Curtain Call by Liz Botts

and more and more lately, I found myself wondering if she had something figured out that the rest of us simply didn’t. She saw things in a different light and made no apologies for the way she lived her life.
    When I scooted back to the edge of the booth, I could just glimpse her across the crowded restaurant. She was holding court in another converted car, although she was perched on the back of the booth looking every inch the beauty queen on the back of a convertible during a parade.
    â€œBut…maybe we should use her for part of the show,” Max said.
    His words reached my ears as a foreign language. “Scusie?”
    Max chuckled. “Hear me out. The cabaret bit is great, but your grandmother’s burlesque act could be our comic relief.”
    â€œI think it’s a great idea,” Luisa said.
    â€œOkay,” I said, drawing out the word to give myself time to think. “You realize we’ll have to ask them to tone it down a lot. And I mean a lot .”
    â€œSure, no problem. What’s the Sugar Bomb by the way?”
    â€œYou don’t know? From the look on your face, I thought…well, yeah, it’s a strip club,” I said, and Max choked on the bite of French fry he had just taken. “Oh, yes. My grandmother dances at a strip club. Every Tuesday, I do believe. And her husband, my very young step-grandfather, is the current manager. Welcome to my life.”
    Max wiped his mouth with a napkin and tapped his chin. “I still think it will work,” he said. “If anything it will add a touch of authenticity to the show.”
    I opened the binder and turned to the page that contained the opening outline. Max had envisioned a romance between two young stars. The story in the basic form was sweet. As I read through the bullet points, I started to feel like I could envision a place for Grandma in the script.
    â€œThis could really work,” I said, and started penciling in my own ideas on the outline.
    Across the restaurant, Grandma’s laughter lifted into the air, spurring me to work faster.

 
Chapter Six
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    A few days before Valentine’s Day, as I put the finishing touches on our script, I was interrupted by a frantic knocking at my door.
    â€œHayley, can you get that?”
    Silence. Then more banging.
    â€œHayley? Come on. Please? I’ve got to finish this.”
    I listened. Had she gone out or something without telling me? With a sigh, I saved my document and shut my laptop. The knocking began again with more intensity as I hurried out of my bedroom.
    â€œI’m coming,” I called.
    I opened the door to Harlow and Britney. “Can you watch her?” Harlow asked, the corners of her mouth creased in stress or frustration.
    â€œUm…sure?” I said. “What’s up?”
    Harlow brushed past me, and set Britney on the sofa along with a hot pink diaper bag. She unzipped the little girl’s coat, and said, “The school board walked out of negotiations so the union called a meeting. We might strike. Heck, we’ll probably strike. Mom was supposed to watch Britty for me this afternoon, and when she wasn’t home in time, I sort of hoped you or Hayley would be home.”
    â€œYou could have called,” I said, sitting down on the sofa next to Britney. My niece immediately climbed onto my lap and laid her head on my shoulder. Warmth surged through me as I wrapped my arms around her. “Any instructions?”
    Harlow shook her head. “She already had a nap. If I’m not back by five, can you give her some dinner?”
    â€œSure, like what?”
    Harlow blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know, Hannah, she eats anything. Use your imagination.” She bent over to give Britney a kiss. I could smell her cloyingly heavy perfume. Something lilac-y. She sort of smelled like Josh’s grandmother. “Be good for Auntie Hannah, Brit-brit. Mama will be back as soon as I