“Guilty,” he says charmingly, half raising his hand. He tips the brim of his hat and closes his eyes again.
The woman says, in a library whisper, “I loved you inYou Can Go Home Again. Oh, andWonderful. AndDays of Old.Really, in everything.”
Timothy shifts. His palms are itchy and his toes are beginning to sweat and he really, really wants to go to sleep. Nevertheless, he smiles at the woman. He hates when famous people complain about being bothered in public. It’s the price you pay, he always tells actors just starting out. You give up some of your basic rights to privacy, but in return you get to be part of the most exciting, most soul-sucking, and simultaneously most soul-feeding, mostinterestingprofession in the world. You probably get a lot of money too. You get a charmed life, so please don’t complain if someone you don’t know wants to talk to you.
Now he stacks up all of this wisdom and advice, shuffles it, and deals it right back to himself. Without the public, he tells himself, you wouldn’t even exist, Timothy Fleming.
“Thank you so much,” he says. “That means a lot, truly.” (It still does, actually, every time.)
The woman is in her late-ish thirties, with big dark eyes and curly hair that stops just this side of wild. “I’m Joy Sousa,” she says.
“A pleasure.”
Four seats away from the woman are two teenage girls. Timothy wouldn’t have known that the girls and the woman were together except that every now and then one of the girls smiles at the dog.
“What are you doing on Block Island?” asks Joy.
There’s no going to sleep now. Well, the high-speed ferry takes only thirty minutes. He can sleep when he gets to the house. Why not sell a ticket as long as he’s awake? “I’m headed there for the summer. Directing a summer production at the Empire Theatre.”
“Oooh! The Empire! I didn’t know they did live theater. I thought it was only movies.”
“They usually don’t. It’s just this summer.”
“How exciting. You grew up here, right?” At his nod, she continues, “I knew somebody famous had come from Block Island. I’m new to it myself. And bynewI mean I’ve lived here thirteen years! But sometimes I feel like a newcomer, because, you know, I don’t go back like seven generations. My friend Holly mentioned something about a play. She’s a Realtor, and she was looking for housing for some of the actors. She didn’t say what play though, and I don’t think she mentioned the Empire. And shedefinitelydidn’t say your name! I would have remembered if she’d said Timothy Fleming was coming to town!”
“She may not have known. I’m in charge of my own housing.”
“Sure. Got it. I’m sure you have... a staff or whatever. You probably don’t needHolly. What’s the play?”
“Much Ado About Nothing. We open the second week of August.” He tries not to notice how Joy’s face falls a bit. She was probably hoping forMean GirlsorWickedorHamilton,something with rousing musical numbers that launch themselves into your consciousness, sticking there with the strength of caramel to a molar. People either like Shakespeare, or... they just feel very nonexcited about him. The nonexcited people may have read too much Shakespeare in school and don’t want to read another word of his again, or they’ve never read him and they’re intimidated by the thought of it. But the language is beautiful! And timeless! And so very wise. And spoken by the right actors, not intimidating at all.
“This play is very accessible,” he says. “Really and truly. It’s noLear;it’s noHenry VIII.It’s a comedy, with lots of plot twists and mistaken identities and so forth. You should come see it. It’s a hoot.”
“Sold!” says Joy. “If Timothy Fleming tells me to do something, I’m going to do it! Are youinit too? Or just directing?”
“Just directing. Notjustdirecting. I mean, I’m directing.”
She looks disappointed.
“Gertie Sanger is going to play Beatrice,” he offers.
Joy squeals. “Really?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Gertie Sanger is spending the summer on Block Island! Wow. Take that, Vineyard. You may have the Obamas, but look at us! GertieSanger.I can’t believe it. Weren’t you two... a thing?”
“We were married. Got divorced.” He doesn’t say,Biggest mistake of my life.But possibly he thinks it.
“Wow,” Joy says again, sitting back. “This is shaping up to be one exciting summer. You have to come by my shop, tell all your actors to come too! I own a little bakery in town. We specialize in mini whoopie pies, all different flavors. Raspberry, key lime. Chocolate, of course. A bunch of other flavors. When I first started making the whoopie pies my brother said they tasted like little Joy Bombs so that’s what I named my shop! Joy Bombs. We ship all over. We just got into Whole Foods. It’s almost impossible to get a baked good into the freezer section of Whole Foods, you know.”
Timothy didn’t know.
“We have lots of other great stuff. We have a full espresso bar. We have mocktails that we serve in mason jars. Seasonal. But we can make anything. Cappuccino, mocha, dirty chai.”
Timothy is intrigued. “What makes it dirty?”
“Ha! It’s not actually dirty. It’s chai, you know the tea? With steamed milk and an espresso shot. It’s the espresso shot that makes it dirty. Quote unquote. But my shop is very clean, I promise. And innovative, if I do say so myself.” She taps the cooler at her feet. “I was just on the mainland meeting with a supplier for this high-end, super-creamy, locally produced almond milk. You have to try it. The ferry guys wanted me to stack this with the other luggage, but I was like, no way. With what this costs per ounce I’m not letting it out of my sight!” She looks sidelong atTimothy, assessing. “I’m sorry. I’m jabbering. I’m just not used to being in the presence of a celebrity, so I got nervous, and when I get nervous I can’t stop talking. It’s the Portuguese side of the family. We’re talkers. Actually, the other side is Irish, andwe’retalkers too. So there’s really no hope for me.”
