Amanda was actually waiting outside of school when Pippa came out squealing in delight. “I got the part!!!” It was both amazing and surreal, since Amanda had come out squealing through the same door on more than one occasion decades before. She kept the reminiscence to herself, not wanting either to encroach on Pippa’s moment or to see the obligatory eye roll if she did. Mandy was thrilled for Pippa, and more than a little thrilled for herself as well. The first parent volunteer meeting was scheduled for the next day, and Mandy decided to arrive early to pitch “The Bard”—as everyone referred to the teacher who ran the Shakespeare troupe—on why she would make the perfect assistant director. She was over the moon at the thought of being back in a theater.
Stepping into the high school auditorium the next day for the parent meeting was an epic trip down memory lane. Aside from a new curtain and the seats having been reupholstered a strange shade of purple, nothing much had changed. She was flooded with theater club memories of running lines, belting out songs, taking curtain calls, and having her first crush. It wasn’t Curly or Jud she was thinking about while singing “I’m just a girl who cain’t say no” but the dashing high school drama teacher, Mr. Barr. He arrived just days after Amanda had officially sworn off high school boys, and unlike his hundred-year-old predecessor, he had all the girls swooning. But none more than Amanda, who immediately directed all of her teen angst toward her new unrequited love.
He must be long retired from here, she thought.
At that very same moment, as if she’d conjured him, there he was. Mr. Barr. Making his way across the stage with his familiar stride and surprisingly still thick wavy hair.
Even more surprising was her reaction. Her knees wobbled at the sight of him, just as they had decades before. Her first thought was, This is crazy; her second, I have to get the hell out of here. As she turned to do so, his baritone voice echoed through the auditorium.
“Hello, hello. Are you here for the volunteer meeting? You’re a few minutes early. I’m setting up the chairs if you want to start volunteering now!” He laughed. His laugh was familiar, too. He had that theatrical tone to everything that came out of his mouth. She approached the stage, so she wouldn’t need to shout. On the way up, butterflies of excitement danced in her belly. What the hell? she thought. I will just sign up for snacks and be on my way.
He recognized her immediately, shouting, “Amanda Williams?” while springing off the stage to greet her. He threw his arms wide open for what she thought was a setup for a hug but turned out to be a two-handed shoulder embrace—the kind usually followed by the refrain, “My, my, look how you’ve grown!” He still sees me like a kid, she laughed to herself, and at herself. She gave him the once-over right back.
He was older now, of course, with deep lines shooting out from the corners of his blue eyes and streaks of gray now salting his signature locks. It all worked well—really well. Men have it so easy in the aging department, she thought, suddenly self-conscious. He let go of her shoulders, though she wished his hands had lingered there a bit longer.
Sign up for the snacks, Amanda, her brain begged her libido.
“How have you been?” he asked.
“Good, good, and you?”
“Still teaching at Hudson,” he answered in a tone that wandered between pride and indignation.
“That’s just incredible,” Mandy said. “My daughter is Pippa Cole, you cast her as Isabella. Thank you!”
“Oh, wow! I see the resemblance now. She’s talented and a sweet kid, just like her mom.”
Amanda laughed to herself—all that flirting she had done, and he never even noticed. Now on the other end of it, with her daughter under his tutelage, she was happy for his obliviousness.
“I’ve followed your career over the years.”
She was immediately embarrassed, sure he was going to bring up the infamous shampoo commercial that she’d starred in at the very beginning of her time in Hollywood. It had become a cult classic of sorts. For years she would walk into an audition and the casting people would mock her notorious line, “I can’t see you tonight, Tommy. I’m washing my hair!” By the time SNL did a sketch about it, she was barely castable. If it were now, she would most definitely be a meme. She braced herself for it. He surprised her.
“I loved what you did in Angelino Heights. It was the first time I had seen one of my protégées on the big screen.”
“Did” was a bit of a reach, she thought. Amanda’s first movie was a bit part in a Carson Cole film in which she played a waitress standing outside an LA coffee shop. She had to ask for a light for her cigarette without using words. She rehearsed what she considered to be an intimate act between strangers—placing your hand on top of theirs as they direct the flame to yours—over and over again.
Mr. Barr may have been the only one who remembered her for that, but she certainly remembered it well. It had been a direct result of meeting Carson. She’d been waiting tables at the Polo Lounge, a storied restaurant for Hollywood types. She’d stepped outside for a smoke, a habit she had only taken up for the break it provided. (At the time it seemed like anyone who didn’t smoke didn’t get one.) The charismatic Carson Cole came out, asked her for a light, and said, “I just read a script with this exact scene in it. You’re not an actress, are you?”
He probably had the scene written in after the fact, but at the time she was obsessed with romantic comedies and thought of it as their fateful, meet-cute moment. He gave her that small part and came to see it filmed. They started dating. During her second film, when Carson noticed the leading man take an interest in her, he made it official. They were married in Vegas that weekend.
Amanda recognized that it was an unbalanced relationship from the beginning. He was a big Hollywood producer and she was a struggling actress with two bit parts to her credit and one television commercial that did more harm than good. But Carson had a funny side to him that made her laugh, and a sweetness that he seemed to share only with her—until he no longer bothered to.
“Do you act anymore?” Mr. Barr asked, hopefully.
She didn’t. Carson felt very strongly that two parents in the business wasn’t good for the kids. She agreed with the decision. Truth was, she didn’t have the backbone for rejection and hated the alternative idea of Carson handing her a career that she didn’t deserve. The fallout from the shampoo commercial had really done a number on her.
“No, I haven’t acted since Pippa was born,” she answered without further explanation. “But I’m thinking about getting back into it,” she added, surprising herself.
“I don’t know if you read the volunteer form, but I’m looking for an assistant director. Any interest in getting back, behind the scenes?”
Interest is not the problem, she thought. She really wanted to say yes. It was just what she needed, being back in the theater, that is, not fulfilling a high school fantasy with her daughter’s teacher.
“If I remember, we collaborated quite well back in the day—things haven’t changed much since you played Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice,” he added, encouragingly.
“Pride and Prejudice: The Musical!” she corrected him.
“Of course.” And with his best attempt at imitating seventeen-year-old Amanda, sang, “Nothing rhymes with Darcy. I wish the British spoke Farsi.”
Amanda blushed. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“Are you kidding me? You had to know you were one of my favorite students. You were such a good kid.”
Since it was obvious that her crush had been one-sided, clearly she could control herself and be his assistant. Other parent volunteers began to trickle in, and he amped up his plea. “It would be great if I can start off the meeting announcing my new assistant director. You can’t imagine how many parents falsely think they are qualified for the job. You’d be doing me a big favor.”
It would be wrong to say no to a favor, thought her brain and her libido.
“OK. I’m in!”
He smiled. She melted. They exchanged cell phone numbers, and it was the first time in a very long while that she found herself looking forward to something on her own behalf.