Page 25 of Twelve Days and Twelfth Night

Frank gave her a thumbs-up, and Maggie beckoned to the cast in the second truck. As the players entered the theater, Frank led Ria toward his office in the administration building so they could schedule the shows and the busing of sailors and soldiers and Marines from the many bases in San Diego. And from the convalescent hospital wards.

Eyeing the retreating forms of Frank and Ria, Maggie strolled to the first truck.

Vi hopped out, her attention fixed on the theater. “It’s charming.”

“It is.” Maggie smiled at her friend’s delight and in her own delight at the joyful opening night awaiting that friend.

Inside, she showed the cast backstage to the dressing rooms to change into practice clothes, then she set up camp in the third row of the theater and organized her papers.

After the cast came onstage, Maggie clapped to get their attention. “This morning, we won’t practice songs or routines or scenes from the play. We’ll just work on blocking. Who moves where and when? Where will you store props or costume accessories? I’d like to block the whole show before lunch, then do two full run-throughs this afternoon. Let’s get started. Everyone exit either stage left or stage right—wherever you are for ‘Winter Wonderland.’”

The cast parted like oil and vinegar and disappeared into the wings.

“The band stops playing,” Maggie said. “The curtains open, and Prescott enters.”

He did so, wearing brown trousers and a short-sleeved sports shirt of autumn gold. In the sunshine, would the color bring out flecks of gold in his brown eyes?

Maggie shook herself. She was a director, not a fan.

“Emcee talk, winking, smiling, more emcee talk.” Prescott stopped center stage as the cast’s laughter drifted from backstage. “Introduce our partridge in a pear tree.”

“Perfect.” Maggie loved seeing him relaxed and comfortable.

As Vi entered, Prescott exited with a grand gesture to his leading lady.

“‘White Christmas,’” Vi said, rocking back and forth as if swinging, and then flitted away.

Prescott returned. “Maggie, perhaps I should sing ‘Winter Wonderland’ after all, since the blocking depends on the lyrics.”

A moment to think, and she nodded. At this point in the show, she wanted to feature the entire cast, but the small stage had created a challenge.

At Barbara’s suggestion, two couples at a time would tap dance onstage, perform vignettes corresponding to the lyrics, and exit, some couples crossing left to right upstage, others right to left downstage, creating circular motion around Prescott as he sang.

“When I clap three times, stop so we can find your marks,” Maggie called. “Ready? One, two, three, four.”

Prescott launched into the song with his voice of midnight blue velvet, rich and sonorous. Two couples sashayed out from opposite sides of the stage, taps clicking the floorboards. Maggie clapped three times and directed the couples to create a pleasing diagonal line across the stage. She clapped again, and the number resumed.

The routine was rough, but vignettes played out with Jack as a snowman and Albert as Parson Brown, and the number promised to be fun and playful.

As each couple passed Prescott, he gave them wistful looks, as if a lonely heart waiting for his own turtle dove, until at last Vi entered. She and Prescott twirled together, singing the final chorus in harmony, Vi’s hair flying in a golden wing as her head lolled back in bliss.

If only Maggie could dance with Prescott like that.

She puffed out a breath, puffed away the silly flash of jealousy.

But was it jealousy? Or concern for three friends?

How could Vi resist Prescott? Or Prescott resist Vi? If they fell in love, what would happen when Vi was reunited with Frank?

Such potential for heartbreak.

Maggie winced as the couple sang the final notes. Perhaps she shouldn’t delay that reunion. Or did her hastiness stem from a desire to keep Prescott for herself—as if that were even possible?

After Vi floated offstage, Prescott added a trace of mischief to his smile. “Introduce Twelfth Night. Say that Shakespeare will turn them from sailors to gentlemen.”

Maggie laughed, as all worries melted in the warmth of his smile.

The cool air felt good, especially on the left side of Prescott’s face, since scar tissue couldn’t sweat.