Left Turn at Paradise Page 4

  “Don’t forget the room upstairs,” Gran said. “There’s a lighting and a sound board in there. I doubt they’ve been turned on in years. Plus, we’ll need to find someone to make costumes, probably get a choreographer—”

  “How do you know all this?” Layla asked. Her head was already starting to spin at the barrage of information.

  “I’ve been reading up on it.” Gran shrugged. “I was also thinking of timing. We should aim for our debut to coincide with the snowbirds returning. If we could start rehearsals in the fall, we might be able to pull off everything by this winter. We have to start bringing in income soon.”

  Layla tightened her grip on the pen. The reminder of the financial albatross hanging over her relatives’ heads brought back the urge to throw up.

  “We’ll need a director,” Aunt Grace announced.

  Layla and Gran both turned to her. “Didn’t we just say we wouldn’t be able to start rehearsals right away?” Gran asked. “We can’t have people running around on stage while construction is going on. Talk about liability. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

  “I know, but let’s face it. None of us have a real clue what we’re doing,” Aunt Grace said. “We need someone who’s an expert. Someone who can tell us what needs to be done, at least for the stage part, and…” She paused, taking in the table. “… I happen to have the perfect person.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?” Gran asked. “Honestly, you should have tried for a career on the stage. You’re so dramatic.”

  “Momma and Daddy forbade it.”

  Layla and Gran looked at each other. There was no trace of teasing or light-heartedness in her aunt’s face.

  Gran reached for her sister’s hand. “Gracie… did you really want to act?”

  Grace-Anne took a deep, shuddering breath. “I thought about it. But Daddy told me I was foolish, and Momma cried. She didn’t think it was proper to be cavorting about on stage. She thought I should marry well so someone could take care of me. I wasn’t like you, Barbara. I wasn’t smart and accomplished. All I had was a pretty face.”

  Gran made a sound of distress. “I hope I never made you feel that way.”

  “Oh, no Barbara. Never you. I was so proud of you,” she said, with a gentle smile. “Maybe if Derek had lived, things would have been different. I might have had the courage to try. In any case, I met Howard the next year, and that was that.”

  “Were you happy with Uncle Howard?” Layla asked.

  Layla only had vague memories of Howard Carter, who’d died of a heart attack when she was five. When Layla’s grandfather was diagnosed with terminal cancer a couple years later, Aunt Grace had moved in to help care for him. She’d never left.

  “Of course I was,” Aunt Grace said with only the very slightest hesitation. “Howard was a wonderful man. He loved me and gave me a beautiful home.”

  Not exactly the most impassioned declaration, but for a woman of Grace’s time, marriage would have been one of her only options. Gran had been the extraordinary exception to the rule. Layla thought about the way her great-aunt had delivered that speech from Romeo and Juliet a few days ago, and how mesmerized she’d been by the impromptu performance.

  “So, was it Derek or your own thwarted dreams that caused you to buy The Paradise?”

  “Maybe a little of both.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Layla had never thought to ask or wonder if her great-aunt had been happy. She’d never thought about her grandmother’s marriage, either.

  Aunt Grace took a sip of her tea and glanced up. When she saw them staring at her in obvious concern, she smiled. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’ve had a good life. I don’t have any real regrets. In the end, I wasn’t brave enough to go out on my own. Not without Derek, at least. When the opportunity to buy The Paradise came up, I couldn’t resist. It’s my way of recapturing some of that magic I remember.”

  Layla smiled. “Then we’ll make it the most beautiful theatre you can imagine. Tell us about this director you have in mind.”

  “I was thinking of Grayson Kendall.”

  Layla frowned. “Who?”

  “He’s that stage director who was married to Skye Malone,” Aunt Grace explained.

  Layla recalled the willowy, blonde screen idol, who’d once been called the most beautiful woman on the planet by more than one entertainment magazine. “Isn’t he from Chicago, though?”

  “Yes, but he’s staying here in town with his aunt and uncle,” Aunt Grace said. “His aunt is in my sewing circle, and she told me he was coming”

  “Why would he come here?” Layla asked.

  “I believe he’s hiding out.”

  “From what?” Gran asked.

  Aunt Grace patted her sister’s hand. “You really should watch something other than the news. Grayson’s wife left him for her co-star. The split has been the big story in the tabloids all spring.”

  “If he’s come here to lick his wounds, what makes you think he’d want to get involved in a community theatre production?” Layla asked.

  “Probably the same reason we’re involved in a community theatre production,” Gran drawled.

  “I could talk to his aunt,” Aunt Grace offered.

  Layla shook her head and took a sip of coffee. “That’s sweet, but I think we should approach him directly and plead our case.”

  “Yes, that is probably best,” Aunt Grace said. “Make sure you wear something… alluring… when you do.”

  Layla nearly spit out her coffee. “What?”

  “Well dear, I could try, but I doubt I’d achieve the same effect as you would,” Aunt Grace said, eyes widening in a show of complete innocence.

  Her great-aunt truly should have had a career on stage. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “I’m not asking you to do something indecent, but you shouldn’t be afraid to use the assets God blessed you with on occasion. This is a good occasion.”

  Layla blinked. “Aunt Grace, I’m shocked at you.”

  “I’m only stating the obvious.”

  “Fine, I’ll track him down this week and speak to him,” Layla grumbled. “I’ll even dress the part.”

  ”No reason to wait,” Aunt Grace said. “I spoke to his aunt this morning, and she told me Grayson was going to Joe’s Crab Shack for lunch today.”

  Layla’s brow arched. “You want me to ambush him over a plate of stone crabs?”

  Aunt Grace made a phshh sound. “Honestly, this isn’t a military operation. We’re not ambushing the poor man. We’re recruiting an expert to help us get The Paradise back on her feet. Now, hurry and get dressed. We’ve no time to waste.”

  Layla stood. “Okay, okay. I’m going.” She went over to her great-aunt and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I hope you know I’m doing this for you.”

  “I know dear, and I love you for it. Now go or you’ll miss him.”

  Layla watched Grayson Kendall from behind a big potted fern. He wasn’t movie star handsome like his famous ex-wife, but he was still the kind of man who inspired the type of fantasies she had no business conjuring up. Black hair, tall, rangy body. Okay, she couldn’t see enough of his body to tell if it was tall and rangy since he was sitting down, but she imagined he was. He didn’t look muscle bound or scrawny in any case. Nothing like what she’d pictured in a theatre director. Her mind had conjured up a rail thin guy, wearing a black turtleneck and John Lennon glasses.

  It had taken half an hour to figure out what to wear in order to achieve “alluring” without sliding into “cover the kids’ eyes” territory. She’d settled on a fitted, red dress that stopped above the knee, but ended before advertising anything she didn’t want to sell. A black patent-leather belt cinched her waist, and she paired the dress with her favorite black stilettos.

  Now, he was twenty feet away. She stared at him from across the deck of Joe’s Crab Shack, fighting back a tinge of panic. What had she been thinking? What was she supposed t
o say?

  Hi Mr. Kendall, would you be willing to risk your reputation with a bunch of amateurs putting on a production in a decrepit dinner theatre?

  She shook off the thought and smoothed a hand down her skirt. She had to go in there and reel him in. His chiseled features might have been perfect on a fallen angel, and his ink-black hair might fall across his forehead just begging for a woman to smooth it back, but deep down he was a man like any other.

  Okay, maybe not like any other, but still a man.

  She ran out of options, and any chance to escape, when he reached for the iced tea in front of him. He looked up at her. His eyes locked on her like laser beams, and even from across the deck she felt the pull. Her aunt had showed her a picture back at the house so she wouldn’t miss him. She knew Grayson’s eyes were smoky gray and piercing, but at this distance they seemed almost colorless.

  I am in so much trouble.

  She still had a mission to complete, though, so she swallowed and started toward him. She put an extra swing in her step. A slow swish of the hips. Her catwalk stroll. She’d used it before when she needed to capture a room’s attention. Now, she had his.

  He watched her the entire way, like a panther tracking its prey. A frisson of excitement swept up her spine, despite her attempt to remain cool and detached. It was the eyes that did it. Those pale orbs were even more piercing in person, she realized. He liked what he saw. She could tell, but as she got closer his entire demeanor changed. The corners of his mouth pulled down in a flash of disgust. The glare put her off her stride. She almost turned and fled back to the parking lot. Sheer stubbornness kept her moving forward.

  She stopped a couple feet in front of his table. “Mr. Kendall, I have a proposition for you.”

  Great. Start right off with a double entendre.

  He sat back in his chair, his expression not easing a bit. “I’m sure you do, Ms…” His voice trailed off as he lifted a dark brow, waiting for her to fill in the blank.

  Get it together. “Layla McCarthy,” she managed to squeak out.

  “Of course it is,” he said, his silky-smooth voice bordering on a sneer. “Why would you have an ordinary name?”

  The sarcasm worked like a charm at getting her brain back on track. She forgot to be tongue-tied or weak-kneed.

  “I’m sorry?” she said, lifting her chin and rearing her shoulders back.

  An appreciative glint thawed the edge of winter in his gaze. “That’s a good touch. The widened eyes, the outraged gasp, the rest of you at attention. I almost believe you’re truly offended.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He chuckled now. “Even better. You’ve obviously been well-trained. Your acting coach should be proud, but I’m not in the theatre business right now. I’m sorry you wasted your time. Although I certainly enjoyed the show, so thank you.”

  The implication finally registered. Stunned, Layla grabbed a chair and sank into it.

  “Please,” he drawled. “Have a seat.”

  “You think I’m angling for a part in a show?”

  “You’re not?”

  “No,” she bit out.

  He sighed. “Then the other option is a gossip rag. I’m not sure why they care about me. I guess they figure I’m their best lure to catch the bigger fish on the hook. My ex-wife. Please tell your boss I’m not granting any interviews, although again, I do appreciate the effort you put into getting your scoop.”

  She bristled again. “I’m not here for that, either.”

  “Then why are you interrupting my lunch, Ms. McCarthy?”

  “I should have gone through our aunts,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What?” Now it was his turn to be confused. “You know my aunt?”

  “In a roundabout way. My great-aunt knows her. They’re in a sewing circle together.”

  He nodded. “Six degrees of Shellwater Key.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Hmm?”

  “It’s a phenomenon I’ve noticed before. You can connect anyone to anyone else in six people or less.”

  A reluctant grin surfaced. “I doubt it would ever take that many.”

  “Your mission must be dire if you’re targeting my relatives. If you’re not an actress or a reporter, the only other option is that you’re trying to ease my pain and perhaps put in your application to fill the void left by my faithless wife. A lot of women seem to think it’s a ticket to fame and fortune.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” The tiny bit of softening she’d felt toward him petrified. “I’m not looking to score that way, either. I don’t need a romantic entanglement to further complicate the disaster my life has become.”

  “So you decided to dress up like that for the crab cakes?” he asked, the sarcasm winging across the table like a knife.

  Layla closed her eyes, fighting humiliation and silently heaping abuse on her sweet, little old aunt’s head. “This is not how I pictured our conversation going.”

  “How did you picture it?”

  “I thought I’d present my offer, lay out my reasons why you can’t refuse, and you’d agree when you realized what an opportunity it would be for you, too.”

  He paused, arms folding. “Okay, Ms. McCarthy, you have me intrigued enough to ask what your offer is and why I can’t refuse it? That cryptic explanation, and that dress, tells me you really want my cooperation.”

  “My aunt owns a theatre, and we need a director,” she blurted out, wondering where her legendary control in all things business had fled.

  “That’s it?” he asked in bemusement. “You want a recommendation for someone?”

  “No, I’m after you.”

  The statement hung in the air while Layla contemplated sinking under the table.

  “Definitely intrigued,” he said.

  She sighed. “We’d like you to direct the debut production of The Paradise Theatre.”

  “Is it a professional playhouse? A regional theatre? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “It’s local. Right up the street, in fact.”

  He stilled. “Are you talking about that building on the edge of town? The one with the listing sign and the parking lot that lost the war with the weeds?”

  “That’s it,” she said, holding back a wince at his description. “She has gone into a bit of a decline—”

  “You think?”

  Her temper spiked. She might get to comment on The Paradise’s sad state, but Grayson Kendall had no such right. “It’s a perfectly decent theatre. All she needs is some love and attention. She’s been sitting there empty, wasting away.”

  “Ah, you’ve been lured by the magic,” he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

  It was amazing how the tiny shift of his mouth sent a little zing through her. She realized how devastating Grayson could be when humor combined with the tousled black hair and drown-in-me-baby silver gaze. Her anger had temporarily short-circuited the effect. “What magic?”

  “Of the theatre. Even the broken down dames can still command it. It’s been known to ensnare the most sensible of souls.”

  “I suppose I do feel a kinship of sorts with The Paradise.”

  “I commend your passion, but I don’t think I’m the one to resurrect that old place.”

  The abrupt refusal put her back up again. “You’re saying no without hearing me out?”

  “I’m trying to.”

  “What would it hurt to listen to my proposal?”

  “Because then you’d think there was a chance I’d say yes. I can tell you care a lot about this old place, and I don’t want to get your hopes up for no reason.”

  “Maybe you will say yes.”

  He chuckled. “You’re persistent, I’ll grant you. There’s also the time commitment. First, I’m willing to bet The Paradise is in dire need of an extreme makeover. It could take months. A full-scale production will also take several months to put together. I assume there isn’t budget enough to hire a professional cast�
��”

  “No, but I want to use local talent if we can,” Layla said. “Make it a true community theatre.”

  “Then you’re talking even more time for rehearsals. Do you expect me to put my life on hold just so I can save your theatre? What about my own career?”

  “My aunt told me you sold your theatre in Chicago. What else do you have to do?”

  He let out a low grumble. “As it happens, I’m working on a couple plays.”

  “You can still do that. Write during the day, and direct at night.”

  “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Ms. McCarthy—”

  “Oh, stop it with the Ms. McCarthy business,” she said, with a bark of frustration. “Like you’re patting the crazy girl on the head. It’s Layla.”

  “All right, Layla,” he said, drawing out every syllable.

  Her name flowed from his lips like water dancing over a babbling creek bed. She all but melted at his feet. This was not good. At. All.

  “Like I said, I admire your persistence and the sheer guts it took to deck yourself out and approach me.”

  “I am going to kill my Aunt Grace,” Layla muttered.

  “Why?”

  “She swore this outfit would soften you up.”

  Pale fire flickered in his eyes. “I don’t think soft is the word I’d choose to describe my reaction.”

  Her breath caught. For a moment they stared at each other, and a bolt of electricity seemed to whip across the space separating them. It occurred to her that if she did get him to agree, she could be in serious danger of losing her head. She couldn’t back off now, though.

  Grayson was the first to break the spell. “Thank you for thinking of me,” he said, reaching for his iced tea again. “I’m sorry I can’t help you, but I’d be glad to help you secure someone else.”

  Her pulse kicked up. She was going to fail.

  No, she couldn’t give up yet. They needed Grayson Kendall. Just as she’d been certain she had to save The Paradise, she knew he was their best option to help make the dream a reality.

  “Maybe you should do this for yourself,” she said in a rush. “I think you need us as much as we need you.”

  He hesitated a moment and then shook his head. “I can’t wait to hear this.”