Chapter 33
“You hate the phone. What’s wrong?”
I laugh at Marnie, who picked up on the first ring. “Hello to you too.”
I can practically hear her frowning. “I mean, I love that you’re calling me... but are you okay?”
“I’m good, I promise,” I say, though I’m not sure it’s true. It’s not like I’ve stopped to take stock of my mental state.
I’m still running on caffeine and adrenaline, and I’m sure I’ll crash later. “I mean. I’m okay.”
“You have some explaining to do,” she says. “You send a picture of a hot guy, and then you leave us hanging!”
“I know,” I say. “I’m sorry about that. Things around here are pretty busy, and being in charge of everything, it’s...
it’s a lot, that’s for sure.”
“Well,” her voice brightens, “I love that you’re calling me and not Maya or Taylor.”
I grin at the playful fake competition. “Yeah, feel free to lord that over them for a while.”
“So, what’s up?”
Hmm. What’s up? Where do I begin?
“It’s just...” I’m standing in the back of the theatre, watching as volunteers work to make the stage usable again. “This job hasn’t exactly been what I expected.” I chew the inside of my lip. “Turns out, I’m not just part of the creative team. I’m the director.”
“Oh!” She sounds impressed. “Fancy.”
I groan a little to myself. “Not really.”
“Why?” There’s confusion in her voice.
I pause for a beat, and then—“It’s at a... retirement community?” My voice goes up at the end, like a question.
Marnie is quiet.
“Marnie?”
“Sorry...” I picture her, perfectly made up without a hair out of place, trying to make sense of what I’m saying. “Did
you say ‘retirement community’?”
I clear my throat. My skin feels prickly, and I’m totally uncomfortable. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. It’s a whole campus—there’s a golf
course and a fitness center and...” I search my mind, which only comes up with, “Pickleball! Do you know it’s the country’s
fastest growing sport?”
“You play pickleball?” she asks.
“I mean, I don’t,” I say. “But I could, you know, if I... had a paddle.”
Another long pause.
“So... you’re directing a production of Cinderella with a bunch of old people?”
“Yes?” I wince.
“Rosie, that’s amazing,” she says, and it takes me by surprise.
I stand a little straighter. “Wait... it is?”
“Yes,” she says emphatically. “That’s really cool! I didn’t know there were shows for senior citizens. My grandma would love that.”
“There are in Door County,” I say, smiling. “Only...” I hate the thought of using our friendship to ask for a favor.
“Only...?”
“I’m actually calling because I need a favor,” I say, pacing a circle.
“Name it,” she says.
“This morning, we had an accident that flooded the space.”
“Oh no! What happened?”
I briefly tell her about the flyaway, about the broken sprinkler heads, and the people now working to mop everything up and
dry everything out.
I can hear her concern. “Oh my gosh, Rosie, are you okay? What’s going to happen to the show?”
“Well, that’s just it. We’re in power-through-it mode, making it happen because the show must go on and all that, but ticket
sales haven’t been great, and they’re in danger of losing the theatre program.”
“You want me to do a piece on you?” she asks without an ounce of hesitation.
A lump wells up in my throat. Of course she is reacting this way—why did I ever expect anything else?
“No, not on me,” I say. “But I was hoping you know someone up here who might be interested in doing a piece on the theatre.
Like the actual program here at Sunset Hills.”
She pauses, and I can hear her clicking around on her computer.
“What are you doing?”
“Googling...” She’s distracted. “Sunset Players you said?”
“That’s us,” I say, realizing there’s no trace of embarrassment left.
“I thought you were at a regional theatre this summer,” she says absently.
“I thought so too,” I tell her. “I was a little surprised when I arrived.”
“It does look like a thriving community,” Marnie says, obviously still scrolling the website. “What made you stay when you discovered it wasn’t what you thought?”
Surprisingly, the list that pops up in my head is long, and I choose to tell the truth.
“Well,” I say, “a couple of things. I didn’t have any other prospects. And everyone here said it was a great place to work.”
“Is it?”
My eyes scan the space, full of diligent volunteers. “Marnie. It’s great. I never would’ve thought so... but it really
is.”
“And they’re counting on the show to help save the program,” she says.
“Yes.” I explain that they’ve struggled to get audiences in. And now, the accident and the flood are major setbacks. “Whether
I knew it or not, they brought me here to save this program. I can’t let them down.”
“Okay, give me an hour. I’m going to pitch the idea to my producer.”
“Wait, seriously?” I ask. “I thought you were in too big of a market now—”
“We sometimes cover things that happen up there,” she says. “Between the flood, the senior-citizen-slash-feel-good angle,
and you coming from New York to do this show, there are some great stories here.”
“Really?”
“Really,” she says.
“That is amazing,” I tell her. “You are amazing.”
“I know.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “But you know you’re amazing too.”
I swallow the lump in my throat.
“You sound genuinely excited about something again, Ro,” she says. “It’s good to hear.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “The last few years, we’ve been worried about you. You haven’t really seemed like yourself.”
I shake my head and walk out into the lobby and stare out the window. “Things haven’t been going very well for me in New York.”
“Yeah, we kind of guessed as much.”
I frown. “You did?”
“We kept waiting for you to talk to one of us about it,” she says. “But you always said you were fine. Things were good. No
complaints.”
“Yeah, I was”—I feel the irony—“Acting.”
“You’re good at it,” she says, laughing. “But not with us.”
“I’m sorry, Marnie,” I tell her honestly. “I should’ve been straight with all of you.”
“Yeah, you should’ve.” She sighs. “But it’s okay. You had your reasons. And you’re telling me now.”
“Yeah. I am.”
“Nobody needs to go through the hard stuff alone.”
I sigh. “I know. And it’s been a lot of hard stuff.”
“It’s the hard stuff that makes the good stuff so much sweeter.” I look around, and I understand what Arthur meant.
“When we come see the show, you can catch us up on all of it,” she says. “The real story.”
“Okay, but let’s not tell Taylor and Maya about the”—I search for the right word—“Unique aspect of this show.”
“You mean don’t tell them it’s a bunch of old people?” she asks dryly.
“Yes,” I say. “I want them to be surprised. You guys are going to love my cast. Seriously, they’re amazing.”
“I can’t wait.”
“Thanks for this, Mar,” I say.
“Are you kidding?” she says. “That’s what friends are for.”
I bust into off-key singing, something we did all the time growing up.
“Keep smile-linn’, keep shine-ninn’...”
She laughs, and then I laugh, and then I wonder how I got so lucky to find such good friends and how I got so stupid that
I thought I needed to keep myself from them.
***
Marnie: Producer LOVES the idea. She’s sending a reporter to Door County to interview you tomorrow!
Rosie: What?! For real? Marnie, you are the best! Thank you!
Marnie: I’m happy to help. But promise you’ll be better with the updates.
Rosie: Deal. I owe you!
Marnie sends a GIF of Dionne Warwick.
Rosie: You’re my favorite. Don’t tell the others.
***
Marnie: I got us all tickets to see Rosie’s musical on opening night.
Taylor: Can I have an aisle seat? This baby is Riverdancing on my bladder 24/7.
Marnie:
Maya: Backstage tour, Ro?
Rosie: Of course. But, guys, this show might be a little different than what you’re expecting...
Marnie: This show is going to be beautiful because our talented best friend directed it.
Taylor: And we can’t wait to see it!
Maya: I’m going to cheer so loud they’re going to have to have me removed.
Rosie: You’re all nuts.
And I love you.