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McIntyre. Lucy’s rich boss. Figured. He seemed like a total flake from Lucy’s descriptions.
“I’m very sorry to hear that. That must be upsetting. We’ll get by, though. We always do.”
Debra’s eyes fairly rolled from her head. “What optimistic thinking you have. Nonprofits don’t get by with optimism. They get by with funding.” She pinned Melody to the floor with a look. “This Valentine’s play of yours needs to do well. And when I mean well—”
Melody swallowed, her freshly-eaten sandwich churning in her stomach. She knew what well meant to Debra. Dollar signs. Lots of them.
“Don’t worry. We’re ready.” With a confident smile, she sailed past the main office in the direction of the practice room.
Lies, lies. They weren’t ready at all.
Melody didn’t understand what the problem was. It was an easy, three-act romantic comedy with two sets, one a café and the other a wintery park. The lines were simple. So simple Melody cringed at every practice.
Something was missing, and she didn’t know what. All she knew was the performance was exactly three weeks away, and they were anything but ready.
Terror gripped her throat as she slipped into the room that smelled of musty props and face powder. It was going to be one big flop. And it would be her fault.
Discouragement made her feet sluggish as she climbed the stairs to the practice stage where her male and female lead actors were going over their lines. Not everyone was here yet, but the main characters were. June seemed to have her portion of the script down pat, but Rolando was struggling—and that was putting it mildly.
When they took a break, Melody pulled Rolando aside. He was a sweet guy, maybe twenty. No money for college, he worked mornings at the home improvement store and came by Artisan’s Hope every afternoon. Melody had taught him acting for almost two years, and he meant well, but he wasn’t a natural actor by any means. Even her propensity to blame herself wouldn’t let him off the hook. But he was the only one willing to take the male lead position this winter.
“What can we do to make you more comfortable with this role?” she asked him, making sure to keep her tone warm and encouraging. He was her only hope, lack of talent or not.
He hummed and hawed a bit, then mumbled something about June.
“What’s wrong with June? She’s doing great.”
“She’s short. It’s so awkward.”
Melody pressed her fist to her lips to keep from laughing. “You just have to give her a peck on the lips. No passionate embrace. We can hide a stool behind a prop for her. Will that help?” Poor guy was bent out of shape over a little kiss. Hilarious.
“Maybe…”
Melody let her eyes assess Rolando. Yes, he was tall. TJ would be a much more appropriate height for June. Not that he was short. His average height was just right if anyone asked her. Too bad he hated acting, or she would apply all her charms to land him in the role last-minute. He had the most incredible memory she had ever seen. But she knew a lost cause when she’d seen it for the past fourteen years.
“Let’s try it again, shall we?”
By the end of practice, Melody’s spirits had sunk to an all-time low. Rolando wasn’t getting any better. If anything, he was getting a heavy case of stage fright—and they weren’t on the real stage yet with an audience.
What they needed was music. Melody longed to direct a musical. She could act well enough. But what she did best was make music. It was a part of her soul.
Would Debra relent if she made it clear how dire the situation was? Melody sucked back the thought. Debra was more likely to fire her than let her put on a musical. The woman was convinced the community wouldn’t turn out for a musical. Melody happened to believe otherwise.
Putting on a happy face, Melody made her way through Artisan’s Hope, calling out goodbyes to her coworkers. They were her friends. Sort of.
Her heart beat fast as she stepped into Debra’s office. “I’m heading out. I was wondering, though… You see, I truly believe if we do a musical this time, it will be a success, and—”
“Melody, Melody, Melody,” the director sang, as if her name were the song it implied. “Just because your name means song doesn’t mean everything in life should be musical. Our young aspiring actors won’t be comfortable with that, mark my word.”
“But—”
“No buts. You never stop asking, and I never stop denying. Move on. Or move out.”
Melody trembled. She couldn’t lose this job. It grounded her. Reminded her where she’d come from. And where she, somehow, had landed.
West of 16th Street.
“Sorry I bothered you. Have a good night.”
