Page 29 of Twelve Days and Twelfth Night

Scene 3—the comedic trio of Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria. Carol possessed the wit and timing for Maria’s role. If only she’d learned her lines. Maggie gave her another gentle reminder.

Then the fourth scene, between Duke Orsino and Viola disguised as Cesario. Thinking her a man, Orsino confessed his love for Olivia, but Viola was already pining for the duke.

Such palpable chemistry between Prescott and Vi. Was it based in reality?

What about Frank?

Perhaps Maggie should try to keep Prescott and Vi apart.

That would be the worst sort of meddling, the selfish sort, the jealous sort. Because her affection for Prescott grew deeper each day.

Maggie squeezed her eyes shut and prayed. Tried to listen. So difficult when she had so much to say.

“Maggie?” Prescott said. “Did we put you to sleep?”

She opened her eyes to see Prescott and Vi grinning at her. She smiled back. “Excellent. All right, scene 5. Lots of movement. Lots of humor. Let’s be lively.”

As the final scene finished, Prescott held Vi in his arms. Thank goodness there was no kissing in this play. He didn’t miss that part of Hollywood.

Maggie rose in her dark blue suit. “Much better. That’s all for today. Ladies, please be at the club tomorrow at nine o’clock sharp. Practice your lines.” But she was speaking to the cast members’ backs as they dispersed, chattering about plans for the evening.

Did Maggie have plans? Prescott gathered his script and bag. Frank Sebastian looked awful young for Maggie, but looks could be deceiving. And it was none of his business.

“Prescott? Vi?” Maggie beckoned them closer. “Would you like to join my grandfather and me for dinner? Just tuna casserole, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.” Vi’s gaze skittered to the door. “I had plans with Carol.”

Practicing Carol’s lines, Prescott hoped.

“That’s all right.” Maggie’s smile turned sheepish. “Prescott? Grandpa would love it.”

He should leap at the chance to get a leg up on sailor boy, but why bother? Maggie cared for him only as a friend, as the star of her show. And he had planned to write after dinner. He wanted to finish the first act in his script before tomorrow’s meeting with Melvin.

“I understand.” Maggie’s smile stretched too wide. “The hotel serves far fancier fare.”

How could he disappoint her? Or himself? And he’d never tried tuna casserole. “I’d be happy to join you.”

With the cast gone, Maggie motioned him inside. “I like this recipe because it’s fast if I cook it on the stove. It’s better baked, but at least I have all the ingredients. That’s the hard part about working full time. No time to shop or cook. I’m sorry. I’m babbling.”

“Not at all.” He loved her babbling.

Maggie led him down a narrow hall past three shut doors, bed and bath, most likely, past the kitchen door, and into the living room, with a couch, two armchairs, a radio cabinet, and a fireplace. Compact and cozy and unlike tenements and mansions, the only homes he’d known.

“Grandpa, Prescott’s staying for dinner.”

“Great.” The older gentleman wrestled with canes beside his armchair.

“No need to stand.” Prescott took the seat Maggie showed him on an old-fashioned couch. After Maggie went to the kitchen, he smiled at Mr. Curtis. “How long have you lived here?”

“Thirty years. Worked with the builder to make this place just the way I wanted.”

“Grandpa owned a hardware store. He’s very handy.” Maggie peeked through a window-like opening in the wall between kitchen and living room. “See? He designed this so he could talk to Grandma while she cooked. Isn’t that sweet?”

“Very.” Prescott’s smile dipped as Mr. Curtis spun a gold wedding ring on his finger. “How long has she been gone?”

Mr. Curtis blew out a sigh. “Four years now. Tuberculosis.”

“I’m sorry. You must miss her very much.”