by Anna Gerard
Radney shrugged and nodded toward the stairs. “We might be pretty, Marv-man, but Harry’s got us all beat.”
I looked in the same direction to see what he was talking about. Harry was coming down the steps, garment bag in hand and Yorick tucked under his arm. Like the rest of us, he’d already done his makeup. But rather than looking like a refugee from the musical Cabaret’s Kit Kat Klub like the other men did, he looked … well, rather awesome.
His foundation was flawless, with subtle contouring and minimal cheek and lip color since, as the Melancholy Dane, he was supposed to appear fashionably pale rather than robust. He’d spiked his dark hair, too … not all crazy and Mohawk-y, just enough to look edgy. But what really did it were the eyes.
In the fashion magazines and blogs, they called the look “smoky”—lots of smudgy gray and black with heavy liner and mascara. You’d think that on a man the effect would be over the top, even feminine, especially with eyes as blue as his. But on him, that whole dark gothic look was pretty darned sexy.
“Wowza,” Marvin agreed with a low whistle. “I’ll never admit saying it, but that Harry is one good-lookin’ fellow. There’s gonna be a line of ladies at the stage door every night, and they won’t be lookin’ for you or me.”
“All right, listen up, people,” Harry announced as he reached the bottom step and paused, free hand on the baluster. “I’ve got a surprise for you. Our rehearsal this afternoon will be an invited dress.”
“What’s that?” I whispered to Tessa standing beside me.
“It’s a gypsy run!” Tessa exclaimed, while the rest of the troupe murmured their approval.
Since I had no idea what either term meant, I was relieved when Harry went on: “For Nina’s benefit, an invited dress, or gypsy run, means that we will have a specially invited audience watching our dress-rehearsal performance. Professor Joy and I agree that the downtown square merchants, as well as the festival volunteers and crew, all deserve this special privilege. And we’re counting on their support and enthusiasm to add energy to our final rehearsal before opening night.”
There was cheering and as much clapping as could be managed with all the gear everyone was juggling. Harry’s phone, meanwhile, was chiming.
“Our transport awaits,” he declared, and headed for the rolling bag he’d already stowed near the door.
In addition to my own small bag with the costume Harry had loaned me, I had Mattie. After the scare that morning, I didn’t want to leave her alone. And as it was an outdoor venue, Harry had agreed that she could tag along.
We arrived at the square soon afterward. I admit I gawked a bit at the transformation. In addition to the curtained-off stage area that took up one corner of the quadrangle, tented booths had been set up along three sides of the square’s perimeter. Additional tented seating areas dotted the square’s center. Obviously, the festival’s show runners were expecting a great crowd for opening day.
As we trooped from the van toward the stage, Professor Joy came trotting in our direction, waving his broad hands.
“Ah, Mr. Westcott—Harry—we are so excited to witness the dress rehearsal this afternoon. The drama club is already here and in costume. Of course, our stage manager has gone over the notes from yesterday with them, but perhaps you can give them some final instructions?”
By then we were ducking around the privacy curtains at a gap between the bleachers and the stage. For this performance, only the front rows were filled with our invited guests. Close to forty people, I guessed, spying Jack and Jill Hill, as well as Mason Denman and a younger man I presumed was his date sitting among them, Mason’s black pompadour gleaming under the lights. The Tanaka family was there and had managed to grab a front-row spot.
Waving at the Hills and Mason, I rushed Mattie over to where Daniel, Gemma, and Jasmine were sitting.
“I’m so glad you made it,” I exclaimed to the trio, all of whom were wearing matching yellow logo P&J’s T-shirts. I added to Gemma, “You got my text about watching my big fluff-ball?”
The woman nodded. “Jasmine agreed to be dog wrangler for you.”
Though Jasmine had already answered the question herself. The girl had left her seat and squatted down next to the pup. Now she was vigorously scratching her behind the ears and giggling as Mattie responded by licking her face. I grinned and handed a reusable grocery bag to Gemma.
“There’s a bottle of water in there for Mattie, and a little bowl, so Jasmine can give her a drink if she seems hot. Oh, and a couple of crunchy treats if she gets restless during the play.”
Daniel, meanwhile, was grinning too. “Hi, Nina. Looking good. I really like that new makeup look of yours, though I don’t think you used enough eyeliner.”
As the black liner around my eyes was a good eighth of an inch thick, I stuck my tongue out at him. “Thanks, Daniel. I’m thinking of starting a makeup blog.”
Both Gemma and Jasmine snickered at that, with the former adding, “It’s so exciting that you’re actually going to be in the play. You might not realize it, but we’ve had some famous people stop by the festival before. You know, sports figures and authors and even Hollywood types.”
“Yeah,” Jasmine exclaimed. “You might even get discovered!”
I grinned. “Well, since I don’t have any lines, that’s pretty unlikely. And speaking of which, I’d better get into costume. See you afterward.”
I hurried behind the closed stage curtains to find the rest of the troupe and Harry there on the main stage. With them was the stage manager from yesterday, Mrs. O’Malley, who I’d learned from Tessa was also Cymbeline High’s drama teacher. Alongside her were perhaps eight teens in Elizabethan peasant garb … obviously, the high school drama-club recruits.
“And our latecomer is Nina Fleet,” Harry announced to the teens with a gesture toward me, having apparently been doing the introductions between the two groups. “She’s an honorary member of our traveling GASP troupe as she happens to own the bed and breakfast where we all are staying. Now, while they finish getting costumed, why don’t Mrs. O’Malley and I take the rest of you through your marks for our “play-within-a-play,” The Murder of Gonzago.”
While Harry and the drama coach ushered the drama students downstage, the rest of us took a shortcut through the wings—the curtained alcoves on either side of the stage area where we actors would wait to make our entrances—and headed to the dressing rooms.
There were two of them, situated end-to-end at the rear of the stage platform and taking up its full width. A gap between them and the stage’s rear curtain formed a hallway of sorts that was just large enough for two people to pass. Tessa told me that was called a crossover and allowed the actors to walk from the wing to wing while remaining out of sight of the audience.
Each of the dressing rooms was about the size of a large, narrow office cubicle. They were designed much like cubes, too, roofless and with openings instead of doors. Fortunately, oscillating fans mounted high in the surrounding rigging kept the air circulating. This, combined with the shading canvas above, made the atmosphere backstage bearable despite the high temperature.
We split up, men and women, with each gender claiming one of the rooms. That was, except for Chris. As I headed to the cube we’d established as the women’s side, I glanced back and saw the youth looking panicky. I immediately realized the issue. No matter which side he … she … chose in which to change, the Chris/Christina deception likely would be found out.
“Hey, Chris,” I said. “I know it’s a bit crowded back here. If you don’t want to wait for one of the guys to clear out, maybe you can use one of the wings to change in.”
The youth gave me a grateful nod. Since they were curtained off from audience view, if Chris hurried he’d have a relatively private spot in which to change. Satisfied that I’d helped him out, I ducked into the ladies’ dressing room to costume up.
Fortunately, the cubicle did have a couple of full-length mirrors, as well as a narrow built-in table that
ran the length of the cube’s longest side, along with numerous hooks for hanging costumes. I had on my black tights under a pair of cotton pajama-style pants, so I was half-way dressed already.
The tights, combined with the doublet and cape, the former padded with the suggested throw pillow, proved a surprisingly effective yet simple costume. I pinned on my cap at the designated rakish angle and slipped into my black ankle boots. Then, checking myself in the mirror—unfortunately, I didn’t need that big of a throw pillow to achieve a flat silhouette—I decided I was ready to go.
Tessa’s and Susie’s costumes were far more elaborate as befitted their roles, with lots of brocade and overskirts and wide sleeves. Tessa’s costume was green and gold, with a standup, ruff-like collar that called to mind Elizabeth I. Her plunging décolletage was covered with strands of faux pearls and emeralds. She’d wrapped her gray braid around her head in a surprisingly elegant style and topped her coiffure with a large gold crown.
“Painted aluminum,” she told me, indicating the latter. “That’s the only way you could wear something this big for an entire performance. Any other metal would be way too heavy.”
Susie’s costume was equally elegant yet simpler in its lines, as suited her character’s youth—a cream-colored gown with sky-blue, slightly puffed long sleeves and braided gold trim. Instead of the jewelry and crown, she wore chains of flowers around her neck and threaded through her hair, which she’d left partially loose and partially braided.
“You both look great,” I told them as they put on the finishing touches. The pair preened a bit at my compliment, but before they could answer I heard the brief blast from a whistle.
“That’s your ten-minute warning,” came the lilting and slightly Irish-accented tones of Mrs. O’Malley, who’d either absconded with Harry’s gym whistle or had one of her own. “Let’s start gathering in the wings. From this point on, no talking over a whisper.”
We hurried to comply. Based on our first entrance, we each already had our wing assignments. The butterflies in my stomach began to flutter as I, along with Marvin, Radney, and Chris, would be onstage as the curtain opened, waiting for the ghost of Hamlet’s father as played by Bill. I already had my marching orders from Harry: look alert, keep my mouth shut, and pretty much do what Chris did while I was on stage.
Chris was standing beside me, costumed as a solder with the additional props of helmet and sword. The youth glanced my way and gave me an encouraging nod.
“Remember to stay back a few paces from everyone whenever we move from one mark to another so you don’t trip or run up on anyone’s heels,” he softly advised. “And look scared when the ghost appears.”
I nodded. The looking scared part was going to be easy. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder, and heard Harry’s voice in my ear. “Ready for stardom?”
I shook my head, feeling even more nervous if that were possible, yet suddenly grateful for that steadying touch. It was all I could do not to reach up and grip his hand, though I knew if I did someone would have to pry me loose with a crowbar.
I didn’t dare look over at Harry, either. I had already caught a glimpse of him in costume, with the black tights and knee-high black leather boots topped by a black velvet doublet with slashed sleeves and just a hint of a ruff. The doublet didn’t look like something from a theater’s wardrobe, but had the rich yet faintly worn appearance of everyday clothes … that was, if the sixteenth century was your everyday. The combination of all black along with the energy I could feel emanating from him now was suddenly and dangerously attractive. Despite my incipient stage fright, I realized I was about two degrees away from going full-blown fan-girl on him.
Get a grip, Nina, I told myself. It’s just velvet and leather and eyeliner. Underneath it all he’s still the same thorn-in-my-side Harry.
Fortunately, Mrs. O’Malley the martinet was there to save the day, in a manner of speaking.
“All right, act 1, scene 1 actors,” she whispered to us. “Professor Joy is welcoming the festival team and merchants. You have thirty seconds to hit your marks before the curtain opens. And go!”
The next hour and a half went by faster than I thought possible. After the first few dizzying minutes of jitters from being onstage, I found my acting stride and followed along obediently whenever a warm body was needed. As the troupe was small, and Chris the only player taking on a variety of smaller roles, that meant I was in the background of almost every scene. Which gave me the chance to see all the others at work.
I’d been impressed by everyone’s acting ability even during the more casual rehearsals, but here on stage I could see just how talented they were. They might be amateurs, but their passion for their subject added yet another layer to their performances. The audience seemed to agree, for enthusiastic applause followed each act. Still, and not surprisingly, the star of the show was Harry.
He smoldered and stalked his way through every act, a character lost between brilliance and madness. Sure, some of it was melodramatic, even campy (it was hard to watch Harry as Hamlet praise the departed Yorick, when I’d previously seen that skull hanging out on my porch swing), but I and the rest of the audience hung on every word of every soliloquy.
And when Harry as Hamlet and Radney as Laertes launched into their sword fight at the end, I along with everyone else felt my heart racing as the pair battled. Of course I knew how it ended, but I found myself hoping against hope that this outcome might be different. And, when Hamlet succumbed to his wound from a poisoned sword, I know I wasn’t the only one with tears in my eyes.
But, caught up as I was in Harry’s performance, one particular scene midway through had temporarily dragged me out of that fantasy world and given me an idea.
It was during the “play-within-a-play” when the high school students in their roles as the traveling players acted out The Murder of Gonzago for the entertainment of the King’s court. Renamed by Prince Hamlet as The Mousetrap, he becomes playwright and gives the actors new instructions, changing the script so that the pantomime shows the way the ghost of his father claimed that he, the true king, was murdered.
The play’s the thing wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king—this is the famous line that Hamlet speaks to himself in the hope that his Uncle Claudius’s guilty conscience will kick in as he’s watching the play Hamlet has so neatly rewritten. And it works to the extent that the new king, obviously flustered, calls a halt to the performance. Watching that scene, it had occurred to me that maybe Hamlet wasn’t the only one who could use a bit of playacting to his advantage.
But, now, the applause from our small audience went beyond enthusiastic as the curtains closed on the tragic scene wherein half the cast had met their stage deaths. And when the curtains opened again, the applause became cheers as we actors gathered in a line downstage to take our bows. Even Mattie from her place in the bleachers woofed a couple of times in approval.
Harry didn’t hog all the glory for himself, but generously recognized the rest of the troupe with grand gestures. He waved Mrs. O’Malley onto the stage too, and then the high school players, applauding them all before tossing a salute toward the tech crew at the control booth.
Professor Joy, meanwhile, had clambered up the side steps onto the stage, big hands slapping together in enthusiasm and smile broad. He went down the line with a handshake for each of us, then turned to the audience.
“I’ve seen many performances of Hamlet in my time,” he began, “and I must say this is one of the finest ever. Mr. Westcott and his troupe have done a bang-up job.”
He paused as the small crowd echoed his sentiment with more applause, and then went on: “Now, folks, remember that we don’t charge admission to watch the play, but we do suggest that people make a donation. And all those funds go right back into the festival coffers so we can keep putting on Shakespeare on Cymbeline Square year after year. So if you enjoyed the dress rehearsal”—he paused while the audience gave yet another cheer—“please tell all your friend
s and all tomorrow’s festivalgoers to be right back here again tomorrow evening for opening night.”
With that, the curtain closed a final time. Both Mrs. O’Malley and the professor made their way through the front curtain, with the former calling before she left, “We will compare notes tomorrow at noon, Mr. Westcott.” Harry nodded, then turned to the rest of us.
“That’s a wrap,” he said with a smile. “I’ll have a few final notes for everyone at breakfast tomorrow, of course, but you all did excellent work here today. Even our newest player”—he paused for a gesture at me—“acquitted herself in respectable fashion. All of which means that I am anticipating a smashing opening tomorrow night. Now, while you’re changing, let me arrange for our driver to pick us up.”
Harry went backstage to retrieve his phone, while the other players headed for the dressing rooms. I had started for the front curtain when a tug on my doublet stopped me short.
“Where you headed, Number Nine?”
I looked at Marvin, who was clutching my sleeve. “I was going to get Mattie so the Tanakas don’t have to wait around,” I said, momentarily puzzled.
The man shook his grizzled head. “No can do. This ain’t Disney. The rule is, you never appear in public in costume or stage makeup. Right, Rad-man?”
I glanced over to Radney, who nodded.
“He’s right, Nina. I mean, no one’s going to drag you off to acting jail, but anyone who knows anything about the theater will give you the side-eye if you do it. Plus Harry will slap you upside the head if he catches you.”
And with my luck, he probably would.
“Fine, I’ll change first,” I agreed with a sigh. “But can I at least stick my head out the curtain and tell the Tanakas that I’ll be out in a minute?”
Marvin threw up his hands. “Amateurs!”
Radney grinned. “Technically, not even that, but since this is dress and not an actual performance, we’ll pretend we didn’t see you.”
Giving him a thumbs-up, I hurried to the front curtain and peeked out. Sure enough, the Tanakas were there chatting with the Hills. I opened the curtain just wide enough to show my face.
