Liss said, “then the stage crew can come on between acts and change backdrops easily.” Kirk was standing in the barn with her, reading the program provided by the school. He looked up and smiled at her. “Keep your paint light, artist, won’t you, since your partner is the aforementioned stagehand.” “Oh, by all means. I wouldn’t want to overwork you.” She stepped back from the stage sets. “Kirk, I’ve been thinking. . . .” “You’re not supposed to think,” he said, “especially if you’re thinking you don’t need me. You’re merely supposed to create.” “Ah, yes,” she said, laughing. “One can get terribly creative with a whitewash brush.” She aimed it at him. He picked up another wide brush and dipped it into the bucket of wash they were using to seal the plywood panes. “That’s true,” he said, approaching her. “Let’s see how creative I can get. I wonder how you’ll look as an old, white-haired lady.” Laughing and feeling brave armed with her dripping bush, Liss stalked him around the stage sets, reaching out from concealment to slap him on the arm with the brush.
