Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
After we ordered, we took Merry’s can of juice and our coffee cups to one of the picnic tables. I gazed around the parking lot, which was enhanced by a truly gorgeous peach-and-aqua morning sky. A soft breeze whistled through, and there were just enough other patrons to tell me the place was good without it being overcrowded.
“I like this place already.”
“Yeah?” Merry asked with a suspicious tone to his voice. “Not missing your usual A-list spots?”
“I don’t make A-list money,” I admitted. “And any place halfway decent will have a long wait time. That’s just how it is in the city. Here, there are no lines and great weather. What’s not to love?”
“Come on. I know you miss the city.” Merry seemed determined to goad me for reasons that undoubtedly had to do with that ex of his.
“Eh. Not this time of year.” I stretched my neck from side to side. My overly crisp shirt tugged at the collar. “The city is crowded in the fall, gray and gloomy. Lots of rain, but no sun breaks like here. The holiday decorations will be up after Thanksgiving, but it’s cold, and people are more irritable than usual. I’m not a fan of snow either. Wet feet and cold noses. Yuck.”
“Wet feet. Cold nose. You just described Barney.”
“True.” I gingerly extended a hand toward the dog sitting near the end of the table, halfway between Merry’s side and mine. The dog offered a confused expression, undoubtedly sensing I had limited canine experience. I gave him a fast pat before returning my hand to my side. “I love spring in the city. Summer is hot and muggy. Fall is pretty awesome until you hit November. I love being able to get food in the middle of the night after a show.”
“Downtown Honolulu near Waikiki is pretty much twenty-four-seven, but otherwise, things tend to close early,” Merry agreed. “And it also depends on what food you’re looking for.”
“True. I do like New York’s bagels and pizza. But it’s also home and where I grew up.” I stared at the unfamiliar horizon, the pastel sky and palm trees. “I wouldn’t know what to do elsewhere. My first time flying anywhere was to see Craig when he was stationed down south.” I shot Merry a knowing grin. “Let me tell you, Hawaii is so much better than Florida.”
“The lack of alligators is appealing.”
“Very.” We laughed as our number was called. We fetched our food, huge portions of steaming pancakes, meat, and rice. “I may never need to eat again.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll burn it all off.” Merry gave an evil cackle as we arranged the dishes between us so we could share. Cozy. Merry speared a piece of the dinner-plate-sized pancake drowning in sweet custard sauce. “So, city boy, you were never tempted to go the Hollywood actor route?”
“Never. I was a drama major at NYU, but my love of theater goes way back to my grandpa on my mom’s side.” I paused to savor a bite of the salty fried rice topped with a fried egg. Merry seemed inclined to keep listening, so I continued, “Our other grandfather and our parents are rather sporty types, like Craig, and they were always all about his academic and athletic accomplishments. But Pop-Pop—”
“Wow.” Merry’s eyes went wide. “That’s what my kids call my dad.”
“Oh, that’s adorable. Anyway, Pop-Pop loved the theater, especially bargain matinees. And after my grandmother passed, he hated going alone, so I was drafted into going along. I loved the magic.”
“Don’t movies have way more special effects?” Merry had a drop of the custard sauce near his bristly chin, and I wanted to lick it off in the worst way.
“Not that kind of magic.” I waved my fork. “Real magic. The ability to transport the audience and help them use their imagination to enter another time and place. Movies often do too much of the work for you. But a good stage production envelops the audience into a shared experience. There’s nothing like it.”
“You certainly make a case for Broadway.” Merry nodded thoughtfully.
“And drama classes in schools.” I launched into my other passion. “I was lucky I had Craig because I was small and scrawny and very clearly not straight from birth onwards. Even in progressive New York schools, the bullies still found me. But they couldn’t touch me on stage. On stage, I could be a general, a president, a band leader, or a dashing aristocrat.”
“Yeah.” Merry’s voice took on a faraway yet gentle cast. “Or a fairy.”
“Or a fairy.” I chuckled along with him. “I did make a great Peter Pan, even if I would have rather played Hook.”
“Because you’re so menacing.” He pointed his butter knife at me.
“On stage, I can be,” I retorted. “That’s my point. On stage, in all the school productions, I got a break from being me. I could be whomever I wanted.” Warming to my subject, my voice rose, and I spoke faster. “I know people—even my own family—who think I do it for the attention. I do love an audience, but I do it for the kids in the audience who also need that escape.”