“Wow! You really have thought of everything.”
“That’s my job,” says Amy. (Does she say this shortly? He can’ttell. This might just be how she talks after years and years of wrangling high school students.)
“I didn’t expect you to do the actual hands-on cleaning yourself.”
“Didn’t you?” (Is Amy in a mood?)
“You could have hired someone.”
“Who am I going to hire, Timothy? A barn cleaner? I don’t know how to find a barn cleaner on an island! Easier to do it myself. Make sure it gets done right.” (Yup. Mood. Amy must never, ever find out that Timothy is paying her salary out of his own pocket.)
Just then a woman pokes her head through the door and says, “Am I in the right place?” She sees Timothy and says, “Ah! I see that I am. Jane Wyndham.”
“Jane Wyndham, our illustrious stage manager!”
“Obviously you’re Timothy. I’d know that face anywhere.” Timothy does his modest chuckle, the one he reserves for people in the business, which is different from the chuckle for civilians. Jane Wyndham looksveryNew York–stagey—not very islandy at all. Brisk and no-nonsense. She’s got short, jet-black hair, lots of earrings up and down each ear, dark lipstick. Black clothing. She’s, what? Maybe forty? She could be a year or two older or younger.
“Indeed I am,” says Timothy. “And this is my sister-slash–production manager, Amy Trevino, and you’ve found our rehearsal barn.”
“It was hell getting an Uber,” says Jane, and Timothy sees Amy roll her eyes. Amy stands, shakes Jane’s hand, and gestures to the table. They all sit.
“Okay,” says Amy. “Production meeting number one. I’ll take notes.” Timothy can practically see Amy thinking that she will try to out-brisk Jane, maybe even out-no-nonsense her.
“First item of business. We need fans in here,” says Jane.
“On order,” says Amy frostily.
“How many?”
“Three. Three giant ones.”
Jane sucks in her lower lip and says, “We might need four.”
“They only had three.”
“Well, there it is, then,” says Jane. She rises from the table. “So, we’ll mark out the stage here?”
“I was thinking the opposite direction,” says Amy. “Get the width.”
They both look at Timothy. He feels like he could step one of two ways: in one direction there is a ditch full of crocodiles and in the other a bucketful of snakes.
“I’ll take a look,” he says. “When we’re done here.”
“Okay, next item—” begins Amy.
“When’s your hard out for people to be off book?” Jane asks Timothy.
“Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves?” suggests Amy. “We haven’t even started rehearsals yet.”
“Not at all,” says Jane. “These are the things I like to know from the beginning.” She shrugs unapologetically. “It’s how I work.”
Timothy clears his throat. “I’m going to see how the actors respond the first couple of days,” he says. “Then I’ll let you know.”
“That should be fine,” says Jane, and Timothy can almost hear Amy saying,should?
Jane has the Notes app in her iPhone open and is tapping away on the screen. “Another question. Will the cast be allowed to have a plus-one at opening night?”
“Geez, I don’t think we’ve thought that far ahead,” says Timothy. “Have we, Ame?”
