were white and the area rugs, the sectional furniture, the shades and draperies. Scarlett had filled all of this whiteness with the most dazzling, colorful paintings by local artists. Spotlights from the ceiling illuminated the artwork. And there were vases and art objects in bold colors. Two sides of the room were sheets of glass - great expanses of glass that framed a moonlit sky, sand, and ocean.
Scarlett had hired a classic rock band. The center of the room had been cleared of furniture and everyone was dancing on the hardwood floor – couples, singles.
Jon and I got drinks, then circulated around the room, saying hello to the actors. Simon and Taylor were dancing. Finding Scarlett and Ray in the crowd, we hugged them. But the person who was being mobbed by fans was not the lead actor but my brother-in-law, Cameron Jordan. “I’ve entered my musical in your contest,” one of the musicians said. “Me too,” someone else told Cam. “We’re so excited about your contest. How great to make a movie using local talent.” They were all vying for his attention.
One man grabbed his elbow. “Remember the classic science fiction novel Dune ? There was even a Dune trilogy. And a movie. Well, I’ve written a musical based on Dune . I’m calling it Dune, the Musical . I sent it to you. Did you get it?”
“If you sent it, then we have it. We have some volunteers cataloging the submissions and assigning numbers. That way, the judges won’t be influenced by knowing the identity of the composer.”
“That seems more than fair. Good idea.” The man shook Cam’s hand. Told him what a great guy he was. And handed him a business card.
Jon and I love to dance, and when the band struck up Mustang Sally and the vocalist began singing, we joined the others on the dance floor.
Over his shoulder I spotted a couple. “Look at that. Cheri Holbrook and Greg Finley? Wonder how long they’ve known each other?”
Jon looked too. Greg and Cheri were dancing together and seemed rather familiar with each other.
“Let’s go out on the deck,” Jon said when there was a break, “where I intend to get to know you better.”
I smiled up into his face. “Promises, promises.”
Outside, the night was mild for early October. “This is snuggling weather,” I said, flirting with my husband.
He took my hand and led me over to a comfy chaise lounge. We got onto it together. I stretched out in his arms. “Is this what you had in mind?” he asked as he pulled me closer.
“Exactly,” I said and stroked his chin.
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw that other couples had the same idea. Some were doing more than snuggling. And there was Thomas, who had played Jud tonight. So this was why he wasn’t inside. He and his actress friend Angela seemed to think they were alone, making out hot and heavy.
“Wow,” I told Jon. “Hope they don’t actually go all the way out here in front of us.”
Jon looked where I was looking. “Want to go back inside?”
“In a minute. Let’s just look at the ocean and ignore them. It’s so peaceful out here. The music coming from inside. The waves rolling in on the sand.”
Just then the peace was shattered by an angry, screeching voice that yelled, “Get up! Get out of that chair!”
I jumped. Jon bolted upright lifting me up with him.
A woman stood over Thomas and Angela. I had just seen her inside, dancing with the guest director. Thomas’s mother, Cheri Holbrook.
Thomas was on his feet. But the half-undressed Angela lay huddled on the chaise, frantically pulling her clothes together.
“Mother . . .”
“Don’t you ‘mother’ me, Thomas Holbrook. Straighten up your clothes. And if I ever see you around this tart again, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”
Thomas was rearranging his clothes, pulling down his shirt. In the chair, Angela was sobbing.
“Mother, you’re making a scene!”
And she was. Others out on the deck were watching the drama unfold.
Cheri pushed Thomas
Kristin Vayden
Ed Gorman
Margaret Daley
Kim Newman
Vivian Arend
Janet Dailey
Nick Oldham
Frank Tuttle
Robert Swartwood
Devin Carter