Andy stood in the doorway of the school auditorium in his snow-covered boots, itching to turn around and leave the place just as he found it. The small theater was absolutely crawling with kids of all shapes and sizes, scrambling over seats and down the aisle. The din of squeals, shouting and laughter bounced off the walls, into Andy’s ears, and found the same place in his spinal cord that fingernails on a blackboard always wrenched.
Scratchscratchscratch
Susan Madsen had already spied him, huffing in his direction with her plump, nylon-clad thighs rubbing together under a too-tight skirt. He carved his face into the best grin he could muster, silently cursing the woman.
How in the hell did I let her talk me into this?
“Andrew! Oh, I’m so glad you’re here,” she exclaimed.
A small boy squeezed past her in a panic, trying to outrun two larger boys hot on his heels. As the child rushed forward, Andy tried to step out of the way, only to get his feet twisted into a pretzel when the boy suddenly hid behind him, screaming with an exhilarated grin.
Andy went down in a tangle of arms and legs as the other two kids crashed into him, still pursuing the small one who had seemed to disappear.
“Get off, Mister! You’re heavy!” came a muffled voice from underneath. Andy leapt up, fighting to keep his cool as he shrugged off clinging children who tumbled to the floor.
“You boys get up onstage,” Susan chided. “Play tag when you’re outside, and leave Mr. Jameson alone.”
They shrieked, having barely paid attention to her, scampering toward the other end of the theater.
“How many kids are there in this thing?” he asked, eyes wide at the pandemonium.
“The whole school; thirty-two in all. As you can see, there are all ages. There are only a few kindergarteners, though. The oldest ones are ten, eleven. Little Michael Talbot is the youngest. He’s only four, but such a smart little boy. He can’t be here tonight, though. Poor thing’s got the chicken pox.”
Susan handed him a stack of folders, which she explained were the script, musical score, schedule and cast list for the Christmas play.
“It’s all up to you now, Andrew,” she beamed, launching into chatter. “There’s Cheryl to help out as the Stage Manager, over there,” she pointed at a large, grandmotherly woman who was attempting to herd all the children to the stage. “… and Jessica is helping out with the music. I know you’ll just adore her to bits. She’s backstage right now. I really can’t thank you enough for doing this, Andrew,” she gushed.
Perkperkperk
“It’s a pity that I won’t be able to help with the play this year, but Tim and I have been looking forward to this cruise for a long time. If it weren’t for you, there wouldn’t be anyone to help these kids. The teachers are just too swamped this time of year.”
“No problem,” he replied, his voice devoid of enthusiasm. “But, please, call me Andy.”
Susan whirled around and clapped her hands three times.
“Everyone listen up! I want your attention please! You too, Jamie,” she said to a portly boy who was making faces at one of the girls. Susan waved her hands in front of Andy with a flourish. “This is Andrew Jameson. He’ll be directing the play for us this year!”
She started applauding, and soon every tiny pair of hands in the small theater followed suit, slapping together, little voices cheering as Andy stood still, blood draining from his face. Susan continued after the ovation died down.
“And so it’s very important that you all do exactly what he tells you to do, and not give him any trouble. I want you to do your very best and show him what great kids we have here in Swan Junction…”
Andy lost focus on Susan’s speech when he saw the girl shimmer from backstage. No…not a girl. A young woman. She peeked her head out from behind the curtain first. Long, curly hair spilled over her shoulders and even in the dimmed lights, he could tell that she wasn’t wearing her natural color. Her dark locks had that pretty but metallic burgundy sheen that was a dead giveaway. But he was captivated. She approached the foot of the stage with a flowing, gentle grace that complemented her lithe figure. Large, friendly brown eyes smiled as she regarded the man whom Susan was introducing.
“…and I know that with his guidance and your very best efforts, we’ll have the best Christmas play ever!”
Another round of cheering burst from the kids as Susan wrapped up, shocking Andy out of his reverie.
“It’s all yours!” Susan sat down in the front row, and a hush enveloped the auditorium. Every pair of eyes was glued to Andy, who smiled nervously, sweat forming on his brow.
“Um, well…” he started, clearing his throat. “I, uh, think this is going to be a lot of fun, and…”
“Mr. Jameson!” A little girl no more than six had raised her hand, waving it frantically.
“You can call me Andy.”
“Aaaandy!” she shifted around, itching in her woolens.
“Yes?”
“Can I go to the bathroom?”
“Yes.”
She leapt offstage and scurried out of the auditorium as Andy turned back to dozens of expectant faces.
“Any other questions before we get started?”
Fifteen hands went up.
******
Two hours later, Andy slumped into a seat of the first row, mentally exhausted. Cheryl and Susan had gone. The last parent had just departed, the last child in tow.
He had no idea how he was going to pull this off. He could barely even remember the kids’ names, let alone tell them where to go and which lines to say.
Andy got up wearily and went to the small table at the foot of the stage, remembering one of the things that had lured him into this in the first place- homemade food. On the table were thermoses of coffee and hot chocolate, a basket of rolls and a crock-pot full of steaming clam chowder. It wasn’t often that a transient construction worker like him got treated to home cooking, and, in cajoling him to direct the play, Susan Madsen had “mentioned” there would be some at every rehearsal.
He poured a cup of coffee and got a plastic spoon and bowl, which was quickly filled up with steaming chowder. He sat back down; taking a bite of the first homemade soup he’d eaten in years.
“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”
Andy looked up to the stage, half-startled. There she was- that lovely creature who’d disappeared backstage after rehearsal got underway, leaving him to wonder whether she’d been a ghost. Now the very real-looking, very attractive woman gazed down at him, smirking, bemused… enchanting. He swallowed down the bite, smiling back as he wiped away a drop of chowder from his beard.
“Is it that obvious?”
“It’s obvious you’ve never worked with kids, that much I’d bet money on,” she stepped off the stage with a chuckle, offering her hand. “I’m Jessica Talbot. I’ll be working on the musical end of things.”
“Ah-ha!” he straightened up in the seat, wrapping her cool, sleight fingers in his for a brief handshake. She’d be here every night with him. Oh, the possibilities! “So you’re the infamous Jessica. And where were you this evening, may I ask? I could’ve used some help.”
“Sorry,” she grinned. “I was organizing the score, making a few notes, dusting off the piano backstage; it hasn’t been used since the dark ages… just preliminary stuff. I’ll be out front from now on, I promise.”
“You better be.”
“Yes, sir!” she mock-saluted, then relaxed as Andy laughed. “Susan kept going on about how you were a ‘real director,’” she raised her eyebrow. “I hope that doesn’t mean you’re going to be some kind of raging dictator.”
“I hate to burst your bubble, Jessica, but Susan doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about. ‘Real director,’ my ass,” he rolled his eyes. “Makes me sound like Steven Spielberg.”
“You mean you’ve never done anything like this?”
“Well, yes and no. I did a lot of acting and some directing when I was in high school and college; community theater, a few local commercials. You know, that kind of thing. It’s not like I was ever professional. Besides, that was ten years ago. Thought I’d left all that behind,” he sighed, thoughtfully gazing at the stage as he bit into a soft roll. He chewed briefly before swallowing. “I’m not even sure why I agreed to do this. Tell you the truth, it sounded about as fun as taking a ride in an industrial clothes-dryer.”
“Don’t be shy. Tell me how you really feel,” Jessica chuckled.
“Anyway, yes,” he smiled. “I’ve worked in theater, but you’re right. I’ve never worked with kids.”
“You’ll catch on,” she assured Andy as she took a seat next to him. “How did Susan manage to get you in on this, anyway?”
Andy chuckled bitterly. “Her husband, Tim, told her about my theater experience. Anyway, she played dirty; lured me to a PTA meeting and plied me with chocolate éclairs.”
Jessica burst into a fit of laughter.
“That’s her, all right. If Susan Madsen ever invites you someplace and offers food, you know she’s out to talk you into something, and you can bet she’ll get what she’s after. Maybe she knows something the rest of us don’t,” Jessica smirked. “Do you think it’s true what they say… about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach?”
“Somewhere in that vicinity, anyway.” He grinned as she slugged his shoulder playfully, feigning indignation at the innuendo.
They smiled at each other in the ensuing silence, and Andy took another bite of chowder, watching her curiously.
“So, Jessica, how long have you lived in Swan Junction?”
“All my life.”
“And how long would that be?”
“Twenty-five years. What about you? I know everyone in this little berg, and this is the first time I’ve seen you.”
“Well, I’ve only been here about seven weeks. I was hired to help build the new library. Tim Madsen was on the same construction crew- that’s how he found out about me and theater.”
“The library was finished two weeks ago.” She looked at him questioningly. “What made you stick around?”
Andy swallowed a spoonful, looking around the auditorium as if seeing through its walls to the snow-covered mountains beyond.
“It’s a pretty area, and there’s some good skiing,” he shrugged. “Seemed like a nice place to stay for the Holidays. Don’t really have anything to do until January, anyway.”
“What happens in January?”
“I’m heading off to Los Angeles after the New Year. I know a guy there who wants me on his crew for a project he’s got going. When I finish with that job, I’ll probably hang around L.A. for a while, too. Hit the beaches, get a tan, maybe learn how to surf…”
“And then move on again?”
“You got it.”
“Don’t you have family anywhere?” she cocked her head, mocha eyes wide with interest.
“Nope,” he said shortly, hoping the interrogation would end soon. “My parents are gone. I have an older brother who lives in Minnesota, but he’s pretty much it for family. We aren’t close.”
“How come?”
“How come you’re so nosy?” he muttered, irritably dropping a spoonful of chowder back into the bowl. “I swear, the people in this town…”
“Jeez, sorry!” she leaned back, putting her hands up. “Didn’t mean to tread on your space.”
“I’m serious,” he continued, attempting to put his tone in check. “I’ve run into more busybodies in this town than anywhere else I’ve been. Between you, Tim, Susan…what is it? Why do you all care so much who I am and where I’ve been? I don’t get it, honestly.”
Jessica’s eyes had gone wide as he vented, and she remained silent for a few moments.
