you haven’t been here before—and there are people everywhere, so nothing’s off-limits.” Which reminded Vivien that the Tuesday Ladies were still AWOL somewhere backstage, and that probably meant trouble.
But before she could do that, Randy Hebden, the electrician, hailed her from one of the side aisles. “Hey, Vivien, you got a minute?”
She hadn’t expected to see him today, but she was happy to look at the numbers for updated lights and sound equipment and to answer some questions, especially since, until he was done with his part, there wouldn’t be any air conditioning in the building. July and August in Michigan could be steamy, and as far as Vivien was concerned, the sooner, the better.
Finally, she was free to weave her way through the backstage area in search of Maxine, Juanita, Iva, and Orbra.
She found them in the props room.
“Rosencrantz would never have used that type of sword, Maxine,” Juanita said. “It’s too skinny—”
“I know that,” snapped Maxine, who was whipping the flexible-bladed sword through the air as if her friend was Guildenstern himself and she was driving him back in a fencing match. She was also wearing the Phantom’s mask, and Vivien’s headache suddenly got worse. “I was just testing it out—”
“Then why did you say it was probably from Romeo and Juliet?” demanded Juanita, who happened to be holding a much larger broadsword type of weapon that might have been from King Lear. She was wearing the ruby slippers, which were missing half of their sequins.
The freaking Odd Couple—right here, live and in person, Vivien thought. Female version.
Only she wasn’t sure who would be Felix and who would be Oscar.
“Maybe it’s from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead,” said Iva, who was digging through a large trunk. She was a librarian and knew all sorts of random things. “Although I believe Rosencrantz used a knife, not a sword, in that one.”
Fortunately for Vivien’s peace of mind, the swords Maxine and Juanita were brandishing were retractable stage props made from foam and light plastic, and therefore the biggest hazard from either was the amount of dust flying through the air.
She hoped.
“Oh, look! I’ve always wondered how they did the change of the pumpkin into Cinderella’s coach,” Iva said, her voice rising with enthusiasm. “This has to be the framework for it—and heavens to Betsy! Look at the size of this!”
She was grappling with a collection of light metal rods that were covered with shimmery white material in a sort of tentlike construction. It could very well have been Cinderella’s pumpkin-coach. Unfortunately, there were holes chewed in the flimsy, gauzy material, and some of the rods were bent, while others were detached from their moorings. With Iva having somehow gotten in the center of it, her attempts to set it up gave the prop—and her—a fluttery, spectral appearance.
“Oh, look at this!” exclaimed Orbra. She was examining a flying monkey whose wings still had fishing line trailing from them. “He’s almost cute up close. Maybe Vivien will let me have him.”
“You can hang it in your office,” Maxine said in a surprisingly agreeable tone, still examining how the blade of her sword retracted quickly and silently. Still wearing the Phantom mask.
“You’re the one who should hang it in her office, Maxine,” snarked Juanita. “He’d feel right at home with the Wicked Witch of the West.”
“Juanita, you cad! How dare you! En garde!” cried Maxine, and she whipped the epee through the air so vigorously that she wobbled and almost lost her balance. Of course, the elderly woman was still holding her cane in the other hand, so at least she didn’t spin and tumble to the ground, although she knocked off the mask, and her bottle-bottom glasses went askew.
“Well, I can see I’m going to have to separate the two of you before there’s any bloodshed back here,” Vivien said with a grin. “The scones are going fast, Maxine, so if you want one, you’d better grab one before it’s too late.”
“I’d really like to help clean up this place,” Iva said as Vivien herded the Tuesday Ladies out of the props room. “It’s just fascinating—all of these old costumes and props—”
“I’ll help too,” said Maxine, who hated to be one-upped.
“When are you going to learn your lines, then?” demanded Juanita. “I’m not going to be onstage with someone who can’t remember their lines all the time—”
“What makes you think I won’t remember my lines? I—”
“Because you can’t remember your own address half the time, and—”