Читать книгу Love in Strange Places - Anonymous - Страница 12

Brendan and I split up—again—two days before the auditions for Oklahoma at Heaven’s Hollow Community Theatre. I’d been trying to terminate this relationship for the past three weeks, but he kept pleading with me to continue going out with him, and I kept stupidly agreeing. This latest get-it-over-with conversation was not the most scintillating discussion I’ve ever had.

Let’s be honest: It was trite.

“Belinda, what’s with you? We’ve been dating for two months. I didn’t even know there was anything wrong and you turn around and dump me just in time for auditions for a show bound to have lots of guys in it. What’s the matter?”

“Brendan. We have never been exclusive. We went out. We had a good time. I’m not ready for anything else. We’ve been in the process of breaking up for three weeks now. Get a grip.”

“Please, Belinda. Just one more chance? Have I done something wrong?”

“No. Look, I’m just not great at long-term.”

I looked at his miserable face and relented, slightly.

“I mean, it’s not like we’re never going to see each other again. You know Corky’s gonna cast you in the show. We’ll be at rehearsals together. Okay?”

I knew it wasn’t going anywhere. Brendan was a wimp who let me do anything I pleased. There’s something about a man begging that’s a serious turnoff for me.

I’m not proud of what is undoubtedly a lacking in my character, but I find weak men boring. Neanderthal Man isn’t my ideal, either, but I at least want someone who won’t give in on every issue with me. After all, I’m not right all of the time, much as I might pretend to be!

And so, Brendan joined the list of last year’s castoffs, which included Jeremy, Todd, Fenton, and Rick.

Jeremy: Mr. “Marry me, Belinda, or we’re through.”

“I don’t think so, Jeremy—I’ve known you for a whopping two weeks.”

Todd: “My mother’s not going to be pleased with me dating a dancer.”

“Fine, Todd. Date your mother.”

Fenton: “But, Belinda, the enormity of this issue is life shattering! This legislation has to pass! By the way, I don’t think Chow and Chat is the best restaurant to be eating at. Didn’t I see a report on Channel 7 about them? No, wait—that was the report Fox News did about the congressman who’s in league with the meat packing industry.”

“Aargh! Enough with the politics and debates, Fenton! Let’s have one evening that doesn’t resemble a documentary or a commentary!”

Rick: “Why do you laugh, Belinda? What’s so funny about a man dressed up as a shark ringing apartment doors and hissing, ‘Land Shark’ at the people inside?”

“Rick, Rick, you gorgeous, blond, steely-blue-eyed, muscles-to-rival-Arnold, stud muffin. Why do you possess not an ounce of humor, along with not an ounce of fat? Does one cancel out the other? How can you watch originals of Saturday Night Live with Bill Murray, Chevy Chase, et al and not crack a smile? ‘Bye, Rick.”

Now, it actually felt nice to be unattached. I figured I might stay in that state for a while, actually.

At least a day or two longer.

As I sat waiting my turn to sing at the auditions, though, I found that I was musing about Rick, wondering if the old I Love Lucy tapes my mom had made the week she had insomnia might help him learn how to smile. Imagining his mouth muscles twitching as much as his biceps was making me a little weak in the knees. Alas, my daydreams were rudely interrupted by the heated conversation coming from a couple standing in the aisle two rows down from me.

She was a knockout. The kind of face and body I’ve always wanted—and would never have without ten years of plastic surgery and implants and a meat cleaver. Maybe five-one, with perfect blond curls, crystal blue eyes, a turned-up nose—she was a porcelain doll. My exact opposite. I’m five-nine, with straight brown hair and hazel eyes, and a jazz dancer’s body—basically, straight up and down.

The man she was arguing with reminded me a lot of my Irish setter, named Kooky for obvious reasons. He—the man, not the dog—looked familiar. He was well over six feet tall, with arms and legs that looked like they weren’t following where the rest of the body was leading. He had light brown hair and freckles splattered over a crooked nose. He was wearing an obnoxiously loud, yellow, Hawaiian-print shirt that clashed with his hair, faded jeans, and tan Hush Puppies with holes in the toes. The man’s sense of style was apparently rooted in comfort.

He and the mannequin were arguing. At least, she was. He didn’t even really appear to be listening to her. The attitude between them was, to one who’d been there, that of breaker with breakee at the beginning of the breakup. He was definitely the breaker. Her whole posture oozed: I’ll do anything for you. As her voice grew louder, I quickly realized that all of my observations had been correct.

“Finn! This is just not fair! We’ve been seeing each other for two months now, and I never knew there were any problems and now you want to just call it quits? Just in time for a show with a lot of female dancers in it, I notice!”

“Heidi, I never said we were exclusive. I also never led you to believe that there was anything serious going on on my part. I was never looking for a committed relationship; you know I’ve been trying to call a halt to this for the past three weeks. We had fun, though, so let’s not get carried away, okay? We’ll still see each other through this show. You know Corky’s gonna cast everybody here, so we’ll both be in it, no matter what.”

I couldn’t help it. I started to chuckle—loudly. What had this guy done—taped my last conversation with Brendan? While not Memorex, it was awfully close to an exact representation.

Heidi and Finn turned toward me when I started laughing. She glared. He grinned. The minute those white teeth flashed, I could see what Heidi was finding so attractive about this lanky puppy dog. Big green eyes danced with sheer wickedness. His expression was that of a very young angel caught smoking pot outside the Pearly Gates with an equally young devil!

Finn and I exchanged a glance only understood by two people who’ve just dumped their respective partners. I winked at him. He winked back.

“Belinda? Yo! Come onstage. You’re up.”

Corky, the director, was waving at me from the orchestra pit under the stage. I’d done three shows with Corky since moving here last year. He was maybe five-three—on a good day—with the face of a leprechaun, and the body of a tiny boxer. He’d had some sort of close relationship with the theatre’s set designer, Newman, since they’d met in college. He and Newman loved to go out and drink a few brews and sing at Kareoke bars with their casts, but they were known for being completely professional and amazingly strict during rehearsals. I respected their talent; they respected mine. Of course, they also took great delight in teasing me about the fact that I’d gone through two boyfriends during the run of Pippin, my last show with them. They’d even started calling me “Man-eater” after male number two—I believe that was Fenton—finally fell by the wayside.

I slid carefully by the battling duo in the aisle on my way to the stage. I could feel Finn’s warm eyes on me the whole time. I could also feel Heidi’s. Hers were the icy darts piercing a hole between my shoulder blades.

The casting notice specified that Corky wanted those songs actually sung by the characters in Oklahoma!. I’d chosen “I Cain’t Say No!” as my audition piece. I was going after the part of Ado Annie—it’s her big number, and I do it well. My roommate, Tessa, says it’s because I agree wholeheartedly with the underlying philosophy of the song—being as fickle as possible and dating a multitude of men. I disagree.

“It’s a great song for me to sing because it’s in a dancer’s key. Not too high, not too low. Just right.”

Tessa had handed me my dance bag and car keys, and shooed me out of the huge house we share, calling out in a high-pitched cheer:

“Good luck, Man-eater!”

Great roommate. If Rick had been gifted with even half her sense of humor, he and I might’ve been honeymooning in Barbados by now.

Owen, the musical director for this production of Oklahoma! was doing double duty as the audition accompanist. He and I had worked together on two of the shows I’d done at Heaven’s Hollow, and I was very comfortable with him at the ivories. Nonetheless, I felt a twinge of nerves as I handed him my music, took a deep breath, faced the audience of show hopefuls, and started to sing. A little voice inside of me was telling me to do my best for that freckle-faced Casanova still standing in the aisle.

About midway through the first sixteen measures of the song, I just went ahead and aimed my words right at him. He was grinning widely, and his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend was scowling like she’d just bitten into a very rotten egg. I couldn’t help noticing that Brendan was now seated in the audience, as well. He was scowling like he’d just swallowed that very same rotten egg.

Song sung, I cheerfully acknowledged the applause from the crowd of waiting hopefuls, and began to walk back to my seat, preparing to pass the couple once again.

“Nice job! I have a feeling you’re gonna make one heck of an audacious Ado Annie!”

A big hand had gently touched my arm. I felt an unaccustomed tingle.

“Why, thank you, sir! What part are you auditioning for?”

“Will Parker, Ado Annie’s love match.”

Sparkling green eyes peered into my hazels. Held. I covered confusion with sarcasm.

“Well, how nice to see that you actually know the show! So, you think you’ll get Will Parker? Can you dance?”

“Can I dance! Lady, be prepared for the Astaire of the twenty-first century! Finn Doran, at your service.”

He was extremely cocky for a slightly homely, too-tall lug.

I adore cockiness.

“Belinda Montague.”

“I know. I saw you dance when they did Pippin here in December. You were spectacular.”

“Thanks! Hmm. Finn Doran. Where do I know you from?”

Before Mr. Doran could respond, Heidi’s whiny voice sputtered behind my ear, “Excuse me, Ms. Montague, but you’ve interrupted a very private conversation between Finn and myself. Do you mind? And, by the way, there are other people auditioning for Ado Annie, so I wouldn’t start the congratulations just yet.”

Finn’s face wore a look of surprise. “Who’s stupid enough to audition for that role? Belinda’s just too perfect.”

Heidi’s cheeks flushed a rosy color that had nothing to do with blush. “Well, me, for instance.”

“I thought you were auditioning for Laurey.”

“I was. I changed my mind.”

“No offense, Heidi, but you’re a soprano, not an alto, and Ado Annie’s songs are kind of low for you.”

“I can do both! Anyway, Will Parker kisses Ado Annie in this show and there’s no way you’re getting anywhere near anyone but me! And as for you, Ms. Montague, I think I mentioned that I was having a talk here, and I don’t need you around.”

I was standing below the pair in the aisle, so Heidi’s face was thrust inches away from mine. Well, I like my space, and I don’t like jealous females. I bowed graciously, raised up my right hand in a “Hey, back off, I’m outta here” wave, smiled slightly sardonically at Finn, and plopped quickly back down in my seat to watch the rest of the auditions.

I was looking forward to seeing what Finn Doran could do with a song. If it was anything like his ability to charm offstage, we were surely in for a treat. Though I was not looking forward to working with Heidi in any capacity.

Corky called Finn’s name just then, and I watched his rangy form stride to the stage. He gave his music to Owen, faced the audience, grinned widely, and began to sing “Kansas City,” Will Parker’s wonderful number from act one.

There was nothing extraordinary about his voice, but Finn had a stage presence that drew the eye. I noticed everybody in the theatre had stopped digging through their bags for sheet music, whispering to neighbors, and stretching in corners, to listen to him. He’d even apparently asked Owen to include a portion of the dance break for his audition. And when Finn started to move, those legs and arms of his that looked impossibly long offstage came together perfectly to create a picture of sheer grace and energy.

“Gwen, look! That’s Finn Doran! Remember him from Hair last fall?”

Bingo! The conversation behind me, plus Finn’s dancing onstage, helped me place where I’d seen him before. He’d been in the chorus of Hair, wigged beyond recognition with a long, black curly mop. There was no disguising that energy and talent, though. Watching him, I couldn’t imagine anyone else playing the role of Will Parker—here, or at any other theatre in the country. The applause, whooping, and hollering that greeted the end of his audition convinced me that the rest of the crowd felt the same way. The two girls behind me squealed louder than the rest, and then one of them whispered:

“They call him Lady-killer. I heard he’s dumped more women than most men have ever dated! Did you know that he. . . .”

Her voice dropped too low for me to catch the rest, even though I was unashamedly trying to eavesdrop.

Finn left the stage, and started sauntering up the aisle at the same time that Corky was calling out: “Heidi Larsen.” She and Finn passed each other coming and going. She never said a word to him.

Finn took a seat several rows down from me, turned, and waved at me. I gave him a high-five sign, then quickly buried my nose in some sheet music. Heidi took the stage.

If she hadn’t been so tacky to me earlier, I would’ve felt really sorry for her. It was obvious that her relationship with the big charmer was at an end. If she’d had any sense, she’d have made plans to travel to London or Paris for the summer—

Anywhere but Oklahoma!

The moment she started to sing, I just wanted to cringe with embarrassment for her. Midway through the pain of hearing her struggle with “I Cain’t Say No,” Corky stopped her and asked if she’d prepared something more appropriate for her range, letting her know that she could try one of Laurey’s songs.

I couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t doing that in the first place. Laurey’s the lead female character in Oklahoma!. If I’d been born a soprano, it’s the part I’d have tried out for. Apparently, though, Heidi was just determined to try and torpedo me, her supposed new rival. She finally sang “Out of My Dreams,” from Act II. It was better than her first attempt, but there was no way I could see Corky casting her in a principal role. She just didn’t have it. No presence, no real sound. Just a cute little girl onstage.

Polite, insincere applause followed her audition. She stormed down the aisle, grabbed her bag from Finn, and stomped out of the theatre. He followed, albeit, with obvious reluctance. He gave me a thumbs-up sign as he passed, and then leaned over.

“See you at the first rehearsal—Annie.”

“Looking forward to it—Will.”

That rehearsal was scheduled for two days later. I stood outside the theatre, early, reading the casting results. I already knew that I was playing Ado Annie. Jennie, the stage manager, had called the day before. I scanned the list.

Much of the cast I’d worked with in previous shows. Stephen was playing Curly, the male lead. Colleen was Laurey. I’d predicted that that role would be locked up long before Heidi had ever even attempted to sing. Colleen was incredible—beautiful voice, beautiful girl, amazing actress. She’d also been in the December production of Pippin, and she and I’d gotten to be friends. I might have a reputation for discarding men after three months—tops—kind of like mascara, but I’m very careful not to infringe on another girl’s territory, so I haven’t alienated all the women I know.

I continued to read the list. There it was: Will Parker—Finn Doran. No surprise, but nice to see, anyway. The other romantic interest for my show character was the Persian peddler—Ali Hakim. I scanned down and saw a name I wasn’t familiar with: Red Arrow Chekhov. Wow. A real mouthful. Then, I saw Heidi’s name listed among the chorus. Brendan’s was there, as well. Corky, the director, came by as I was reading the list.

“Hey, Belinda! I’m glad we’ll be working together again! I can’t wait to see what you do with this character!”

I hugged him. “Hey, thanks for casting me!”

Newman came up to both of us. “Belinda, my love, my sweet! Have you had a chance to meet your Will Parker yet?”

“Yes, Newman, I have. Looks like a great dancer, sings well—I’m really looking forward to working with him!”

Newman chuckled. “I’m looking forward to the fireworks when the man-eater and the lady-killer get together!”

Suddenly, Finn appeared from behind the door of the theatre. “Did I hear my name mentioned?”

Corky shook his hand to greet him. “Strictly speaking, Finn, Newman didn’t say your name. All he said was lady-killer. Guilty conscience?”

Both Corky and Newman were doubled over with laughter. I looked at them. I looked at Finn.

“Do they know something we don’t?”

“Beats me. Hey, wanna grab a hamburger before rehearsal?”

“Sure. We’ll let Tweedledee and Tweedledum hold their sides till we get back.”

Finn and I walked to his car. The whole way, I could hear our director and his partner howling. As mature adults, we chose to ignore their silliness and pretend that our notoriety for breaking hearts hadn’t been the cause for their side-splitting humor. We drove to the nearest fast-food joint and managed to keep our conversation geared only to the show schedule. We got back in plenty of time for rehearsal and carefully sat far away from each other for the initial read-through of the script.

I didn’t really see much of Finn the first few days of rehearsal. The cast was primarily working on music, and since we each had solos, we were called in at different times. But once Corky started directing scenes, things changed. When I wasn’t needed onstage, I hung out in a little corner in the back of the theatre under the light booth. Red Arrow Chekhov, the actor playing Ali Hakim, was usually up there with me.

Mr. Chekhov was, to put it bluntly, a hunk. His ancestry had been amazingly pure Cherokee up until his mother married Igor Chekhov, from the former Republic of Czechoslovakia. Little Deer and Igor christened their firstborn son Red Arrow, eventually sending this bronzed skin, blue-eyed, chiseled-jawed, muscular heartthrob out into a world of susceptible females.

“Call me Red,” was the first comment he made to the cast. We did.

Ado Annie and Ali Hakim are together quite a bit in Oklahoma!, so Red and I spent a lot of time running lines with each other, talking probably more than we should have. For some reason, we had immediately established a kind of brother/sister relationship. I was glad. He was being chased by every female—and some of the males—in the chorus, and I was fending off my own share of advances from the guy playing Jud, the dancer playing Curly in the “Dream Ballet,” and, of course, Brendan, the ex, who was still moping. It was restful to have at least one relationship with a man that didn’t include sexual tension.

Gradually, though, Finn began to join us more and more in our corner. We all tried to stay professional, going over lines with each other, wandering into the lobby to practice dance steps, but that rapidly disintegrated, since all three of us were quick studies and serious talkers with too much extra time on our hands. We’d chatter nonstop until Corky would call from onstage, requesting one or all of us. Finn, Red, and Belinda were quickly becoming good friends. Finn and Belinda were quickly becoming interested in each other. Still, Finn and Belinda were not ready to admit it. So teasing became our flirtation ritual.

“So, Belinda, you’re looking a trifle tired this evening. Partying too much last night?”

“I’ll have you know that I’ve been a very good girl. I’m teaching for the Junior League summer drama program. I have twenty fifteen-year-olds trying to learn to tap all at once at eight in the morning five days a week. They’re wearing me down! And what’s your excuse for those dark circles under your eyes?”

“You try defending underage delinquents on charges of every kind of drug possession and joyriding offense known to man and see if you don’t develop instant crow’s-feet.” I’d heard that Finn worked in the public defenders office. This verified it.

“Hey, Finn—be nice to those kids. I bet I teach half of ‘em during the year at the Academy! No. Wait. Come to think of it, sic the prosecutors on ‘em!”

“What do you teach?”

“Dance. Since it’s a chi chi private school, the little dears have their choice of artistic disciplines, and many future terrorists have decided that ballet must be an easy ‘A’, so they all sign up. But I’m being too cynical. I actually do have some really special students.”

“And I have some really special car thieves and pushers! There are times when I wish I’d listened to my mother and flown airplanes. Much safer!”

We’d grin at each other. Then I’d go back to running lines with Red, who’d be following this exchange with great interest, and Finn would go off to warm up his long limbs for a dance number. Until the next topic.

“So, Finn—I hear you’ve been dating Shawna.”

“You are so far behind the times, Belinda. Shawna was last week. This week it’s Melanie.”

“You’re good. We’ve only been in rehearsals two weeks.”

He bowed, then leaned over and kissed my hand. “You’re no slouch yourself. I hear you and Robby went out two nights running last week.”

“Old news. It’s over.”

We gazed admiringly at each other. Two of a kind. Red looked at us with amazement.

“You two are incredible. Have either of you ever sustained a romantic relationship for longer than two months—ever?”

Finn looked at me. I looked at him. We both looked at Red.

“Go ahead.”

Finn was being gentlemanly with the ladies first bit. I wrinkled my nose at him.

“I believe I managed to keep a young man around for a year once. Of course, that was grade school, and he liked to come over and play baseball with my brothers. Does that count?”

Red and Finn shook their heads. Red wagged his finger at me.

“We’re talking adulthood here, Belinda. Sorry. Okay, Finn, your turn.”

“Five months. But she left to take a job in London, so who knows how long it might’ve lasted?”

I shook my head. “I’m not buying the London bit, Finn. Plenty of people have conducted successful, long-term, long-distance relationships.”

Finn grinned. “Well, come to think of it—we were on the verge of that last good-bye about a month before she left.” He turned to Red. “Let’s face it, Chekhov, Ms. Montague and I are not known for stability in our love lives. So, everybody going dancing Saturday night at this new disco club? Belinda? You up for checking this place out and giving it our stamp of approval?”

“Already planning on it. I even raided my mother’s closet for vintage Seventies disco dresses. I found a sexy black number that’ll knock those plaid socks off your feet.” I couldn’t believe he was actually wearing plaid socks with red sneakers. I couldn’t believe anyone actually made plaid socks these days! I also couldn’t resist a tiny jab at the lady-killer.

“So—how’s Heidi? I hear she fell during the chorus rehearsal for Farmer and Cowman.”

Finn smiled sweetly at me. “Well, according to Heidi in one of her fourteen daily phone calls to me, she’s in terrible pain. I suggested that she rest at home when we all go dancing this weekend, but she immediately said she was sure she’d be in perfect shape by then! And how’s Brendan? I hear he had a virus.”

I smiled sweetly back. “A case of poison ivy, actually. It should render him inoperable for about a week. Untouchable, too!”

I liked Finn more and more. He and I shared a sarcastic sense of humor, enjoyed the same movies, books, shows, and foods. We’d argue over politics, and we both loved to dance. We’d really become good friends in the three weeks we’d been in rehearsals.

The nightspot Finn had referred to was Taste of the Seventies, a Seventies, disco-style dance bar. A bunch of us had been waiting all week to let loose at what promised to be the hottest new club in town. First, though, we had to survive a very long rehearsal. Saturday’s posted schedule included two hours of dance, two hours of music, and four hours of scene staging.

One of those scenes was the very funny, very intense kiss between Ado Annie and Will Parker. It’s known as the “Oklahoma Hello!” and I’ve seen it done several ways on stage, and onscreen in the 1955 movie version. Generally, Will grabs Ado Annie, throws one leg over one side of her, tilts her down like a slant board, and then lays a big, sloppy smooch on the enthralled vixen.

I was really looking forward to it.

The vocal and dance rehearsals went well. Even though I consider myself a dancer first and an actress/singer second, the part I was playing didn’t call for a lot of dance, so I got to watch the others rehearse the “Dream Ballet.” Heidi was in that number. She danced like she sang—without feeling. Brendan was also trying to master the intricacies of the choreography without much success—and without getting touched in any areas afflicted with poison ivy. It was not a pretty sight.

Finally, at about three in the afternoon, Corky began to work the kissing scene. I think the entire cast was waiting to see the sparks fly. The “Oklahoma Hello!” comes right after Ado Annie’s been kissed by Ali Hakim in the “Persian Good-bye!”

First kissed by Red, then by Finn—

No wonder every girl there had wanted the role!

We began the “Persian Good-bye.” Red dropped little kisses from my wrist to my shoulder, finally ending in a very nice one on the lips. But it was very much a stage kiss—enjoyable, to say the least—but not a lightning rod of electrical current.

Then it was time for the “Oklahoma Hello!.” Finn and I recited our lines. Then he threw me into the diagonal pose, tossed one of those long legs across me, and held me firmly in his capable arms. When his lips met mine, I swear I heard an explosion rock the back of the theatre. I also heard Corky talking into his headphones, but I ignored his voice. So did Finn. We stayed locked in position. Finally, I heard Corky yelling.

“Hey, you two! Newman’s just informed me that one of the air conditioners has blown! Talk about generating heat! Keep it up and our G-rated show will turn into a triple X! This is just the ‘Hello!’ okay? It’s not the ‘Hello, let’s get it on!’”

Finn released me. We looked deep into each other’s eyes. I could fall hard for this man; I knew it, and it didn’t make me happy. I was the “man-eater,” after all. I wasn’t about to get involved with a “ladykiller.”

After Saturday’s strenuous rehearsal, we headed straight over to Taste of the Seventies—nothing like a little more dancing to help you let off steam! Dubbing Red and Newman as the designated drivers for the evening—they didn’t drink, anyway—ten of us squeezed into two cars and took off. Nobody seemed to own a car larger than a Volkswagen bug. Even Finn, at six-feet-five, drove a Mazda Miata!

We arrived at Taste of the Seventies at about ten-thirty, just as things were really starting to move. We paid, strolled in, and then stared, numbly frozen in place by the sight of the ugliest décor I’d seen outside of a New York City graffiti-filled subway car. Green and yellow neon paint; posters of John Travolta, Donna Summer, and the Village People tacked onto the walls. A deejay booth painted purple with an orange banner over it proclaiming “Dr. Heat” held two huge turntables and a gentleman who looked like he’d been sent by central casting after shooting Saturday Night Fever! A final touch was the mirror ball hanging over the ceiling. It was all delightfully tacky.

Dr. Heat was playing some great songs. My parents had brought me up on every kind of music imaginable, from Verdi to Van Morrison, from Glenn Miller to Steve Miller, and from Tchaikovsky to the Trammps. The songs blaring from the deejay’s perch were more than familiar to me; my mom had taught me how to dance to Gloria Gaynor’s, “I Will Survive.” I loved this stuff!

Apparently, Finn loved it, too. While the rest of the Oklahoma! crowd found a table and ordered a round of beers, he grabbed my hand and rushed me onto the dance floor. Donna Summer’s, “I Feel Love” was setting that mirror ball spinning. I was soon spinning, as well. Mom would’ve been proud.

Finn twirled me under his arm, making our own little private circle as I happily turned and turned and turned. We started adding high kicks and floor splits and lifts, egged on by our cheering castmates, who were toasting us from the table. Except for Brendan and Heidi—I’d yet to see that girl crack a smile, and was fairly certain that my performance gyrating to early disco with Finn wasn’t going to help. Brendan just looked morose, as always. Of course, with little red, itchy blotches covering his face and arms, I could understand why!

Finn and I danced nonstop for the next fifty minutes or so. It was so nice to dance with someone who really knew what he was doing, could lead, be outrageous, and was big and strong enough not to drop me when I was balancing somewhere between the top of his head and the bottom of the ceiling!

The Seventies had delivered some superb fast dance music. People forget that the era also produced some really nice ballads. Taste of the Seventies had remembered. After the marathon of sweating and spinning, the deejay started playing “With You I’m Born Again,” sung by Billy Preston and Syreeta. It’s a gorgeous song—a gorgeous slow song. Finn pulled me toward him then, and for the first time since we’d been dancing, we were able to focus totally on each other. We just melted together, both of us singing softy along with the music. I could feel his breath on my cheek, his arms firmly encircling me. I rested my head against his chest and felt strangely, powerfully secure.

When we finally got back to the table, Corky and Newman were in hysterics.

“I told you—I told you! It’s too perfect! ‘Lady-killer and Man-eater.’ It was only a matter of time before they got together. Any bets on who’ll survive?”

Red immediately tossed a twenty on the table. “Belinda will have his scalp hanging over her mantle within the month.”

Colleen laughed. “Belinda’s good, but no offense—I’ve worked with Finn and seen him break more hearts than he has freckles!”

Finn and I looked at each other. What a way to start a romance! If that’s even what we were doing.

Finn whispered in my ear: “Want to make ‘em all eat their words?”

I stared up at him. “And just what does that mean?”

He took my hand and led me toward the bar, which surprisingly, seemed to be the only place not completely noisy or crowded. Finn ordered a couple of margaritas. He turned back to me and grinned.

“First, that’s an extremely enticing little outfit you’re wearing. I’m surprised another air conditioner hasn’t exploded.”

“Like it?”

“More than words can say.”

“Well, thank you. All compliments are gratefully accepted.”

“That said, I’ve been thinking.”

Finn wasn’t one to waste words. One acclamation over the dress, then right to the point.

“The entire cast is going to know that there’s something going on between us before we’ve even had a first date. Right?”

“You got it. They’re a very nosy group. And, let’s face it—neither of us has been winning any ‘Commitment of the Year’ awards lately! ‘Bets on survival!’ Are we that bad? Wait—don’t answer that!”

“I’ll tell you what, Miss Belinda Montague—how about we show them all and turn our friendship into the most passionate affair this group—heck, this town—has ever seen?”

I squinted at him suspiciously. “Mr. Doran, are you propositioning me?”

“Yes, indeed.”

I smiled sweetly. “Well, don’t look now, but I’m turning you down. I may be the ‘Mad-Man-Eater’ of the Heaven’s Hollow Community Theatre, but contrary to popular opinion, my mattress is not a bed-and-breakfast for every stud trying to carve a notch on his unbuckled belt!”

Finn burst into laughter. “To be honest, Belinda Montague, I’d rather have you in my life for the next forty or fifty years just getting to know you, than in my bed for one night—hellaciously exciting as that would doubtlessly be. I realize you don’t believe that, but I think it’s going to be fun spending the next fifty years trying to convince you. Starting with this.”

Then he gently cupped my chin in his hand, and leaned down. Soft, generous lips met mine. I could vaguely hear music blasting and the bartender cheering. It didn’t matter. We were alone and together in our shared feelings.

When we’d kissed that afternoon while rehearsing the “Oklahoma Hello!” I’d felt every nerve in my body tingling, but we’d both been in character then as Will and Ado Annie. I hadn’t wanted Finn to know how he was really affecting me.

But this kiss was clearly Finn and Belinda. And when we parted, I stared into those roguish, blue, Irish eyes, and for the first time, I saw something very serious, and very real. I’d never felt so happy. And I was sure that he knew it. So I tried to play it lightly.

“So, Mr. Doran, we talkin’ the ‘R’ word here?”

“If the ‘R’ word is Relationship and not Racquetball, then I’d give that a definite ‘maybe’!”

We headed back to the table holding our drinks. I poked him in the ribs with my free hand.

“All those bets on which one of us will dump the other first! However are we going to resolve the gambling crisis?”

Finn gave me a very long look. Then he grinned—a slow, ultimately mischievous grin.

We deposited our drinks at the table. Finn excused himself and walked over to Dr. Heat’s perch above the crowd. About thirty seconds later, I heard the good doctor make an announcement.

“We’ve had a dedication here, gang. It’s not strictly disco, but it’s a great dance song, and you know I love dedications. So, going out to Belinda from Finn, here’s the Hall and Oates classic from the Eighties—‘Man-eater’!”

Our entire table started screaming.

I turned twelve shades of red.

Then Finn bowed to me from the deejay’s booth, crossed over, and led me out onto the dance floor once again. Just before we started to dance, he whispered:

“You win. Hands down. No contest.”

A fifty-year run with this man would never be enough. THE END