Stormy Vows - Iris Johansen [8]
Charles Wilkes was getting out of his Volkswagon Rabbit when she pulled into the parking lot at the rear of the theater that evening. He smiled broadly and waved, as she parked in the spot next to him and turned off the ignition.
In his late fifties, Wilkes looked older than his years. His snow-white hair, gray-white beard, and rotund figure made him look like an intellectual Santa Claus. This look was augmented by the gray tweed suit and horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.
He was beside her in a moment, and took the sleeping Randy from her as she opened the door of the Honda. He handled the baby with practiced ease, wrapping the blanket more tightly around the small body.
He stood there, his face as eager as a child's.
“How did it go?” he whispered over Randy's head.
She made a face, as she opened the rear door and pulled out Randy's playpen. “It was a complete disaster,” she said gloomily. “The Titanic was a success story in comparison.”
Profound disappointment flooded Wilkes' face. “Hernandez didn't like your reading?” he asked, as they walked toward the stage door.
“Mr. Hernandez liked it,” Brenna said caustically. “It was your old pupil that found me wanting.”
“Michael was there?” Charles asked incredulously, a pleased smile on his face. “It was kind of him to give the audition his personal attention.”
“I assure you I would have been a thousand times more fortunate if he hadn't been so ‘kind.’” Brenna bit her lip, then confessed miserably, “I'm sorry, Charles. I let you down. I not only fouled up my chance of a part, but I lost my temper with Mr. Donovan.”
A grin creased his face, making him look more cherubic than ever. “Don't worry, Brenna,” he said genially. “I imagine it was an interesting experience for Michael. He's so used to being kowtowed to these days, it must have been quite refreshing to have someone stand up to him.”
“I'm glad you think so,” Brenna said dryly. “Somehow I don't think he felt the same way.”
They had reached the backstage door and Charles deftly balanced Randy on one arm while he held the heavy metal door open for Brenna.
The Rialto was actually an old renovated movie house, one of many small neighborhood theaters that had closed after the advent of television. It had remained a boarded-up derelict until Wilkes joyously discovered it among the property listings of a small real estate company. With boundless enthusiasm, he had enlisted the aid of the students of his classes at the university to make the theater a habitable home for his own community theater. Brenna had learned later that Charles had been amazingly fortunate in his find. Los Angeles was the possessor of innumerable amateur theater groups looking for a showcase for their talents in the optimistic hope that one magic night a talent scout or agent would discover them. Shabby and antiquated as the Rialto was, it had become dearly familiar to Brenna in the last two years.
The play they were rehearsing now was an original work of one of Charles' more talented students. Brenna's role was small but important to the production. After playing the lead in the last play, she was enjoying the lighter responsibility that was hers in this charming romantic comedy.
That is, she would have enjoyed it, but for the scene she was forced to do with Blake Conroy. The scene would have been a relatively simple one if she had not had to contend with Conroy's sophomoric shenanigans. In her less irritable moments she could