Running Out of Time Read online

  “You did? You’re the best. Really on top of things, kiddo,” I said.

  I could almost hear him blush. “Yeah. Well…like, no big deal.”

  “I’ll log on and check it out.”

  “Okay. Gotta bounce.” A note of pride crept into his voice. “Like, I’m taking this photography class…and so I’m like the uh…official photographer for the ELT production.”

  “Wonderful. Talented guy,” I said.

  “Yeah. I’m watching the rehearsal tonight.”

  “I’m stopping in too. I’ll see you there.”

  “Sweet.”

  He clicked off and I smiled to myself. Pauli was coming into his own. It was nice that his activities were all legal now. At least I hoped so…

  3

  “Hey, O’Dell.” Penny Ossining had been the ELT stage manager for twenty-five years. She fancied herself the linchpin of the volunteer theater troupe when she wasn’t busy at the Etonville post office. Not much got by her, or so she said.

  I looked up from my cell phone. I was checking out the Windjammer website with Pauli’s new updates. He’d added interior shots of the restaurant that highlighted the nautical-themed décor, based on a nineteenth-century whaling vessel, complete with central beams, floor planking, and figurehead of a woman’s bust above the entrance. Penny stood, arms akimbo, in the left aisle of the Etonville Little Theatre, fairly oblivious to the chaos around her. As stage manager, it was her job to keep things moving and in control. Good luck with that. “Hi, Penny. Are we about to start?” I checked my watch. It was eight p.m. I’d been sitting in the house for half an hour. “Things are running late.”

  Penny gave me one of her world-weary expressions. “O’Dell, we’re now on tech time. In the theater, there’s—”

  “Theater time versus real time. I know.” I’d already been schooled in that particular bit of theatrical practice.

  “Tech time is different.”

  “You mean eight o’clock in real time is actually seven o’clock in tech time?” I asked innocently.

  Penny tapped her pencil against her clipboard and hooted. “O’Dell, you crack me up. Anyway we already did a cue-to-cue. Walter likes to do a stop-and-go after the dry tech.”

  Cue-to-cue? Dry tech? Theater jargon was still like a new language to me.

  “Penny!” Walter called from the stage. “It’s time to start!” He slapped his tricorn hat on his white wig.

  Penny tooted her whistle and the entire theater winced. “Move your butts for the opening of Act One,” she yelled. The actors trickled onstage from the house, from the backstage green room, and from the lobby where a handful were drinking coffee and chatting. “No drinking while in costume,” she bellowed again. Though the full dress rehearsal was tomorrow night, most actors wore bits and pieces: skirts, hats, shoes, coats.

  Lola sat in the last row of the theater with the lighting designer and JC from JC’s Hardware, the ELT’s set designer. He and Walter usually tangled on every production, and Walter ended up reminding him that the theater was intended to create the illusion of reality. Fake walls, not the real thing. Two sets of tables and chairs occupied the infamous turntable.

  While Lola was dealing with light cues, Walter took the opportunity to do a vocal workout. Most of the cast were used to his exercises and warm-ups and moved into a circle to begin the night. Rolling their heads, as well as their eyes, shaking their bodies, releasing sounds up and down the scale, and garbling the tongue twisters designed to improve their articulation. “Rubber baby buggy bumpers.” Ten times quickly. The veteran actors took it semi-seriously; the newer ones looked self-conscious, sticking out their tongues, blowing through their lips, and stretching their mouths.

  “All right. Knock it off,” Penny said to two young guys who were poking each other and then made notes on her clipboard.

  “Open and close your mouths. Tongues up, down, side to side!” Walter demonstrated. “She sells seashells by the seashore!”

  The actors repeated the phrase. I could see myself down the shore, walking on the beach, picking up shells and stones, digging my toes in the sand—

  “Dodie, thanks for coming,” Lola whispered at my back. “We’ll be underway soon. Having some issues with the lighting on the turntable.”

  “No problem.”

  Lola shook her blond head. “This is the last time I’m directing.”

  “Hey,” Pauli said, backpack slung over his shoulder.

  “Hi. Is your Mom here?” Lola asked.

  He jerked his thumb over his shoulder as Carol entered the house. Since she ran Snippets hair salon, Carol was the ELT’s hair and wig specialist and had the job of convincing Vernon and a few other men that their thinning heads wouldn’t work with the tricorn hats. Walter, of course, reveled in the eighteenth-century headgear. She stopped to talk with Chrystal, the costume designer.

  “I’ve got to get back to work.” Lola waved to Carol and strode away with purpose.

  “So you’re photographing Eton Town. Nice,” I said.

  “Uh, like, tonight I’m watching so I know what it’s about.” He paused. “You know what it’s about?”

  “Well, it’s the story of the founding of a New Jersey town, and its citizens, and the American Revolution.”

  Pauli nodded wisely. “Got it. Like a history lesson.”

  “Kind of. With some singing and dancing and a turntable.” Besides the church hymn, there was also a colonial square dance that ended the Act One wedding scene. Walter loved his choreography.

  Pauli ambled down the aisle and plopped into a seat, then peered into his digital camera to practice framing shots. I watched the vocal warm-ups; this was the largest cast I’d seen on an ELT stage. Edna, the Etonville Police Department dispatcher, and Abby, manager of the Valley View Shooting Range, had graduated from zany elderly sisters to genial, friendly neighbors. Their animosity during Arsenic and Old Lace was replaced with a theatrical détente. Besides, Lola had informed them that either they kiss and make up or they had to take a hike. The Banger sisters and some ELT newcomers were doing their best to follow Walter’s instructions; but bored after ten minutes or so, they gave up and sat on the folding chairs that served as the graveyard in Act Two. I saw a few others I knew—the cute actress who played Juliet last spring, texting, Mildred’s husband Vernon, jiggling his hearing aids, and the obnoxious guy who played Romeo, whom we still called Romeo, flirting with a teenage crew member. I also saw Sally, standing at the back of the stage, facing out, performing Walter’s exercises conscientiously. Maybe later I could ask her again about the man on the street. Did Ralph arrest him?

  “I brought you some tea,” Carol said in a stage whisper and unscrewed the cap of a thermos, bending her curly head over her task.

  “That’s so thoughtful, but I’m really feeling much better.” I sneezed. Geez. I hadn’t sneezed for hours.

  She handed me a takeaway cup. “Drink this.”

  I sniffed it. “What’s in it?”

  “Peppermint and cloves. Good for a sore throat.”

  “I don’t have a sore throat anymore and—”

  “You’ll be one hundred percent by morning.”

  I was already about 90 percent; I wasn’t sure the herb tea would get me the last ten. I sipped the steaming liquid anyway. I was surprised. “Not bad.”

  Carol smiled. “I swear by it. I make Pauli drink it every day.”

  He was sitting five rows in front of us, camera resting on his chest. “Nice that he’s the ELT photographer.”

  “Isn’t it? Of course, I can’t keep up with all of his projects. The computer classes, digital forensics, now photography…well, at least it keeps him out of trouble.” She laughed and sprinted down the aisle.

  If she only knew. Eleven months ago he was my email-hacker-in-chief.

  By eight thirty, Lola had the lighting cues
ironed out, the warm-ups were complete, and Penny had announced “take ten” and “break’s over” and the tech finally began. Lights shifted and the Narrator described the ending of the Revolutionary War, the founding of Etonville, and two families going about everyday life in town. Actors moved onto the stage, the turntable jolted and slowly began to revolve, powered by stage hands who would be dressed as townspeople. Vernon was orating, extra loud, and the two mothers—Edna and Abby—came into view busily miming cooking breakfast. The turntable jolted, trembled, and stopped. Abby latched on to the edge of a kitchen table to steady herself.

  “Hold,” Penny shrieked.

  Everything stopped. JC jumped onstage to adjust the rotation mechanism, and the actors dropped character. He wiggled something, tapped something else with a hammer, and gave a thumbs-up to Walter.

  “Go!” Penny shouted.

  So this was stop-and-go… The technical rehearsal continued until the turntable halted again, or a light cue came in late, or Lola wasn’t satisfied with the focus of an instrument.

  Tedious, to say the least. I was missing the impact of the story with the constant interruptions, but I saw enough to realize that Walter wasn’t a half-bad playwright. The problem was the other half. Actors’ energy flagged toward the end of Act One, still going after an hour and a half, and even the tricorn hats had wilted.

  During one of Penny’s “holds” I slipped to the back of the house and squatted down next to Lola. “Going okay, yes? I mean for a tech rehearsal.”

  Lola was frazzled, her hair a tangle where she’d been twisting strands. “You think? This is making Arsenic and Old Lace look like a picnic in the park.”

  That was saying a lot, considering that show had had a leaky roof that rained on the scenery and a leading lady who couldn’t act. “Sorry to desert you but I’ve got to pop next door and help Benny close up.”

  Lola nodded miserably. “Talk to you tomorrow. If I live that long.”

  I patted her arm and slinked out of the house, wrapped up in my down jacket to cope with the night air. I inhaled, staring into a clear sky dotted with bits of stars. It would be a fine day tomorrow. As I tramped through the slushy snow still covering parts of the sidewalk, I marveled at how invested I had become with the Etonville Little Theatre. I took its successes personally and felt bad when things went off-kilter. As they had with Eton Town. They would have done better to stick with the original version and left the history of the town founding to the library. Too late for second guesses now…

  By three o’clock Tuesday things had quieted down in the dining room; I took my break by heading next door with a hot plate for tomorrow night’s concessions. I loaded a double burner, to keep the mulled wine and cider punch warm, on a hand truck—refusing Benny’s offer of help—and pushed my equipment to the ELT, avoiding patches of melting ice on the sidewalk.

  Lola, her blond hair pulled into a topknot, in faded jeans and a paint-stained sweatshirt, emerged from the business office carrying a tablecloth and some red, white, and blue bunting to decorate the concession table.

  “Everything ready for tonight?” I asked.

  “Walter wants to do a run-through of the wedding square dance and Vernon says he needs to run his monologue for the second act opening. But other than that, we’re all set,” Lola said.

  “I’ll bring over the punch bowl and cups later tonight.” We got the hot plate in place, the table ready for the desserts that only needed to be thawed.

  “And I’ll remind Chrystal about the costume pieces for the concession crew,” I said.

  Lola returned to the office, and I was envisioning myself in a colonial skirt, apron, and mob cap when the lobby door opened and Sally bustled in, arms full of paper plates and napkins.

  “Hi, Dodie. I offered to pick these up for Lola.” She deposited her stash on the concession table.

  “Nice of you.” I smiled. “I saw you during the warm-up last night. I think you’re all good sports.”

  “Walter’s right. We need the warm-up to get our articulators working,” she said seriously.

  Defending Walter. Not something many ELT folks were doing these days. Hmmm.

  I thrust my arms into my jacket sleeves and we walked out the door, pushing the hand truck. “Sally, you seemed awfully upset the other night. About that man on the street,” I said carefully.

  “Not really. I mean, I thought it was someone I knew. But I guess I was mistaken.” She waved and moved off.

  * * *

  Sally slipped my mind during the hours that followed. The Windjammer was packed with Etonville’s citizens who preferred Henry’s recent experiments to eating in. Tonight we featured his grilled pork tenderloin with an avocado and sour cream side sauce. He’d added a pineapple-and-onion topping for good measure. Henry was taking a few more chances with his entrées, obviously still feeling the competition with La Famiglia.

  When the dining room was this full, I liked to meander from table to table and check in with patrons.

  “Dodie, tell Henry that we love the pork,” said Mildred. She and Vernon had popped in for an early dinner before their ELT call.

  “Will do,” I said. “You need to fortify yourselves for the big night ahead.” I refilled their coffee cups.

  “Hunh,” Vernon grunted. “Long night you mean. I still don’t understand why Walter didn’t cut something. Like that silly dance. Who does a square dance at a wedding?”

  Mildred poked her husband. “Vernon, it was the 1700s. They did a lot of things differently then.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’ll bet they knew enough to cut a play when it topped three hours.”

  I’ll bet they did too. I moved on to the Banger sisters. They’d had their hair permed for the show; their ringlets were identical to the men’s powdered wigs.

  “Dodie, we’re so excited. It’s our first time treading the boards, don’t you know,” said one sister.

  “We’re eating light,” said the other.

  I looked down at their half-empty plates, at the remnants of the tomato, corn, and lentil salad.

  “Good idea. Acting on a full stomach might not be the best idea. The salad’s pretty filling.”

  “We’re also trying to keep our weight down,” said the first sister.

  “Really? You two look fine to me,” I said.

  “We’re going to try out for the musical,” said the second sister. “We want to compete with some of the younger actors.”

  “Do you sing? I mean like musical-theater sing?” I asked, lightly skeptical.

  “We’re going to take lessons.” They smiled in unison.

  I guessed hope—as well as delusion—did spring eternal.

  The pork tenderloin was a big hit and soothed Henry’s always fragile culinary ego. The last of the stragglers were finishing their dinners; the rest of the evening would be primarily bar service. For certain the ELT crowd, who often stopped in for a late drink after a show or rehearsal, would be abstaining. By the time the turntable made its last rotation, the Windjammer would be near to closing. Not that some of them couldn’t use a drink to drown their theatrical troubles.

  My cell beeped. Lola wanted to know what time I was coming by. I slid into my back booth with a cup of vegetable soup left over from lunch and a plate of the tomato-and-lentil salad. Benny brought me a seltzer.

  “Okay by you if I visit next door about ten? I want to drop off the punch bowl for the concession stand,” I said.

  He nodded. “I have a babysitter ‘til eleven. Peggy’s doing inventory tonight at the toy store.”

  “I’ll close up.” I dipped a spoon in the soup.

  At ten I dressed in my winter gear, loaded the punch bowl and cups on my hand truck, and stepped outside the restaurant. The sky was cloudy, the moon covered in a foggy layer—more snow was expected tomorrow. I exhaled and a thread of cold air streamed away from my mou
th as I hurried next door. In the dimly lit lobby, I deposited my boxes in a corner near the concession stand. All was quiet.

  I checked my watch and decided to sneak a peek at the end of Act Two; since the dress rehearsal started at seven, Eton Town should be gasping its last: the funeral over, the choir having sung, the turntable about to take its final bow.

  I opened the door softly and slipped into a seat in the back row of the theater. Onstage the graveyard was filled with Etonville dead sitting in folding chairs, hands crossed, humming a hymn. The little blond who had played Juliet last spring—now the young wife of Thomas Eton, the Revolutionary War hero—threw herself on the ground and wailed about life passing in a flash, as she called “good-bye” to everyone and everything: her husband, her children, her house, her garden, her dishes, her wedding dress…etc. etc. We got the picture. Edna, as her deceased mother, waxed philosophical proclaiming that the living don’t appreciate life. It takes death to give one perspective. Which was fine as long as you weren’t the one who’d died.

  The turntable started to chug to life, then it stopped and it appeared as if all onstage held their breaths. With a mighty heave by the stage crew, the platform creaked and moved again, the Banger sisters hanging on for dear life. Vernon walked into a spotlight and reminded the audience that tomorrow was another day in the life of Eton Town. He wished us all a good night. The stage went dark.

  After a second of silence, the costume crew, the light board operator, Lola, and myself applauded enthusiastically as the lights came up on a swarm of actors buzzing about the performance, their costumes, and the turntable. Vernon and Romeo fist-bumped. I gave Lola a thumbs-up as she sped down the aisle to arrange actors onstage for the curtain call.

  “Am I glad this night is over,” whispered Chrystal before she plunked down in a seat next to me.

  “Lots of costumes,” I said.

  “If I never see another tricorn hat, it will be too soon for me. And Walter’s talking about continuing the theme next fall with 1776. I told him I’d quit.”