Page 131 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

“Oh, this?” I’m about to spiral, I can tell. “This is not what it looks like.”

“Methinks she doth protest too much,” Sadie mutters.

I choose to ignore her. “We were working late, with the accident, everything was still wet, so the tarp, and the pizza. I didn’t eat all day yesterday, so... yeah.” I turn off the open fire hydrant that is my mouth. “We fell asleep.” I helplessly shrug, and then, as if I haven’t said enough, I add, “Wejustslept.”

“Fully clothed,” Evelyn says, then adds, “unfortunately.”

Sadie swats her across the arm.

“It’s my fault.” Booker runs a hand through his hair, making it even messier—and my goodness, sexier—than before. “I showed up with pizza.”

“And really, how could she resist?” Evelyn gives Booker a once-over, and it’s clear she’s not talking about the food.

Bertie walks up onto the stage. “I just happened to bump into this lovely woman, looking a little lost over by the clubhouse.” Then, quietly, she adds, “I’m sorry, Rosie, I should’ve called.”

“No, it’s good.” I step forward and look at the reporter. “I’m so sorry. I’m Rosie Waterman. The director.”

The woman smiles. “It’s really nice to meet you. I’m Deirdre. Your friend Marnie and I went to school together.”

Marnie. Just the mention of her name makes my heart squeeze.

“Are you able to talk with us on camera? About the accident and the show and this whole program?” Deirdre asks.

I look around the stage, and a million newsworthy stories come to mind. “Oh my goodness, yes. Yes, of course. There aresomany stories here to be told.” I look over at the small group of women, still standing on the stage. “Grace, she’s our Cinderella. She moved here from Omaha and found happiness again simply by becoming a part of this show.” In the wings, I see Arthur’s shadow. “And did you know the theatre manager, Arthur Silverman—he’s a renowned director and former NYU theatre professor. A true legend.” I run my hands through my hair. “The accident, the flood, the way everyone came together—I think we might actually still open on time, and that’s a story worth telling.”

Deirdre’s smile looks practiced, her teeth whiter than they should be. “That’s so sweet! But, Rosie, we’re here to talk about you.”

I frown. “Me?”

“Yes,” she says. “We’ll get to all of that—the others—butyouare the story. Marnie told us you live in New York?”

I look around the stage, and I see them all watching me, Booker included, and I freeze.

I press my lips together. “I really don’t think I’m the most interesting thing here.”

“A young woman leaving a thriving career in New York to direct a musical for senior citizens?” Deirdre is holding a microphone, and I notice there’s a flashing red light on the camera. “That was quite a sacrifice.”

I shake my head. I feel caught somehow. Like I’m on the stand.

“No, it wasn’t. It... isn’t.”

“Can you elaborate?”

I press my lips together. “New York is great, and my career”—I pause—“Is fine... but these people? And this musical? It’s taught me so much. About myself, about life and community, and what it really means to be happy.” I meet Booker’s eyes, and his slight nod encourages me to continue.

“And whatdoesit mean to be happy?”

“Hold on!” Belinda hollers from the wing, stepping out onto the stage.

I didn’t even know she was back there. At the interruption, I pause, worried about what she might say to embarrass me.

“Belinda, they’re filming,” Sadie hisses.

“Rosie, I will not allow you to go on television looking like that.” She extends a hand, as if to usher me toward her.

I’m frozen.

“Come on,” she says, and then to Deirdre: “Give us five minutes.”

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