Turning on her heels, she ran out of the bistro and turned down the street. Ignoring Betty and Gerard’s cries for her to “Wait, stop, please listen to us, Trisha.”
For months Trisha had felt like Betty had been ignoring her, which of course was understandable because she was a newlywed, but Trisha’d hoped that by the time that phase went away they’d be able to pick back up where they’d left off.
Tears plopped off the tip of her nose; she swiped them away angrily as she ran toward the high school auditorium. She was so not in the mood for rehearsals and if the play weren’t airing tonight, she’d totally bail on this.
One would think at this point in her life she’d be used to crap happening, but no, it never got easier. However, Trisha was never one to air her dirty laundry. Squaring her shoulders once she saw the school, she attached the fattest, fakest grin on her face and breezed through the doors into the gymnasium. The mask was firmly in place once more.
“Trisha, thank the Goddess you’re here.” Julie—aka stage director, aka pain in the ass—sailed toward Trisha on a cloud of patchouli perfume. Golden bangles on her wrist jingled as she dramatically threw her hands in the air. “Where have you been? We’ve only been waiting on you for hours.”
Rolling her eyes, very accustomed to Julie’s drama, Trisha plopped her purse on the ground and headed toward the stage. “Try five minutes, and besides, I’m sure you were doing just fine without me.” Indicating the stage with a flip of her hand.
Stage designers were still all over the place, drilling and hammering away at the wooden panels of Neverland. Painters were kneeling above half-finished panels, frantically trying to finish up Tiger Lily’s woods.
Rigging, which was really the only thing Trisha needed to be around for, was far from ready to happen.
Julie’s long, fake lashes fluttered as she shook her bright orange mop of frizzy hair. “Regardless, all actors were to be here on time. How can I depend on you to play my Peter, when I can’t even depend on you showing up at all!”
With a performance worthy of an Oscar, she twirled on her sandaled feet causing her bohemian brown and orange skirt to snap out behind her like a sail catching wind.
“Don’t worry about the Queen B, Trishelle.” Remy hugged her shoulders. His inky black curls tickled Trisha’s nose and she had to wiggle it to keep from sneezing all over his crimson and gold double-breasted pirate’s frock coat.
Casting him a grateful smile, she smoothed his golden lapels down and winked flirtatiously. “Why, my dear James, what a big hook you have.” She tweaked the tip of the silver stage prop he had on his hand.
Remy was every leading woman’s dream—straight out of the ‘if-I-could-build-a-dream-man’ handbook. Piercing green eyes, shaggy blond hair, square chiseled jaw, and a body that made many a woman drool… She’d been completely enthralled by him, but quickly realized the man knew his charm and wielded it like a blade.
“You watch it, little Pan,” he growled, running the hook down her left arm, “you might just make me forget I’m only a villain in the play.”
With a wink and a swagger, he sauntered off to his dressing room.
The piano player started banging out the first discordant keys of a song Julie had decided at the last moment to insert, and Trisha had nothing else to do but sit and wait her turn.
For all her theatrics, Julie was a woman with balls of steel and able to work seemingly impossible magic, namely getting the chaos under control. Within an hour the props were all set up, the rigging was finally getting pulled together, and Trisha was strapping herself in ready to squeak out “I’m a real boy now…”
Oh, wrong play. She laughed, feeling silly. The trauma that’d been Betty and Gerard’s lunch date was all but forgotten as the thrill of the play began to wind through her blood. This was where Trisha shined, up on stage, lights in her face, able to be someone else for just a few hours. This was what she lived for.
Scratching at an itch beneath her green tights, she tried not to squirm as several pairs of hands yanked and zipped her into the rigging, ready to hoist her up in the air.
“You ready?” a gruff voice she didn’t recognize asked, and she nodded, then yelped as she was immediately but smoothly drawn up into the sky.
“Now, listen to me, Trisha,” Julie’s strong voice carried to her as she cupped her hands around her mouth, “recite your lines, throw your hands out, and become the Pan.”
The straps between her legs were tight and pinching. Ignoring the uncomfortable ache squeezing her crotch, she inhaled a lungful of air and planted her hands on her hips, ready to taunt Hook. Suddenly the lights started flashing and sirens blared through the cavernous auditorium.
“Fire!” someone yelled and panic ensued.
People ran like a salmon migration for the doors, tripping and shoving each other out of the way.