Spellcrossed (21 page)

If anyone can save Jack Sinclair from himself, his daughter can.”

Fat chance. It was Rowan’s magic that had brought him back from the brink of madness; Rowan’s coaching that had helped him create a new persona. So far, all I’d done was reintroduce him to Ms. Pac-Man and promise him an evening of fireworks.

My father was as much a stranger as ever. He was my indulgent, imaginative playmate and the haunted, unpredictable stranger locked away in the basement. The “lost boy” my mother had loved and the restless, unhappy one that Rowan had known. In the last few days, I’d added new pieces to the puzzle: the terrified Rip Van Winkle; the impatient, demanding child; the charming Aqua Velva man.

How could I help my father find his place in this world when I didn’t even know who he was?

I undressed and crawled into bed. Tired as I was, sleep eluded me. I tossed restlessly, beat my pillow into submission, and tossed some more.

I was reaching for the bedside lamp when warmth enfolded me. And with it, the fleeting sensation I’d experienced in Rowan’s apartment of something caressing my cheek.

I breathed in the faint scent of lavender.

“Helen?” I whispered to the darkness.

The only reply was a deep peace that banished my anxiety and eased me gently into sleep.

A
DAY OF LACKLUSTER REHEARSALS—during which Daddy remained glued to the laptop—eroded that peace. So did the prospect of our Act One run-through, which ranked about as high on the “Can’t Wait!” meter as a Pap smear.

The kids would be fine. They’d been strong from the beginning and had only grown in confidence. Gregory had cornered the market on inner torment, Michaela on sweetness. But the chorus was having a tough time with the vocals, and in spite of Mei-Yin’s hectoring, their scenes looked more like a bunch of lost travelers wandering through Grand Central than restless spirits wafting through Misselthwaite Manor.

And then there was Roger.

“He’s turning Neville into an incestuous gay stalker,” I complained to Hal and Lee as we bolted pizza in the green room before the run-through.

Lee grinned. “Not what you were going for?”

“Not so much.”

“That’s a relief. I thought it was some radical reinterpretation of the character.”

“Too bad about ‘Lily’s Eyes,’” Hal said, nibbling a slice of pepperoni.

“The song is the one moment that works!”

“Yes, but if Neville didn’t come right out and say he’d
been in love with Lily, the incestuous gay love angle might work.”

“But it would still be icky.”

“True.”

Lee tossed aside his pizza crust and picked up another slice. “Have you told him Neville is too repressed for public displays of affection?”

“Yes.”

“That everyone in the show is too repressed to—?”

“Yes, yes, yes! The weird thing is, he seems to get it. But once he’s onstage, it’s like he can’t help himself. And now Gregory’s started.”

“Started what?” Hal asked.

“Touching Roger almost as much as Roger’s touching him!”

Hal’s face lit up. “Maybe Gregory’s coming out of the closet!”

“Great. My father went home after his season, obsessed with faeries. Now Gregory’s becoming obsessed with the theatrical kind.”

“We have to be supportive,” Hal chided. “This is a very difficult and confusing time for him. Oh, I hope he won’t get his heart broken. Roger can be such a bitch.”

“He’s not coming out,” Lee said. “I didn’t get any of the usual signals.”

“Gaydar or Faedar?” I asked.

“Either. There’s something else going on.”

“As long as it goes on offstage.”

“And you call yourself a helping professional,” Hal scolded.

“Right now, I’m calling myself a director. If Roger doesn’t butch up soon, I’ll have to have him play Lily.”

“If only,” Hal muttered.

“Don’t you dare start on Michaela!” I exclaimed.

“I’m not! She’s a sweetheart. It’s just…” Hal sighed.

“I thought you of all people would be more sensitive.”

Hal slowly lowered his glass of diet soda. “Why? Because I’m fat, too?”

“You’re not—”

“I may have gained a few pounds over the winter—”

“You’re not fat!”

“Then why did you say—?”

“Because you know what it’s like to get bullied for being different. And you love dressing up in pretty things like she does. Only when she looks in the mirror, she doesn’t see a beautiful woman with sexy curves. She sees a fat chick.” I grabbed Hal’s arm. “Could you push up her costume fittings? Maybe when she puts on one of those lovely dresses…”

“She’ll see a fat chick in a lovely dress,” Lee said.

“Not if I’m her mirror!” Hal declared. “She’ll see in my eyes that she’s beautiful. Who wouldn’t be in a lavender silk ball gown with silver lace and sequin embroidery?”

Emboldened by his dreamy expression, I threw caution to the wind. “Maybe if she wore it tonight…”

“Absolutely not!” Hal exclaimed. “It’s the most beautiful costume I’ve ever made and I’m not having it ruined before opening night.”

“The more beautiful she feels, the more ethereal she’ll look. Please?”

Hal heaved a dramatic sigh. “It’ll have to be the coral chiffon garden dress. That’s already been fitted. Or the white cotton-and-lace afternoon dress. No, that’ll get filthy.”

Still mulling possibilities, he hurried down the stairs to the costume shop. Lee snatched the last slice of pizza and headed for the lighting booth. I played housewife and cleaned up. Fortunately, that just meant rinsing our glasses and tossing out the pizza box.

I wound my way through the maze of
Annie
set pieces in the wings and dodged the first wave of actors hurrying toward the Dungeon to don character shoes, rehearsal skirts, and the few costume pieces Hal permitted them to wear before dress rehearsal. Reinhard—ever unwilling to trust them to sign in—stood guard by the stage left
steps, checking off names on the call sheet attached to his clipboard.

His head came up, and he stared past me into the stage right wings. A moment later, I heard Rowan greeting Javier. The butterflies dancing in my stomach morphed into pterodactyls performing loop-de-loops. Of course, I wanted him and Daddy to see my work; I just wished their first exposure to it was a polished performance of
Annie
.

Reinhard gave me a reassuring nod, but the tension in his body betrayed his anxiety. No one on staff had objected to Rowan attending the run-through, but I wondered if they were as nervous as I was about his reaction.

Daddy walked out of the wings and glanced around warily, but if Rowan felt any discomfort at the prospect of seeing Maggie Graham, Director, it was well hidden behind his easy smile.

“We just wanted to wish you good luck,” Rowan said.

Daddy stared at him, aghast. “It’s bad luck to wish her good luck.”

“That only applies to actors.”

“No, it doesn’t!”

“Just don’t let Reinhard hear you,” I said. “He’ll want to perform a cleansing ritual.”

“Hear what?” Reinhard called from across the stage. How he could detect my whispers and fail to hear Rowan speaking in normal tones was beyond me.

Before I could answer, Bernie called, “Rowan! About time you crawled out of that apartment!”

“That’s Bernie,” I whispered to Daddy as Rowan trotted down the steps. “He’s on the board, but he helps out with the box office and program, too. He doesn’t know anything about Faerie. We just told him the story you and Rowan came up with. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

“Maybe later.”

“He’s a great guy. You’ll like him.”

Reluctantly, Daddy followed me into the house. Rowan and Bernie walked down the aisle, Bernie chattering
like an excited squirrel and Rowan smiling at him with affection.

“Would it have killed you to age a little? I’m not asking for much. A couple lines around the eyes. A few gray hairs. Something to prove you were miserable without us.”

“Trust me, Bernie, I was miserable.”

“Good!” He smiled at Daddy. “Bernie Cohen. You must be Jack. How does it feel to be back at the Crossroads?”

“Well, I won’t lie to you. I went through some bad times. Drugs, alcohol, you name it. But a few years ago, I finally got my shit together. Even started acting again. I was in between gigs and staying at a friend’s cabin in the mountains when I wrote to Rowan’s dad, asking if he had anything for me here. And who do you think shows up at the door? Rowan! Hadn’t seen him since he was a kid. Well, you could have blown me away with a feather.”

Clearly, his monologue was in danger of blowing Bernie away, too, but he recovered quickly and said, “Well, it’s great to have you here. Maggie tells me you’re becoming quite the computer expert. If you feel like pitching in with the program, I’d love the help.”

Before Daddy could reply, laughter rang out in the house.

“Do my eyes deceive me,” Long called, “or is that Rowan Mackenzie?”

“Longford Martindale,” I murmured to Daddy. “President of the board.”

Daddy straightened. Rowan merely looked resigned. I’d warned him that Long might be here tonight. No matter how many times I begged him to wait until dress rehearsal to see the show, he invariably “popped in” for the run-throughs. The squirming usually began during the first scene, and by the time we were finished, he was convinced we had a disaster on our hands.

“This
is
a pleasure!” Long exclaimed as he shook Rowan’s hand. “Although not exactly a surprise. I always
suspected there was something between you two. And Maggie’s blushes prove that my instincts were correct.”

After favoring me with a brief leer, Long turned to Daddy, eyebrows elevated.

“This is Jack Sinclair,” I said. “An old friend of Rowan’s.”

“Long Martindale. Delighted.”

“Jack worked here years ago,” Rowan said. “He played Billy Bigelow in
Carousel
.”

“Why, of course!”

Hard to tell if he remembered or was just turning on the charm, but his enthusiasm made Daddy beam.

“What have you been doing since then, Jack?”

“Well, I won’t lie to you. I went through some bad times—”

“But he’s turned the corner in the last few years,” Rowan interrupted. “Since he was between acting jobs, I invited him to spend a few weeks at the Crossroads.”

“Wonderful! And what about you, Rowan? Are you just visiting? Or dare I hope that you’ll be staying?”

“I hope to stay a very long while.”

Rowan’s warm gaze brought another wave of heat to my cheeks.

“Excellent! We must have dinner. We have a great deal to discuss. Maggie’s been filling in as artistic director because of our precarious funding situation, but all that’s changing. I’d love to get you back on board and free her up to focus on her responsibilities as executive director.”

As he rambled on, my face grew even hotter. Was he actually suggesting that I step aside? In the middle of the fucking season? Maybe Rowan was a hundred times the director I was, but these were
my
shows.

Before I could vent my outrage, Rowan said, “There will be plenty of time to discuss next season after this one’s over.”

“Naturally, naturally. But you can’t blame me for being eager when I see my dream team standing before me.”

“Your dream team?” I faltered.

“Why, you and Rowan, of course! Normally, I’d be leery of hiring a couple. So much potential for professional difficulties if personal ones should arise. But the rest of the staff manages just fine. I’m beginning to think this theatre is the crossroads of romance!”

Sweat prickled my forehead as I realized how close I had come to going off the deep end, alienating Long, and making a complete fool of myself.

Long glanced at his watch. “Well, it’s almost time. Let’s take our seats, shall we?”

As he escorted my reluctant father up the aisle, Bernie whispered, “Don’t worry about your dad. He just needs to get his sea legs. And I meant it about helping with the program. Get him involved, that’s the ticket!”

I hugged him so hard that Rowan had to grasp his arm to steady him.

“Catherine and I usually sit behind Maggie,” Bernie told Rowan. “We’re the ‘Pat Her Shoulders During the Train Wrecks’ Brigade. But if you need me to keep Long out of your hair…”

“I’ll manage,” Rowan replied. “Besides, I’d hate to break up the brigade.”

I waited for Bernie to make his way up the aisle before whispering to Rowan, “Thanks for jumping in with Long.”

“Did you really believe he wanted to replace you?”

“He thinks I’m a novice.”

“Well…you are.”

“I know! But on opening night of
Annie
, he told me the show fell short of your high standards, so excuse me if I’m a little sensitive.”

“Stop bristling.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are. And stop comparing yourself to me.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes. You are.”

I sighed. “Yes. I am.”

“Maggie, I have more directing experience than Hal Prince, George Abbott, and Jerome Robbins combined. You could direct for the next fifty years and you’d still be a novice compared to me.”

“I know that!”

“Lower your voice. Long’s watching.” Rowan studied me, frowning. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

“Because I know what it’s like to work with you. And I want to give my actors that same magic.”

“Well, you can’t. You’re not a faery. So give them your passion, your determination, your…the staff’s told you this a hundred times, haven’t they?”

“Two hundred, three hundred. I’ve lost count. I’m just nervous about tonight. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“If it’s anything like my run-throughs, the cast will blow their harmonies, drop half their lines and all of their props, and exit through a window instead of a door.”

“Well, as long as you have high expectations.”

He smiled. “Go do your job. I’ve got to keep an eye on Jack.”

Please God, don’t let Daddy say anything damaging in front of Long. And don’t let the run-through suck.