Vanilla Beaned by Jenn McKinlay

away from home.”
    Holly never broke her stride. She unhooked the velvet rope that cordoned off the theater entrance and gestured for Mel and Angie to go on through.
    A huge framed portrait of comedian Levi Cartwright stood on a pedestal and Angie stopped in her tracks.
    â€œOh my god, Levi Cartwright is here?” Her head swiveled around as if he’d appear behind a potted palm or faux alabaster pillar.
    â€œHe’s been our headlining act for a while now,” Holly said.
    Angie gasped. “Can I meet him?”
    â€œSure, I’ll introduce you,” Holly said.
    â€œIs he as funny in person as he is in his act?” Angie asked. “He just cracks me up.”
    â€œWell . . .” Holly drew out the one word as if she didn’t want to disappoint Angie but she didn’t want to lie, either. “You can decide when you meet him.”
    Angie turned to Mel with a grin so big, Mel couldn’t help laughing. She looked as young as Sydney.
    A big, burly man with biceps the size of Mel’s head and a name tag that read CARLOS smiled at Holly as she led them up the short staircase to the main door.
    â€œBring me any cupcakes tonight, Holl?” he asked. Mel noticed that his muscles flexed below his short-sleeved polo shirt when he talked.
    â€œCarlos, your sweet tooth is your weakness, you know that, right?”
    â€œSugar is what gives me my superpowers,” he countered. Then he posed in a Mr. Universe stance that made Mel’s pupils contract.
    The man looked as if he were carved out of granite. She had to curl her fingers into her palms just to keep from poking his muscles to see if they were as rock hard as they looked.
    â€œTomorrow,” she said. “I promise.”
    â€œI’ll hold you to that,” he said.
    â€œThese are my friends Mel and Angie,” Holly said. “They’re going to be hanging out at the show tonight.”
    Holly didn’t ask permission and Mel realized it was a sign of how important Holly was that she could bring guests in without question.
    â€œWelcome, ladies,” Carlos said. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
    â€œI don’t know about you, but I am feeling very VIP,” Angie said.
    Mel smiled. There was a certain cachet to getting to go where no one else was allowed. The theater was a big one with rows upon rows of movie theater–type seating behind fifty or so tables decked out with tablecloths and cushy chairs. The tables were definitely the prime seating.
    â€œWe have to get to the green room from backstage,”Holly said. She led them down a side aisle and up onto the stage, where they cut across the shiny black floor and slipped behind the heavy velvet curtains.
    A man with a tool belt was working on a set of lights and he glanced up when they entered.
    â€œHey, Holly,” he said. He was an older man with puffs of white hair sticking out over his ears but nowhere else on his bare head.
    â€œHow’s tricks, Benjy?” Holly asked and winked at him.
    â€œFancy is on the warpath,” he said. His voice was just above a whisper. “Be careful.”
    â€œThanks for the heads-up,” she said. She gestured for Mel and Angie to hurry after her.
    â€œWho’s Fancy?” Angie asked.
    â€œFancy Leroux, she’s our stage manager, production manager, you name it,” Holly said. “She was one of the original Casablanca girls back in 1959 when the Casablanca first opened.”
    â€œWow, so she’s really old,” Mel said.
    â€œAnd really mean,” Holly said. “But I still love her.”
    Mel must have looked as confused as she felt because Holly said, “Fancy was the one who discovered me as a cigarette girl. She took me aside and taught me what I needed to know to pass my audition. After that, she groomed me to take the lead, which I’ve had since just after Sydney was born.”
    â€œAre you sure