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His eyebrow rose. “Keen? Are you trying to surpass my stuffy old donnish standing?”
“Maybe.” We both snorted. “So, you like my ideas for the playhouse?”
“I do.” The wind peppered the patio with dying pine needles. Gibson had to pick a few out of the food tray, but we were not inclined to move it or our ourselves. It was just too perfect here in this moment. “It’s not at all what I was expecting, but I’m very happy to see how you’re leaning.”
“Oh, what did you think I’d be doing?” I wiggled around on the glider to see him better. He fed me a cracker with some cheese followed by a fat olive. I took both from his fingers with a sigh of contentment.
“Well, I assumed you’d be modernizing it, but these images are all of older theaters. The classic movie houses of the ’40s and ’50s. Personally, I think that feel is absolutely spot on for the Kesside Playhouse.”
“I’m glad. Yeah, I have no interest in a modern theater at all. The world has enough of them. I want to restore the old gal to her former beauty. It’s going to cost a lot more, but I think the investment will be worth it. I can see a huge stage with flowing red velvet curtains and flocked wallpaper, glowing tile floors, plush seats filled with theatergoers as the smell of greasepaint fills the air.”
“I do love the way you speak of the theater. Will you be starring in the opening night production?” he asked as he plucked a carrot from the board.
“That’s…well, that’s doubtful. Even if I don’t re-sign with Four Winds, which is highly likely, I’ll be making movies with another studio. I hope.”
“Yes, of course. Well, perhaps one day you can return and grace us with a performance of something from the Bard.”
I tried to read his expression, but he locked it down quickly after a brief touch of disappointment. I was about to ask him if he would be in the front row if I came back to act in a show when my phone rang in my pocket. With an internal sigh, I dug out my phone. Hopefully, it wasn’t my father having issues or—
Ah, it was Elle. She must be on her way. “It’s my friend Elle.”
Gibson gave me a smile that didn’t quite reach his sky blue eyes. I made a note to come back to this conversation at a later time.
“Hi, Elle, are you in Maine?” I asked.
“Elias, I am stuck at the fucking bridge leading to the fucking island. Why am I stuck here you may ask?”
Oh my. She sounded really mad. “Because some old man in a Napoleonic naval outfit won’t let you come over without a pass?”
“Yes, that is correct. Some old asshole in a moth-eaten hat is barking at me about a pass. What the hell kind of pass do I need?! Elias, cars are waiting behind us. People are getting pissed off at us. Also, I think Katy is going to haul that old fool out by his fucking codpiece.”
Did Portman wear a codpiece? I hoped not.
“Oh cool. Katy is here.” How happy was I that she was at the inn and not here supervising every damn bite that I took? Extremely happy. “Okay, sit tight. We’ll be right there with a pass for you. Tell Katy to keep her hands off Portman’s codpiece.”
The call ended with my agent shouting to someone to sit the hell tight.
“I’m not sure that men in the Napoleonic era wore codpieces,” Gibson tossed out as he rose from the glider. “Your friends are here and being detained at the bridge, I take it.”
“Yeah, I totally forgot about needing a damn pass. We’ll just flash yours at Portman. He won’t read it closely enough to see the name on it.”
“I’m not sure he could read it unless his ample nose was pressed right to it.”
We hustled around to finish our beers and tucked the food back into the fridge. Then we were off. Old pine needles blew off the windshield of Gibson’s Nissan as we made our way to the bridge. A whole five-minute ride. He had an interestingly diverse range of musical tastes. I’d heard classic crooners and soft jazz at his home. Here in the car he’d been jamming out to Black Sabbath. The first album. The man was nothing if not eclectic.
We pulled up behind about five cars on the island side. With a huff, I plucked the cardboard pass from the windshield and then jogged to the edge of the bridge. There had to be at least twenty cars on the other side. I waved madly to no avail.
Gibson appeared at my side. “You may have to call them.”
“Christ,” I grumbled as I dialed Elle. “Elle, put the phone up to the window of the guard shack so I can tell Portman that I have your pass.”
“This man is a numbskull,” Elle growled. Several folks had exited their cars to come up behind us to watch the show. I could see Elle stamping over to the shack where Portman sat. They had words. Elle’s hands were flying. I didn’t see Katy. Perhaps Elle had locked her in the car so no bodily harm came to the bridge keeper or whatever he was calling himself today.
“Who is this?” I heard Portman shouting into my ear.
“Portman, it’s Elias Lake.”
“Who?!”
