Prologue~Ch. 1~Ch. 2~Ch. 3~Ch. 4~Ch. 5~Ch. 6~Ch. 7~Ch. 8~Ch. 9~Ch. 10~
It had been a slow day for flowers. Jessica leaned back in the chair behind the counter pulling the petals one by one from a shasta daisy. The door chime tinkled merrily and she quickly brushed the mess she’d made into the wicker garbage basket.
“Jessica, you’ll never believe what happened!” a bouncy voice greeted her.
“Hi Rochelle. What’s going on?”
Rochelle, who was every bit as bouncy as her voice, leaned across the countertop. “The museum agreed to lend us the swords we wanted.”
“What do we need swords for?”
“The play, dummy, remember?” Rochelle tossed her blond curls impatiently. “You better not have forgotten the dress rehearsal we have tonight. Seven o’clock sharp at the old theatre.”
Jessica hadn’t forgotten. “Do I need to bring anything?”
“Just your fencing skills,” Rochelle bounced away from the counter. “Gotta run. Places to go, people to see . . .”
The door tinkled shut behind her and Jessica sighed. How had she got roped into this?
“As I recall,” said Ellen over supper that evening. “Your exact words were: ‘It might be fun.’ That was, of course, before you found out that the real reason they wanted you for the lead was because you took fencing in high school. That, and the fact you’ve pretty much memorized every swashbuckler Errol Flynn ever made.”
“The three musketeers as women,” Jessica said, disgusted with herself. “I can’t believe I’m a part of it. I love Alexandre Dumas’s books. This is going to be awful.”
“Not too awful,” Ellen assured her. “I’ve seen the costumes. And I promise you, they’re hot.”
Jessica had to agree with Ellen as she looked in the full length mirror at the theatre. She especially liked the boots, thigh high black suede that slid easily over the black satin, tight fitting breeches.
The shirt was also satin, white and billowy, with enormous sleeves. A black satin musketeer’s jacket went overtop and a large black hat, complete with white plume, finished the costume.
“Who paid for all this?” Jessica asked Rochelle, who was practically falling out of a blue satin period dress.
“They’re rented. Well, actually, Jennifer’s boyfriend’s brother runs this costume place and he’s letting us use them for free as long as we make sure we advertise his store on the posters.”
“Here,” Peter, one of the stage hands, handed Jessica a sword belt. “This isn’t the real sword, it’s the one that goes with the costume. Jennifer didn’t want anyone accidentally slicing up a costume until opening night.”
“It looks pretty real,” Jessica said, unsheathing the sword. “Maybe we should just stick to these. A real sword could damage more than just a costume.”
“No,” said Rochelle impatiently. “We have to use the real ones. The museum is counting on us for free advertising.” She went off in search of Jennifer.
“Now that I’ve seen you in the costume, I’m thinking this production might no be so bad after all,” Peter teased Jessica.
“Don’t let Cathy hear you say that. I don’t know who she’d hurt more, me or you.”
Peter laughed and went back to work. Jessica admired herself in the mirror some more and tried to figure out what to do with her hair.
“Rochelle wants our hair loose,” said a voice behind her.
Jessica caught a glimpse of a similarly dressed musketeer behind her. This one had long blond curls.
“That’s ridiculous, Tammy. How can you fight with hair in your face?”
Tammy shrugged, “I already pointed that out to Rochelle but she wanted to make sure everyone knows we’re women.”
Jessica giggled, “As if anyone could miss that little piece of information with Vikki around.”
“Did I hear my name being taken in vain?”
A third musketeer came over to join them in front of the mirror. She was short and dark-haired, but what she lacked in height she made up for in chest size.
“Look at this thing,” Vikki complained. “This jacket doesn’t even come close to closing.”
“Could be worse,” Tammy assured her. “You could have my problem.” She overlapped the front of her jacket to show just how much room she had.
“God, all this satin and feathers, we look like we’re going to a pimp’s funeral,” Jessica said.
Rochelle and Jennifer argued, loudly, for almost an hour while everyone else sat around waiting. Finally they agreed that for rehearsals they’d use the fake swords, but for the play itself they’d use the ones from the museum.
After that rehearsal went off without a hitch. Everyone knew their lines and Jessica was making real headway teaching the others what she remembered of fencing lessons. Still, it was after ten before they finished up.
“Jessica, could you come here for a minute?”
Jessica, still in her costume, followed Peter to a store room.
“Rochelle wanted you to have a look at these. She’s worried they might be too heavy.”
Jessica picked up one of the swords from the museum. “They’re heavier than they look,” she admitted.
“Here,” he handed her the sword belt. “See how much the whole thing weighs you down.”
She removed the costume sword belt and strapped the real one around her waist.
“It weighs about the same like this,” she said. “The length might be awkward during the chase scenes, though. I’d better let Rochelle see this.”
Jessica had no luck finding Rochelle. She checked the stage, the wings and even went back to the storage room. By this time Peter had locked up and gone home, so she headed back to the dressing room to change.
Unfortunately, the door to the room she’d left her street clothes in was locked, as were all the others she tried.
“Damn!”
She couldn’t wear the costume home, but there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it. There weren’t any other clothes lying around and where would she leave it?
“And what am I supposed to do with this sword?” Rochelle would kill her if anything happened to it.
After searching the theatre one more time, she admitted she had no choice. As ridiculous as she’d look, she’d have to wear the costume home. The sword was easier left on the belt, but she carried the hat in her hand.
It wasn’t until she was out on the street that she remembered her purse was still in the theatre. Jessica tried to catch the door before it shut but she was too late. She heard the ominous click as it automatically locked.
Jessica leaned her head against the door, “This just isn’t my night.”
“Oh, damn,” she looked at her watch. She was supposed to meet Howard at her place at eleven, it was almost that now. There was nothing to do but start walking.
“If I had any money on me,” she muttered to herself, “I’d buy a lottery ticket on the way home. I’ve had such rotten luck tonight that I’m due for something good to happen.”
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