Page 11 of For My Finale

L ilah sat on the floor of her living room, furiously stabbing at the remote control in her hand.

She was certain, absolutely certain, that there had to be more channels hidden in there somewhere.

Her TV in America had had over five hundred of the damn things.

Here, she’d been able to find five. She glared at the screen, there had to be a secret there somewhere.

“Oh, come on,” she muttered, cycling through the channels again.

The picture flickered, and for a tantalizing moment there was the pixelated glimpse of something on the screen. Lilah thought she identified a nipple. Maybe not her preferred watching, but it would be a change from the endless round of cooking competitions and property renovations.

It was only a moment, though, then the picture disappeared. Lilah was in the middle of a lengthy string of very creative curses when someone knocked on her door.

She groaned, looking down at her pajamas.

A slouchy designer hoodie that had once been bright white and was now a dingy cream, a pair of sweatpants, she was in no state for visitors.

For a fleeting second, she considered pretending that she wasn’t home.

But then another knock came, more insistent this time.

“Alright, alright,” she grumbled, dragging herself to her feet. “I swear to God, the English need to learn how to text, instead of just showing up on my doorstep like it’s 1884.”

She swung the door open to find Arty, looking as smug as ever, and Daisy, still hopped up on whatever it was she took and looking like she was buzzing too hard to hold down a conversation. Or maybe it was just excitement, Lilah couldn’t tell.

“I don’t need any parking,” said Lilah. “I’m returning the car.”

“Just as well that’s not what we’re here for,” Arty said. “May I?” And he strolled past her into the cottage without waiting for her to say a thing.

Daisy, to give her credit, hesitated for a second, her eyes wide as she peeked past Lilah into the cottage. “Oooo, fancy. Is that a designer rug?”

Lilah looked down at it. “It’s from Ikea,” she said. “There’s a label still on it.”

“But… like… has Anthony Hopkins ever stepped on it?” Daisy asked.

Lilah stared down at it. “I shouldn’t have thought so,” she said. She looked at Daisy. “Why would Anthony Hopkins have…” She shook her head. “Never mind.” She stepped aside, letting Daisy follow Arty and already regretting answering the door.

Daisy began a full inspection of the furniture, running her fingers over the arm of the lumpy couch, looking like she was trying to absorb celebrity by osmosis. Lilah crossed her arms and fixed Arty with a look. He seemed to be the sensible one in this equation. “Alright, what do you want?”

“What makes you think that I want something?” Arty said, with an air of fake innocence.

“Because you’re here,” Lilah said. “And because you knocked on my door.”

“Fair point.” Arty flopped onto the couch, making himself thoroughly at home. “We need to ask you a favor.”

Lilah rolled her eyes. “Pass.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“I know enough to know that I’m not interested.” She folded her arms tighter .

Arty ignored her. “After your, er, shall we say enthusiastic critique of our little rehearsal the other night, the Am-Dram society has decided that perhaps we could use a little professional guidance.”

“And?”

Arty sighed. “And you’re a professional.” He held up his hands. “We’re not asking you to act. Just to help direct, that’s all. Be an extra set of eyes, give advice, that sort of thing.”

“Absolutely not.”

Daisy was admiring the shockingly ordinary coffee table with wide eyes. “Does George Clooney—”

“No,” snapped Lilah. “George Clooney has not put his Horlick’s on my coffee table.” She turned back to Arty. “And I’m not directing your little play.”

“You’ve already discovered Horlick’s?” Arty said. Then he shrugged. “Fair enough, I suppose. I just thought that you might enjoy annoying Gloria.”

Lilah hesitated. She would enjoy annoying Gloria, that was a good point.

“And I’ve heard that you’re looking for a job,” he said. “I’d be prepared to let you work a shift behind the bar if you’d like.” He winked at her. “Get you closer to that three job limit so Blossom will clean this place up for you.”

Dammit, was anything a secret in this stupid town? It was a good offer, though. Tempting. “You would?”

Arty nodded. “As long as me and Blossom are there to keep an eye on you. I’ve heard all about the museum and I don’t want any funny business.”

She sucked on her teeth for a second, then nodded. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

Daisy clapped excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “This is going to be spectacular. A real-life movie star directing our play. It’ll be like Broadway.”

“It will be nothing like Broadway,” Lilah said.

Arty stood up, looking pleased with himself. “Perfect, I’ll let everyone know. Well, everyone except Gloria. ”

Lilah narrowed her eyes. “Wait—”

“Oh no,” Arty said. “You’ll have to tell Gloria yourself.”

Lilah’s stomach dropped. Daisy took a notebook out of her pocket. “Here you go, that’s Gloria’s number. You can ring her. It’ll be easier.” She glanced over at the old land-line phone. “Has Brad Pitt—”

“No,” Lilah said. “Just no.”

Arty let them both out, leaving Lilah feeling like she might not have gotten the best out of the impromptu visit.

???

Blossom sat alone at one of the tables of the cafe. The place was empty, the normal early afternoon moment of quiet. Silence settled around her. Well, mostly. The fridge hummed faintly, and pipes rattled in the back. She was staring down at her open computer, tapping her fingers on the tabletop.

The cafe needed saving, that much was very clear.

With the new franchise opening, her days were numbered.

Yes, people loved The Bankton Bean. But convenience and price would win out in the end, they always did.

She’d seen it happen in other villages, local places crushed by corporate efficiency. She just wouldn’t be able to compete.

She’d listed some ideas, and they stared at her from her screen. Crowdfunding? How would she ever raise enough that way? And enough for what, to keep the place running for a few months, and then…? She could never organize anything like that, anyway.

The weight of self-doubt pressed against her chest. She was no business guru. She was Blossom Baker. She made a decent cup of coffee and liked to see people smile. Who was she to think that she could fight off a giant corporation?

She sighed, rubbing at her face. She wished she had Lilah’s confidence. The way she just waltzed into a room like she owned it. Lilah didn’t hesitate, she didn’t second guess, she just said what she thought and did what she wanted, and damn the consequences.

Blossom tried to imagine herself like that. Storming into a meeting with the town council, demanding support, rallying the village behind her cause with the sheer force of her personality.

It was a tough ask, though. She just couldn’t see herself that way.

Besides, the village could only deal with one chaos gremlin at a time, and currently they had Lilah Paxton.

Three months. That’s about how long it would take her to go bankrupt. She groaned and closed her laptop. She really didn’t want to think about it. She’d figure something out. Something would turn up. It had to.

The cafe door burst open, the bell jangling violently, Gloria sweeping in like a thundercloud in a floral print dress.

“Blossom! It’s a disaster!” she wailed, picking up a menu and fanning herself with it. “An absolute catastrophe!”

Blossom squinted, trying to think of what might have happened and coming up blank. “Um, what is?”

Gloria collapsed onto a chair, looking like she was on the verge of fainting. “She’s going to co-direct the play.”

“Who?” Blossom asked, even though she had the sinking feeling that she already knew.

“Who do you think?” Gloria said. “Her. Lilah Paxton.”

“Alright,” Blossom said. “And…?”

“And? And? You were there. You saw what she did at the first rehearsal. She shredded everyone to pieces. Even me! Me, Blossom! And I studied under Geraldine Fenwick.”

Blossom fought back a smile. Geraldine Fenwick had been an acting teacher in the next village over even when she was a child.

From everything she knew, the woman’s main claim to fame was once meeting Judi Dench at a train station.

“Gloria, I know Lilah can be… a lot. But maybe this is a good thing?”

“How?” Gloria asked, clutching at her chest. “Please explain to me just how this could be a good thing. ”

“Well,” Blossom said, thinking out loud. “She is a professional actress. A big name attached to the show could get more attention, sell more tickets. I’m sure this sort of thing happens all the time in show business, right?”

Gloria hesitated, her dramatic fury wavering. “Well, I suppose. I mean, the National Theater did have Gill Anderson step in for a workshop last year…”

“Exactly,” said Blossom. “And you never know, Lilah might even make the show a little better, given her experience. And everyone profits from that, surely?”

Slowly, a smile started to curve over Gloria’s lips. “And that would reflect on me as the star of the show, of course.”

“Exactly,” said Blossom, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

Gloria clapped her hands. “You know what, Blossom? You’re absolutely right.

I will embrace this challenge like the professional I am.

” She looked remarkably pleased with herself, as if this had been her own idea.

“And if I’m to work with Paxton, then I must be at my absolute best. A nap for me, darling. Kisses!”

And with that, Gloria swept back out of the cafe, her storm clouds dissipated into pure sunshine.

Blossom sighed, shaking her head. She wondered just how many of Lilah’s messes she was going to have to clear up. But even as she thought the question, she already knew the answer. All of them.