On the whole two-and-a-half-hour drive to the Denny’s where Brett planned on meeting Meredith, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was such a good idea after all. Oh, he really wanted to talk the whole deal over with her, since she was at least as dedicated and knowledgeable about theater as he was, if not more so. Professionally speaking, she was competent and enthusiastic, a hell of a good actress, able to work well with others, confront surprises with equanimity, and make the best of tough times. She could sing, dance, act, build sets, make costumes, and otherwise work cheerfully for a common goal.

But off stage … well, that was a different story.

She was a good-looking woman if she wanted to be – though she didn’t always want to – and she could be a handful off the stage. Perhaps the biggest thing, not that it was necessarily a bad thing, was that she was as dedicated a lesbian as he knew, and he’d made the acquaintance of a number of them. She had on occasion referred to herself as a “gold star” lesbian, meaning that she’d never even thought seriously about making it with a man, let alone ever done so. That was something Brett had learned to deal with; after all they’d kissed any number of times, sometimes even some pretty hot kisses, but only in the context of a play such as Same Time Next Year. Yes, he’d learned to deal with it – perhaps not happily on occasion, but he had to accept the reality, too.

Worse than that, perhaps, was the fact that she marched to the beat of several different drummers, and he was never sure which one he was going to be dealing with. “All the world’s a stage,” Shakespeare wrote in As You Like It, but Brett could never be sure what role Meredith planned on playing when she got up in the morning. She could be loving and cuddly, or she could be as fractious as 649 – or both at the same time, or somewhere in between. All that, too, went away when she got on the stage, and again, it was something he’d learned to take in stride.

The hell of it was that Meredith could bring a good deal of talent and direction to the Curlew Creek dinner theater. Her professional dependability could add a lot to the project, and make the difference between success and failure, but that was so long as he – and the Ammermans – could put up with the off-stage Meredith. He hadn’t actually offered her a job yet – if one was even going to be available – but making the offer to her was something he would have to make up his mind about pretty soon, like maybe today, and then hope Marty and Samantha came through for them.

The restaurant was nearly empty when he walked in late in the morning; there was no sign of her. He got a fairly prominent seat, and had the waitress bring him a cup of coffee. The waitress wasn’t very friendly or communicative, and he had fond thoughts of that flirtatious chick at Grumpy’s Diner the other day. Still, he wasn’t there to deal with the waitress, so he sat there sipping at his coffee while he tried to organize his thoughts.

After a few minutes he noticed someone coming into the diner; a glance proved that it was Meredith. She tended – though it wasn’t a sure thing – to dress to reflect her mood, so he studied her carefully. She was wearing tight jeans with a couple of fashionable strategically placed rips, a too-tight T-shirt with a very low-cut camisole over it, and a zip-up hoodie sweatshirt with “Charlie’s Rig Service” lettered on the breast. No wig; she often wore them, and she kept her blonde hair short in a pixie cut to accommodate them. In other words, pretty casual for her. Maybe that meant she understood that she was here to talk business.

She spotted him right away and came over to sit down across from him in the booth. “Hi, Meredith,” he said neutrally. “What the Sam Hill is Charlie’s Rig Service?”

“Hell if I know,” she replied conversationally. “It was on sale for fifty-nine cents at the secondhand store. So how have you been?”

“That’s not an easy thing to answer,” he told her. “I suppose ‘getting along’ covers it, at least up to the last few days. So what have you been doing?”

“Making a movie on location in Detroit.”

“Detroit? They actually make movies there?”

“Sure,” she grinned. “There are places there that are so torn up and abandoned that they make perfect locations for a post-apocalyptic flick. That’s especially so on a gray day in the early spring when everything looks like hell with the fires out anyway.”

“Big role?”

“Not really, about ten lines, if you don’t count screaming or the ‘ugh’ when whatever the hell monster they’re going to CGI in later in the studio did his thing and killed me. But I have to admit that the money was good, for me anyway. Then I got home and found out about the Heatherwood, and that really sucked.”

“I wasn’t very happy about it, either.”

Just then the waitress showed back up, as grim as before, carrying a mug and a pot of coffee. Meredith said that coffee sounded fine to her, so the waitress filled the mug and left without saying much of anything.

“Really friendly,” Meredith commented as the waitress left. “So what is this deal you have cooking?”

“This couple who runs a small winery wants to put on a dinner theater, mostly so they can sell a lot of wine at the performances. I heard about it as a friend-of-a-friend thing and went over to talk to them. They know squat about theater, so I was there to give them some background.” He continued with a very compressed thumbnail of his visit to the Curlew Creek Winery the previous Friday.

“Is this going to turn real?”

“It stands every chance of doing so. We ran some numbers, just on the back of a napkin, you know, and it looks like it might work out for them financially, so long as you remember that their basic intention is to sell wine.”

“Good wine?”

“Beats me, I don’t know anything about wine. All I can say is that it’s pricey. It’s not exactly Boone’s Farm or the kind of stuff you get down at the local convenience store for three bucks a bottle.”

She contemplated it for a moment, then said, “You know, that’s the sort of thing that sounds like it might work.”

“That’s what I thought. Since there’s a lot of guesswork involved, I advised them to bring in some groups with existing shows they’re doing this summer. Like, I happen to know of a group doing a mostly amateur production of Arsenic and Old Lace. I thought I had them pretty well sold on that idea, but then yesterday they called me and said they want to do a full season, shows every weekend all summer long.”

“Not the same show all season!”

“No. I told them last week that they need some variety or they’re going to bore their regulars to death. They think they can draw in some tourist traffic, since they’re not far from Oxford and Coopersport.”

“Coopersport?” she perked up. “That’s interesting.”

“I thought you might think so.”

“Well, not exactly that way,” she shook her head. “That’s mostly a guy scene, you know, lots of beefcake in Speedos on the beach, pretty flaming. Us girls are kind of in the background if we’re there at all.”

“You’ve been there?”

“No, but I know girls who have. What I meant when I said it was interesting is that it also draws the artsy-fartsy crowd, and a dinner theater might appeal to them. Are these people you’re talking to gay-friendly?”

“I can’t say if they are, but I can’t say they’re not, either,” he replied honestly. “Somewhere between gay-neutral and gay-accepting, at least from the little we talked about it. They’re interested in selling wine and I don’t think they care very much about who they sell it to, so long as they’re over twenty-one and their credit cards aren’t rejected.”

“It could be a hell of a lot worse,” she shrugged. “So I take it you’ve thought this out a little?”

“I haven’t thought of much else since I heard about it, especially since they dropped the idea of doing a full season on me. The thing that particularly appeals to me is that it gets me into areas I haven’t had much to do with before. You know, production, direction. Meredith, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve got to expand my résumé or quit being a starving actor. I made more money last year either substitute teaching or substitute milking than I did from acting, and the time is getting close when I’ve got to wake up and smell the coffee. I really want to stay with the theater, but a regular paycheck keeps looking more and more appealing.”

“I can see that day coming,” she nodded sadly. “I’m beginning to wonder how I can make the rest of my life work on small-bore projects like the Heatherwood or getting stepped on by some CGI monster. So how are you looking at doing this?”

“That’s basically what I wanted to talk to you about. Right at the moment, it looks like sixteen weekends between Memorial Day and Labor Day. I’m thinking the maximum run for each production should be two weeks, at the most three. So that means something like six to eight productions. We’d be talking three shows a weekend, four on the long weekends.”

“That is one hell of a schedule. You’re saying rehearse one production while you’ve got another one going, right?”

“Something like that. There’s going to be a budget and it won’t be unlimited. That means I have to do small productions with a limited cast. That’s not all bad since I’ll be able to bring in people who know how to pick up a show in a hurry. Maybe mix it around a little bit. I mean, I don’t think I want to be a lead in every production along with directing it as well. Being a lead in one and a supporting actor in another might take some of the sting out.”

“It wouldn’t have to be the same people you bring in for each production, either,” she replied thoughtfully. “I mean, not exactly a true repertory company.”

“That’s an angle to take on it. Look, one of the things I thought about was seeing if I could get you over to do Same Time Next Year with me. I thought that might be a good one to kick off with since we both know it so well that we won’t need extensive rehearsals.”

“I was wondering when that was going to come up,” she grimaced. “You know, I’m starting to get a little tired of that.”

“I wouldn’t mind exploring some new horizons, either, but there are worse things in life than having a role that you own. I mean, think of Hal Holbrook. He made a pretty good career out of Mark Twain Tonight, along with some film work. Hell, at our ages Mark Twain was about all he’d done, and he did that role off and on for sixty years. In fact, he played Mark Twain more than Mark Twain did. Honestly, today if people think of Mark Twain they think of Holbrook playing him. At least I do.”

She shook her head. “I suppose you have a point, but the same role over and over again would get tiresome in a hurry.”

“I suppose you’re right, but Meredith, we have to face facts. We’ve made some bucks along the way with Same Time Next Year.”

“Oh, you’re right, whether I like it or not. And I’ll do it to help you out, if nothing else. But are you going to have something else for me?”

“That’s still up in the air,” he said, backpedaling a little. He wasn’t quite ready to make a commitment to her, at least not just yet. “And for that matter, Same Time Next Year isn’t quite a done deal in my mind, either.”

“Why not?”

“Figuring out what I’m going to do is going to be tricky. Because of the prospective audience, everything has to be family friendly, and, at worst, gay-neutral. That cuts out an awful lot of stuff. Because of the adultery angle, Same Time Next Year, fun though it is, pushes it a little from the family-friendly angle.”

“Yeaaaah,” she replied slowly and thoughtfully. “You might have a point on that. But you can’t get too kid-friendly, either.”

“True, and that’s why I have to be careful. Another angle is the need to have a small cast. Like, I thought about maybe Barefoot in the Park or The Odd Couple. Either one of them needs a cast of six, but two of them are bit parts that just about anyone could do.”

“I have to admit, it’s hard to go wrong with Neil Simon in a situation like that.”

“Oh, it would be possible in this circumstance. Like, I don’t know about The Odd Couple. Not only was there a movie of it, there was the TV series. People would compare it to those.”

“Well, maybe,” she frowned. “But did you know there’s a female version of The Odd Couple?”

“No, I didn’t. That might be enough different to make it interesting to someone who’s familiar with the story. Is it much different from the original version?”

“I haven’t read the script, but it’s the same situation, a lot of the same jokes, but from a female perspective.”

“Hmmm, I’ll have to look into that. Good idea, Meredith; that might be a winner. Any other ideas off the top of your head?”

“How about The Fourposter? Small cast, one guy, one girl, one set. It’s not as well known, though.”

“I’ve often thought you and I ought to work that up as an alternative to Same Time Next Year,” he nodded. “Almost squeaky clean, even though it’s all around and sometimes in a bed. It’s been a while since I looked at it, but it strikes me there is a minor adultery issue, nothing like as bad as Same Time Next Year. It’s a period piece so costumes are an issue, but not a big one. Makeup might be an issue since the couple ages over about forty years.”

“We could handle it. It would take you and me doing more rehearsals than Same Time Next Year, though. The aging there is small enough that it really isn’t a major issue. I’ll tell you what, though, if I get involved in this I don’t think we want to do both Same Time Next Year and The Fourposter the same season. Or at least not back to back.”

“Right, that might be just a little bit too much of you and me. That’s sort of a problem with a small cast, and why I think there needs to be a little bigger group available, even if they don’t go the full season.”

“It shouldn’t be difficult to come up with a few more people,” she shrugged. “Hell, there are a lot of people involved with the Heatherwood who are scratching right now.”

“I was thinking the same thing. That means I need to move quickly before some of them get something else, and that includes burger shacks. That also means that I need to get some idea of what I’m going to produce, even if it’s not pinned down real tight this week.”

“How much time do you have on this?”

“It’s what? Going on six weeks until Memorial Day?”

“That’s plenty of time if we’re going to kick off with Same Time Next Year, and not bad if we kick off with The Fourposter. But it means you need to get rolling on the other stuff.”

“Right, and I’m open to suggestions. Right at the moment, we have The Fourposter, and the female version of The Odd Couple as real good possibilities. It’s been a long time since I read The Fourposter but I might have a copy of it kicking around home somewhere. I’d have to look. I guess I’ll have to order a copy of the female version of The Odd Couple before I can make a decision.”

“We also have Same Time Next Year if we got stuck,” she pointed out.

“Right, you and I could throw that in a hole if there was an emergency or something.”

“Oh, there’s lots of stuff out there. I can think of several other possibilities right off the top of my head, and that’s just if you stick with the better-known stuff. Let me get right to the point. I’m willing to sit here and bullshit with you all day about this, because it sounds just exactly like the kind of thing I’d love to be involved with. But I need to know if there’s going to be something in this for me.”

“Meredith, I don’t know,” he said temporizing for a moment. How could he say what he needed to say without pissing her off? She was in what seemed like a good mood to him, interested in the professional aspects of the project – and he knew she would be very good with that part of things. In only a moment he decided that the only way out was right straight ahead. “Look, there’s a large part of me that would really like to have you involved with this. Professionally, you and I make a really good team. But honestly, Meredith, I have reservations, and I think you know what they are just as well as I do.”

“You mean because I’m a lesbian?” she replied, bristling a little. “Because you know you’re not going to get into my pants?”

“Oh, hell no,” he replied, a little on the defensive now. She’d just shown a little touch of her true colors, and he knew it. “It’s not that at all. I know better than that and I’ve known it for a long time. Meredith, you know as well as I do that you often rub people the wrong way, and sometimes you do it just for kicks. Well, more than just sometimes.”

“I like to have my fun.”

“Yeah, right,” he snorted. “Like going into a biker bar dressed hotter than your average hooker, getting some guy all worked up, and then telling him to buzz off because you only do girls? Come on, I’ve seen you do it more than once, and someday that’s going to catch up with you. When it happens, you’re likely to get the shit beaten out of you and lose your gold star along with it.”

“Not without getting a few licks of my own,” she replied, on the edge of anger. “I mean, I don’t do karate just for the hell of it. And with any kind of luck, the dude might see some time in the slammer out of it.”

“And for you it might be a tossup over whether he gets out of jail or you get out of the hospital first. Look, Meredith, the point I’m trying to make is that we’ll be working for some pretty nice people who really don’t know jack squat about the theater. Let’s face it, if you’re in on this deal I’m going to depend on you a lot. It wouldn’t be fair to them to be right in the middle of the season, and then have the person I depend on the most go out to have some fun and wind up in jail or a hospital bed. It would ball things up immensely if it didn’t wreck them entirely.”

“Accidents happen,” she replied, now back on the defensive.

“They do, but that doesn’t mean you have to go looking for them,” he continued. “Plus, we’d have to be working pretty closely with Marty and Samantha. I don’t know if I can risk having them pissed off at you for something you said to them, or maybe over something you said to one of their wine customers.”

“Jesus, Brett,” she shook her head. “You’re making this hard.”

“I know I am, but better now than in the middle of the season.”

“Brett, I know I do some wild things sometimes, just to take the pressure off a little. I think I can be a good girl if I have to, but there’s still a lot I’d want to know about this. I mean, it sounds interesting as hell, and maybe we can work it around so I can do something other than just acting, like doing some directing. How about if you put off a final decision until I can meet these people? Maybe I’ll meet with them and decide I can’t keep my cool that long.”

“We’re going to have to make the decision pretty quickly,” he told her. “Especially if your decision is ‘no.’ Then I’m going to have to come up with some other direction to take, and one of those directions is dumping the whole idea.”

“I can do quick,” she smiled. “How about if we find a place to leave my car for a couple days? We can ride together and talk this out some more.”

“It’s a long enough drive and getting late enough that we probably can’t get there today and have the time we need to talk with them.”

“I packed an overnight bag just in case, if you don’t mind me couch surfing on you.”

“No need for that. I live with my folks, and my older sister’s bedroom hasn’t been used much since she got married. That was over ten years ago.”

“Works for me. Let’s do it.”

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