“Okay, so now that we’re finished with that topic of conversation,” Jim said, “tell me why your name is Beebe. I know it’s really Beatrice.”
Beebe made a face.
“Uh uh,” Jim said. “Am I asking a dangerous question?”
“No,” said her mother. “Beebe is named after one of Shakespeare’s heroines—Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing. She’s the smartest and the most delightful of all of Shakespeare’s heroines except maybe for Portia in The Merchant of Venice. “
“Juliet is smart,” countered Beebe.
Her mother dismissed Juliet with a wave of her hand. “Too young,” she said. “Too soupy and adolescent. She’s only fourteen when she dies so she’s not really fully developed.”
“Well, how about Lady Macbeth? She’s smart.”
“And wicked too,” said her mother. “I wasn’t about to name a child of mine after Lady Macbeth.”
“You could have named me Viola after Viola in Twelfth Night. She’s smart. And what about Isabella in Measure for Measure?”
Beebe’s mother made a face. “Too pure for my taste, and not exactly delightful.”
“I like her,” Beebe insisted stubbornly. “And what did you think of her?” She turned to Jim, who was looking off in the distance.
“Uh who?” Jim asked.
“Isabella, the girl in Measure for Measure, that play Mom took you to.”
Jim stood silently for a moment. Then he shook his head. “Which one was Isabella?”
“Oh, never mind,” her mother said quickly. “And anyway, to answer your question, when Beebe was a baby, she couldn’t say Beatrice. She called herself Beebe, and we just got into the habit of calling her that.”
* * * *
When they got home that night, Beebe’s mother said, “You don’t have to know anything about Shakespeare to be a good, decent human being.”
“I didn’t say you did,” Beebe protested. “I really like Jim. He’s fun, and he’s a nice guy, and I can see he really likes you.”
“Yes, he does,” said her mother slowly. “And I like him too, but ...”
“He really was very sweet to me,” Beebe said. “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to the day, especially when I heard his son wasn’t coming. But he really made sure I didn’t feel left out.”
“Everybody can’t be crazy about Shakespeare,” her mother continued. “Did you see how bored he got when we started talking about the plays?”
“Sure I did. And I really put my foot in my mouth when I asked him what he thought about Isabella. I’m sorry, Mom, but you were smart to change the subject.”
“He forgot all about the play.” Her mother was frowning. “I probably remembered more about his dumb football game than he remembered about Measure for Measure. “
“Well, you said it was a complicated play, remember? Maybe next time you can take him to Twelfth Night or A Midsummer Night’s Dream. “
“I don’t think he’d enjoy any of them. But,” her mother shrugged, “everybody can’t enjoy Shakespeare.”
“That’s right, Mom. A lot of people don’t. You said Dad didn’t when you first met him.”
“Yes, but afterwards he really got to love him.”
“The new advisor, Ms. Drumm,” Beebe said, “she doesn’t love Shakespeare. I don’t think she even understands him. We have to keep stopping and explaining the speeches to her, and on Friday she said she was going to talk to Mrs. Kronberger and make a few big changes. I’m getting nervous about her.”
“Well, don’t forget,” her mother said. “We’ve been invited over to Jim’s house next Sunday night for dinner, and we’ll meet his son. Jim says he’s very interested in astronomy.”
“Astronomy?” Beebe tried to remember something she’d heard about somebody else who was interested in astronomy. But her mind wandered off to act 3, scene 1, which the cast was to rehearse tomorrow. She thought of Romeo’s speech to Tybalt—
“I do protest I never injur’d thee,
But love thee better than thou canst devise”
—and saw Dave Mitchell standing there, pleading with Tybalt and the murderous Capulets for peace. She would appear in the act too, although she’d have no speaking part, and would only be expected to stagger and go into a semi-collapse when the prince banishes Romeo.
* * * *
“It could be the coach,” Ms. Drumm said the next day. “The coach instead of a prince. The coach could throw Romeo off the team for fighting with Tybalt. Romeo doesn’t have to kill Tybalt, just maybe knock him down.”
Some of the kids on the stage looked at each other doubtfully. Beebe tried not to burst out laughing.
“And instead of old-fashioned costumes, the kids would wear school jackets. The Capulets go to Capulet High School, and the Montagues go to Montague High School. I like the idea of bright green jackets for the Capulets with the names in black, and white jackets for the Montagues with the names in purple or maybe red.”
“What about Juliet? “Jennifer asked. “Is she going to be a quarterback?”
Now everybody, including Beebe, began to laugh. Jennifer made believe she was throwing a football, and Dave yelled out, “It’s a ... it’s a ... touchdown.” Beebe was laughing so hard now she had to gasp for breath.
Ms. Drumm was laughing too. “It is funny, isn’t it?” she said finally.
“You’ve got to be kidding, Ms. Drumm,” Wanda yelled out,
Ms. Drumm continued laughing, but finally she stopped, stood up, and said, “No, no, I’m not kidding.”
Now most of the kids stopped laughing and waited.
Ms. Drumm nodded happily at them. “It is a funny idea—I want it to be a funny idea. I’ve been talking to a lot of people, and nobody has ever done a funny version of Romeo and Juliet. “
“What about West Side Story?” somebody asked.
Ms. Drumm waved her hand. “I took out a video of it this weekend. It’s not funny. And it’s a musical. Maybe if we had time, we could do a musical too. But West Side Story is just as heavy as Romeo and Juliet. Everybody dies at the end. No, no, I want to turn the whole thing into a comedy.”
“But the play isn’t a comedy,” Beebe cried. She wasn’t laughing now.
“Well—we’ll change parts. It’s too long, anyway. I’ve been thinking about it, and here’s my idea. You have these two teams from two different high schools—the Capulets and the Montagues. And Juliet is a cheerleader for the Capulets. We’ll have to add some other good girl parts and have some more cheerleaders for both sides. I’ve already spoken to Ms. Tan—she trains the cheerleaders, and she’s promised to work with us....”
“But ... but ...” Beebe cried. “That won’t be Shakespeare.”
“Well, not exactly. But we can keep a number of the speeches. Like in the balcony scene. It could take place in the Capulets’ stadium at night, after a big game. Romeo is the best quarterback on the Montagues, and he’s noticed this cute cheerleader for the Capulets....”
“Ms. Drumm, Ms. Drumm,” Beebe yelled as loud as she could. “I don’t think Mrs. Kronberger would approve.”
Ms. Drumm stopped speaking.
“She just would not approve,” Beebe continued. She was still yelling even though it had grown very quiet. “Mrs. Kronberger has been putting on Shakespeare plays here for years and years. The school is famous for the plays. She would never approve if we made Romeo and Juliet into a comedy.”
Now some of the kids on the stage were murmuring their approval of Beebe’s speech. Dave Mitchell stepped over to where she stood, and said, “People from all over the city come to see our plays. We’re supposed to be a model for other schools. Mrs. Kronberger always says kids can enjoy Shakespeare, that you don’t have to water his plays down. And she’s proved it. Last year, when we did Twelfth Night, we had to do three more performances, and the mayor’s wife came to one of them.”
Now the murmur began to swell. Beebe looked up into Dave’s face with total worship, and
he smiled down into hers and patted her on the shoulder.
Ms. Drumm said solemnly, “Yes, this school certainly owes a great deal to Mrs. Kronberger. She has done a marvelous job of putting this school on the map. She is certainly a marvelous person and a marvelous teacher, and we’ll never forget all the work and time she’s devoted to those plays. There’s nobody like her—and I think it would be very nice if we sent her a card.”
“We’ve already sent her a card,” Jennifer said.
“Well, maybe another card to let her know we’re thinking of her.”
“When ... when is she coming back?” Beebe asked.
“Well... well... it’s very sad ... and I didn’t want to say anything until she was absolutely sure, but it’s definite now that she won’t be coming back. So that’s why I thought we should send her another card.”
Beebe felt so frightened, her legs began trembling, and she wondered if she was going to fall. She swayed, and Dave Mitchell put an arm around her shoulder. It should have made her unbearably happy, but it did not. The fear inside her grew and grew until there wasn’t any room for anything else.
“But ...” somebody began behind her. The sentence remained unfinished. Beebe felt her life would remain unfinished, too, if Mrs. Kronberger did not return. She had planned on taking Mrs. Kronberger’s honors Shakespeare class next year, and she had planned on trying out for next year’s play, whatever it was. Mrs. Kronberger did not know Beebe either as a student or as an actress. She knew her vaguely as somebody who had been picked to play minor parts in both plays Beebe had tried out for, but not as Beebe Clarke, who loved Shakespeare and wanted to be a great Shakespearean actress. She needed Mrs. Kronberger to put the stamp of approval on her. She needed Mrs. Kronberger to say, “Yes, Beebe Clarke, you will be a great Shakespearean actress one day, and in the meantime, I will take an interest in you because you love Shakespeare as I do....”
Ms. Drumm was speaking, coaxing. “...a little time. Nobody can take Mrs. Kronberger’s place so why not do something different? Why not have a little fun? We’ll come up with a real cute play, and I bet you Mrs. Kronberger will come to a performance and get a big kick out of it. We’ll just take a little time to think this through. I’ve been talking to Ms. Henderson in the P.E. department, and a couple of other teachers....”
Dave bent over Beebe and whispered in her ear. “Let’s get together afterwards and discuss this. I’ll tell Jenny and Todd. Meet in front of the main entrance at four.”
Seven of them gathered on the steps in front of the entrance. Wanda was the only one smiling. “A bunch of conspirators, that’s what we look like,” she said. “It’s like out of Julius Caesar, not Romeo and Juliet. “
“She must be crazy,” Jennifer said. “Nobody’s going to want to act in such a nutty play. I think we should just go talk to the principal and tell him we want another faculty advisor.”
“Absolutely,” Dave agreed. “If a bunch of us go, he’ll know we mean business.”
“Maybe we should write up a petition first,” Rebecca Chin suggested. “If we could have everybody in the cast sign it, that would make it unanimous.”
“I think we should talk to Ms. Drumm first,” Todd Merster said. “It doesn’t seem fair to go behind her back before we really tell her what we think.”
“I wonder if everybody in the cast would sign a petition anyway,” Rebecca said. “There’s a couple of them who have no principles at all. As long as they get a part in a play, they don’t care what play it is.”
“You’re right,” Robin Vargas said. “Dorrie Ferguson was telling me yesterday that she hates Romeo and Juliet, and just wished we could do something more modern.”
“I know,” Rebecca said. “She wanted the part of the nurse, but she’s just not very funny.”
“Maybe Todd is right,” Jennifer said. “We should talk to Ms. Drumm first, but then, if she says no, then we should go see the principal.”
“But suppose she just throws you out of the play before you go to see the principal? Suppose she just says if you don’t like it you can lump it?” Wanda said.
“She wouldn’t throw Jenny out of the play,” Todd said, but he sounded nervous. “She wouldn’t want to throw Jenny out of the play because then Dave would quit, and I guess the rest of us would quit too. She doesn’t want to get rid of all of us, does she?”
Everybody was speaking at the same time now, and Beebe had to repeat herself before anybody heard her.
“What did you say, Beebe?” Dave asked finally.
“I said I’m going to see Mrs. Kronberger. I’m going to tell Mrs. Kronberger what’s happening. She’ll do something.”
Chapter 8
Mark’s mother dropped into a chair, lighted another cigarette, breathed in deeply, slowly exhaled, and said, “Thank God that’s over.”
Mark watched the smoke mushroom out. “It wasn’t that bad,” he said.
His mother shook her head, took another deep breath, and said, “It’s a good thing you were here. Twelve nine-year-old boys is not my idea of a good time.”
There was a loud thump from upstairs.
“Just you stop that, Jeddy,” his mother shouted up at the ceiling.
Jeddy came into the room from the kitchen. “I didn’t do that,” he complained. “You’re always yelling at me to stop something, and most of the time it’s Marcy or ... or ...” He looked at Mark. “It used to be Mark.”
Mark grabbed him and began tickling him. “Poor, little, innocent lamb,” he said. “He never makes any noise, and everybody blames him.”
Jeddy, yelling and laughing at the same time, tried to butt Mark in the stomach. In a second, both of them were rolling around together on the floor, and Mark’s mother cried, “Stop it! Both of you, stop it! Or go outside.”
There was another loud thump from upstairs, and this time Mark’s mother shouted up at the ceiling, “Marcy, stop it!”
Shauna and I are practicing our gymnastics,’’ Marcy yelled down the stairs.
“Well, go practice in Shauna’s house, and the two of you boys, stop making that racket—watch out, you’re knocking over the lamp! Watch out!”
It took some time, but Marcy finally did go off to Shauna’s house, Jeddy went to his room with all his new presents, and Mark and his mother remained quietly together in the living room.
Mark looked anxiously at the ashtray full of cigarette butts and at the new pack of cigarettes his mother was opening. “Mom,” he said, “aren’t you smoking more than you used to?”
She slowly pulled a cigarette out of the pack, lighted it, took a puff, and smiled at him. “Just look out for yourself, Mark,” she said. “I can look after myself.”
“I know, Mom, but I also know you’re smoking a lot more than you used to.”
“You don’t know anything,” she said, not smiling now. “It’s not like you live here anymore, or take an interest in me or the kids. This is the first time you’ve been home in weeks.”
“Mom ...” he said helplessly.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that. You’re entitled to your own life.”
“Mom ...”
“No, no.” She waved a hand at him. “It’s good for you to make your own way. I know you’ll have to look out for yourself living with your father.”
“Mom ... that’s not fair. He’s really very good to me. He ... he ... really cares about me, and Jeddy and Marcy too.”
His mother flicked some ashes into the ashtray, smiled a phony smile at him, and said, “So, Mark, tell me what’s happening to you. I want to hear everything.”
Jeddy came into the room, carrying one of his new games. “Mom, can I go over to Brian’s house? He says I can sleep over.”
“Tomorrow’s school,” his mother said, “and you haven’t done your homework.”
“I’ll do it over there. Please, Mom.”
“You’ll have to change your clothes.”
“Okay, Mom, I’ll change my clothes.”
“And take a shower first.”
Jeddy was already out of the room.
“You never used to let me sleep over at anybody’s house on a Sunday night,” Mark said.
His mother shrugged. “I’m not so fussy anymore. Maybe I was too fussy with you. Maybe if I hadn’t been ...”
“Mom ...” he began again. Today he noticed that most of his sentences began with “Mom” and didn’t necessarily have any middles or ends.
“Anyway ...” she stubbed out the cigarette, picked up the pack, hesitated, and laid it down again without taking out a new cigarette. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Then she leaned towards him, and took his hand. “So tell me what’s happening. How’s school? How are you managing?”
“Fine. Everything’s just fine.”
His mother nodded, pressed his hand, and waited for details.
“I... I went up to Mount Tarn last night with a club called the City Astronomers. We stayed out until three and we saw—”
“Until three?” his mother repeated, dropping his hand. “And your father didn’t mind?”
“Mom ...”
The phone rang. His mother rose quickly and headed towards it. Mark leaned back against his chair, wondering when he could go over to Cindy’s. He’d called her, and she said she would be home all evening. He knew he’d have to eat dinner with his mother, and he just hoped she wouldn’t feel offended if he left soon afterwards so he could spend some time with Cindy. He wondered if Cindy would be willing to meet him in the city some time—maybe next Sunday. No, next Sunday wouldn’t be any good because his father was inviting Barbara and her daughter over. Well, maybe the following week.
“Mark,” his mother called out, “come here a minute.” He heard her say something, laughing into the phone, and she raised a smiling face up to him, still cheered by the conversation she was having with the person on the other side of the line. “Mark, how long are you staying tonight?”
Circles Page 6
