Page 69 of Sweet T
He didn’t care. His youth and his love for the craft far overrode any immediate financial concerns. He had to remain in Spoon in order to pay the Shepard family back. There was no reason he couldn’t indulge in his passion as he did so. He even had Tucker’s approval. Frankly, he couldn’t wait to show everyone what he was capable of.
Mr. Jones spoke again: You can’t live off of community theatre, Evan. You left a small town for more opportunity. Do you really think you’ll find more options in Spoon, an even smaller town?
No. In order to continue with his passion, he would have to move on, eventually.
Another inner voice spoke. This one was Shelly’s.
Don’t hurt him.
* * *
Sebastian picked him up on time. Evan opened the passenger door on the Hyundai Sonata and got in.
“Hello, Fool,” Sebastian said.
“Hello, yourself,” Evan responded, again pondering dual interpretations in words. “Or would you rather me play the role more like Cordelia’s alter ego?”
“Where on earth did you come from, my blessed child? Never in a million years did I think I would find a local with both the talent to take on a pivotal role and knowledge of the play’s psychological workings. Someone pinch me.”
“I’m not local, remember?”
“Yes, you are. We all are... citizens of middle Georgia. Bless our hearts.”
* * *
When they arrived at their destination, it surprised Evan to find that it was a church—two churches—small and large, both sharing a driveway and parking lot. When they turned in the drive, there were also two signs, one for All Saints Episcopal Church. Another, the smaller of the two, read Black Sheep Theatre, established in 1997.
“How charming,” Evan said. “You’re in a converted church.”
“Yep. All thanks to Big Britches and his daddy, Truman. The church was looking to expand. They owned the land, but instead of demolishing the building, the City of Spoon purchased it and the small chunk of land it takes up. This gave the congregation the additional funds needed for a new, larger church and that big recreational building behind it. We don’t own the parking lot, but they’re happy to share. You’ll see. A good many of our cast members are Whiskeypalians.”
“Are what?”
“Never mind. It’s an old joke. Older than you and me put together.”
They got out of Sebastian’s car and went up the concrete walkway toward the steps of the small building. Upon closer inspection, Evan could see where the rounded stained-glass windows once were, now filled with painted brick to match the exterior.
“The building is over a hundred years old, historical, as were the windows,” Sebastian said, reading Evan’s mind. “They were moved to the new building. We had no use for them. Theatres need darkness, hence the bricks.”
“It’s so beautiful. Almost sacred looking.”
“It is, as far as I’m concerned. I suspect you’ll soon feel the same.”
The grounds were modest, but pretty. Evan saw petunias in the sun and impatiens in the shade, all housed in their own edged beds with dark hardwood mulch, surrounded by lush green fescue. One monster oak in the front shaded the building.
They climbed the three short steps to the door. Sebastian unlocked it, flipped the light switch, and they entered. Evan saw they were standing in what used to be the church’s vestibule, now the theatre’s lobby and ticket booth.
“It’s small, mind you,” Sebastian warned, as they crossed another threshold of double doors leading into the main part of the building. “We only seat ninety-eight.”
Evan ducked, stepping through the drawn curtains. He saw a lone ghost light on the stage ahead, just over a foot off the ground. They were standing in the aisle between two enormous sets of carpeted risers, enough space for forty-nine chairs on each side. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he saw said chairs in stacks on the highest risers.
“The backstage area is also small. Most of us prefer stretching out on the risers during rehearsals. The lighting booth is a carved-out chunk of the building’s attic, and will only hold two people. You can’t stand up in there.”
There were steps on both sides, next to the risers, and Sebastian climbed the nearest all the way to the back wall, disappearing behind another curtained doorway. Through a narrow rectangular window, high above the aisle where they'd entered, Evan could see Sebastian moving. He heard a switch click, and the room was filled with bright light from eight cans suspended across the room’s ceiling, gelled amber to soften the glare.
“Ah. Much better,” Sebastian said, coming back down the stairs. “The restrooms are backstage.”
Evan raised his eyebrows.