“Or preferably out of uniform.” Bernie waggles her eyebrows.
“Lance, stop your dillydallying,” the man on the stage booms. “Sashay on up here. We were waiting for you.”
The man laughs, easily, and saunters up the aisle in no particular hurry, settling into the seat behind me.
Val squeezes my hand. “I’m so nervous!”
“You’ll be great.”
“For those who don’t know me”—the man on the stage pauses for the wave of laughter that runs through the small group scattered through the front seats—“my name is William Shakespeare. Oh, I’m just kidding. Don’t we all wish? William Smith, but my friends call me Bill. I’ll be running the audition today. The play is Just Say Yes by Imelda D. Bainbridge. It’s a romantic comedy about a woman having a midlife crisis. She makes a resolution to say yes to any opportunity that comes knocking, which gets her into all kinds of trouble and into an unexpected relationship. It’s also a musical, so there will be some choral singing, and we’ll be working with the community orchestra.”
Bill claps his hands. “Okay, let’s get started. We only have a few women of a certain age here, and we’re going to have all of you read for Lacey, our female lead. We’ll audition for the male lead at the same time. Anybody have a monologue you’re dying to perform? No? Great, let’s dive in. Val, come on up.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you, young lady. And, Lance, why don’t you get yourself up here since you’re an old hand at this. Not that I’m calling you old, mind, har har.”
The man behind me gets to his feet. Bernie whistles, and he turns toward her and bows, laughing, then skips the stairs and vaults up onto the stage.
I squeeze Val’s hand. “Go on. They’re waiting.”
“I can’t. I’m literally paralyzed.” Her face beneath her makeup has gone white, her eyes are wide. I have a spark of fear that she’s going to tip over sideways and I’ll be compelled to try another round of fruitless CPR.
“Well?” Bill calls down. “Are you here to audition, or is this a spectator sport?”
“Yes. I—I just don’t want to go first.”
“Fair enough.” His eyes slide over Val and rest on me. “I guess you’re up. What’s your name?”
“This is Liz,” Val supplies when I don’t answer.
I gaze up at him in dismay. I can’t say no right after Val. Everybody is staring my way. Lance grins at me conspiratorially as if the two of us share a secret.
“Don’t be shy,” Bill booms. “We’re all friends here. Come on up.”
“Well, go on.” Val’s face is a study in innocence, but I have my doubts. This is not her first encounter with this theater crowd, and I suspect she knew exactly how this was going to play out.
“You and I are going to have a long talk later,” I whisper.
She laughs. “Go on. You’ll be great.”
It’s just an audition, I tell myself. I’m not going to actually get or take a part. Tomorrow I’ll go back to my regularly scheduled life. I feel a shift and transformation as I climb the steps. My spine straightens, my head comes up. I feel my gait smooth and lengthen into a forgotten confidence.
Lance meets me at center stage, and reaches out to shake my hand. “Welcome to bedlam.”
Up close, his eyes are blue. His hand is warm, calloused, and he shakes mine with conviction, as if I’m an equal.
“Okay, you two, let’s get started.” Bill hands us each a dog-eared script, open to act 1, scene 2. “Take a minute to scan the lines and start when you’re ready.”
I feel like I’ve developed super senses. I hear the once-familiar rustling and whispering from the theater seats. The buzz of overhead lights. Bill is in my peripheral vision, just off to my right.
“Ready?” Lance asks.
I glance up from the paper. He’s relaxed, easy, and I nod.
Let’s get this over with, Elizabeth says.
Bring it on, I’m ready, Inner Liz counters.
Lance takes a step toward me, bringing him inside my comfort bubble, front and center and dominating my senses. Bill fades from my peripheral vision. My awareness of whispers and buzzing lights goes with him. I breathe in the scent of clean sweat and fabric softener and a hint of cologne. My eyes travel up from the page and encounter a broad chest, the shirt open at the collar revealing a sunbrowned neck. His eyes gaze into mine with an intensity that flutters my breath and brings blood rushing to my cheeks. An almost-forgotten sensation whispers awake, low in my belly.
Guilt follows hard on its heels, and I twist the wedding band on my finger. What is wrong with me? I should not be feeling this, not toward a stranger, not so soon after Thomas’s death. It’s not proper.
“I don’t see what propriety has to do with anything,” Lance says, his voice passionate, intense.
My eyes widen. My lips part. It’s as if he’s read my mind, and I’m desperately searching for something to say when he continues, “We’re here now. We’ve met. Neither one of us is getting any younger.”
All of the breath leaves my body in a sharp exhale of relief and embarrassment. I am an idiot. He is only reading lines from the play. I take a small step back and put a hand over my heart.
“Are you telling me I’m old?”
“You’re not young.”
“And you’re an ass.” I turn half away from him, take a step to the side. He intercepts me, puts a restraining hand on my arm.
“Lacey. Don’t be that way. I’m only saying—”
“What? Please. Enlighten me.” I infuse years of pent-up sarcasm into my voice.
Lance’s tone shifts to pleading. “Don’t be like that. I’m saying that you will be old. Someday. And maybe you’ll wish, when you’re rocking in a nursing home chair, that you’d said yes to something. Anything.” Lance takes a step closer so we are separated by no more than a breath. My eyes are drawn up again to meet his. “Say yes to me. That’s a start.”
I can see the dark stubble of whiskers along his jaw, a shaving nick on his chin. Can feel his breath on my face, warm, coffee scented. His eyes have tiny flecks of amber mixed into the blue, and they look startled, as if something about me has surprised him.
The moment shatters in a burst of applause.
“Nicely done, Lacey,” Lance says, bowing. He swings down off the stage with a flair, once again bypassing the stairs, to applause from the seats below.
Acting. It was all just acting. So why are my knees trembling, and why can’t I catch my breath? I manage to make it down the stairs and back to the safety of my seat. Val hugs me, laughing. “That was amazing! How am I supposed to follow that performance? Fess up. You’ve been in plays before!”
“It’s been so long, Val. In another life.”
“Total chemistry between you two,” Tara says. “That was awesome!”
“Will it burn if we touch you?” Bernie reaches behind Val and Tara and pokes at my shoulder, then shakes her fingers while making sizzling noises.
I press my palms against my hot cheeks, embarrassed but exhilarated, loving the easy camaraderie.