Twenty-One Roses: A Romance, page 18
Twenty-One Roses
The Memphis Players Book 1
Brooke St. James
Parkside Press
Copyright © 2023 Brooke St. James
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
About The Author
Books By This Author
Chapter 1
Bailey Collins
***
Memphis, Tennessee
Spring Break
April
Within minutes, I would come face-to-face with five of my best friends from back home in Memphis. It had been years since this happened. I moved away for college three years ago, and since then, my visits had been so sporadic and so oddly timed that it was the first time the entire group of us had gotten together since I left town. I had been in touch with all of them individually and seen them all when I had come home on different visits, but it had been far too long since we had all been together, sitting around the same table at a restaurant.
They were five of my closest friends, and I knew them through acting. I had been into musical theater since I was ten years old, and we had spent countless hours in each other's presence at rehearsals and shows. I currently lived in California where I had a whole new group of theater friends, but there was nothing like getting the old gang back together.
I could see my friends as I walked into the Italian restaurant. They were already in our regular booth—one of the two big, round ones in the back.
"Hello, welcome to Al Forno." The hostess smiled at me when she spoke, and I gestured toward my friends.
"Thank you. I see my friends. They're already here."
"Oh, are you sitting at Owen and Malcolm's table?" She straightened her hair.
I glanced her way when she said that. I tried to place her, but I had never seen her before. "Yes," I said, smiling even though everything about the encounter made me feel out-of-the-loop.
I could see the faces of Owen, Gina, and August when I glanced at the table. Sasha and Shep were there too, but they had their backs turned to me. August whistled when he saw me. We were in a crowded restaurant, and he shamelessly whistled a cat-call that made me shake my head and squint at him.
"Don't even," I mumbled, mouthing the words and looking straight at him, smiling as I walked that way to the table.
"You look hot," August said, once I made it there.
"Smokin' hot," Shep agreed, turning to look at me as he stood.
They were both lying, teasing me. They all moved as I came to stand at the side of the table. Shep and August were at the edges of the booth, and they both stood up to offer me a spot. The others moved and shifted in a brief moment of chaos as I greeted them.
I made eye contact with Sasha, who was August's sister and also my neighbor growing up. They were the ones who had gotten me into musical theater in the first place. Their parents had moved to a different house when we were in high school, so I didn't see them around the neighborhood anymore when I went home. I smiled at Sasha, and then I turned, staring into Shep's big, dark brown eyes. "The girl at the hostess stand called you Malcolm," I said to him.
He didn't have time to respond because August was standing right there, waiting for a hug. I leaned that way and embraced him. He was tall and bony, and felt nothing like Shep or Owen, but it was a nice, warm hug. I loved August. I loved all of these people. It was amazing to be back home. I sat down and got settled on Shep's side.
"That hostess comes to our shows," Shep explained.
"Yeah, she goes to all of them," Gina added. "I know her, I've seen her there. Her dad owns this place, and they're customers at the print shop."
Sasha nodded. "She calls Shep 'Malcolm' because he's using that name with his cast bio now. She only knows him from the shows, so she called him Malcolm right when she saw him."
I looked at Shep for an explanation, and he shrugged. "I'm not writing Shep Shepherd in the bio anymore," he said. "I get too many questions about it… why would your parents name you Shep if your last name is Shepherd?"
"People ask that?"
"Yes. Constantly."
"That's hilarious. They don't know it's a nickname because of your last name?"
"No. They don't," he said, dryly.
"It's funny that she only knows you as Malcolm. I had to think about it for a second when she first said that name. It sounded so impressive."
"Are you saying Shep's not impressive?" he asked, raising his eyebrow in a joking manner and making fun of his own nickname.
"Where have you been?" Gina asked, looking me over curiously.
She was the blonde-haired blue eyed version of me. She had a slightly higher vocal range to match her lighter hair and eyes.
She smiled, looking me over. "You only wear your hair in French braids if you're doing heavy labor."
I laughed and sat back in the booth so that I could flex my muscles. Gina was a year older than me, and we had always been supportive of each other yet still competitive. We had vied for some of the same roles over the years, but she was nothing but encouraging when I started getting scholarship offers. These five were my support system while I was in high school. Owen and I had even dated for a while.
We were all part of a large community theater company called the Memphis Players. It was an all-ages theater company, and we had been in countless plays together growing up. The Memphis Players put on three large shows a year, and all five of us had done most of them during our high school years. I was also a part of my high school drama club which put on two shows a year, but I always made time for the Memphis Players. Sometimes, I would be rehearsing for two shows at once, and then I would have to perform in them on back-to-back weekends.
I wasn't the only one at this table who ate, slept, and breathed theater. Most of the others in my company had done the same thing during high school. Our world revolved around the process—auditions, long hours, rehearsals, dancing, lines, and costumes. And then there was the all-consuming show week before the process started all over again.
There was hardly time to take in any glory or even realize there was glory associated with stage acting. The applause is great in the moment, and I loved the reaction of a good crowd during a performance, but honestly, my life was so one-thing-after-another with theater, that I didn't think much of people's reaction to my acting. It was always just time to get on to the next thing.
"How has it been two years since we've seen you?" Sasha asked.
"Owen, Shep, and I saw her last Christmas, you guys were just out of town," Gina said.
"Did you do manual labor today?" Sasha asked, staring at me.
I smiled and reached up to blindly straighten my hair and tuck it into my braids. "I did. That's why August was so kindly telling me how hot I looked when I walked up."
"I meant that," August defended. "I think you look amazing in Froanch braids," he said, saying the word funny.
"I, on the other hand, was making fun of you," Shep said, causing everyone to laugh.
I rolled my eyes at him, and he winked. Confidence oozed out of Malcolm Shepherd—almost as much as it oozed out of Owen Atkinson. Owen, however, because of the brief relationship we had during high school, didn’t tease me about my level of hotness when I walked up. I was thankful for that.
"I thought you guys would recognize my good ole work shirt," I said, looking down at the turquoise t-shirt I was wearing. It was tucked into shorts because there was dirt on the bottom of it.
"I remember it," Gina said.
I nodded. "I had to help my parents at the flower shop this morning."
Gina cleared her throat. "We have something to ask you, Bailey."
"Ginaaa," Owen said.
"Just ask her," Gina urged.
I looked around at all of them. "What in the world? Just ask me."
"Brandon wants us to ask you to do a special show with us," Owen said.
"This summer," Sasha added. "A summer show."
My gaze shot to Owen.
I had a job in California. I worked on campus at a coffee shop, and I couldn't quit or take that much time off. I needed the money. There was no way I could take enough time off to come home and do a play—that would take months. Three or four days was the longest I had been home in the last three years, since I went off to college. Even now, this spring break trip was a total of four days.
"This summer? I can't. I have bills and stuff, and my boss is depending on me to work through summer. I wish I could, I really do."
"I told you," Owen said, sitting back in the booth and not looking at me.
"What did you expect? I've been gone for three years."
"Brandon has been wanting to direct you and Owen as 'Ariel and Ren' in Footloose for his whole life," Gina said in an unamused tone. "He can't get the two of you out of his head."
"Then surely he can wait one more year," I said, hopefully. "I'd love to do Footloose. If I don't get some insane job offer in California, then I'm going to be coming home next summer for good, anyway. I graduate next May."
"That's too late," Sasha said, shaking her head.
I shrugged. "Too late for what?"
"Brandon's moving. His dad died, and he left him a house in Florida. He's going to be gone by next summer—relocated. This summer is his last show in Memphis, ever."
"Who's going to direct the company when he moves?" I asked, feeling taken aback by that news. Brandon Boyd had been the one and only director at Memphis Players since I had been there. He had different co-directors and different creative teams over the years, but Brandon was the man—he was the heartbeat of Memphis Players.
"We don't know yet," Owen said.
"He's moving?" I asked, staring blankly at the table and feeling shocked.
"Yes, and this summer show is his last one," Sasha said again.
"Hello, I'm Autumn," the server said, coming up to our table as I was zoned out. She set a cup of water in front of me. "Is there anything else I can bring you to drink?"
"No, thank you," I said. "I'll have some coffee later, though."
She smiled and looked around. "I'll start a fresh pot for you. Have you guys decided what you'd like to order, or do you need a minute?"
"We'll take a large cheese pizza, a large supreme, and an appetizer basket, and you can just bring them out at the same time." Owen had grown up with money, and he always ordered more than he wanted and planned on sharing.
"Can we also get some garlic bread real quick, please?" Sasha asked. "I'm starving."
"Would you like me to bring it out now?"
"Sure," Sasha said with a nod.
"I'll actually go ahead with the coffee whenever you get it brewed," I said, thinking about Brandon and feeling stunned.
Two others, Gina and Shep, both agreed that they wanted coffee as well.
The server nodded and jotted everything down. "I'll be back in a moment with your garlic bread and those coffees."
"You know Brandon's always fantasized about you and Owen growing up and playing those roles," Shep said, barely giving the lady time to walk away. "You know he's got a thing for Footloose. That's why he's doing it for his last show."
It was the absolute truth. Brandon loved the movie and the musical. It was no secret that Footloose was on his list of top five musicals of all time. He had said before that he always wanted to direct Owen and I in those roles, but I moved away once we were old enough.
"I'm surprised he's not here," I said.
"He wanted to be. He's sick. He came down with a sore throat yesterday."
"Last night, he ran Wonka rehearsals from Tori's phone. She held it and Facetimed him the whole time, and he watched from bed—sounding like a zombie."
"From bed? He's such a control freak. You guys could run rehearsal without him."
"I know," Sasha said. "But the whole show is already sold out, and he's freaking out."
"It's already sold out?" I asked, blinking.
"Yes," Gina said. "The last two shows we did had sold-out crowds."
"I knew you had sold out some shows lately, but I didn't realize it was multiple nights. I didn't know the whole spring show was already sold out. Willy Wonka? That's still a few weeks away."
"It's completely sold out," Sasha said, shaking her head like she couldn't believe it either. "Me and my other little Oompa Loompas might have to get ourselves painted orange for a sixth show, if Brandon decides to add another one."
"Yeah, he's talking about adding Wednesday night, which is obviously our dress rehearsal, so we're going to have to figure something out with that—reconfigure the schedule. I don't know if it'll work out. He's scrambling to do all that right now while he's sick. Everything sold out, though, and we're really trying to accommodate him to make this all as big as possible because he's leaving after the next one."
"So, he's going to do this show and one more, and then he's done in Memphis… he's moving?"
"Yes," August agreed. "Wonka, then Footloose, and that's it. He's leaving."
Chapter 2
Within a few minutes, our server was back with coffee and breadsticks.
I stared at my friends as we dug in—they had all turned into adults since we had last been together. I felt sad, but then I felt inspired and nostalgic, knowing I should make these moments expand and continue as much as I possibly could.
"I don't have a play this summer," I said.
"I knew she was going to do it," Shep said, slapping his hands together in an excited gesture.
"But, no, listen, I have work," I said. "Even if I could take off work and come here for that length of time, I have bills. I still have things to figure out, money-wise. My parents can't pay for me to come here. They're used to me paying my own bills."
"Don't they need your help at the flower shop?" Sasha asked, around a bite of her breadstick.
"Yes, they do, and technically it's a job, but I have a much more comfortable job in California. When I move back here after college, I won't work for my parents, but with this type of thing, only coming home for a summer, I feel like I would need to work there."
"Yesssssss!" August said, pumping his fist. "You're, you're, you're doing it. I knew you would!"
Owen sat back and shifted in his seat, looking upward in a resigned gesture as if his future had just been changed negatively by this decision.
"I did not say I was doing it, first of all, and second, Owen doesn't even want me to." I motioned toward him. He was sitting back in the booth, not looking at me.
"It's not that. It's just that I knew you weren't saying you'd do it. You probably won't, and they get all excited and start acting like you're agreeing to it."
There was a lot to think about. It wasn't certain that I had the lead role in the bag. I knew Brandon Boyd well enough to know that I would have to go through the audition and callback process just like everyone else. There was a chance that I could do all this and rearrange my life and end up playing a supporting role. More than a few times in my theater journey, I had been cast in a supporting role when I fully expected to get the lead. But I loved Brandon, and I hated knowing that he would no longer be in Memphis when I graduated and came home from UC Berkeley next year. All of these thoughts swirled around in my head as I sat there. I absentmindedly doctored my coffee, staring into the mug.
"I'm happy if they get excited about me auditioning," I said, glancing at Owen. "I'm thankful that you guys brought me here to ask me this. I'm putting some serious thought into it right now. Did Brandon specifically say that I would… what about Kennedy and Anne-Marie? Are they auditioning?"
These were both women in their early twenties who would be serious contenders for this role. Gina and maybe even Sasha would be in the running for it also, and we all knew it.
"Brandon would give you the part," Owen said pragmatically. "And he wants to do the play at the Blackbird."
"What Blackbird?" I asked.
Owen looked at me like it was obvious. "The Blackbird Theater."
My eyes widened because the Blackbird was a Memphis institution. It was an old opera house that was restored back to its former glory and then some. It was the place to go in Memphis to see concerts and shows—a gorgeous, vintage-looking, ornate theater with reds and golds, a place that made you feel like royalty, just stepping inside. It was a bucket-list experience waiting to happen. I had been on the stage before, a couple of times. Once when the Fairchild Foundation was holding an exhibition. Both times were quick. I had never even come close to performing a whole show there. It was a venue that was way out of reach of the Memphis Players.
"No one knows if that will happen yet," Shep said.
"It probably won't," Owen said. "I'm nervous about it. Brandon's sick. It's all in our hands, basically, and we don't know what we're doing. Daniel Fairchild is an intimidating man."
