“So, Porgy and Bess takes place in this fictional fishing town called Catfish Row. “Does it affect how the set will be built?” he asked. He didn’t know shit-all difference between a musical and an opera. “Well, as you know, we’re doing Porgy and Bess-a musical version, not operatic.” “I got the sketches you emailed, but I’ll need a rundown of the entire set so I can get started.” He lifted a spiral-bound memo pad from his back pocket and pulled the carpenter’s pencil from behind his ear. He took a couple of steps to the right, creating some distance between himself and Taylor. And when she’d continued to let him inside for those late-night booty calls, Sam hadn’t turned down the invitation. He might be callous, but he wasn’t in the business of breaking hearts. When it became apparent that she wanted more, Sam tried to break it off. Back then, he hadn’t been in the right headspace for even a casual one, but Taylor insisted she was okay with that. Sam recoiled at the idea of an intense relationship on a good day. He’d been upfront with her from the very beginning. Some might consider him a bastard for being so callous, but he felt zero guilt about his time with Taylor. He and Taylor had only dated for a few months about a year ago-if one could call him showing up at her place whenever he needed to get laid dating. Too much history there.Īlthough, in the grand scheme of things, there actually wasn’t much history between them. He’d known working with Taylor would be a problem. This was why, for just a moment, he’d considered backing out on his offer to help with the set. He hoped his smile didn’t look as uneasy as it felt as he delicately extricated himself from Taylor’s hold. She entwined her arm with his and gave Sam a kiss on the cheek. I’ll be over in a minute.”īy the time he’d leaned the fencing against the wall, Taylor was at his side. “Sam!” Taylor waved at him and pointed to the left side of the stage. Ever since Taylor had moved here and taken over the summer productions, they had become so elaborate that they attracted theater hopefuls from around the region. The community theater wasn’t limited to those strictly from Maplesville. Some of the teens Sam recognized, but there were a few non-locals. He spotted the theater director, Taylor Mitchell, standing center stage, surrounded by a group of teens, her hands moving enthusiastically about as she described something to the group. Now that his dad was no longer here, Sam had taken it upon himself to continue Charlie’s legacy of giving back.
Sam wasn’t a carpenter by trade, but he’d worked alongside his dad for years in the workshop behind his parents’ home. His dad considered his work with the community theater a thank you to the people of Maplesville for patronizing his cabinet-making business for over three decades. The local arts council had come to rely on Charlie Stewart’s yearly donation of both time and materials, which he’d given readily, without fail, since the theater’s inception eight years ago.
Sam would rather sit through two straight hours of back-to-back root canals than sit through a musical, but he’d volunteered to help build the set for this year’s production. The place was abuzz with activity now that preparations for this summer’s community theater production had been kicked into high gear. Reaching into the bed of his Ford F-150, Sam Stewart lifted the section of fencing he’d fashioned out of driftwood that he’d picked up from the banks of the Pearl River, and carried it inside the auditorium at Maplesville High School.