There is no way I can finish this.

"Really? Maybe you could give me some pointers. We're pretty much resorting to the Ramen noodle/whatever Gaetano gives us diet. This would be fine," she said, holding out her hands, "But Ramen noodles aren't healthy at all, and I'm going to burn my brain right out with the neuro toxins. Not a good thing."
Dov laughed. "Maybe this Gaetano and I could split the duty of supplying you ladies with food until you learn how to cook. But why don't you show me the rest of the house, first."

Rita, wanting to save what she percieved as the best for last, showed him the bathroom, Nicole's bedroom and the linen closet before finally revealing her own. He was suitably admiring.
"It's wonderful!" he exclaimed. "What a view! Mama mia!" He went closer to the window, and Rita took a childlike pride in his honest admiration.
"Isn't it?" she said, trying not to sound as if she was taking credit for the beauty. "I was so glad that Nicole let me take this room. She said she wouldn't be able to pay attention to anything with all this color. I guess it doesn't affect me because I'm distracted by everything anyway." She laughed lightly.
"You are not distracted during the practices," he pointed out, turning away from the window to look at her.
"No," she admited. "Not often, anyway. But that's something that's important. A regular job isn't," she said flipantly.
"Not many people would say that. Most people think that acting is just for fun."
"Yeah, my parents, for one," Rita said under her breath. Dov caught it.
"Your parents do not support you?" he said, eyebrows raising. "They let you come here. Are they still in America?"
Rita nodded. "They didn't exactly know that I was going to act. It came as an unwelcome surprise when one of my friends told them." She noticed his stunned look, and hastened to add "None of my friends here. Not Nicole or Theo. Peggie went back home."
"Oh, that friend," he said darkly. "I would not still call her a friend if I were you." She led him out of the room, and down the steps.
"She's still a friend." They were out the door now, and she paused while they entered the car and put on seat belts. She tugged hers tight. "She's just confused. It's probably my fault she's angry anyway." She shifted, and rebuckled her seatbelt. Dov rearranged his shoulders.
"Do you really," he said, looking her in the eye, "Do you actually think that by following what you knew was the right thing to do, you did wrong? I know you, Rita. I know you well enough to know that you don't do important things without thinking. I know that you can be dedicated, and I know that you are a good friend. I know that you believe the best of people even when they aren't as good as they should be. You trust people, and people don't hurt you because they sense your trust in them. I don't think you did anything wrong. Peggie is still manipulating you, even when she isn't here. You can be trusting and not naiive, Rita. You need to find that balance." He started the car.
All was quiet as they drove, and Rita fiddled with her seat belt. He's probably mad at me. Great. I've ruined everything on the very first date. He'll never speak to me again.
"Well," she finally said. "To change to a lighter subject, who is your favorite artist. I mean, you're surrounded by art, so do you actually like it?"
"Of course I like it!" he said, swerving to avoid a pothole. His driving was a lot less eratic than Theo's. "I go to St. Peter's once a month, at least. I was an art student in college. I went to (fill in name of famous art college). I'm just a spectator, though. Actual drawing is beyond my meager skills. I only realized that what I really wanted to do was direct until after I graduated. My father was none too thrilled, I can tell you. He rufused to help pay for anything else. He said if I couldn't make up my mind he wasn't going to pay the price. He isn't angry. He doesn't care what I do, so long as I'm happy."
"You're lucky. My parents don't care if I'm happy, so long as I do what they want me to do." She bit her lip, and reflected on her choice of words. "That's not entirely true," she ammended. "They seem to think that I don't know what happy means, and when I discover that happiness is being a lawyer and getting married to some other lawyer, then I'll be happy. Marrying a lawyer isn't that great an idea if you are a lawyer, come to think of it. What if you get hired for opposite sides of the same case? That would not be a picnic, I bet."
"Probably not," Dov agreed, but added nothing else.
Rita always had trouble deciding what an acceptable amount of talk was. She often spoke too much when silence was in order, and too little when she really needed to speak. She was having this problem now. She couldn't enjoy Dov's company because she didn't know if he was annoyed with her (which she still thought was a likely possibility) or amused, or just plain indifferent. Am I just going to sit here and let this date turn sour? she thought. Does Dov mean enough for me to risk embarrassment and just ask him how much he wants me to talk? Is that even something you ask a date? Having little experience with dating, most of the guys who asked her out were not very pleasant, she didn't know if that kind of question was permissible. If you have to ask, does that mean you're flakey or weird? I guess I'll find out.
They were sitting at the table of the restaraunt, and it was very different from the place Theo had taken her. It was more fresh and less hazy, more brightly lit and easier to see around the room and observe your table mate. The colors were blue and turquoise, and beautiful drawings of the sea filled the walls. It was also smaller than the other restaraunt. Somehow this setting, despite the less romantic scenery, was more intimate. It was less like someone was forcing Rita to get in the mood, and more like they were getting to know her first. This, in addition to her thoughts, made her decide to ask Dov the fatal question.
"Um, I don't mean to sound like a, um, geek, or something, but how much do you want me to, um, like, talk?" The words and sentence structure sounded strained even as she said them. She leaned back into her seat, and pushed the lasanga on her plate around.
"What?" Dov looked, as was a normal response to Rita's types of questions, very bemused.
"I'm sorry. Never mind. It was a stupid thing to say, really. I don't know why I even said it." Rita slurred her words together, making them barely recognizable as words.
"No, it isn't that. No woman has ever asked me that before. I always wonder, but I thought it just wasn't kosher to actually ask. I like to talk a lot, but I've heard typical Americans like the dark, silent type. I don't know why I tried to be that kind of person. I wanted to impress you."
"You don't need to change for me to like you. I never understood that. How do you know what someone likes? What if they like who you actually are, but you try to change? Then they won't like you, and it would be your fault." She shrugged. "So I can talk. I didn't want to annoy you."
Dov threw his hands up in the air, upsetting a glass. He didn't notice the water trickling over his knee. "Why do you think you are going to annoy me so much? Have I inadvertantly said that you were annoying? If so, I'm very sorry, and I didn't mean it at all. You don't annoy me. I like you. If you keep asking me if you are bothering me, that is going to bother me." He blinked as he felt the water trickle down his pant leg. "Oh dear." Rita smothered a laugh at his expression, which was so helpless and adorable. She took a napkin, and handed it to him, then took a few more with which to help him. She patted his knee dry, while he took control of the table. When the area was reasonably dry, she took her seat and resumed the conversation.
"Now that I know I am free to speak, don't think you'll be able to get me to stop. I can't think of one person who can do that."
"I'll be sure to remember that."
"I'll ask the first corny get to know you question, then. Do you have any siblings?"
"Yes. Four. All younger. My youngest sister is 10, then my brother is 16, and my other brother is 18, and I'm 21."
"19 here, no siblings," Rita said cheerfully. "I'm a spoiled only child. I never missed having a sibling, though, because Peggie always lived down the street a few blocks, and there were lots of kids my age in the neighborhood. Read: suburb. Although I don't think allotments are all as bad as people make them out to be. Probably just because I've lived in one all my life. So what do you parents do?" She clasped her hands in her lap, happy to know how to act, finally.
"My father owns a store. My mother died eight years ago." He didn't look down when he said this, like people in movies do. He looked her right in the eye, which Rita was beginning to take as his trademark.
"I'm so sorry," she said, holding her head on her palm. "I didn't know."
"It's fine. How would you know? I never told you. What about your parents?"
"Well, my dad is an accountant. Mom owns a bakery. Eloise's Bakery. Not very original, but she gets a lot of buisness. She's probably serving her bread at the centenial party today. It was either this week or last week." She wasn't looking at Dov, though her eyes were pointed at him. She wasn't focused, and could almost see her mother, wiping sweat from her brow but perservering in the August heat.
"It must be hard for you to be without them." He reached across the table and patted her hand.
"It is." She cleared her throat. "But that's enough of my sob story. Time for another question. If you could meet any person, living or dead, who would you pick?"

They were standing at Rita's front dor, saying goodbye. Rita knew, from movies rather than actual experience, what usually happened at the front door. She didn't really want him to kiss her. Not on the first date. Not only was that unromantic, she wanted her first kiss to be important. Or at least memorable. She was trying to think of some way to let him know that she didn't want him to kiss her without seeming rude, or seeming to think that he actually had any interest in kissing her at all (which had not been proven conclusively) when he hummed a few bars of a song. It was a moment where Rita's heart sang praises for musicals, and also for guys who actually watched them.
"Well, a woman who'll kiss on the very first date is usually a hussy," she started, singing what he hummed.
"And a woman who'll kiss on the second time out is anything but fussy," he continued. He had a very deep and very attractive singing voice, Rita noted with not a little pleasure.
"But a woman who'll kiss on the third time around, head in the clouds, feet on the ground,"
"She's the girl he's glad he's found. She's his shipoopie!" They both laughed, and the tension was eased. He started to walk back to his car. Rita put her keys in the door, then stopped, and called after him.
"Dov!"
He turned around. "Yes?"
She took a deep breath. "Don't think this means I'll kiss you on the third date, either!" she said in a rush.
He made his deep chuckle. "I wouldn't dream of it." He got into his car, still humming the song.

This time Nicole was still awake. She sat in the armchair with her light on, reading a book and eyeing the door, just like a parent. "He didn't kiss you, did he?" she snapped. She was always much more irratiable when she was tired.
"No, he didn't kiss me. I'm fussy." She sat in the yellow sofa and glanced at the title of Nicole's book. "Why are you reading Cooking for Dummies?"
"Gaetano reccomended it. Would you tell me if he did?"
"Would I tell you if Gaetano reccomended the book?" Rita wrinkled her nose. "That doesn't make any-"
"No, you goober. Would you tell me if Dov kissed you?" She shut the book with a snap.
"Oh. Yeah. Of course I would. What kind of person do you think I am?"
"I'm just checking. You're back late."
Rita laid on the couch looking up at the ceiling, trying to make shapes out of the cracks in the plaster. She yawned. "What do you mean, too late?"
"I mean," she got up slowly and walked stiffly to the bookshelf to put the book in its proper place, "you're out past your curfew. Which would be twelve."
"I wasn't aware that I had one. I thought I was living on my own now, Mother."
"The reason is, I'm going to stay up, and I really can't stay up past twelve. I shouldn't even stay up after ten o'clock. Nothing good happens after ten o'clock. Things start to get a little nutso up here." She placed her forefinger in the middle of her forehead. "So it's really time for bed."
"You let me stay out late with Theo," Rita protested.
"Yeah, because Theo wouldn't do anything irrisponsible. Nothing too irrisponsible, anyway. I don't know Dov." She was halfway up the steps. Rita heard her retreating footsteps. She closed her eyes.

"Okay, you guys. It's the night before the first performance. This is really important. We're going to do one run through, and then we're going to go over any problem spots. Remember what scene you're going to be in next. We can't have anyone missing their cues like what happened last time. I'm not mentioning any names, Rosa." There was a ripple of laughter as everyone remembered Rosa blissfully listening to the dulcet tones of Josh Groban and completely missing her cue. After trying to ad-lib for a little while to give her time, Theo and Rita had finally alerted Dov to the missing actress. She was finally located in the dressing room, still in her last costume and humming with great gusto.
"Do we have to do all the sword-fighting?" Michael asked, whining slightly. He played Tybalt, now Tyler, and though he was a teenage boy, he hated the sword fights.
"Yes, Michael. I told you. This is the dress rehearsal. We have to do all the scenes." Dov was speaking with exagerated patience. Rita didn't blame him. Michael was enough to try anyone's temper.
"Are you sure we just can't cut it out?" Michael didn't seem to get the point.
"No!" Ferdinando burst out. "It is important! All of us like it much!" He started to talk sternly to Michael in Italian. Dov waved a hand at both of them.
"Ferdinando, keep a tighter grip on your anger. Michael, keep a tighter grip on your pain-in-the-rearness. We're doing the scene. It's important to the play. Characters die. You can't just cut things out because you don't want to do them."
Michael, judging from his pout, disagreed.
"Okay, so let's start! Backstage everybody!" There was a mad scramble as everyone but Dov, who was finally getting to sit in a real chair and watch the actors on a real stage, got into their places. Rita, although she knew it was a major no no in the acting buisness, peeked out from behind the curtains. She wanted to get it out of her system now so that she wouldn't do it when there were real people in the audience. Dov spotted her, and winked. She stuck her tongue out at him, and popped her head back in.

The run through went smoothly. Rita, even though it wasn't actually a performance, got more involved with her character by being on a stage. She loved acting off the stage, but being elevated, with the lights shining in her eyes and the chalkmarks on the black surface of the stage made all the difference in the world. Unlike many of the other cast members, Rita couldn't wait until she had an audience. She loved being the center of attention, and acting was one time where it was partially permissable. It was not permissable to upstage people.
The only bad part of acting, she reflected after the rehersal, was feeling so completely drained afterwards. She felt like a limp sock. She felt like a dog eared book. She felt like a maxed out credit card. She felt like she was using way too many similes to describe herself. She was called to attention by Theo's voice.
"Are you excited?" he asked, a gleam in his eye. Unlike Rita, he seemed to be more energized after a rehersal. "I am. I feel great." He cracked his knuckles. A month ago Rita would have been overjoyed that he was talking to her. Now she just felt the warm feeling of talking to a friend who enjoys the same thing you do.
"I'm excited, but I think my mind has been boggled. I can't believe that the play is tomorrow night. It's crazy! I feel like it's only been a few days since we started, but it's been two months, or close to it."
"Yeah." He leaned against the curtain. "And it's great to get to know so many new people. Georgette and I have really hit it off. She's a great friend."
"I've noticed," Rita said wryly. He missed her tone.
"She's really nice, and not too shabby as a flirt, either. What a girl. Nothing to you, of course." He bowed. How can he do that? Switch from one girl to another within seconds, and not think anything of it? Maybe I'm just not normal. Probably everybody does it, and I just never noticed. But no, Dov doesn't. She'd been out with Dov several times, and he'd never mentioned another girl he was still involved with, and he never flirted with any girls while she was there. He was respectful of them, and held doors open for them, but he never winked. He saves his winking muscles for me, Rita thought smugly.
"What are you smiling about? What's so funny?"
"Oh," Rita composed her face. "Nothing. Can't a girl smile for no reason?"
"No. You need to have a permit to smile. C'mon." His voice was cajoling. "Tell me."
"I was thinking about Dov. It isn't important."
Theo's eyes narrowed, but he changed the subject. "How's the house coming? I haven't been over in a while."
"It's great. Really nice. We're pretty much finished. You and Gaetano should come over some time."
"Yeah. He's really got the hots for Nicole. Have you noticed?"
"I wouldn't put it in such vulgar terms," Rita said haughtily, "but I've noticed he's fond of her. She doesn't seem to mind. I don't know if it goes both ways, though. She's never said anything to me about liking him as anything other than a friend."
"He'll be heartbroken."
"Don't tell him!" Rita gasped. "I wouldn't have told you anything if I'd have known you were going to tell him!" She punched his arm. "Have you no tact?"
"Not really." He grinned. "Of course I'm not going to tell him. I'm the king of love. I know all about the ways of the heart. That's why there are so many girls after me."
"Well, aren't we big headed," Rita remarked, only half kidding.
"I just had no idea before that so many girls could fall for me. I think every girl here has tried to flirt with me. Some are better than others." He had the tone of a wine conissouer, and Rita didn't like it.
"I didn't know that you were testing us all." She turned her back to him and began to roll up a extension cord. Theo walked in front of her, an expression of surprise and hurt on his face.
"I didn't mean you! It's just-"
"It's fine, Theo." She forced a smile. "I'm just tired."

She arrived early for the play the next day. Dov was there, walking across the empty stage. He was pacing it with his eyes closed. Rita watched from the door. It was a strange feeling, watching someone who didn't know you were watching them. Someone who didn't even know you in the room. He suddenly looked up, sensing her presence for some reason, her breathing or sound, or maybe some extra sense that Rita wasn't entirely sure didn't exist.
"You're early."
"I know. I was going to ask if you needed any help setting up, but you looked so intense I didn't want to disturb you." She came down the red carpeted aisle.
"I was envisioning the play." He went back to pacing, and his eyes closed. "It's kind of a tradition I have. It helps me to focus." He opened his eyes again and smiled at her in a way she didn't entirely understand. "You could start getting the back rooms set up. I'll be back there in a few minutes."
"Okay. Sorry to bother you."
"You aren't bothering me," he said. "You're helping."
She had only been sorting costumes in the prop room for a few minutes when, true to his word, Dov joined her. "Where do these go?" she asked, holding up a pair of gauzy wings.
"Wings? We have wings? We aren't using them, where ever they're from."
"That's what I thought, too," she said putting them on the ground in the 'not using' pile. "I thought maybe you changed costumes on me. Who are these shoes for, by the way. They're possibly the ugliest ones I've ever seen in my life." The shoes were indeed ugly. Made out of what seemed like plastic, the shoes were glossy and purple, with the most outragous heels Rita had ever seen. They were also pointy toed. "I mean, kick someone with these on, and you might put a hole in their shin."
"Use them on Michael," the director said with a groan. "That boy is going to be the death of me. I don't think I stand that... that... imbicile one minute longer."