Chapter 1
The rain-slick parking lot was as empty as my success trying to find a job after the expense of dramatics school. The Granite Stone Grist Mill that stood before me was several hundred years old and had been converted into a theatre. With the occasional flash of lightning, the sign on the side of the building boldly read New Hope Theatre- The Players. The way it was worded sent mixed signals to my brain. Was it because of the success of people advancing to the New York stage and beyond, or just a farewell to those like myself who tried? I wasn’t sure, but I’ve never been a quitter. However, the lack of success the last two years trying to land a position as an actor was beginning to challenge that boast. After writing several short scripts for plays, I decided to give acting a try.
The theatre is part of the re-birth of New Hope, a small town on the bank of the Delaware River 30 miles above Philadelphia. It came into existence as a stopover on the Erie Canal in the early 1800, part of it still existing today. It’s become a popular attraction, riding in a barge drawn along the canal by mule.
The town has one major thoroughfare lined with shops of all kinds, from art to handmade jewelry. In fact, it’s become an art lover’s mecca for at least 30 years.
These are the people who actually began its rebirth. Upscale restaurants soon followed taking advantage of the opportunity, bringing in more and more people with diverse economic backgrounds. The weekends brought crowds making it hard pressed to find a parking space, and you could see every different kind of vehicle from motor cycles to Mercedes.
If I was successful landing this job, it would be my home as long as the theatre troop felt my acting skills were worthy.
At almost 40 years of age, I often wondered why I hadn’t started on my quest 15 years sooner.
Now that I knew the location of the theatre, I had to seek a place to spend the night. It was only 8:30. Being November, it was already past the tourist season and I knew it wouldn’t be difficult to find one. Off the main thoroughfare were numerous signs of vacancies on various houses advertising bed and breakfast establishments. Pulling up in front of a late 19th century Victorian, I decided to give it a try. After knocking, the porch light went on, and I could see a shadow opening the inner vestibule door. Stepping back, a woman who looked to be in her early 70s opened the front door. Short, with white hair tied in a bun on the back of her head, she wore a dark blue house dress with small white flowers. The white hand-knitted shawl she had over her shoulders complimented her appearance of what anyone would describe as a grandmother.
“Can I help you, young man?”
“Yes, I’d like to rent a room for at least two nights.”
“I don’t recall seeing your face. Have you stayed here before?”
“No Ma’am. I’m new in town. I’m supposed to have an audition at the New Hope Theatre tomorrow afternoon.”
After looking me up and down, judging my sincerity, she said, “Well, step inside. These November rains are cold and damp.”
“Yes, I know,” I shook off the excess rain from my jacket before stepping in.
“How much are your rooms?”
“Since it’s off-season and you’re alone, it will be $30 per day. That includes breakfast. Lunch is on your own. If you want dinner, it can be arranged with a morning notice in advance. That will be an extra $5 dollars.”
“That’s fine. I just might as well tell you now. I’m in for dinner both nights.”
“Good. I’ll show you to your room. What’s your name?”
“Allen. Allen Simpson. And yours?”
“Ethel Devlin.” Thinking to myself, “Even the name fits with her appearance.”
“Mrs. Devlin, could you wait one moment while I run to the car and get my overnight bag?” Opening the door, I made a mad dash to the car retrieving it then returned.
Climbing the stairs to the second floor, I could hear voices from inside several rooms. The number on each door indicated there were five rental rooms on that floor. We continued down the hall.
“Your room is up here, young man.”
She led me to another set of stairs that went to the third floor. I suspected it would be an attic with old items carefully preserved for any latecomer, but upon opening the door, I was surprised. The room was beautifully furnished with an all Victorian motif. I knew I could be comfortable here. Thinking to myself, “If they give me a script, I’ll be able to do it without disrupting any other guests.” I was looking forward to the room for the next two days. Settling in for the night, I felt comfortable with my surroundings, and quickly fell asleep.
I awoke early to movement and conversations in the hall on the second floor. Opening my door, I could smell the aroma of freshly brewing coffee coming from the kitchen. Fortunately for me, there was a bathroom on my floor that no one else seemed to be aware of, and I was able to get showered and dressed for breakfast without interruption. Getting to the dining room, Mrs. Devlin was busy arranging plates and silverware for breakfast.
“Good morning, Mrs. Devlin. I’ll trade favors with you.”
She looked at me inquisitively.
“I’ll finish setting the table for a cup of that coffee,” I said.
She smiled. “Young man, that’s a deal. Where would you like to sit at the table?”
I placed the silverware where I was standing. “Right here will be fine.”
Retreating to the kitchen, she returned with a carafe of coffee. Smiling, she conveniently placed it in front of where I chose to sit. With a wink and a nod, I graciously thanked her. Within a half hour, the other guests began filing into the room. Taking seats, they noticed I was a new face amongst them.
“Good morning!” I said, “My name is Allen Simpson. I arrived late last evening.”
A middle-aged man taking seats with his wife replied, “I’m Joe Cartwright, and this is my wife Sarah. We’re just passing through on our way to Boston.”
Another man in a business suit announced bluntly, “I’m John. I’m here on business.”
Another middle-aged couple came to the table and identified themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Green. The last two seats were taken by a man in his mid- 20s and a woman who appeared to be in her early 30s.
The man was 5’10”, thin build, with long, blond hair tied in a pony tail, with an earring on his right ear. With very handsome features, he was dressed in casual clothes and announced without elaborating, “I’m Peter Austin.”
The woman was extremely attractive, about 5’4”, shapely, with long, auburn hair tied back with a light brown ribbon. “I’m Roselyn Carter,” she extended her hand across the table. “I have no secrets. I’m trying to get a position at the New Hope Theatre.”
Taken by her bluntness, I said, “That’s coincidental, Miss Carter. I’m here for the same purpose. Here, let me pour you some coffee.”
“Thank you.” Appearing to have the same mutual interest, she asked, “What time is your audition?”
“I was told to be there at ten this morning. What time is yours?”
“I was told to be there at 1 p.m.”
“I wonder why the time difference? I hope there isn’t that many people trying out. Have you had any previous experience Miss Carter?”
“I had a small part in a play at an L.A. dinner theatre, but I hardly think that’s enough to be a shoe-in for a part.”
“You’re from California then?”
“No, I’m actually from Iowa a small town no one knows exists.” Pointing to her right, she said, “Peter and I were enrolled in dramatics class at Berkley.”
“Are you both trying out for a part?”
“Yes.”
I continued, “I was hoping they’d give me a manuscript I could study before the tryout.”
Peter remarked sarcastically, “From what I read about the review, you look to be too old for any of the parts.”
Breaking the potential confrontation, Mrs. Devlin brought the food to the table. “Enjoy. How many can I expect back for dinner tonight?”
“I’ll be here,” I quickly replied.
“I know. You told me last night. Who else?”
Mr. and Mrs. Green said yes and Roselyn also replied to the affirmative.
“Will you be here, Peter?”
“I don’t know yet, Mrs. Devlin. I can’t say for sure.”
“Well, make up your mind before you leave this morning.”
Roselyn asked, “Allen, have you ever had any experience other than dramatics school?”
“On stage no, but I’ve written a few short scripts that were somewhat successful locally. Not to boast, but I thought if I can write a script, maybe it wouldn’t be very hard to...