Pam clicked her tongue and shook her head. “You’ve made a mistake, Stella. You’ll be ruined on coffee shops forevermore. No one makes a croissant or cup of coffee better than Vivienne.”
Stella had no reason at all to doubt Pam was telling the truth. Right now, however, with a warm latte in one hand and a fresh croissant in the other, she had no regrets.
The theater was located around the corner from Main Street, tucked in a treed lot near the high school. Faded metal signs along Main Street pointed out the direction. Tasha was right though—you couldn’t miss the marquee. MEET ME IN ST. LOUIS was spelled out on the red and white sign with DATES TO COME written underneath it.
Barb held the door open for Stella, and she was still wiping her powdered-sugar-covered hands off on her apron when a booming voice filled the cool lobby.
“Ms. Pierce, we meet again.”
Sam was standing in the middle of the double doors into the theater, a work belt fastened around his waist and a hammer in one hand.
“Sam. What are you doing here?”
“Lending my talents to the arts,” he said, lifting his hammer for emphasis. “I’m building a trolley.”
Stella was almost ashamed to admit it, but her first thought was that he should be at his shop working on her car. On one hand, she knew he deserved to have a life. Plus, the part for her car hadn’t even arrived yet. But on the other hand, the faster he fixed her car, the sooner she could continue on with her trip.
“A very sturdy trolley, I hope?” Cheri asked. “It better be strong because if I fall through the floorboard of a weak trolley during my theater debut, I’ll never work in this town again.”
She was joking, clearly, but Sam pressed his hammer to his heart. “I swear I’ll build a trolley worthy of your talent.”
“I’m mostly worried about it being worthy of my size,” Barb yelled from the front door, slapping her thigh to make her point clear. She was propping the door open as men carried sheets of plywood from a truck outside into the theater and towards the stage.
“I built your back deck, Barb. You should know you can trust my work.”
“Quite the handyman, aren’t you?” Stella asked. “Fixing cars, building decks, making trolleys—is there anything you don’t do?”
“Sing,” Sam replied confidently. “Every dog in town starts howling the moment I open my mouth.”
Tasha marched in the front doors with a young man on her arm. He was a little taller than her with a mess of dark curls and stubble on his chin. Despite the heat outside, he was wearing a blazer, but the sleeves were rolled to his elbows.
“Our fearless leaders have arrived.” Pam bowed deeply in front of the pair.
Tasha rolled her eyes and let go of her boyfriend, who Stella assumed must be the Eddie Green mentioned back at the café, and grabbed Pam instead. “Get all your joking out now because I’m putting you all to work today!”
Tasha’s threat proved to be nothing more than that. She went around the room and gave everyone jobs, but the laughing never stopped. The cast and crew worked together, running lines, working on the lights, and putting together the sets and backdrops, but no one acted like it was work at all. It was obvious they were all more than happy to spend their Saturday together at the theater.
Stella found that she didn’t mind it much either. She’d originally come just to be nice to Tasha and pay the Baldwins back for their kindness to her, but the theater was a cool reprieve from the sweltering weather outside, and she liked working on such a large canvas.
After seeing her landscape painting this morning, Tasha assigned Stella to paint one of the outdoor backdrops. The sky and ground had already been painted blue and green, respectively, so Stella got to go in with the details—the fun stuff.
Stella hadn’t been on many stages before, but she knew this one was smaller than most. The theater was more intimate, so the sets didn’t need to be overly big; however, that didn’t mean the job was any easier. A smaller stage meant the audience would be closer to the set, so they’d notice the details. Or, more likely, the lack of them. Like most things, if the job was done right, people wouldn’t notice it at all. Stella hoped she was good enough to transport the audience out of the theater and into the play itself. That was the goal of art and theater, anyway, wasn’t it?
She started with flowers in the grass, adding various shades of green to give the grass more depth, and then came in with bright pops of magenta, orange, and yellow. Tasha didn’t give her much direction, but Meet Me in St. Louis was a famous old Hollywood musical. It was supposed to be bright and magical—a version of real life, but not a mirror copy—so Stella used bright colors and bold strokes to paint the scene.
When she was done with the grass, a nice young man brought out a ladder for her, and she climbed up to begin working on the clouds. They were more straightforward, but she added in soft strokes of lavender and baby blue for shading and streaks of yellow and gold for the sun’s rays. Deep in the distance, she drew small flocks of birds and then, before finishing, went back to the grass to add in honeybees and butterflies, fluttering around the flowers.
When she finally stepped back to admire her work, it had been several hours, and her arms and legs were sore.
“Are you happy with it?” Sam was standing just off stage, leaning against a two-by-four like it was a cane. A small amount of sweat had collected around his collar.
“I think so, but I suppose that is up to Tasha and Eddie.”
“It’s great!” A booming voice came from the back of the theater.
