. Jane and Shelley were both startled and whirled around to where the voice had come from. He'd been sitting behind them. This man was about the same age as the director. He radiated goodwill. He rose from the chair and came around to introduce himself to Jane and Shelley as Jake Stanton.
"But in the play, I'm Edward Weston, the hero's younger brother." He was a bit on the beefy side, but much more attractive than the director. He had a mop of unruly curly brown hair, a charming crooked smile, and good teeth. Jane always noticed people's teeth. Shelley always remembered the color of their eyes. Jane could hardly remember the color of her own eyes.
Steve Imry spoke up. "Jake, I'm glad you introduced yourself by your script name. That's what we're going to do from now on. I've instituted this policy before, and it works well. It makes for a more cohesive cast."
Jake smiled before he turned to go to the table, and he winked at Jane and Shelley. It was clearly a joke aimed at the pompous director.
The third person had said nothing. She hadn't even taken her eyes from her script.
Jake sat down across the table from her and said to Jane and Shelley, "The sphinx sitting at the far end of the table is, according to our esteemed director, Angeline Smith. The showgirl tramp my big brother is bringing home to meet the parents."
The young woman finally looked up and spoke. "He means my character is a showgirl tramp. My real name is Joani. With an i at the end."
She was voluptuous and wore a red, clingy top that looked like the top half of a bathing suit specifically designed to show off her impressive cleavage. Her hair was so long and so glossy that Jane supposed it was a wig. Her makeup was a tad on the garish side.
Joani-with-an-i went back to reading her script and Shelley and Jane exchanged a glance. Each knew what the other was thinking.
Everyone was immediately distracted by the entrance of an elderly couple. They stood posed as if they owned the theater' and all those who were present. They were obviously waiting for the proper accolades.
"I'm so looking forward to working with you,Gloria and John," the director gushed. "Please make yourselves comfortable. Sit anywhere you'd like. Would either of you like a glass of white wine? I have a bottle chilled."
"Good man," John Bunting croaked. He sat down next to Joani and looked down her cleavage with a leer.
Jane had seen this couple, Gloria and John Bunting, that morning on a local television news show. They both seemed to think they were true stars. The interviewer had obviously never heard of them, and had asked them chirpily what movies they'd been in.
"Movies?" Gloria had drawled in a surprisingly deep voice for such a small woman, "Oh dear, too many to remember. But we started in live theater and have always felt more comfortable with a real audience."
The interviewer asked, to his later regret, what famous plays they'd been in. John rattled off a long, slightly slurred list of productions the interviewer (and Jane) had never heard of.
John Bunting leaned close to Joani and said, "You sure are a looker."
Joani got a whiff of his breath and moved her chair away from him, then turned her back to continue reading her script.
"John," Gloria said, "mind your manners." She tossed one of her many wayward scarves around her throat to make her point. She went around the
table and made John sit in another chair, while she sat next to Joani. She slapped her husband's copy of the script in front of him.
Professor Imry said, "I know it's unusual to send scripts out before the first reading session, but we're short on rehearsal time and I wanted the Buntings, in particular, to be prepared. I hope you've all read them and have them pretty well memorized already."
Jane studied Gloria Bunting. She looked better in real life than on television. She was about five foot four, slim but not skinny. She, like most aging actresses, had probably undergone a good deal of plastic surgery. If so, it didn't show. She had a small, thin nose, high cheekbones, and only a hint of wrinkles. Really good shoulders, which didn't seem to be padding. She must have been a very pretty woman when she was younger and was still attractive.
It wasn't easy to guess her age. She could be anywhere from sixty-five to seventy-five. Her luxuriant white, slightly curly hair looked as if it was her own, not a wig. Her eyes were a clear, perceptive light blue. She moved erectly and easily. No hint of arthritis. Only her hands gave away that she was old. A few age spots. A couple of slightly enlarged knuckle. Jane hoped she'd age as well as Gloria Bunting had.
An extraordinarily good-looking and well-dressed young man had come into the roomwhile Imry finished speaking. He spotted the elderly pair and came over to introduce himself. "I'm Denny Roth," he said, patting them on the shoulders patronizingly. "You've probably heard of me. I've been in several independent films. One of them won several awards at Sundance."
Jake was still sitting near Jane and Shelley and made a small snorting noise and winked at them again. "As an extra, wasn't it, Denny?"
Denny ignored this and took a seat next to the director. Jake introduced Jane and Shelley. "Mrs. Jeffry and Mrs. Nowack are going to make sure that we get fed and watered. Be extra nice to them if you know what's good for you."
Steven Imry clearly didn't like someone else making the rules and introductions. He stood in front of the head chair and said, "Starting now, we're going to use your characters' names at all times, as I said before. I've—"
Gloria cut him off. "I'm Ms. Gloria Bunting and don't you forget it, young man."
"Gloria is right," her husband agreed. "That's simply not how it works in a real theater, Professor. You might wish to be trendy, but it's not professional."
It seemed as if Imry hadn't recognized that he had offended the actress and her husband. Or maybe he didn't care. "It's a technique I've used before with great success. It gets everyone into the spirit of the play sooner. You'll address me as