Love in Three Acts: A Work of Fiction

By Susan Crossett

Lovelorn? Lovesick? How long will it take Libby to get over the enigmatic
Zack? All Three Acts and then some.
1960. Libby is off to Italy with the other grad students in her string quartet.
Their recital tour leaves plenty of time for mischief even as she continues to
dream of her adviser back on campus. Is he up to it?
1985. Reuniting with her friends, Libby catches up with Zack in Aspen,
Colorado. Now their love has a chance to grow and strengthen. Or does it?
2007. There remains a third act, moving from Gettysburg to Chicago, to
give Libby and Zack yet another chance to fulfi ll their love. Or does it?
Novelist (Her Reason For Being) and weekly columnist (Musings from the
Hill), Susan Crossett continues her examination of the attractions did she
mention differences? between the sexes. Serious topics life, death, love
and loss but always written with a knowing smile.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491870884

Susan Crossett

Susan Crossett graduated from the University of California, Berkeley, before returning to her native New York where she lives surrounded by the beauty in the farthest western reaches of the state. Love in Three Acts is her second novel. Her Reason for Being, a historical tale of intrigue, romance and murder in the decades before World War I, was published in 2008. While her heroine is an accomplished cellist, Susan Crossett continues to study the double bass, a trifle too unwieldy for trips around the world. She remains a fan and supporter of classical music which has always been an essential part of her life. Playing is a personal reward; listening, one of her favored forms of gratification. Completing her fourth year as a Friday morning columnist for the Dunkirk NY Observer ("Musings from the Hill"), Susan Crossett writes about local birds and other animals, gardening (and those ubiquitous wildflowers some call weeds), her golden retrievers and the zany cat who shares their food, and just about anything else that strikes her fancy. See is never without pen and paper. Learn more at susancrossett.com.

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© 2014 Susan Crossett. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

are either the product of the author's imagination

or used fictitiously.

Published by AuthorHouse 06/02/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-7044-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-7088-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014905545

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Act I Spring 1960

Act II Spring 1985

Act III Spring 2007

Love In Three Acts Epilogue

With deepest appreciation to Cathy

whose help made it all possible,

Natasha whose cooperation gave me the look,

and Emmy and Sheila for their enthusiasm.

And in loving memory of Jane

who always found time to encourage me.

ACT I

Spring 1960

AND HERE’S TO, GLANCING down, Donna saw her glass was empty, shrugged and went on anyway, to an entire week without having to hear the name of Zackariah Nelson. Pausing, she turned to Libby, even once.

Golly, Donna, that’s a terrible thing to say. Jean turned to Libby as if to offer her apology. Honestly, girls, I wish I had a Zack to talk about.

Well, I’m sure you wouldn’t blab on and on and – 

Marty looked at the two but chose to remain silent.

No, she’s right, Libby added reluctantly. I confess he’s been uppermost in my mind these days and I do imagine I talk of little else.

You can say that again.

And I will. But I’ll also apologize.

No – 

Yes, Marty. I have been monopolizing our conversations far too much of the time. Donna’s absolutely right. No more. I promise. Well… She smiled at her three friends. "I’ll try. Heavens, just look at all we have to look forward to."

Raising her still-filled glass, Marty hurried to add, Well, I can certainly agree with that.

No more looking back then?

Gotcha.

What do you make of those four, Chris?

Pretty girls. And so young. Ahh. The waiter turned to his friend. "But headed out obviously. Why can’t we ever serve a bunch like that when they’re on their return? Oh, I know. Nobody wants to stop here for dinner when they’re coming back from Europe."

Who would?

I rather fancy the dark-haired one.

Which?

The pony-tail. Cute as a button.

I admit I have a thing for redheads – and isn’t she a darling? All those curls, too.

Shall we see if they need anything more?

Not what you have in mind, Rod.

Hey, even a lowly waiter gets to dream.

It tickles my nose! Raising her glass, Marty giggled again.

Silly! Is this the first time you’ve had champagne?

Don’t laugh at her, Jean. It’s my first time too, Donna confessed.

Well, I hope you both like it. Libby sipped hers quietly, enjoying the moment even if her thoughts of Zack were now silence.

Marty looked up as the two young men approached, embarrassed that her confession had been overheard by two so worldly, and turned beet red.

Anything more we can get for you ladies?

I wouldn’t mind more along the way. Donna giggled again, her tight curls jiggling as she did.

What do you think? Jean asked. Champagne’s for toasting and here we sit, finishing a luxury dinner at Idlewild Airport and just enjoying as if it were any other day.

Glancing up just in time to see Chris and Rod exchange winks, Libby added, Well, that can’t be all wrong.

"Wrong? What’s wrong about it?"

Nothing. Nothing at all. I just felt we were forgetting why we were here.

And why so soon we won’t be!

Another bottle, ladies? I think, glancing at his friend, we could manage to say it’s on the house.

Donna giggled again.

Marty checked her watch. We do have a plane to catch.

But we could wait another fifteen or twenty minutes. Jean glanced at her friends. Don’t you think so, Donna?

I’m just one-fourth of this quartet, guys. Whatever you say.

I say we’re wasting time. Let me and my buddy see what we can rustle up. Rod turned back as he started to step away from the table and winked at the foursome. Pronto.

You’re so quiet, Libby. Everything OK?

"Certainly you’re not going to object to a little more champagne, are you?"

Me? Never! I guess I have been a drag, guys, but you three are so excited and really looked forward to this trip while I just see it as taking me further and further away from –  She caught herself, zippered her lip and nodded.

Jeepers, Libby. We’ll be home again before you know it. But just think of what lies ahead: time to perform in three luscious cities in Italy with time, I’m sure, for sight-seeing as well.

Chris refilled the four glasses. May I propose a toast of my own, ladies? That is what one should do with champagne, you know.

I’ll have a smidgen more. Jean smiled deliberately at Rod. Toast away, please.

I’m guessing you four are about to take off for… well, Europe perhaps?

Right on.

What part? Chris asked.

Part? Marty seemed momentarily stymied. "Oh! I see. Part. We’re off to Italy."

"Italia," Jean said. "Going to make music there."

"Music? Are the four of you musicians?"

Indeed we are, Donna replied. A string quartet in fact.

Hear that, Chris? I am impressed. Turning back to the girls he asked, Who plays what?

Marty and I are violinists, Jean interjected. Donna plays the viola and – 

And I, Libby hiccuped, am the cellist.

That’s got to be a burden to lug around. Chris smiled directly at her.

You know music? she continued.

I’d better. I’m a music major at Hunter. What genre do you perform?

Classical. Brahms, Beethoven, some that’s a little more up-to-date but mostly the classics. We’ll be doing the Grieg g minor on this trip.

Good choice. Chris smiled. That’s always a crowd-pleaser.

Though not as well known, Rod added.

Strangely, Jean said, it is a big hit in Europe.

As it should be. Folkloric touches, that is the one, isn’t it?

Wow! I’m impressed. You really know your music.

Rod’s been dating a violinist.

"Yeah, I’m not that sharp."

But, Donna continued, it’s such a ball to play. It’s so easy to lose oneself in the music.

Hey, Chris. I’m getting a scowl from the boss. Better be moving on.

It’s been a pleasure talking to you ladies. Do have a marvelous trip.

The four watched the two young men walk away.

Libby sighed, Makes me almost sorry we’re leaving.

Wow, she speaks! the three chorused in unison.

I’m sorry. It’s just… well, you know.

But it’s Italy. We’ve been invited to play in Italy.

That’s excitement enough for me, Donna added. Honest, you guys, I never dreamt I’d be going to Europe.

Oh, I know. I really do. She took a sip before continuing. Then let me propose a toast.

I saved a smidgen. Toast away, Libby.

May we have the happiest, giddiest time of our lives: unusual adventures at every turn of the way, zany experiences, and a tender story or two so that part of Italy will live in each of us forever.

And, may I add, as the three turned their attention to Marty, total safety and good health for us all – 

But with all the fun in the world, Jean added. In fact, I’d wish for a life apart from the rest of the world, an imaginary haven that can exist once and only once.

And one we’re about to discover.

I wish for just about the nuttiest time four nutty gals can have. Jean drained her glass as she turned to Libby. And that includes you, my dear. Promise us all you aren’t going to be morose for the entire ten days.

Libby sighed. Yes, ma’am. But you know how long I’ve been waiting to connect with him.

Oh, God, don’t we all! The prettiest grad student and the new professor and what sparks didn’t fly!

Don’t make it into something it wasn’t. Not yet at least. Libby sighed and, realizing her friends were all staring at her, continued, But I had my hopes. Yet here instead I’m about to board a plane carrying me so far, far away.

Dope, we’ll be back before you know it.

I know. Really, I do.

Hey, girls, remember the first day of class when Libby met her man?

How could we forget? What a scene that was. He, having introduced himself – 

Explaining he was just out of school and here to teach a graduate seminar in composition. And, oh, yes, I don’t deny that he was good-looking as well.

But then, taking the roll, ‘Delilah?’ ‘Delilah?’ And staring straight at our Miss Libby.

I just remember those big blue eyes leveled right at me. I had no idea what he was saying. It didn’t matter. It was those eyes . . .

‘Harrumph! You are Miss Jones, Delilah Jones, are you not?’ Jean spoke in her deepest voice.

That woke me up. Me? Delilah somebody?

Oh, yeah, I remember now. The registrar’s office – wasn’t it? – typed your name wrong and your handsome professor was looking for a Francis, expecting it to be one of the boys, and no other women’s names on the roll except for this Delilah person.

You know, he still calls me that sometimes, when he wants to tease a little. I almost wish… well, no, I don’t. I don’t see me as a Delilah, do you?

Never have. Never did. Never will.

But why Frances? Where did that come from?

An old family name and one, I must say, I’ve always detested.

Yeah, the talking mule, Jean chortled.

That too. But I got christened Frances Elizabeth and happily took the Elizabeth – and then Libby – as soon as I possibly could.

Thought, girls. Marty stood up. We can either sit here all night talking about what wasn’t and what may or may not be… or let’s go catch our flight. We’ve got a long trip ahead of us.

Tickets and passports, money converters and the international driver’s license (just in case), health certificates and a stack of pamphlets were checked and rechecked a dozen times or so.

Then, finally, the plane was called.

Let’s not forget our instruments.

Libby muttered under her breath as she watched the other three easily cradle violins or, in Donna’s case, the viola. Her cello was of course more burdensome though, other than at times like this, she’d never dream of wanting to play anything else but the cello.

In a daze the four boarded the Alitalia plane, the engines were revved up and in minutes Long Island was falling slowly down, down and New York was behind them.

The trip had begun.

The excitement began to wear off soon after the plane entered the clouds. There was nothing to see as the sky slowly darkened. Each knew it would be many hours before they saw land again, this time in Paris.

Libby settled back to try to relax. The other three were right, of course, and she knew it. This was the trip of a lifetime: all-expense paid tour of Italy with invitations to perform and see the sights. How marvelous, too, that will look on their resumes once grad school is over. How many their age were given such an opportunity?

So why doesn’t the pep talk work any better now than it has all those times before? Of course she should be excited. And she doesn’t want to let the others down, allow her lack of enthusiasm to destroy theirs, and, yes, it’s a great opportunity and, yes, she’s told herself that before but the truth of the matter is Zack is back there – someplace – and she’s zooming in the opposite direction as fast as this plane will carry them.

She thinks back to their last – well, actually, their only – dinner together.

They’d never really dated and were certainly not a pair but, as far as she knew, she was the only girl in his life. At least that had to count for something.

He’d singled her out almost from that very first day. Delilah indeed!

Lots of talks. Some walks. Lunches a couple of times, though usually he’d suggest a place and ask her to meet him there. What was with that? She never understood but he seemed delighted when she did arrive so what difference did it make how they got there?

Since the beginning of the semester she knew her friends had been pushing her to be a little more forward. It was hard for her though. She wanted to. It just never felt quite right and so she held back.

But then, knowing this trip was coming – and didn’t he seem to share their excitement there? – she’d asked him to come for dinner. She wasn’t all that surprised when the three, sharing a rented if rather shabby house not too far from campus, all found engagements that would prevent their being there for dinner. Good friends. For that she was grateful.

And he had come. And he was even more delightful than she’d anticipated. And wasn’t it true, she smiles to herself now high above the Atlantic as she remembers, that everything had gone absolutely perfectly? They’d never run out of things to talk about, frequently interrupting each other to continue the talk. In fact, once he’d started to rise, saying it was time to go, but then settled back down and resumed their conversation. He had never asked about the other three and, she now realized, she hadn’t thought of them at all that evening.

Then finally it seemed both knew it was time to end this most pleasant of all pleasant evenings. Having hung his light jacket in the closet, now she got it out to hand to him. Not bothering to put it on, he pulled her close in a tight hug. In anticipation perhaps, it was then she had raised her lips to his.

What went wrong?

It was like kissing a statue.

She stuttered awkwardly about it being an early birthday gift and felt only relief as he departed.

Libby’d told none of her friends while replaying that moment of horrors over and over and over again.

So many possible explanations entered her mind in the days that followed. Bad breath? He was queer. He didn’t like her. He’d been in a hurry. All seemed so silly and were rejected as quickly as they came.

But what then? He had been that close. (She sheepishly remembered now when she had even tried to kiss the wall to determine distance. Yes, he had indeed been that close. She had positively not made a running leap at his lips.) He could have turned his face. He could have backed away. But why just stand there, doing nothing, while she made a total ass out of herself?

She shook her head now as if that would dislodge the unpleasant moment and allow all those good hours to take over. It had been good and, in spite of that awkward briefest of moments, she still felt a confidence she had never experienced with him before that night.

She couldn’t wait till she got home. Libby was sure they’d be a couple before much longer. He’d explain. She didn’t know how but she was sure he would. All would definitely turn out right. They’d have the rest of the semester and who knew what good things then lay in store?

Believing sleep was impossible on this noisy airplane, Libby was surprised to grow slowly aware of voices around her.

Should we wake her?

Won’t she be upset? You know how she gets.

No. No way. She’s not going to sleep through Pair, no matter what.

Libby sat up with a start. "Paris? Are we there already?"

No. But if you look out the window you’ll see land. French land. And Paris can’t be too far away.

Leaning over the two lucky enough to have been assigned window seats, Libby and Marty craned their necks to see what lay beyond the giant wing and engine.

Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent. Please take your seats, extinguish your cigarettes, and fasten your seat belts.

Paris indeed loomed ahead as the plane approached. The Eiffel Tower elicited whoops from all and so many aahs as they descended. So much to see but only enough time in the airport to change for their next flight.

They’d been warned of the long exhausting day planned but their agent had felt it better to make it all in one trip and then catch up on sleep rather than stop for brief respites along the way. It was Zurich next with a 4:15 p.m. arrival and on to Milan just an hour later. Then Alitalia #170, departing at six with arrival in Venice scheduled for 7:15.

As soon as the plane landed in Venice, all the lights on the runway were turned off and the passengers were left in the dark, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Once in the terminal, things weren’t that much better. There was one small room – the airport – and there everyone sat, including four girls totally fatigued, in silence. Finally a stewardess said something about this way to Venice and everyone filed out of the building. Some anticipated finding a bus waiting and were surprised to see nothing. The group walked silently along the road for a fair distance, trying to keep up with the hurrying stewardess before arriving at a dock.

There all the passengers and their luggage were loaded onto a small boat.

Hey, you all, someone crowed. Welcome to Venice!

The city was even more beautiful than anticipated – enormous ships everywhere and, of course, the gondolas – and there was the Hotel Metropole right before them.

As the boat landed, Marty turned to Jean. I expect now we’ll have to find a cab to take us the rest of the way to the hotel.

Stunned, the four watched a little man with a little cart carry their bags down winding streets and over numerous bridges while the girls raced along behind, heels clicking and coattails flying.

The hotel and their room seemed straight out of a fairy tale, like an old palace and positively gorgeous. Tall chests, gold bedspreads, a screen placed before the washstand (which immediately made Jean think of Madame Butterfly), beds with the highest headboards, old high-backed chairs and couches, all in an enormous room with two windows looking right out on a canal.

Every time a boat went by, the girls would run to the window. Absolutely no cars in Venice so instead of the honking of normal traffic, they would be lulled to sleep by the splash, splash, splash of various boatmen’s oars.

Cleaned up and unpacked, cold and damp, Marty and Jean were shivering as they rushed to close the windows. Still, Venice was Venice and all four had already fallen madly in love with it.

By close to nine the skies were beginning to darken.

But sleep? Jean would have none of it. Let’s go see where we are.

No one dared refuse. How many hours had they been awake? What time was it by their time? Nonsense questions to her. They were here now and that’s all that mattered.

They had to admit they were hungry but, being unsure of the lira situation, the four strolled though the streets, finally reaching a small shop where Donna insisted on stopping for ice cream.

My heels are killing me. Marty complained.

My shoes are OK but I’m still finding it hard to walk.

"Isn’t