Page 2 of Lust

The murmur of voices around her blurred into a meaningless monotone, lost in the savage throb of the only word her dream man had spoken to her. “You.”

You. One syllable, three letters, loaded with incinerating, sweat-filled possibilities and spat out of that any-way-she-wanted-it mouth and directed right at her.

“Didn’t we do The Importance of Being Earnest last year?” Bianca’s three pack a day, chew you up and spit you out, bad girl rasp penetrated Eddie’s lust fog.

“And the year before.” Patty snorted. “And every fucking year before that.”

“The Importance of Being Earnest is a classic.” Peter leveled a glacial glare at Bianca. “In the the-ay-ter, one can never underestimate the impact of a classic. You are new to our little thespian community, and perhaps you don’t fully comprehend the traditions, the reputation of our theatrical endeavors.”

“The audience loves it,” Lillian twittered. “Our audience comes back every year to see it.”

“Yes.” Bianca twined her black-polished hands in front of her on the table and leaned forward. “And I love it. Great play.” She smiled and took the tension in the room down three levels as she did. Bianca had one of those smiles that invited everyone to trust her. “And we should definitely do it later in the season, but how about something new to start off with?”

“New?” Rodney looked alarmed.

“Right.” Bianca turned her everything-is-lovely-here strobe smile at him. “Something that would showcase Lillian’s talents even more.”

Lillian straightened. “We should avoid falling into a rut.”

“Peter falls into your rut every night,” Patty murmured.

“I mean,” Bianca said, “Lillian does a fantastic Gwendolen, the best I’ve ever seen.”

Blushing, Lillian simpered, “I do my best.”

“Poppet.” Peter eye-humped her. “We count our blessings every day to have you with us.”

“But wouldn’t it be even better if we gave her greater scope for her talents?” Bianca had their number and pressed the advantage home. It was masterful stuff, and Eddie suppressed the desire to applaud. Man, she had to ask Bianca how she did that. “A play where she could soar to the heights of her gift,” Bianca said.

“I did work professionally.” Lillian lowered her sooty lashes. “Three seasons at the NAC before the joys of marriage and motherhood called me to a higher purpose.”

“Our audience doesn’t want modern.” Rodney sent a wave of icy water over Bianca’s performance. Even seasoned veteran Lillian had nothing on their newest board member. “They come back every summer and expect to see what they saw the summer before. They have remained faithful to the Paradise Players for years.”

“Our patrons have been loyally supporting us since our inception,” Peter said.

“Older than fucking dirt, the lot of them.” Patty coughed. “Older than me.”

The unwelcome reality check of last summer and seat H24, who had literally died laughing at the age of ninety-three and hadn’t made it to the exit on her own steam, crept into the boardroom. Nobody had noticed poor H24 until Eddie had let the cleaning crew in between the matinee and the evening show. RIP, H24.

“You’re right, Rodney.” Bianca winced. “Tried and true is for the best.”

“Good.” Peter did the nod equivalent of a man shuffling his papers into order. “So, we’ll follow tradition. Start with The Importance of Being—”

“Babe.” Lillian laid a hand on Peter’s arm. “Let’s not be too hasty.”

Rodney snapped his laptop shut. “We just discussed this and agreed that we would not deviate from our norm.”

“No.” Lillian raised her forefinger and cocked her head like a magpie eyeing a button. “We agreed that perhaps a modern play might not be the best way to go.”

Mustache twitching, Rodney reddened. “But—”

“A moment please, Rodders.” Lillian batted her lashes at him. “And while I absolutely agree that our first priority is to our loyal fans, I do think they would enjoy a little spice.” She trilled her cut glass laugh. “Un soupçon de variété.”

“Our audience doesn’t want variety.” Rodney’s mustache was in serious danger of frog marching off his top lip. “They want what we always give them.” He jabbed his forefinger into the table. “They come here every summer, every tourist season, and expect to get what they want. We rely on them coming back.”

“Lillian would make a fabulous Masha or Blanche DuBois,” Bianca cooed.

“I had marvelous notices for my Blanche,” Lillian lisped. “Transcendent, one critic called it.”

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