Tom’s impromptu private tasting had put me behind schedule. I went outside to find Lance and confirm the timing for the first round of appetizers and drinks. The gates would open an hour prior to curtain to allow time for everyone to grab a glass of wine, have a bite to eat, and mingle. There would be no service during the performance, but we would refill the tables once the show started so that theatergoers could help themselves to more small bites and wine refreshers during intermission.
I weaved along the stone pathway between the house and the barn. Solar lights would illuminate the walkway later. Bees hummed on wild bunches of lavender and rosemary. A garden snake darted between my feet before disappearing into the grassy outdoor tasting area.
Inside the barn, most of the cast had dispersed for hair and makeup. Jimmy remained onstage with two members of the crew.
“Ed, you’re going to get me killed,” Jimmy said to a guy wearing classic stagehand attire—black slacks, black work boots, and a black T-shirt that read CREW.
“Dude, you missed your mark and tripped.” The guy, who I assumed must be Ed, ripped off a strip of duct tape that he used to secure a cord on the stage.
“I’m Jimmy Paxton. I don’t miss my marks, Ed,” Jimmy shot back in a piercing tone.
Ed sniggered. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”
A young woman, also wearing a CREW T-shirt, handed Ed a pair of scissors. “Actually, Ed, he didn’t. I was watching the timing, and it was perfect, Jimmy. Flawless.” She shot Jimmy a shy smile. “You’re brilliant. You never miss a beat, Jimmy.”
“Of course, you would say that.” Ed rolled his eyes and stuffed the scissors in his toolbelt. “We need more electrical tape. It’s in the van, can you go get it?”
The woman gave Jimmy a wistful look. She flipped her long ponytail and started to move toward the side of the stage.
“Hey, stay where you are. I’m not going to let him treat you like that.” Jimmy strolled toward her in one fluid motion, like a prey animal about to pounce. “Ed, is that any way to speak to the women on the crew? I thought we were more evolved than having the ladies grab us coffee.”
Ed yanked another piece of tape with force, his eyes locked onto Jimmy. “Sophie is the assistant set designer. If I need tape, she gets the tape. It has nothing to do with her gender. It’s her job.”
“Sorry, Soph, some people are just stuck in the Dark Ages.” Jimmy put his arm around her, pulling her tight to his chest.
Her cheeks flushed with color as she smiled up at him with a doe-like gaze.
“Sophie, the tape.” Ed pointed to the van. “Now. We’re running behind.”
Jimmy squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll catch up and get cozy after the show, babes.”
Sophie bobbed her head. “That would be great. I’ll wait for you. I’ll make you a plate of snacks. I’m sure you’ll be famished by then. You put everything you are onto the stage. It must be so draining.”
I cringed.
Ed looped the roll of industrial tape over his wrist and then ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. I didn’t blame him.
What did Sophie see in Jimmy?
I mean, I knew he was the star of The Taming of the Shrew, but aside from that, his personality was anything but charming, and he was the last person on the planet (short of maybe Richard Lord, Ashland’s self-appointed king and my personal nemesis) who should be giving a lecture on misogyny.
Sophie hurried off to find the tape.
“If anything goes wrong on the set tonight,” Jimmy said, sticking a finger in Ed’s face, “it’s on you. Everyone will know you did it.”
“Did what?” Ed knelt and started hammering a nail into the stage.
I glanced around for Lance. Where was he?
“Tried to kill me,” Jimmy shouted, looking directly at me.
I gasped, even though it was obvious that was exactly the reaction Jimmy was looking for.
“You are entirely too much, man. Entirely.” Ed pounded the floorboard.
Jimmy puffed out his chest and towered over him, egging him on. “Hey, you want to go? You want to fight?”
Ed tucked the hammer into his tool belt and stood. “Don’t tempt me. That’s a fight you wouldn’t win.”
I was about to say something in hopes that I might defuse the situation, but Lance appeared on the side of the stage. He immediately commanded a graceful control, strolling up the stairs as if he had all the time in the world. He cleared his throat as he clapped his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I hope I’m not interrupting, but you’re late for makeup, Jimmy. They need you—now. Olive made adjustments to your costume, and she said it would take at least twenty to thirty minutes to get you fitted.”
Jimmy made one last thrust at Ed. Then he gently smoothed his expertly coifed hair and strolled off the stage toward the house.
For the run of the show, the actors would change and get in hair and makeup in the house, where the upstairs rooms had been transformed into dressing rooms. They would stay there until everyone was seated. Then they would return during intermission. Lance didn’t want them to break character or be seen coming and going from the house by the audience members. Fortunately, Lance’s vision for the show didn’t involve any elaborate costume changes like some of his previous productions at OSF. The dressers for those performances had their own intricate choreography behind the curtain that rivaled anything patrons saw on the stage.
“We have to maintain authenticity even if we don’t have the same level of sets, underground tunnels, and back exits here,” he had said during one of our early brainstorming meetings.
Using the house was no problem. We wouldn’t open the tasting room, since the food and drinks were being served outside, so as long as the show ran on schedule, the audience should be none the wiser.
Ed flipped the roll of tape like a circus performer warming up for their opening act. “Lance, you’ve got to do something about that kid. He’s going to tank the show intentionally. I wouldn’t put past him to pull a stunt tonight that gets him or another member of the cast in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” Lance asked, reaching down to hand Ed a nail that fell out of his pocket.
I couldn’t hear what Ed was saying, but from the way he pointed to Jimmy’s mark and then to the steep drop-off at the edge of the stage, I caught his gist.
Lance seemed like he managed to calm Ed down, and by the time Sophie returned with an armful of electric tape, the mood was lighter.
I waited for him to finish giving Ed and Sophie final instructions before wandering over to him. “How’s everything going?”
He threw his hand to his forehead. “Burning up. Or perhaps I should say that I’m ready to burn it all to the ground.”
“Please don’t do that. Carlos has poured his blood, sweat, and tears into the vineyard. He would be devastated. So would you.” I pointed above us to the strands of golden twinkle lights wrapped around each roof beam and then to the potted boxwood trees covered with more lights flanking either side of the stage. “Your vision has come true. Everything looks amazing. The food and wine are good to go. It’s going to be a spectacular night.”
“Thanks for the pep talk. You’re right, but now I have to keep my cast from ripping each other to shreds.” He jumped down from the stage. “Shall we walk back to the house?”
I looped my arm through his. “Yeah. I happened to see the exchange between Jimmy and Ed.”
Lance fanned his face. “I thought we could get away with keeping him in the show tonight, but now I’m not sure.”
“Is there anything else you can do?”
“No, it’s too late. His understudy is stuck in Mexico. His flight got canceled. You know how small the Medford airport is. He won’t be back until sometime tomorrow at best. We’re such a small operation we don’t have swings or standbys. Unless it’s me, and trust me, I’ve been giving the thought some serious consideration.” He tapped his chest and pressed his lips together in a frown.
“Wait. What? You might step in or Jimmy?” I couldn’t contain my surprise.
“It’s not my first choice, but as you know, the show must go on. If duty calls…” He trailed off.
We stopped at the food tables. It looked like a scene from Alice in Wonderland. Pretty pink platters of sweets and bunches of wildflowers mixed in with tea lights and greenery. The bucolic countryside stretched as far as my eye could see.
“I overheard Ed say something about Jimmy potentially sabotaging the show,” I said, catching a flash of a baby bunny’s little white cottontail near the giant oak tree. “I don’t get it. Why would he do that? Doesn’t he want this role?”
“Who knows? He’s unhinged.” Lance swiped a cherry macaron with almond buttercream and cherry preserves from the dessert table. “I’d like to rip his head off, if you want to know the truth, but for now I just need to get through opening night. Come tomorrow, I’ll have a new plan. He’s skating on thin, thin ice.” He tore off a piece of the French cookie with his teeth. “Or, should I say on thin icing?”
I chuckled. “Hey, at least you still have your sense of humor.”
“That’s all I have at the moment,” he muttered through a mouthful of the macaron.
“Do you think Jimmy’s behind the mishaps during rehearsals? You mentioned the play being cursed. Is it him? Could he be stealing costumes and messing with the set and props?” I asked as we walked toward the house. I had to be intentional about each step, careful not to squish the western fence lizards sunning themselves on the path.
“I would put money on it. But, as you mentioned, I don’t understand his motivation unless he’s gone full method with his embodiment of Petruchio.”
“Could that be it?” I knew that Lance had worked with a handful of actors over the years who took their craft so seriously that they became the characters they were playing on the stage during the show’s run.
“He’s not the type. And if he is method, he has work to do. As you’ll soon see, my take on Petruchio is an update from the Bard’s sexist beast. Jimmy is an utter buffoon in our production, but my notes have never included being nasty to everyone he encounters.” Lance paused as he polished off the last bite of the macaron. “No, there’s more to the story that I can’t seem to grasp.”
“How is he onstage?”
“A dream. A delight. Funny. Impeccable timing.” Lance threw his hands up in desperation. “He’s a conundrum, that one.” He stopped in front of the porch. “I’m going to check upstairs to see how hair and makeup are faring with him. Is there anything else you need from me before the curtain rises, metaphorically?”
“Actually, yes. I want to make sure we’re set for timing.” I pulled out my notes and reviewed them quickly. I didn’t want our supporting role to throw off his staging. There were many similarities with putting on a production like Taming of the Shrew and catering a feast. Instead of costume changes and perfectly timed marks and special effects, in the kitchen we had the ovens down to a science, ensuring that wood-fire pizzas and ham and cheese hand pies were served piping hot. Just as a choreographer planned dance routines, my team meticulously organized every minute of tonight’s service, preparing, baking, and plating dishes simultaneously with fluidity.
“It looks good. Just reiterate to your staff that patrons are not to be anywhere in the vicinity of the house and tasting room during the performance. As long as we keep this pathway clear and keep people in their seats, we should be fine.”
“Not a problem.”
He kissed my cheeks. “I’m off, then, darling. Ta-ta.”
“Break legs,” I called after him. I wished there was something more I could do. I knew how hard Lance had worked to get the Fair Verona Players off the ground. It was stressful enough to launch a new theater experience without your lead trying to tank the show.
The one thing that I could control was the food. Even if things went wrong on the stage, the appetizers and desserts would be perfect tonight. I could guarantee at least that much.