“Terrified is a strong word,” said Doug.
“A true word. I want to make my parents proud of me.”
“I think,” Doug said slowly, “that might be overkill.”
“Why?” she asked, her voice rising in defense. “Because they’re gone?”
“Not at all.” He stepped closer and framed her face in his hands. “I’m twenty-eight years old and have two shows running in New York at the same time.
That’s rare—very rare—and my folks could care less. So, what does their approval mean in the end? Nothing. You go after your dreams because inside, you know it’s the right path.”
“I like numbers,” she whispered. “Always have. And that liking morphed into a dream career with a world-renowned investment firm.”
“I know. And numbers give me a rash.”
She smiled. He’d always been able to make her laugh. Seemed he still could.
And maybe that was not a small thing.
“You know what gave me a rash in the old days?” she asked.
“Of course, I do. Writing those personal essays. The insult of revealing your thoughts and feelings to a bunch of strangers. I’ll never forget the fire in your eyes when you stalked toward that door, ready to quit the class.”
“But I needed those three credits to get my degree.” Her voice fell away as the memory played as sharply as if it had happened yesterday. “The essays were all submitted anonymously. The prof picked you to read mine. And when I reached the door—my hand was on the knob— you said I couldn’t leave, that the course was required for graduation. Smarty-pants.” But a shard of pain still stung inside.
“Maybe…just maybe,” Doug slowly began, “it was too soon for you to take that writing course.”
She stared at him then, examining his features, discerning a softness, a compassion that she hadn’t noticed then.
“Who knows?” she replied, her voice low. “That shrink all us kids visited after the accident wanted us to write in a diary. A private journal…” She shrugged.
“That class lasted for one semester—the longest ever fifteen weeks in college—
but in the end, I handled it.”
She watched him pull out his phone. “You handled that and a lot of other things.
Now, can you handle giving me your cell number? Or will I have to call you at work and interrupt you again and again?”
“Fools rush in…” she sang quietly.
His head jerked up. “You won’t be sorry, Jenny. We’ll take it slow.”
Maybe it was the only way to discover once and for all what it was about this man that put other men in the shade. She’d spent five years keeping busier than ten people so as not to miss him. I Will Survive. As the song had reminded her Friday night, she had a lot of love to give. If Doug had frozen her heart, then maybe he was the right one to melt it again or at least help her reach a closure that worked. A final closure. So she’d be able to move on.
“It’s not the speed,” she whispered. “It’s the uncertainty. The trust.” She extended her hand. “Give me your phone.”
##
Trust was a big one. The only one. Doug couldn’t get the word out of his mind all day as he finished setting up his apartment, made and answered phone calls, and once more studied the script for The Sanctuary. Jen had a trust problem with him. Of course, she was wrong. He’d never hurt her. Never. In time, she’d understand that.
Back in the theater on Monday morning, Doug greeted the play’s producer, who had many projects behind him, and the young director, who’d already made a name for herself locally. They wore big smiles, and exuded high energy and anticipation. A great way to start.
“I’m thrilled that you’ve decided to stage this in Boston,” said Lynn, as she shook Doug’s hand and sat down. She glanced at her cohort. “We both are.”
“You won’t be sorry,” added Jake. “Our theater group has won many awards due to our high-quality performances, provided, I might add, at a fair price.”
“Two excellent attributes for a successful playhouse,” said Doug with a smile.
“Since I’m on staff at the university this year, I’d say it all worked out.” He held up his well-worn script. “Can we get down to business now?”
Instantly, the conversation ceased, and the analysis began. Doug noted that each of the others’ manuscripts looked as dog-eared as his. Theater was a risky business, and no one wanted to fail.
Three hours went by before Doug’s stomach growled. He looked at his watch and pushed his chair back. “I’m starving.”
But he felt Lynn’s hand on his arm. “Before we break, I just want to say how much I love this play. I love each character. And I love the title. The Sanctuary.
It’s perfect.”
“Thanks,” said Doug. “It’s funny how sometimes a title comes hard, but this one…? It whispered to me.”
“It’s a winner all around,” confirmed Jake. “The way I see it, our mission is to cast it properly here, have a good run, and then you can bring it to New York.”
Doug’s stomach tightened. “Let’s take one step at a time.” Sure, Broadway was the goal, but as he’d told Jen, he’d just be a consultant and commute to New York as needed. “We’ll see what happens.”
He watched the other two exchange a quizzical glance. “We’ll see?” asked Lynn.
“There’s no ‘we’ll see’ about it. This is a powerful story. It deserves to be on Broadway!”
