Page 57 of Kiss Me at Christmas
“Okay,” Sid replied, completely unaffected by Gideon’s posturing.
“Good. Well then, it seems we have found our TinyTim, at least.” He eyed the rest of the group with a distaste that made Harriet nervous.
“They all have a good knowledge of each character’s lines, so whichever part they get, they’ll be ready, won’t you, guys?” She nodded enthusiastically at her students. “We’ve spent the last week really knuckling down on character motivation to get inside the soul of the play.” Perhaps this was overkill, but she wanted Gideon to know that her kids were serious and up to the task. “Carly and Ricco are super keen to perform the ‘What If’ song during Scrooge’s encounter with the Ghost of Christmas Past.”
Ricco sat up straighter but was quickly cowed by the probing glares of the Great Foss Players.
“Hmmm, we’ll see,” Gideon snapped, eyes aglow as they roved around the group, taking in Isabel’s facial piercings, Leo’s green hair, and Billy’s beaten-up boots.
Harriet saw them through Gideon’s eyes, knew the conclusions he would be leaping to, and her protectiveness sprung up like a forest vast and deep. Gideon continued in his pretense of an appraisal, but she realized with a sinking feeling that he’d made his decision even before he’d hung up from their phone call.
“Perhaps there will be parts for them,” he postured. “Perhaps not. This is not a school play. We will be performing before a real audience of theatergoers. Ours will be the first voices to grace these hallowed halls in fifty years!” he boomed dramatically. “We will be makinghistory! We cannot afford to give parts tojust anyone, not when we have real actors in our party. Grace played a plague-ridden hag in a History Channel docudrama, and Douglas has twice been used as a cadaver inSilent Witness.” The two actors in question preened under thepraise. “But we will have need of stagehands and dressers and the like—rest assured your protégés will be put to good use.”
Harriet’s hackles rose. “With all due respect”—her voice was clipped—“while I bow to your superior knowledge of the stage, I asked you here for your help with our production, not for my students to be ousted.”
Gideon looked at her as though he’d just sniffed her fart. “My dear woman…” he began, condescension lying heavily on the wordwoman.
Harriet clenched her fist. Gideon continued.
“This is a professional theater, hallowed ground to those who are called to tread the boards. It requires, no, itdeservesactors who can do this stage justice, and the Great Foss Players are seasoned performers. We have performed in such productions as…”
Gideon lost his train of boast as James stood, unfolding himself to his full height, which was a good foot taller than the thespian. Gideon quickly recovered his stately posture, and when James held out his hand, he took it as one might handle a dead frog.
“My name is James Knight. I am acting as representative for Miss Evaline Winter, owner of this theater.” His voice was smooth and commanding, and Harriet wondered if anyone anywhere had ever resisted him when he turned on the full Knight charm offensive.
She imagined him using that voice to ask her to undress while he watched her from an armchair, legs crossed, suit on, stare intent, his fingers tented as he watched…Something deep in her core gave a delightful zing, and she had to pull her mind back out of her knicker department before she started noticeably salivating.Not the time or place, keep your head in the game. Is it hot in here?
Gideon’s whole persona had changed. Suddenly he was all overly white teeth and graciousness.
“Delighted, dear sir, delighted, I am sure. May I say on behalf of the Great Foss Players just how overwhelmed with profusions of gratitude we are that the great doyenne of the theater herself has decided to resurrect this once-great house of the arts to its former glory.”
“You may,” James replied coolly. “I should inform you that under Ms. Winter’s strict instructions, Harriet Smith is to act as director of the production; she is, for want of a better term, the top banana.”
This was news to Harriet, who couldn’t feel much less like the “top banana” if she tried. But she appreciated James drawing a line in the sand. Gideon opened his mouth to protest, but James added, “This is non-negotiable. What Harriet says goes. And I am sure that a devotee of the arts such as yourself will appreciate how vital it is to encourage new blood into the theater. These young people are bright and determined. To turn away enthusiastic fledglings is not only counterproductive to the cause but also self-destructive.”
Oh my!Harriet had never wanted to throw her knickers at a man more.Champion me, it’ll score you some points; champion my kids, you’re likely to score a home run!
Gideon’s arms were windmilling, as though he was physically backtracking, and he grinned emphatically to show his strenuous agreement. “Of course! Of course! So true! It’s like I am always saying to my company.” He gestured behind him. “We are but guardians of the craft, sages waiting for willing vessels such as these that we may pour forth our years of wisdom until their cups are replete.”
Judging by the expressions of the rest of the Great Foss Players, gathered below the stage, this was notsomething that Gideon was “always saying” to them. Harriet had googled the am-dram group and knew that they mostly performed in their local Scout hut, with occasional productions playing at the Great Foss town hall. It must have felt like quite a coup to have a whole theater dropped into their laps with only a handful of teenagers and a member of support staff standing in the path of their ambitions. But Harriet had no intention of being railroaded by anyone, and neither did James. As Ricco had so eloquently put it, this was their crapfest, and nobody was going to muscle them out of it.
Seventeen
Introductions were made—as were snapjudgments—on all sides. The average age of the Great Foss Players was sixty-five to the famous five’s sixteen, and the divide was stark. One or two of the more maternal figures made an effort to engage the five and were rewarded with enthusiastic responses from Ricco and Isabel. Grace, an upright woman wearing tweeds with an air of a dog trainer about her, got off on the wrong foot with Billy by picking Sid up on his use of the wordain’t.
“What are you, the vocabulary police?” Billy snarled.
“I was simply correcting his usage, there is no need to be rude.”
“Rude is picking on the way someone talks.”
“In my day, we respected our elders!”
“In my day, you have to earn it.”
“Insolent boy!” Grace expostulated.
Billy merely glared at her with a bored hostility, which raised her hackles even further.
