by Gigi Blume
“What is it?” questioned Lydia impatiently. She was a sucker for delivered packages. Even when it was just vitamins.
“Oh,” I said absently. “Just something I accidentally left at a friend’s house.” I took the shipping box off the kitchen counter, careful to sweep the packing peanuts back into it, and headed to my bedroom.
“I’m just going to put it in a safe place. Be right back.”
Closing the door behind me, I sat on my bed and stared at the little box. Why did Will send it FedEx? Why couldn’t he hand it to me directly? Was this his way of cutting ties with me? We still had a six-week run ahead of us.
I opened the lid and ran my fingers over the silk lining. I was almost afraid to take the ornament out of its snug little bed. It had to be so fragile. Like me. How did I get to this point in life? Delicate and so easily broken—in love with a man completely out of my league.
Something caught my eye amidst the packing peanuts. A small, red envelope with the initials W.M.D. gilded in a script font. How many types of stationary did that man have?
Will with a quill strikes again.
With a measure of trepidation, I opened the envelope. I feared the words inside. What would they say?
Have a nice life? Goodbye and good riddance? The lyrics to I Don’t Ever Want to See You Again from the musical Dance a Little Closer? Or We Do Not Belong Together from Sunday in the Park with George?
I took a brave breath and let my eyes fall over the handwritten lettering. Straight and precise. All neatly written caps except his signature.
SOMETHING ELSE YOU LEFT BEHIND.
-Will
Something else? What else did I leave there? My soiled dress? Was he upset I left it soaking in the bathroom sink? He could throw it away if it bothered him. I didn’t even realize my eyes were wet until the salt from a single tear reached the corner of my mouth. Gross.
I closed the box and shoved all the contents of the package under my bed. There was no sense in letting it bother me at this point. Also, tacos. My tummy hurt from hunger.
I was a new Beth with a new life, I decided. A life brimming with possibilities and opportunities. A life in New York with my bestie. What did I have to lose? I would take Jane up on her offer to share an overpriced studio apartment in Manhattan while she dazzled the audiences of Broadway, and I hit the pavement at four in the morning to stand in audition lines. It doesn’t get much more glamorous than that.
When I returned to the kitchen, Jane and Bing were sitting at the table, feeding each other nachos.
Gag me.
Ten minutes ago, they were having a cry-fest in the parking lot. I was so over the whole world.
“So, did you guys finally figure it out?” I realized my tone came off as jaded. I didn’t care. Soon, we’d be rid of this drama. And I was determined to finally get my taco. Jane shared a conspiring glance at Bing as I leaned over them to grab my share of the meal. They giggled, looked from one another’s glowing faces to me, and blurted, “We’re getting married.”
31
Take Heart, Take Mine
Beth
Perhaps it was opening-night jitters. Or maybe it was the hailstorm of insanity my life had become. One minute, it was Jane and Beth take on Manhattan. The next minute, she was setting up her engagement website. Her theme was white gothic. Whatever that meant. But as I walked into the stage door Wednesday afternoon, I knew it was neither the opening-night jitters nor Jane that had me in knots. It was five words.
Something else you left behind.
It made me sad and confused and frustrated. And frankly, a little angry. Why so cryptic? I knocked on Will’s dressing room door, but he didn’t answer. I must have arrived before him, so I took The Hobbit out of my bag and placed it on his vanity. I thought about leaving my own cryptic note but decided it was too much effort. So, I left without getting to say, ‘thanks for sending the ornament’ or ‘break a leg’ or ‘what the heck did you mean by something else?’
I took my time getting ready, applying my makeup just right, pinning my hair for the wig cap, steaming my voice. As more cast arrived, the dressing rooms became more clamorous. A few cast members pranked one another in various ways, so backstage was all screaming and laughing. It was hard for me to find my pre-show zen.
At least I was lucky to share a dressing room with Jane. Not only was she a lot more mellow than the ensemble, she got ready in record time, so she could spend as much time as possible with Bing prior to curtain.
The assistant stage manager passed all the dressing rooms, tapping on the doors.
“Fifteen minutes.” His voice boomed through the hallways.
“Thank you, fifteen,” I responded. I looked in the mirror and silently gave myself a pep talk.
You’re the girl with the lanyard.
Another knock sounded on my door. Maybe the ASM didn’t hear my response.
“Thank you, fifteen!” I bellowed.
“Is that the proper way to greet your guests?”
The image of Catherine de Bourgh filled the reflection of my vanity mirror. She stood in the threshold of my dressing room, having clearly let herself in.
“Oh. Hello,” I stammered, turning to face her. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Evidently.” Her eyes did a once-over of the room. Whatever she expected my dressing room to look like, she clearly didn't approve.
Well, this was awkward.
“Um… if you’re looking for Stella—”
“I’m not.”
“—or Will…”
She closed the door with a soft thud and took three steps into the center of the room.
“I’m here to see you, Miss Bennet.”
I blinked once and watched her stare me down. Her severe eyes burned white hot, and she lifted her chin, so she could narrow them on me down the bridge of her nose.
At length, she said, “Are you not curious why I’m here?”
“Um… candy gram?”
“I’m not interested in your jokes, Miss Bennet. I’m here because I heard something rather disturbing about you.”
Something rather disturbing? It couldn’t have to do with the dress I left soaking in the sink. Could it? Maybe she knew about the Jorge fiasco.
“Do you have any idea what that might be?” she questioned. She needed to get on with it if she wanted to see the top of the show.
“No,” I replied. “Enlighten me.”
She bristled at my remark but went on anyway.
“I’ve heard through less than reputable sources, that you’re in a serious relationship with Will Darcy. Considering the validity of the source, I must say I could hardly believe it. Even so, despite it being ridiculously impossible, I decided to hear it straight from you.”
I stared at her for a long moment, incredulity clouding my understanding. Was she seriously confronting me about my love life?
Or… lack thereof.
“Why don’t you ask Will?”
“I intend to,” she snapped. “But right now, I’m talking to you.”
“If you’re having such a hard time believing these rumors, I wonder why you bothered to come backstage to see me.”
“So,” she scowled. “You admit someone is spreading rumors. Perhaps it was you and your friends.”
“Why on earth would I do that?”
“May I ask you now if these rumors are false?”
“You can ask me anything you like, but that doesn’t mean I have to answer.”
She threw up her hands. “I can’t believe this.”
“That seems to be a recurring problem with you.”
“I just want to know if there’s anything going on between you and Will Darcy.”
Oh, boy. Wasn’t that the question of the century.
“You just said that would be ridiculously impossible,” I cried.
“It ought to be impossible if he were level headed. But you’re a pretty girl. I’ll give you that. If you were smart, you’d stay away from him.�
�
“And why is that?”
“Do you know who I am?” she said calmly. “I am a major stockholder in Pemberley Pictures. I’m entitled to know his business.”
“Actually, no. Not his personal life. And not mine either.”
If I didn’t get her out and soon, I’d miss Will’s entrance. I didn’t want to miss Will’s entrance.
“Listen to me, young lady,” she spat. “When I die, my granddaughter will inherit all but five of my shares in the company. I was obliged to leave the rest to my sister’s good-for-nothing son. With only forty-six percent, Anne won’t be the controlling board member as I am now. That is why it’s so imperative she join her stock with his. Through marriage.”
Ummm…
“That’s actually kind of creepy and archaic.”
“What a brassy, impolite girl you are. Is this how you thank me for the hospitality I showed you at the New Year’s Eve ball?”
Right. That was a night I couldn’t soon forget. But not because of her hospitality.
“I can pull the plug on his funding at any time, you know,” she threatened. “Sell the stocks and dissolve the company. Is that what you want?”
I shook my head. “That really has nothing to do with me.”
“Oh, it doesn’t?” she hissed. “Then tell me once and for all. Are you or are you not dating Will Darcy?”
I really didn’t want to satisfy her with an answer, but after a long moment to consider if I would, I decided it would be better to get her out of my dressing room before the show started and so I replied, “No, I’m not.”
She shut her eyes in evident relief and slowly exhaled. “And do you promise you never will?”
“No.”
Her eyes shot open. “What?” She shook her head with apparent disgust and spat, “I am not leaving until you make me that promise.”
“Well, then you are going to be standing here a long time.”
At that moment, the ASM made another pass with a tap on the door.
“Five minutes.”
“Thank you, five.” I shrugged and reached for my parasol. “Gotta go. Five minutes to curtain.”
I brushed past her to leave, but she maneuvered around to block my exit. She was fast for her age, that was something. All those years dancing. I silently noted she reminded me of a mixture of Madame Giry and Professor Umbridge.
“I’m not done talking to you,” she said with a vice grip on my arm.
“Too bad. Because I stopped listening. Now I have to get on stage.”
“You’re not in the opening number,” she snapped.
“And neither are you,” I replied as sweetly as possible. “So, please take your seat in the audience.”
I wrenched free of her grip and mentally gave her the bird as I walked away.
“Enjoy the show.”
Ugh! That infuriating woman. Where did she get off poking her nose in my personal life? How did she get backstage? It wasn't like she was the only VIP in the house. The audience was full of them. Imagine if every single performance artist in the audience felt entitled to wander into the dressing rooms. It would turn out to be a study in narcissism.
I tiptoed to the crossover, where even if that woman had followed me, she’d have to remain silent unless she was hell bent on ruining the show. The audience hushed as the orchestra eased into the first notes of the overture. There was a spark backstage that could only be attributed to the special kind of energy of opening night. Everyone in the cast and crew mouthed the words ‘break a leg.’ Some made a twig-breaking gesture with their hands that meant the same sentiment. Everyone looked fabulous and colorful in the costumes Ari designed. No matter how many shows I’d done, this moment never got old. I could imagine skydivers and Olympians felt a similar rush right before performing death-defying feats. It was electric, and I felt like hugging everybody.
I made my way past the rigging, sliding set pieces, and black-clad crew on headsets to claim a spot in the wings to watch the acrobatic entrance of the pirates. The way they swung from the ropes and transitioned into backflips off the ship and across the stage was like Cirque du Soleil meets La Bohème. A roar of applause thundered throughout the house. But my favorite sight was the Pirate Captain riding in on the mast with a spyglass to his eye. I always had a thing for billowy shirts and tight leather trousers, but Will brought swanky swashbuckling pirate to a whole new level. And those boots! Heaven help me. The man knew how to wear boots.
He was in his element, flying down the mast on a rope, dueling with one of the pirates on the gangplank, and falling off the deck backwards into the linked arms of waiting pirates all while singing Pour Oh Pour the Pirate Sherry.
Everything about the production was amazing. And I was part of it. My tribe. I felt a pang in my heart for Lydia. If only she could be with us as she should have been. She promised to see the show as soon as she could, and we made a promise to her we’d have a place for her backstage anytime she wanted to be close to her friends. The same invitation extended to Nora.
All through the first act, I ached to talk to Will. Things needed to be said, and although I knew we couldn’t very well have a heart-to-heart during a performance, I felt a little off-kilter without so much as a ‘break a leg’ before curtain. When we weren’t on stage, we were at opposite wings. It was actually quite convenient all those times I tried to avoid him. Now it was just annoying. The first contact I had with him all day was during our lift sequence. He caught me in his arms with the same movement and choreography we rehearsed, but his touch was more sincere. Reverent. His eyes reflected the stage lights with a spark as he looked over my features while he sang with a swoony grin, “Here’s a first-rate opportunity to get married with impunity…”
Meanwhile, my baby-making parts were doing an impromptu conga line and in the midst of the little shakers and maracas, I may have forgotten to sing my part. But the moment was over as swiftly as it began when we took our places for I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General on opposite ends of the stage. I was once again separated from Will for the rest of the act.
Intermission found me in the midst of excited cast and crew. Anyone not hugging and squeezing with joy was changing into their act-two costume. I had to change from my beautiful bustle dress into the frompiest nightgown imaginable which guaranteed the opposite effect I hoped to achieve with Will. Maybe I was being pathetic, but if I didn’t find him at intermission for a quick chat, I’d go nuts. Luckily, he was waiting outside my dressing room to do just that.
“Elizabeth,” he bade. “Do you have a moment?”
Did I have a moment? I had the rest of my life. But I played it cool.
“Sure.”
He gently placed his hand at the small of my back and led me to the stairwell. For a second there, it seemed talking wasn’t on his agenda, but he paused at the middle landing and backed away from me to give me space. His expression was soft as he regarded me thoughtfully.
“Thank you for returning my father’s book to me. I thought it was gone forever.”
“How did you know it was me?” I hadn’t written a note, and I didn’t think he saw me go in his dressing room.
“Jane told me,” he said. “She came in with Bing when I found it.”
“Oh.” Even though it wasn’t my fault, I still felt rotten about having the book in my possession. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Why? I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“You owe me? More like the total opposite.”
What was returning a book compared to saving someone’s life?
“How can I ever repay you for what you did for Lydia?”
He knit his brows together with a question in his eyes.
“Even if my friends and I saved up for a year—”
“I don’t want to be repaid,” he said softly. “That’s not why I did it.”
I narrowed my eyes on him intently, trying to figure out this enigma of a man.
“Why would you do that? Risk your life f
or someone you hardly know?”
He was silent for a long moment as though he was trying to form his words.
“I… felt responsible,” he said tentatively. “Even though Jorge isn’t my brother by blood, I felt I had to atone for whatever led him down this path.”
“His behavior isn’t your fault.”
He shrugged and blinked back what looked like the beginning of tears.
“Maybe not. But that’s not why I went down to Mexico.”
“Then why?”
He parted his lips ever so slightly and looked deep inside my eyes. His voice, barely a whisper, resonated through my being.
“Elizabeth,” he breathed. “Don’t you know?”
Zing! I was a goner. Did he seriously imply he risked his life deep in the bowels of dangertown and paid a king’s ransom to free my dim-witted friend… for me? I wasn’t sure if I wanted to throw my arms around him or run away and hide. Most guys gave girls chocolates or made a lame mixtape. This guy decided to channel his inner James Bond. I didn’t want to be the one to break it to him, but he was setting the bar a little too high for himself. What would his next grand gesture be? Eradicate world hunger? Save the rainforests?
The distinct footfall of boots sounded on the stairwell. It was Stella, and she was dressed and ready in her act-two costume—a proper pirate wench, complete with a belt three inches thick.
“Do either of you two know how Catherine de Bourgh got backstage? I had to have her thrown out.”
Will and I exchanged a wide-eyed glance. That skinny old hag lurked backstage after I dissed her to tell him off. I just knew it.
“Well, anyway,” Stella said, passing us to descend the remaining stairs, “carry on. But don’t dawdle too long.”
She wagged her brows and grinned a little too knowingly before disappearing into the shadows.
“Will,” I said awkwardly. “I’m sorry I pulled your hair.”
