Carrying a couple of aromatic paper bags, Trevor nodded. “Hi, yourself.”
“Here, let me take one of those. We can eat in the kitchen.”
He followed close on her heels as she led the way. “I’m glad you were free,” he said.
Setting the bag on the table, she shrugged ruefully. “I seem to have a lot more free time than I’m used to these days.”
“Sounds as though you’re already getting tired of small-town life.”
She lifted an eyebrow in response to something she heard in his voice. He seemed to be expecting her to agree with him. “Not really,” she said. “It’s just taking me a while to figure out what to do with my time this summer. Actually, something just came up that sounds interesting.”
“Oh?” He dug into a bag and pulled out a paper-wrapped sandwich, his voice casual. “What’s that?”
“Earlene Smithee called earlier this morning. She’s been contemplating starting a community theater group and she wanted to know if I would be interested in sharing my expertise. She has several acquaintances who want to get involved, but they don’t know how.”
“Community theater?” He looked at her curiously then. “Would you really be interested in getting into something like that?”
“Why not? It might be fun.”
“Hmm. And it might be a bunch of aging beauty pageant queens like Earlene who just want a chance to get back in the spotlight.”
“You’ve just pretty well described most community theater groups,” she informed him with a chuckle. “They’re generally made up of volunteers who always secretly dreamed of acting, but never quite had the courage to pursue it.”
“Or the talent,” he suggested, thinking of Earlene.
She shrugged. “That, too, of course. But the right director can put
even limited talent to use with the right script and enough hard work.”
“The right director meaning you?”
“I wouldn’t mind directing a play for them. It wouldn’t be that much different than working with my students.”
“Except that your students are required to do what you tell them. Earlene’s never been very good at following directions. And what if April Penny decides she wants to join? You know she and Earlene hate each other. Could you handle it if they got into a hair-pulling fight over a part?”
“You really do underestimate me, don’t you? Must I remind you I’ve worked in New York? I’ve seen soap opera starlets try to claw each other’s eyes out because one was certain the other was trying to up-stage her. I’ve heard them call each other names that would turn your hair white. April and Earlene are amateurs when it comes to true divahood.”
“‘Divahood’?” Trevor repeated the phrase with a quizzical smile. “Is that what it’s called?”
“That’s what I call it.”
“And do you consider yourself a diva?”
She laughed. “I’m afraid I never qualified. Only the big stars—soap, stage or film—can be considered true divas. I was just that nice young character actor with the big eyes and the funny accent.”
“Is that how you saw yourself?”
“That’s how the casting people saw me.”
She pulled two plates out of a cabinet and set them on the table, smiling to show him that she had long since learned to accept her fate. She might have worked harder, longer, more fiercely, but the chances of her ever becoming a big star had been slim. She could have made a steady, even generous, income in New York, or in Los Angeles, but she’d finally realized that there was an emptiness inside her that could only be filled by coming back here and dealing once and for all with her past.
Trevor McBride had been very much a part of that past, whether he was aware of it or not.
“So you’re going to start a community theater.” He still seemed to find that hard to believe.
“Sounds like it. Want to join? I can see you wearing a torn T-shirt and yelling, ‘Stella!”’
He gave her a look that made her giggle. “I don’t think so.”