Chapter 14 #2
After a beat, Booker asks, “You are staying, right?” It’s almost like he hadn’t considered I might not until Daisy said something,
but now that the question was out there, he needed an answer.
Or maybe he’s just making conversation because he’s friendly. That’s more likely.
Daisy and Louie stop talking and look at me.
I shrug. “I already unpacked my stuff, so now I have to stay.”
Daisy’s grin is wide. “Oh good! Oh my word, we’re going to have the best summer!”
“I’m not so sure,” I say. “That Belinda lady doesn’t think I can do the job.” And I’m afraid she might be right.
There’s a collective groan and shift at the mention of her name.
“I’d tell you her nickname, but we just met and I don’t know how you feel about swearing,” Louie says, fishing a spoon out
of a drawer.
I laugh a little to myself. “What’s her story? She told me I wasn’t cut out for this.”
“Who cares what Belinda thinks?” Daisy says with a scoff. “She’s been miserable since she got here. She was like, Miss Maryland or something in the 1970s, and she treats everyone like we’re all her little minions.”
“She was supposed to direct the show this summer,” Booker says with less emotion that Daisy.
I frown. “What happened?”
“The residents who do the shows complained,” Louie says. “Pretty much all of them.”
My eyes go wide. Ouch.
“She’s not very nice.” Daisy’s tone implies she’s underselling Belinda’s lack of warmth. “So nobody wanted her in charge.
She does have sway, though, because people are afraid of her. Everyone who complained did it anonymously.”
I groan. “What if they complain about me?”
“Just... be yourself.” Booker is watching me again, and I wish I knew what he was thinking.
Daisy’s eyes widen. “Yeah, Rosie! Just be yourself. You’re going to be great.”
“Thanks.” My smile is lame as I pick up my bagel and take a bite. “Connie said she was going to get me a team, so at least
I won’t be totally on my own.”
I don’t miss the crisscrossing oh-crap looks flying around the room.
“What?” I ask nervously.
“Oh, yeah—”
“No, nothing—”
Daisy and Louie are tripping over themselves.
“What is it?” I ask again.
The room goes silent.
“It’s nothing ,” Daisy says. “I am sure Connie is going to assemble the Avengers of theatre crew just for this production.”
“If she wants to save the theatre, she will.” Louie polishes off the first half of his sandwich. He eats like someone is going to take his food away.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“She didn’t tell you?” Louie shakes his head. “That Connster. She’s sneaky.”
“They’re strapped,” Booker says. “Funding for Sunset—staff, grounds, upkeep, amenities—is all paid for by the residents, but
the theatre isn’t part of the overall operating budget. For the last five years they’ve been trying to keep the theatre going
with fewer resources.”
“It started with a gift back in the day, and usually it operates from the investments of that grant,” Daisy adds. “But unfortunately...”
“Old folks theatre doesn’t sell that great,” Louie says through a new big bite of his sandwich. “Shocker.”
“I heard that’s part of why they brought you in,” Daisy says. “They’re hoping a professional can, you know, fix things.”
I set my half-eaten bagel back down. “So, wait, they brought me in to try and—”
“Save the theatre,” Booker finishes my sentence for me.
“No pressure!” Louie chuckles.
“Save the theatre? What is this, The Muppets movie?” I hear the exasperation in my own voice.
Louie points at me. “ Totally underrated. Jason Segel was hilarious in that.”
“Right?!” I agree. I take a risk and bust out the chorus from “Man or Muppet,” and before I can even second-guess my decision,
Louie joins in without hesitating. We sing loud, off-key, arms out, overdramatic.
After only four lines, we start laughing, and he slings an arm around my neck. “Hey, Book, can we keep her?”
Daisy looks at Booker. “Oh no. There’s two of them now.”
I wonder if all of the staff is like this. Instant friends.
It’s nice. Really nice.
I pat Louie’s arm, and he goes back to eating.
“Guys, I’m not sure I can pull this off. I mean, if this is some kind of last-ditch effort, we might actually be in trouble.”
“You’re a pro, Rosie.” Daisy has somehow produced a jar of hot fudge, and she’s now drizzling it over the ice cream—and Louie
already has his hand out, gimme style. “You’ll totally figure it out.”
“How do you know that?” I ask, half laughing. “I might be terrible.”
“Nuh-uh, urr th’ bess!” Louie says with a mouth full of food.
Daisy rolls her eyes.
“That needs marshmallow,” Louie says with a nod to Daisy’s bowl.
“Marshmallows?” She frowns.
“Nah, marshmallow . The gooey kind. Back me up, Book.” He holds up his hand in a high five. Booker leaves it hanging, so Louie slaps his own hand
and gives a thumbs-up.
“Always marshmallow,” Booker says coolly.
Louie walks over to a cupboard and pulls down a large canister. I half watch as he opens it, starting a debate with Daisy
about the best sundae toppings.
I can’t concentrate enough to argue the merit of a simple butterscotch drizzle on vanilla because this is all setting in.
The easy way I fit in with these people, juxtaposed against the daunting task of saving a theatre with a cast of elderly performers.
This theatre program was important to somebody—enough that they gifted Sunset Hills with the money for a building and a director
and a program.
Have I just walked into an impossible situation? Direct a show? Save the theatre?
I might be freaking out a little bit.
“There are nuts by the soft-serve machine,” Louie says.
“Nuts on ice cream is a bad idea,” Daisy says.
“Always nuts,” Booker says.
She pauses for a few seconds, then relents. “Fine. I’ll try anything once.”
“Anything?” Louie’s eyebrows pop up and he follows her out of the kitchen, prompting an, “Oh, for the love...” from Daisy.
And now I’m standing in the room alone with Booker. Thankfully, Booker is not a mind reader, and I am an actor.
I paint on a smile. “Thanks again for the omelet. And for, you know, saving me from the mud pit.” I avoid his gaze. “Very...
heroic.”
“You’re freaking out right now, aren’t you?” His arms are crossed over his chest, and he’s still leaning against the counter,
still looking at me, making me think maybe he is a mind reader.
Or maybe I’m a terrible actor.
“No,” I say, keenly aware of the potential spiral. “I’m not. It’s a lot, sure, but I’m... super great. I’m a first-time
director who’s been brought in to save a beloved theatre program practically by myself, and no matter what I do, my Cinderella is going to have one foot in the grave.” I let out a loud sigh.
He smirks and rolls his eyes. “Theatre people are so dramatic.”
I think about the whole let’s-tell-each-other-everything deal he tried to strike with me, and I’m grateful I had the good
sense not to shake on that. Because aside from everything I’m thinking about Booker Hayes, there is a lot here that I don’t
want to confess out loud.
That I’m in over my head.
That they’ve put their precious theatre in the wrong hands.
That the whole idea of eating contraband omelets in the Commons with Booker, Daisy, and Louie every night for the rest of
the summer is oddly comforting in a way I did not expect.
And even though I’m overwhelmed and a little freaked out, I think I actually want to be here. And that simply does not make sense.
***
Taylor: Rosie! Tell us more about your new job!
Maya: And I see you’ve been getting lots of messages on Love Match! Have you responded?
Marnie: We need the update on that story you were going to share.
I hesitate. I planned to tell them all about MudGate, but as my insecurity about this job mounts, I now have to fight the
instinct to make it sound great here...
Wait. No. I’m not going to do that. I tap out a reply and hit Send.
Rosie: It’s great.:/ Literally drove a golf cart into the mud earlier today.
I send a photo of myself covered in mud, which Booker took while my eyes were closed and without my permission.
Marnie: Oh. My. GOSH.
Maya: What in the world??
Taylor: Only you, Ro! LOL
Rosie: It’s a long story, but I’m getting settled, and auditions are in three days. Wish me luck!
Taylor: Brilliant women make their own luck. 3
Maya: Go get ’em, queen!
Things I could tell my friends but don’t:
That I’ve met some really fun friends.
That the theatre smells familiar.
That I’m helping save elderly theatre. My brain thinks resuscitate elderly theatre , but that sounds cruel. And hilarious.
That having my own cottage makes me feel more like an adult.
That I don’t need Maya’s stupid dating app because there is a man here who is making my stomach flutter.
And that I have very mixed feelings about that last one.