by Gigi Blume
Fluency of speech had never been my forte, especially when it came to apologies. I don’t think I was wired for it. But there I was, blunt as ever, blurting what was at the forefront of my thoughts. He seemed to like that about me, though, as a smile spread across his face, reaching his beautiful eyes.
“I deserved it,” he replied. “I was a Jack-as-the-beanstalk.”
I burst in a peel of laughter. “I see what you did there.”
“Well, you’re beginning to rub off on me,” he said with a wink.
“I certainly hope so,” I exclaimed. “I mean…”
I was a blubbering idiot. Why couldn’t I just shut up? Blushing furiously, I noticed Will’s eyes flash over my frame with fascination—and a sprinkling of amusement.
I was saved—sort of—by the A.S.M. calling places, and Will shot me a smile as I rushed to the crossover.
Real smooth, Beth.
I joined my stage sisters in the wings and reflected wistfully on our short conversation.
‘Don’t you know?’ he’d said.
Actually, I preferred people to spell it out for me. I was always rather blunt in my communication and expected the same from others. Will, however, was too cryptic. The note, the little comments he made at the gala, the sideways glances.
I could almost feel his eyes on me during the first two numbers of act two. Not that I was any less obvious. I was rubbernecking big time during his Paradox scene with Bing and Stella. I was on the stage-left wing, which was better for watching the performance unobstructed by set pieces, but unfortunate because Will’s exit was on stage right. When he disappeared behind the legs, I thought he’d gone to the back of the house to prepare for his next entrance. Cole was all about audience interaction and placed actors in the aisles whenever he could. He called it the Lion King entrance. The pirates played up With Cat-like Tread hilariously during rehearsals, and I could only imagine what they’d do once an audience occupied the seats.
As Jane and Bing began their scene, the same one I’d performed with Will at the gala, I drifted as close to the stage as possible without being seen. Using the heavy, black curtains as a shield, I silently listened, remembering the beautiful night I spent in a fairytale. The night I danced one last time with a man I’d thought was a beast, but was really a prince, only to run away to aid a friend trapped by Gaston. Admittedly, I watched too many Disney movies.
I sighed at Jane’s execution of the soft part of the song. She had a quality of voice which floated lightly above reality and yet there was so much feeling beneath the surface. As my lips silently sang along, I perceived a white billowy shirt emerge from the shadows. Will stood on the opposite side of the stage from me, mirroring my position behind one of the legs, and watching the movement of my mouth. I observed a deep breath fill his chest (which was partially exposed, by the way), and my lips curled in response, still singing along. And then we locked eyes with knowledge of each other's thoughts. He was remembering the gala, too—the whole of his features betraying his feelings.
When Bing took over on the second verse, Will’s lips moved with the lyrics…
He loves thee, he is here…
…and his gaze never fell from mine. He wasn’t being cryptic anymore. This was as straightforward as it got. I understood now what he meant in his note.
Something else you left behind.
That something else was him.
He was something else.
Oh, yes, I thought to myself. He certainly was.
I was hyper-aware of every quickening sensation—the tingling in my fingers, the lightheaded dizziness, the relentless hammering of my heart. I parted my lips, focusing on him, beaming the sentiment right back at him and sang along.
Fa la la la la la.
The final notes sung in duet hung in harmony between us, suspended for a long moment once the applause died down. It was the part where the characters kissed, and I could see the memory play on his own lips as he curled his mouth into a smile meant only for me.
Kitty, meanwhile, was back in business, and she was doing the happy dance.
I had to go to him. Perhaps if I used the crossover quickly enough, I could reach him before he had to go. He nodded as if to say, ‘Yes, let’s meet in the middle and totally make out backstage for five seconds.’ But an arm reached to him from behind, prompting him to move into places so he wouldn’t miss his cue. ‘Later,’ his eyes communicated. And he was gone.
“Beth.” A breath of a voice whispered behind me. “Come here.”
Holly motioned furiously for me to join her and the rest of the Stanley Sisters. They were all huddled behind the metal stairs leading to the catwalks. It was a vision of long, white night dresses and mop caps against the darkness. Only a beam of a blue stage light spilled into the corners where they stood, making them appear like a frolicking band of ghostly figures.
As I joined them, I was greeted by hugs and smiles, even from the girls I didn’t get to know as well as others. Even from Caroline and Mariah.
“I want you to know,” said Holly in hushed tones, “that Lydia felt so sad she couldn’t be here tonight to see us perform.”
A general wave of disappointed sighs ensued, and a few nods of understanding were communicated. She went on.
“But she promises to come as soon as she’s well enough to laugh without too much pain.”
A few of the girls whispered encouraging words.
“We’ll wait for her to get better.”
“Tonight is for Lydia.”
“She’s here in spirit.”
Holly nodded. “Yes, she is. That’s why she wanted to make sure I give you these.”
She dipped her hand in a paper gift bag and pulled out small satchels tied with a satin ribbon. Attached to the ribbons were little tags, which Caroline helped Holly read as she passed them out to each of the girls.
“I knew we wouldn’t see much of Jane backstage, so I made sure she got hers before curtain.”
As she handed me the small gift, she said, “Cole gave us permission to use these in the final number.”
I looked at the little tag attached to the ribbon and smiled.
To, Edith. Love, Lettuce.
She must have made these before the boat trip. Funny, I never knew what she did in her free time except party. Now I knew she was crafty, too.
Pulling the string, the fabric opened up into a beautiful, embroidered handkerchief with a single piece of saltwater taffy inside. It was decorated with a Guipure lace trim and in one corner were the initials E.S. for Edith Stanley.
“Cole told the pirates and police to expect us to drop them in the final song,” she said.
Caroline stuffed her handkerchief down her bodice and grinned. “Denny knows where to find mine.”
Denny?
My eyes shot to Holly for confirmation, and she nodded emphatically. That’s right. Caroline and Denny.
I didn’t see that coming.
Glancing back to the action on stage, I caught a glimpse at Denny tiptoeing behind General Stanley in Sighing Softly to the River. His silly face making comical contortions behind heavily applied guy-liner, that false gold tooth he spiritedly wore, and his tall, lanky figure were the most bizarre combination of nerdy and dashing imaginable. I could see the appeal.
Jane appeared to my left and gave me a side hug. The smile between us spoke volumes in its own silence. These are the days, my friend. Let’s do this.
I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her in for a squeeze. Our mop-capped heads tapped in a brief toasting to our friendship as if to say we would be BFFs forever. And if that didn’t mean she wanted me for her maid of honor, I was prepared to get all Bridesmaids Best-Friend-Speech on her. Because, yeah—that’s what friends are for.
I tucked my saltwater taffy safely in my corset (because who doesn’t like gooey, sticky confections in their cleavage) and joined the throng of Stanley Sisters flutter on stage for the finale.
I’d always thought Pirates of Pe
nzance had a hilariously bizarre and quickly resolved ending. The pirates draw their swords on General Stanley. Mabel intervenes and calls for help. The police arrive and a quickie sword fight ensues where the pirates win far too easily. But then the police captain calls upon their honor in the name of Queen Victoria. That was one of my favorite parts because in our production, a giant painting of Queen Victoria was lowered from the fly system, and all the pirates covered their hearts and knelt reverently.
Will was down center stage, and his expression was the stuff of which campy musical gold was made. Also, he was beautiful—if you could call a man of his virility beautiful. I decided to keep my commentary to myself. But who cared? We were at the point of the show where I could get away with ogling Will until bows. It was in my blocking—sort of.
He shifted his focus to glance at me in his peripheral vision and found me watching him unabashedly.
Busted.
His eyes flickered to mine, and I caught the hint of a smile. Anticipation shot through me with an electric blast. I could sense the same energy in his posture, like a runner at the starting line, just waiting for the moment in the scene where the Major General sang ‘take my daughters, all of whom are beauties,’ so he could finally claim me.
The first thing I noticed was that he carelessly threw all our blocking and choreography out the window. He took my hand and ushered me upstage behind the waltzing pirates, police, and maidens. In fact, he completely abandoned the notion we were in the scene at all, favoring whispered words to me instead of singing the finale with the rest of the cast.
“I have been selfish all my life,” he said in hushed tones. “I was just a spoiled kid that grew into an arrogant adult.”
Okaaaay…
“My point is… I’ve changed. Because of you. Because you make me want to be so much better than what I am.”
The entire company was singing the reprise to Poor Wandering One by now. We were supposed to be next to Jane and Bing singing take heart, take mine, but there we were, hiding behind the ensemble, talking about life choices. Like it couldn’t wait—he had to tell me those things in that moment.
But it was also perfect. So incredibly perfect, because the stage was the one place we always had a common ground. It was the one love we both held dear when we were so convinced we loathed each other. And maybe he wanted to get this confession off his chest before the really good stuff—like a kiss, for instance. So I didn’t speak so he could finish whatever he wanted to say before the lights dimmed.
“You’re too generous to play games with me,” he said softly. “If you still feel the same way you did on New Year’s Eve, just say the word, and I’ll let you go.”
His hands, which clasped mine, rose to my arms instinctively as he said those words.
I’ll let you go.
It certainly didn’t feel like he wanted that. And neither did I. His fingers gently squeezed my arms just above the elbows. Anyone watching would think he was just the Pirate King claiming Edith as his bride. At any moment, the song would end, and we’d make our bows. The cast would disperse to greet the people who came particularly to see them. And then the theatre would empty in preparation for tomorrow’s performance. Now was the time to let him go or hold onto him forever. My eyelashes fluttered to his heavy-lidded gaze, and he swept his eyes over my features as if to cherish my image in his memory, just in case. He was so close to me, I could feel the trembling in his chest, and my heart galloped in response. I lifted my chin to study him. His gaze was ravenous yet tempered with equal parts uncertainty and hope. I wondered if I could perhaps communicate my feelings through a mere look because I didn’t think I could form the words.
Take heart. Take mine.
Would that suffice? Would he know I wasn’t only singing for the crowd? My delayed response must have been a small torment because he then said with a sliver of urgency, “I don’t want to let you go, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth.”
Aaaand he just closed the deal right there. Signed, sealed, delivered.
“Then don’t,” I said like it was the simplest thing in the world.
I breathed the words. There wasn’t enough air in my lungs to do more than that, let alone sing. The final note of the song was upon us, and the orchestra accelerated the tempo towards the grand conclusion. I could see Fitz waving his arms in exaggerated gestures behind a blur of dancing couples. It was the culmination of all our effort and struggles over the past two months. All the drama on and off stage.
Will relaxed his hold on me just enough to brush one palm to my waist and the other to the nape of my neck as his thumb grazed tenderly over my cheek. My pulse raced with the tingling sensation of his touch, each molecule of his skin on mine a tiny pinprick straight to my heart.
He dipped his head so our foreheads touched. The bridge of his nose flush against my own, and despite the extreme proximity, I could see the blurred outline of his moist eyelashes—the beginnings of soft, joyful weeping. As though suspended in time, he closed the gap between our lips and crashed into me with the most ardent of kisses.
He was rocking my world. Not just because he was kissing me senseless, but he poured his entire soul into mine. Or maybe I was hoarding it. Nevertheless, he felt it. I could tell by the way his body quivered. Or maybe by the way he slid his arm around the small of my back and pulled me flush against him with an urgency that said, ‘I will never ever let go.’
He needn't have worried. I wasn’t going anywhere.
32
Pour, Oh Pour, the Pirate Sherry
Beth
“Let me get this straight,” said Jane as we rushed to get out of costume. “You don’t hate Will Darcy?”
“No.”
“But you used to hate him?”
“Hate is a strong word,” I corrected. “Maybe more of an extremely pointed dislike.”
“Aaaand?” she prompted.
I shrugged nonchalantly. “He’s nice.”
“Hmmm,” she harrumphed. “Nice enough to kiss all through the bows.”
She was exaggerating. It was true we hadn’t noticed when the lights went down, but Bing snapped us out of it as the bows began. So yeah, we were kind of oblivious, but not more than a handful of people noticed. Then again, Will wouldn’t let go of me for his solo bow and stole another kiss before the end. In fact, when we made our way backstage, I had to promise I’d meet him in no more than five minutes just to keep him from following me in the dressing room.
I didn’t bother removing my stage makeup. Charlotte and Colin were waiting to congratulate us, and I knew Will wouldn’t wait much longer.
“See you at home?” I asked, slipping into a hoodie.
“Sure,” she replied. “I’ll chill the prosecco, and you will tell me all the details.”
“Deal. Better make it two bottles.”
I slipped out while she was still unpinning her hair and caught sight of Will leaning on the wall opposite my door. He had his arms and legs crossed casually, and his messenger bag slung across his chest. He looked like an Anthropologie billboard.
“You ready to get out of here?” he coaxed.
“Where are we going?” I asked coyly.
He reached out without taking his back off the wall and pulled me close. So close, the tip of our noses almost touched. The scent of his spearmint gum reached my senses; he’d lodged it between his molars to give me a giant grin.
“Anywhere,” he growled softly. “As long as we’re together.”
I was still reeling from the kiss of a lifetime, and now the man was playing for keeps. This was really happening.
“Hmmm… how about we start with the Patrons of the Arts reception and sneak out when no one’s looking?”
He sighed because he knew he was expected to make an appearance in the lobby. A small cocktail party was on the agenda for the most generous of patrons to meet the cast and drink overpriced champagne.
“Stay close to me?” he bade, his eyes sweeping over my features with a wishful pl
ea. How could a girl say no to that? Not that I would.
“I will be the mongoose to your warthog,” I said with a grin.
Did I watch too much National Geographic? Maybe. Did I care if he found that odd? No. Turned out he didn’t because he smiled warmly and led me by the hand to the front of the house where tall tables draped in black linen dotted much of the lobby area. Wood carved in the shape of pirate ships served as centerpieces, and a small line formed in front of a sea scene painted on a canvas backdrop for photo ops. Stella was still in costume, posing with a glamorous couple sporting tricorn hats and the provided pirate-themed props. Champagne flute in one hand and a cutlass in the other.
“Well, we came,” Will said. “Can I have you to myself now?”
“Not so fast, lover boy,” Charlotte interjected.
Lover boy?
She was stunning in a one-shoulder jumpsuit and Colin—proudly at her side with a mouthful of whatever hors d'oeuvres they were serving. It made me remember how hungry I was.
I gave Charlotte and Colin hugs which were followed by gushing and congratulations. Will shook hands with Colin and praised his contribution, in which Colin blushed, feigned modesty, then said, “The choreography was pretty good, wasn’t it?”
“We couldn’t have done it without you,” I said. “Although… I’d be surprised if your boss will let you work here again.”
“I’m afraid that was my fault,” added Will.
Charlotte tilted her head to the side and squeezed her eyes to inquisitive slits. Colin had a similar expression but quickly amended it with the realization of what we were referring to.
“If you’re talking about the scene Catherine de Bourgh made when she stormed out of the theatre,” he said, “I wouldn’t worry.”
“You know about that, huh?” I asked.
“Everybody knows about that.” He laughed. “She made a fool of herself in front of a lot of important people.”
“I’m so sorry,” I sympathized. “If you lose your job because of me—”
