The three of them sat around talking for a while after that, but the discussion was more casual. The Ammermans talked about winemaking and told some funny stories about their customers, and Brett countered with some tales from his theater experiences. After a while it got to be noon, and Samantha produced a tasty lunch she’d made up earlier, warmed in the microwave in the office. The two had Brett try some samples of their wines, which didn’t seem bad to his distinctly non-wine connoisseur tastes. “It’s sure different from Boone’s Farm,” was about the best constructive comment he could make.

“Boone’s Farm has its place,” Marty chuckled. “After all, I remember a particularly good evening back when we were teenagers a good many years ago with a couple of bottles of it. That was a special night, wasn’t it, Samantha?”

“Oh, don’t start telling that story,” she snorted, blushing a little in the process. “I have to admit, it really relieved me of my inhibitions, but I sure had second thoughts about it in the morning. It all worked out for the best, though.”

Even though nothing more was said, it didn’t take Brett much to figure out what must have happened, especially if a back seat or something had been involved.

Over the course of the next two or three hours, a handful of customers came in. Samantha was mostly the one to handle them, and Brett could see she was good at salesmanship, good at figuring out what her customers really wanted.

All in all, it was a pretty enjoyable few hours. Brett had quickly come to like the Ammermans and thought they had interesting lives for being semi-retired. True, Samantha came across as a somewhat pompous twit, but it could have been an act since it was clear that she was just about as smart as her husband. Marty was sharp as a tack; it was clear that he didn’t let much grass grow under his feet.

It was getting along in the afternoon before Brett decided he’d better get back on the road if he was going to get home before dark. The Ammermans were nice enough to give him a couple of twenties to cover his gas, and along with that they threw in half a case of Curlew Creek Niagara Blanche that he had particularly liked. Since Brett wasn’t much of a wine drinker he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with it – it was nearly a lifetime supply for him – but he figured he could break it out at a cast party down at the Heatherwood. Since the wine at those kinds of parties tended to run toward screw-top if not box, it might cause something of a stir. That would be fun.

Finally, he got going. He drove out of the winery, crossed the bridge, and headed up toward the steep section of the road, noticing what had to have been Marty and Samantha’s place. It was an older farmhouse, well kept, and he wondered what it might be like inside. It might be he’d find out sometime, if not soon.

As he went up the rough, curvy section of the steep hill he gave some thought to taking a little time and driving through Coopersport and Oxford, just to see what was there, but decided it didn’t matter. If the time came that he wound up putting together a production company for the Ammermans – which is what it would have to be – there would be time enough for that when it happened.

Soon he was out on the highway headed toward home, but his mind was still on the discussion he’d had with his hosts at the winery. There was no doubt that it would be an interesting proposition – a tough one, to be sure, but interesting. At a minimum the opportunity to do some producing and directing would look good on his résumé, and there was every chance that it could lead to something bigger.

The more he thought about it, the more he wondered just how good the advice he’d given the couple had been. From the theater part of the thing he thought he’d been about right, although a little on the light side in terms of expenses, but he had been trying to make a point rather than laying out a real plan. On the other hand, he was much more uncomfortable with his guess as to the food expenses; the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he must have been on the low side. The direct cost of the food was one thing, but the time and the staff to prepare it had to be something else. Well, he’d stated his reservations about the five-dollar-a-meal figure often enough; it was a number for demonstration, not a target, after all. Hopefully the Ammermans would do some investigation and come up with a more exact figure.

But beyond that, the whole idea was interesting. The plays would have to be small, three, four, maybe five parts at the most, although possibly with a bit part or two that could be doubled by some local amateur. He spent some time thinking about what plays he might like to put on under those circumstances. There were several candidates, some of which he would really like to do. For instance, The Glass Menagerie was a small play in terms of cast and was really well-known, though even older than Same Time Next Year. But it struck him as a little heavy for a family audience, and he could think of others that could be rejected for the same reason. It really needed to be something a little lighter, more fun.

Again, that was something that didn’t have to be decided right now. He could think of several possibilities, some of which he wasn’t very familiar with even though he spent a lot of his free time reading scripts. It was the kind of question he’d like to talk about with his more-or-less friend and occasional co-worker Meredith VanArnhem, and he would soon have the chance; as far as he knew she was going to be at Heatherwood this summer, too, so they could have several talks about it. Although his relationship with her was tricky to say the least, he respected her talent and devotion to the theater, and he was pretty sure she felt the same about him. So long as they could keep talking about the theater and not descend into touchy areas, it could be a productive discussion. Whether he liked her or not – and the jury had been out on that for years – he trusted her professional opinion.

His thoughts about the whole project kept his mind going all the way home. It could be a fascinating and fun project to contemplate in another year. Even if he couldn’t do it this year, it was, as he’d told the Ammermans, a little on the late side to get going on it this year. However, they could get a much better idea of what was involved by bringing in a group like the one doing Arsenic and Old Lace, and maybe a few others.

In fact, there was an idea that fell out of that: would it be possible to put together a small touring company that concentrated on doing shows like that? It seemed possible, although finding places to play might be a problem. Maybe, he thought, if he caved in to reality himself and got a teaching job where he’d be free in the summers, it would be a way to fill the summer. Right off the top of his head, he knew of a few talented amateurs who might be interested in something like that, if it didn’t eat up too much free time and carried a few bucks along with it. It was something to think about, but again, for a future year.

He managed to get home not long before dark. It had been a good day and an interesting one, with a lot of thinking and talking about his main interest in life. Terrorist fifth graders and cow number 649 hadn’t even crossed his mind for most of the day, which made things extra special. He went inside carrying the half-case of wine; there was no point in letting it sit overnight in the van when there was a danger of it freezing, although the chances of it seemed remote.

“So how was your day?” his mother asked.

“Not bad,” he replied. “Not bad at all. It’s good days like this that make getting through the bad ones seem worthwhile.”

“So did you get everything figured out for Diane’s friends?”

“Figured out, I don’t think so, but I’m sure I left them with something to think about, which is what they really wanted anyway.”

“Well, that’s good. I’m glad you could get away for once. You were getting to the point where you needed the break. Before I forget it, Larry Beston called, he’d like you to milk for him tomorrow night. His wife wants him to take her someplace, I wasn’t clear on what. It doesn’t matter, I guess. He said it would only be for the one evening and their daughter will be there to help.”

“I know her, she’s a little on the young side but she’s learning. She’ll be a big help. I’ll try to get with Larry during the day to see if there’s anything special that came up since the last time I was there.”

“I know he’d appreciate it,” she replied. “Oh, and Diane called just a little while ago. She wants you to call her back.”

“So long as it isn’t about milking for them, I can call. I better do it while I’m thinking about it.” He went to the phone and dialed the number; it was still on the white board.

Diane answered the phone. After Brett identified himself she said, “I just thought you’d like to know that Samantha called a little while ago. She said you were very helpful and had some good ideas for them. The way she talked, it sounds like they’re planning on doing something about a dinner theater.”

“That was the impression I got,” he replied. “I tried to give them the facts, along with a few cautions. If they do it right, they’re not going to get their butts burned too badly approaching it carefully for a trial run.”

“Well, I appreciate you going over there. Maybe you set them on the right track. Last weekend, they were full of ideas but even I knew they had no idea what they were talking about. I owe you for that one, Brett.”

“No big deal, I enjoyed it. They really are nice people.”

“I’ve often thought so. That’s why we’ve stayed friends this long. Thanks again, Brett.”

They talked for another minute or two, and to Brett’s relief the subject of substitute milking never came up. He liked Diane and her husband, but there were limits and mariachi music was beyond them. I ought to write a play about a milking parlor, he thought wryly. But no. If a cow was involved it’d shit all over the stage. The stagehands wouldn’t like it and I’ll bet the audience wouldn’t either.

The next day things were back to normal. It was kind of a lazy Saturday morning and early afternoon, time he spent reading a few plays online in hopes of finding the sort of thing he’d be willing to do in a small dinner theater. He thought a couple times about contacting the group that was putting on Arsenic and Old Lace, but decided to do a little more research on what might be out there before he did.

The milking that evening went off without a hitch, and Larry’s daughter was indeed a big help. All in all, it was a pretty good day.

Sunday had the prospects of being a pretty good day, too, and it was all of that until he decided to check his e-mail and look at some online cartoons he followed sporadically. The lead e-mail was from the president of the Heatherwood Theater, and it was a shocker:

This is to inform you that we have cancelled all productions planned for this summer. We are exceedingly reluctant to do it, but in the last few days our long-time primary sponsor has died, and it is unclear to us if his estate will continue to support us, or even follow through on the commitments already made.

We feel fairly sure of continuing in the long term, and that other sponsorships will allow us to maintain the theater until the situation is clarified, and if necessary, a new primary sponsor is found. Until then we are not in a financial position to carry on the rather ambitious plans we had for this summer.

We are sure this news comes as a shock to you, but it does to us, as well. Under the circumstances it’s necessary to cancel the contract we had with you. We’re very sorry to disrupt any plans you may have made connected to performing with us and will keep you in mind as we get back on our feet. We will contact you with future casting calls when we can resume normal operations. We hope you will be able to make other arrangements for the summer.

“Well, shit,” Brett said out loud several times as he read the words. That was going to screw things up royally. The Heatherwood wasn’t exactly the best paying job he could have hoped for, but it was a solid paycheck. They had a good reputation, and he’d felt sure he could have learned something from them.

Besides, he’d looked forward to working with some of the people there, some of whom he’d worked with before. Leading that list was Meredith – while some of her personal quirks and foibles could be irritating, to say the least, she was a solid professional. They worked well together on the stage, if sometimes not off it.

Needless to say, that put a completely different spin on his plans for the summer – not that he had any now. The Ammermans and their plans for a dinner theater came immediately to mind; it would be easy for him to call them up and tell them he would be available after all.

But was it the smart thing to do?

There were an awful lot of unknowns in the whole idea he’d suggested to them. Oh, he had no doubt that the initial steps he had suggested, bringing in an established production for a weekend or several of them, would work out for them pretty well. They might not make much money out of the effort but they probably wouldn’t lose a lot, either. But to jump right off into a full season with several productions done “in-house” was very different. Oh, it could be done, but somehow it seemed to Brett that drawing a big enough audience on a sustaining basis would be problematic, at best.

On top of that, the idea of putting on as many as eight different productions in three months was going to be a hassle. That was a very, very quick turnaround time, even for professionals who would have time to do a lot of rehearsals. It was not that it couldn’t be done, because he was sure it could be, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be the one to try it. Besides, the lead time available to put something like that together was very, very short – it should have been started months ago.

On the other hand, at least there would be some victims of the Heatherwood collapse he might be able to draw on if he moved quickly enough, so that was possibly a plus factor.

Realistically, what were the alternatives, at least as far as he was concerned? There were always things getting started, like that Arsenic and Old Lace production that had been much on his mind the last couple of days, but that was chancy with summer getting close. If he couldn’t come up with something – and soon – he’d probably be stuck with substitute milking much of the summer. Milking parlors weren’t exactly pleasant this time of the year, and they were worse in the heat of the summer. There might be some other pickup field work he could do over the summer, but that was an iffy thing at best. There would be no substitute teaching, not even the hellion fifth graders at Salem.

With that thought in mind, doing dinner theater plays at the Curlew Creek Winery seemed like it might not be such a bad idea.

Half a dozen times that afternoon he gave thought to calling the Ammermans and offering to go ahead with their ambitious plan, but each time he decided not to – he had been told that Sunday afternoons were busy around the winery, after all. Besides, he wanted a little more time to contemplate the whole idea.

In the end, they called him that evening. “Brett, Samantha and I have been talking about this all weekend,” Marty told him. “I did a little calling around and a little firming up of the numbers. While we think your idea of bringing in a show for three or four weekends has some merit, we still think that doing something every weekend has a lot to offer us.”

“I’ve been thinking about it too. I think it could be done, but it’s going to be an awful lot of work without much time to get ready for it. Besides, if you don’t get reasonably sized audiences in regularly, you could stand to lose an awful lot.”

“I think Samantha and I understand that. But we had a good afternoon here today, and a number of people we talked to think it’s a great idea. I agree with you that it’s a risk, and that the shows might not be self-sustaining on the basis of ticket prices and food. But there is the possibility of increased wine sales out of the project, so that enters into it too. In any case, we’d like to look into it further with the idea of going ahead this summer. I know you said you weren’t going to be available to manage this project, but do you know of anybody who might be?”

Well, here it is, Brett thought, and I really haven’t had time to think about it. “It turns out that I might be available,” he said, trying to not make it sound like a done deal. “Some plans have changed since I talked to you Friday.”

“You could?” Samantha almost gushed. Brett hadn’t realized she was also on the line. “That’s wonderful!”

“I’m not quite in a position where I could go right ahead and make a commitment,” he replied, needing time to think about it now more than ever. “There are a few things I need to think out and work on. But I also realize we don’t have time to waste.”

“How soon do you think you’d know?”

Brett thought quickly, hoping to come up with a reasonable answer. “I’m not sure,” he replied. “There are some points I need to check, and a couple people I need to talk to, just to make sure of some items. On top of that, I think we need to get together again and establish a few things, like a budget, responsibilities for who does what, and those sorts of things. If we decide to go ahead with this, I want to do the best job possible for you. I can tell you right now, it’s not going to be easy.”

“Do you think you would know sometime this week?” Marty asked.

“I’d better know by next weekend, since like I said, time is pretty short to be able to pull everything together. That means the timeframe on your end as well as on mine. You’re going to have to do things like have a stage built in your banquet hall, work out catering, and get started advertising. Those things can’t wait until the last minute.”

“We realize that, and that’s why I think we need to get moving on this,” Marty continued. “But I think that you can pull it off if anyone can. We really liked the way you approached things, and tried to show us some of the pitfalls.”

“There are pitfalls out there that none of us know about,” Brett replied. “But I’m sure that if we decide to go ahead and do this, we’ll find out just exactly what they are.”

“Let us know as soon as you can,” Samantha said. “We’re very eager to get started on this.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I know,” he promised.

Brett hung the phone up a little nervously, knowing in his gut that he was going to be doing it unless he could come up with a good reason not to. There were a lot of questions and problems out there, and he really needed to talk with someone who knew something about theater, if nothing more than to bounce the ideas off them.

Face it, he thought. I need to talk to Meredith. And right now.

It took a minute to find Meredith’s phone number – they weren’t that close – but he soon had her on the line. “Did you hear about the Heatherwood?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she replied, obviously disheartened. “That really sucks.”

“Have you got anything else going?”

“Not really. I guess tomorrow I get to start filling out applications at fast food places. How about you?”

“I may have something. A new small ensemble company. It’s still up in the air.”

“Any chance I could get on?” she replied, more brightly.

“A pretty good chance, but it’s not a done deal yet.”

“Who’s running it?”

“If it comes off, I guess I would be.”

“You? Some people have all the luck!”

“I’m not sure how lucky it is. It’s going to be a hell of a lot of work. Look, Meredith, this is too complicated to get into over the phone. I need to sit down and talk to you, just to pick your brain a little. I know I’m in deep water on this but I don’t think it’s quite over my head yet. And I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a place for you.”

“How about the money?”

“Still up in the air, but I plan on holding out for more than the Heatherwood. Like I said, it’s not a simple situation. Do you think we could get together tomorrow? Maybe someplace between here and your place?”

“I guess,” she said in a voice that made Brett wonder just what she was thinking. With Meredith he was never quite sure, at least off the stage. “If it turns into anything at all, it beats the hell out of some burger shack.”

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