Saving Juliet

by Suzanne Selfors

  "Yes." I couldn't believe it. Troy had been transported as well. His was the voice I had heard in the town square. "He's a Montague, from Manhattan."

  "The two of you traveled together?" Benvolio narrowed his eyes. "He is your lover?"

  "No. Definitely not. I didn't even know he was here until just now."

  "He followed you then. He desires you?"

  "He must be in love," Romeo said.

  "He's not in love with me. He has lots of girlfriends. We're just acquaintances." My mind raced. Troy was here. Maybe he'd have some ideas about getting home. I had to talk to him right away.

  Marching feet approached. Romeo and Benvolio pushed me back into the alley. Benvolio blew out his torch and put his hand over my mouth. "Steady," he whispered. Five Capulet guards passed by. We sighed with relief when the last one cleared the alley's entrance. I pushed aside my tower of hair, which had fallen across my forehead. "Your hairstyle will draw attention," Benvolio said. "If we ate to walk across the city, then you must blend in." Feeling in the dim moonlight, he began to unwind my hair, pulling out pins and ribbons and dropping them to the ground. Romeo kept a lookout at the alley's entrance as Benvolio removed the wooden frame. What a relief. My hair tumbled free as he worked his fingers through the knots. You know how nice it feels when someone combs your hair? I could have stood in that alley forever, pressing against Benvolio's comforting fingers. "We had best get you to a safe place. All clear?"

  "All clear," Romeo replied.

  I followed Romeo and Benvolio down the street, away from Capulet House and that crazy woman, but also away from Juliet. Poor girl, locked in that room. "We will take you to Friar Laurence's. He can mend your hand and give you safekeeping," Benvolio said. "And reunite you with your acquaintance."

  I sensed a touch of jealousy in his voice. Had I more experience at that point in my life, I would have wondered about this jealousy. I would have realized that it was way too early in our "relationship" for jealousy. But you don't know how to spot a possessive man when you've absolutely zero experience with men. But still, I felt safe with him.

  The moon rose above the city roofs. Our walk turned out to be a long one, due not to distance but to the fact that Romeo moved like a zombie. He sighed at least a hundred times. His depression made my own look about as serious as a yawn. The journey should have given me plenty of time to ponder my situation, except that Romeo kept interrupting my thoughts. "Why doesn't she love me? I cannot live without her. Griefs of my own lie heavy in my breast," he cried, seizing his chest.

  I tried really hard not to judge him, recalling the adage about not judging someone until you've walked in his shoes. People judged me all the time--Clarissa, for example, who thought my life was so perfect and blessed. Every person has a right to be unhappy, to suffer in peace without someone else telling her that she is acting like a spoiled brat. Without a certain someone telling her constantly that her life is the stuff that everyone else dreams about. Happiness is not a one-size-fits-all kind of thing. No way was I going to judge Romeo. If he wanted to act like the living dead, then good for him. But a little whining goes a long way. I should know. I'm the Queen of Whining.

  "Woe is me," he sighed.

  You might think I'm being hard on Romeo. Some of you might have imagined him in a different light. But the truth is, if you go back and read the play, he's a real downer. And way too melodramatic about the whole love thing. I mean, he claims he can't live without Rosaline and then that very night he decides he's in love with Juliet and he can't live without her. But the onion incident had changed the story. Even though Romeo still suffered from a broken heart, the onions had actually saved his life. No Juliet, no suicide. I had changed things for the better. If only I could figure out how to make things better for me. I didn't want to live in a sixteenth-century fable forever, especially not with a crazy Capulet after my head.

  We walked up the steps of a quaint stone church. "Get those friggin' leeches away from me!" a familiar voice yelled from a second-story window. Inside the sanctuary, Benvolio and Romeo dipped their fingers into a basin of holy water, making the sign of the cross the way Catholics do. It was a simple church, humble by Renaissance standards. A marble statue of St. Francis overlooked the altar where candle nubs burned. At this late hour the benches were empty. We climbed a flight of narrow stone stairs at the back of the church. With no light, I kept close to Benvolio. I could feel his warmth in the damp stairway. When I tripped, he reached back and took my hand. It felt calloused and strong. I remembered that same hand touching my waist at the Capulets' party. Funny how a touch can linger long after the act.

  "I said, no leeches!"

  Lamplight tumbled from an open door at the top of the stairs. I wanted to rush in but Benvolio held me back. "Is that your acquaintance?" he whispered, his breath tickling my neck like velvet fingers. I peered around his shoulder. Troy lay on a cot, inside the room. I felt overjoyed at seeing him. Even though I had spent the last few months avoiding him and trying to convince myself that I hated him, I wanted to run up and throw my arms around his tanned neck. I wasn't alone after all, in this strange place and time. But Benvolio wouldn't let me pass. "Wait," he whispered. "We should not interrupt the friar's work."

  Friar Laurence stood over Troy, holding a bowl and a pair of tweezers. His silver cross reflected light onto Troy's face. "I must apply these to the wound again," the friar said calmly and steadily, as if speaking to a child. "They must be applied at regular intervals."

  Troy raised his head from a grungy pillow. "No way. You touch me again and I'll sue!"

  "My son, there is no reason to be distraught. The leeches will cleanse your wound." The friar scratched one of his enormous ears with the tweezers. I once read that human ears continue to grow throughout life. The friar's were in overdrive.

  "Distraught?" Troy's arm lashed out at the bowl. "I'm pissed. You hear me? Totally pissed! Get those leeches away from me."

  The friar was not easily bullied. "I have taken an oath to God to heal the sick. God, in His wisdom, has placed you in my care."

  "My insurance doesn't cover freaky friars or leeches." Troy sat up and swung his legs over the cot. A strip of cloth was wrapped around his gray tights, just above his left knee. A dark red stain had spread across the strip. "When my agent finds out you've kept me here, instead of taking me to a hospital, he'll cram a lawsuit up your butt so fast you'll be the one who's ... distraught."

  The friar shook his head. "My son, your anger blinds you." He placed the bowl of leeches on a bedside table. "But you have the freedom to choose your own method of healing. If you do not want the leeches, then I shall put them aside." He took a long drink from a blue jug.

  "Great! Just get them away from me." Troy rubbed the side of his head. "How'd I get here? What idiot brought me here?" I took a step back, hiding in the hallway's darkness. I was the idiot. They had been my ashes, after all.

  "He seems dangerous," Romeo whispered.

  "I agree," Benvolio whispered back, adjusting his sword. "Remain here, Mimi, while I speak to him." Benvolio and Romeo entered the room. "I see that you have awoken."

  Troy struggled to his feet, keeping his weight on his good leg. Seeing them face to face, I realized that Troy and Benvolio were polar opposites. Benvolio, the winter warrior, dark as night, calm as the morning sea. Troy, the summer prince, golden as the sun, temperamental as the California surf. They glared distrustingly at each other.

  "Who are you?" Troy asked.

  "I am Benvolio Montague. This is Romeo Montague, my young cousin."

  Troy grimaced. "Are you guys some kind of Shakespeare fanatics, like those Star Trek freaks who walk around dressed like Klingons? Is this one of those Renaissance fairs?"

  "This is the man I told you about," the friar explained, indicating Benvolio. "He found you injured and brought you here."

  "Oh yeah? Why didn't you take me to a hospital? What's up with those costumes?"

  "I brought you here because you are a
fellow Montague," Benvolio explained, placing his hands on his slender hips. "And you had been stabbed by a Capulet guard. Had I left you in the square, he would have returned and made mincemeat of you."

  Romeo bowed to Troy then leaned against the wall and sighed.

  Troy snorted. "Capulet guard? Fellow Montague? What is this, Candid Camera or something? Am I being punk'd?" Then he groaned and fell back onto the cot. "My leg is killing me." He winced as he untied the bandage.

  "You were stabbed, my son," Friar Laurence explained.

  I leaned forward to see what Troy was gawking at. His wound ran from his knee to his upper thigh. Black stitches crisscrossed it like something from Frankenstein. Locks of blond hair fell over Troy's burning eyes. "What have you done to me? I'm supposed to be shooting a beach video tomorrow. I can't wear shorts looking like this. And what's with this bandage?" He waved it. "It looks like an old dish towel. I'll probably get gangrene." Then his face went slack. "What do you want with me?"

  "Want with you?" the friar asked.

  Romeo slunk to the windowsill and peered into the darkness. "Woe is me," he moaned.

  "My child," Friar called softly. "What ails you?"

  "He's lovesick," Benvolio explained, helping himself to the blue jug. "He has given me a headache with all his moaning about Rosaline. I'd wager he has given Mimi a headache as well."

  "Mimi?" Troy dropped the bandage.

  I took a deep breath and stepped into the room.

  Fourteen

  ***

  "Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't. "

  "Mimi? What happened to you? What's that white stuff all over your face?" Troy didn't wait for my reply. He turned and pointed a finger at Benvolio. "What's she doing here? You've got no right bringing her here. Look, my label will pay whatever ransom you want--just let her go."

  He thought we had been kidnapped. "Uh, Troy ... ," I said.

  He hobbled forward, grimacing with each step, and roughly took my arm. "Don't say a word, Mimi," he whispered. "These guys are nutjobs. Look at them. They're dressed like Renaissance fair nerds and that guy pretending to be the friar says it's 1594. They stabbed me in the leg. There's no telling what else they're capable of, so let me handle this." He was using that parental voice I knew so well.

  Fine. Go ahead and make a fool of yourself. My feet were killing me anyway. I sat down on a stool and took off the wooden shoes.

  "How much do you want?" Troy repeated.

  "While I do not understand your question, I do understand your tone, sir, and I find it insulting." Benvolio wrapped his fingers, slowly and menacingly, around his sword's hilt. Romeo pressed his face against the window's glass, still staring into the darkness.

  Troy raised his hands in a motion of surrender. "Okay, okay, let me try that again. What do you want from me?"

  "Gratitude would be appropriate, for saving your life."

  "Saving my life? Oh, from the Capulet guard. Right." Sarcasm oozed from Troy's mouth. "Sure, thanks a lot."

  "Troy, we need to talk," I said. If I could get him alone for a few minutes, I could explain everything. "I know what's going on."

  He waved to me to be quiet, as if I were annoying background noise. "Look, whatever your name is ..."

  "Benvolio Montague."

  "Right. Look, Benvolio, why don't we go outside and get a taxi? My label has a New York office. We can go there and get you a money order or something." He smiled, thinking himself clever. "Come on, what do you say?"

  Benvolio raised an eyebrow. "I am beginning to believe that you are insane." He sat on the windowsill next to Romeo, his long leg swaying like a metronome. Romeo whispered Rosaline's name. I walked barefoot across the plank floor and stood in front of Troy, my back to the others.

  "Remember how I grabbed my necklace from you and then I opened the door and those ashes flew all over the place?" I spoke as quietly as I could. "Remember when I said I might go somewhere and you said that maybe I should go to Verona?" Troy frowned. "Well, that's exactly what happened. They haven't kidnapped us. My Shakespearean charm brought us here. It's magic."

  "Oh, that's very interesting," the friar whispered, having stuck his overgrown ears where they didn't belong. "A charm? Pray tell, did I meet you in the square early this morning?"

  "Yes," I told him.

  "What are you talking about?" Troy demanded. "What do you mean you met him? I don't remember any ashes."

  "You don't remember the ashes? How can you not remember the ashes? We choked on them."

  "I am afraid that is a side effect of the herbal tea I fed you," the friar explained, squeezing his rotund self between us. "The tea deadened your pain and put you to sleep so I could perform surgery on your thigh. Your memory will be foggy for a short while, but it will return."

  "You drugged me?" Troy's eyes widened. "DRUGGED ME?"

  "Excuse us," I said to the friar, pushing a crazed Troy into the corner. "Listen to me."

  He wasn't ready to listen. "That guy's a madman. A sadistic butcher. Did you see my leg? I've got to get to a hospital." He turned and faced our captors. "Look, just name your price and let us go."

  "There is no price, my son. Go, if that is your wish." Friar Laurence tilted his head toward the open door, then took another drink from his blue jug.

  Troy raised his eyebrows. Then he grabbed my hand and started hobbling as fast as he could, which wasn't very fast.

  "Wait," I said. "You don't understand. They're not holding us for ransom."

  "Come on," he urged.

  "Mimi?" Benvolio called, sliding off the windowsill. I wrenched my hand free of Troy's and stared into eyes as hot as espresso. "Are you leaving with him? Are you going back to Manhattan?"

  "Mimi!" Troy yelled. His voice cracked with impatience.

  Was I going back? I didn't quite know how to answer that question. Back to Reginald Dwill's stupid DVD. Back to vomiting onstage. Back to the Theatre Institute with its 100 percent acting classes. Back to tutors and cardboard food and identifying with a cat who spends its days and nights pressed against a window, yearning.

  Benvolio looked like he was yearning--for me. He took both my hands and pressed them to his chest, right over his heart. Corny, I know, but the gesture made my legs feel weak. "Will you leave so soon?" he asked softly.

  "Mimi!" Troy stood in the doorway.

  Benvolio gently kissed the cut on my hand. It had stopped bleeding.

  What would it be like to kiss a man from the sixteenth century? Not the close-mouthed kiss that Troy and I knew so well, but the kind of kiss I longed for--a kiss that makes your eyeballs roll backward. A kiss that doesn't leave room for breathing. Would Benvolio nibble on my lower lip? Would his tongue taste like the contents of the blue jug? At that moment, I forgot all about Lady Capulet's threat.

  I don't want to go back. I want to stay here with you and become Mrs. Montague. I want to go to parties and sleep next to your naked body and never have to act again.

  "Mimi! Are you insane? MOVE IT!"

  Benvolio dropped my hands and moved swiftly to the door. "Do not speak to her in that manner." He slammed his fist into Troy's jaw. Troy tumbled into the hallway.

  "Stop it," I cried, snapping out of my lovesick trance. Benvolio stepped aside as I helped Troy to his feet. "I need to talk to him," I told Benvolio. "I'll be right back."

  "Take a light, my child." The friar handed me a candle. "And wear your shoes. There are rat droppings about."

  I slipped back into the shoes. Holding the candle, I led Troy down the winding stairs. He rambled the entire way, stringing sentences together as if he'd had too much coffee. "Have you lost your friggin' mind, playing along with them? Did they drug you, too? Can you believe those costumes? They must have dressed like characters from our play so they could sneak backstage. Then they must have gassed us or something. I don't know. I wish I could remember. What kind of twisted pervert comes up with a scheme like this? That fat guy stuck leeches on me. Leeches! We'll get a taxi then
call the police." We reached the bottom step and started past the altar. "And what's up with you letting that creep touch you? You aren't one of those girls who sympathizes with her kidnapper, are you? Because they stabbed me, Mimi. Stabbed me! And I guarantee he'd like to stab you as well, but not with a sword, if you get my drift."

  I wasn't going to argue with him. He wouldn't believe a word until he saw the city with his own eyes. After all, look how long it had taken me to figure things out--and I have more than half a brain. I pushed open the church's heavy wooden door and we stepped into darkness.

  Darn it! It was too dark to see anything. The moon had disappeared behind heavy clouds.

  "Smells like sewage," Troy said with disgust as he limped down the church stairs. "What part of New York is this? There must be a treatment plant around here."