It Takes a Bouquet

Yes, I’d heard him even if he’d kept his voice down. I looked away and into the face of a muscle hunk Hispanic stagehand I’d been sharing smiles with through the production phase. He was smiling now too, and as I walked back to the Green Room to check notes with the other actors before going to my dressing room—at least I merited my own dressing room, complete with studio coach that I suspected Robert had made sure was there—I returned his smile.

My smile turned into a laugh when I got to my dressing room and found a somewhat bedraggled small bouquet of mixed flowers in a vase on my dressing table.

As I stood in the doorway, Robert passed me, Claudia on his arm, and I said, “Thanks for the flowers.”

Robert gave me a confused look and said, “What flowers?”

* * * *

Flowers were there the next night after the performance as well. The bouquet was in somewhat better condition and quality than the one on opening night. On the third night, I hung around, down the corridor, before the play started, and I saw the hunky Hispanic stagehand go into the dressing room with a small bouquet in his hand.