Chapter 6: Playing the Part
Dinner was as delicious as always. Nearly every man had a thick, satisfying glaze of salad dressing and beef broth saturating their facial hair, save Timmy, who could not grow such manly trademarks due to his condition. As the Perfects jollily discussed the imminent show between anecdotal tales of past-life adventures, they could hear the growing murmur of people emanating from below. The Rat’s Tail was filling up with customers once more. It was a sound Timmy and Bugs had come to expect, and one that always quickened the heart. The rest of the cast could feel it too, a growing energy of nervous excitement, gaining momentum with each passing moment.
The Dutch cuckoo on the wall struck the hour, signifying the Perfects’ need to clean up and head downstairs. As the mechanical bird chirped and chimed, Twitch found his master’s shoulder and prepared to escort the play’s star to the backstage area. After everything was placed in order and all men had groomed sufficiently, the company departed in unison.
Downstairs, Bugs and Smirks checked and double-checked their setups. After they were thoroughly satisfied, Smirks wished his cohorts a fine show and headed to his post upon the lighting rig. Bugs riffled through his backdrop orders and tested the pulley tension in case there was need for any last-minute adjustments. Timmy and the rest of the cast dressed for their parts. John made certain everyone looked appropriate and in good order before wiggling into his nursing attire. It was time. Deep breaths were shared by all.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Goldhand’s voiced echoed from the other side of the drawn red curtain, “I thank you all for coming. Tonight, we have a grand spectacle for you. From the troupe that brought you the crowd-pleasing Grapel Duke’s Burnt Straw Knickers, an original play of high fancy, we present a second work of even greater imagination…The Nursing Spirit!”
And with that, the curtain was raised and the play began.
Timmy and Brock, the two actors first appearing on stage, were welcomed by a cordial applause from the nearly packed house. Timmy could sense the tavern was slightly less full than during previous performances, and his brief scan of the crowd affirmed as much. The audience was still more than adequate, but nobody was forced to occupy the standing room on this night.
As the show went on, those in attendance sparked lively at every poignant and proper moment. Cheers and jeers were delivered soundly as villains and heroines swapped lines atop the wooden platform. Laughter was in no short supply, but unlike during The Grapel Duke’s Burnt Straw Knickers, it was occasionally tempered by a great swath of other emotions. The cast had the crowd eating from the palm of their hands, and every Perfect could sense it. It was a tightly woven relationship that drove the actors to heighten their performances.
The effort paid off, for at the conclusion, The Nursing Spirit was given a resounding, standing ovation. The story had touched many to such a degree that they wiped tears of joy from their cheeks while chuckling with joke-bred pleasure. As the cast took its bows, Timmy and Bugs shared a glance of pride and fulfillment. Another play had pleased. Another work had found the loving arms of the public.
After the people had gone, the staff of the Rat’s Tail and the members of The Royal Perfects sat in the closed tavern sharing congratulations and libations. A couple of the Perfects had managed some female company and were wooing them with tales of high-seas shenanigans or last-minute soup sales. The latter wasn’t nearly as interesting.
Romeo had more than one admirer sitting at his side, and anyone could tell he was letting his suave shine. Lancelot and Ladyfist were amongst a group of revelers hooting and hollering while placing bets as to how long Castletowne could keep his head submerged in a vat of pickled eggs before needing to take a breath, or lose consciousness, whichever came first.
Then there were Timmy and Bugs. The pair sat with Mr. Goldhand discussing the evening’s purse and how each thought the event transpired.
“It was a lesser take than in the past,” Goldhand admitted. “Not by much, but not to the level your previous shows were drawing.”
“That’s a bit of a disappointment,” Timmy stated with mild sadness.
“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think the show itself had anything to do with it,” Goldhand clarified. “It was a great story, masterfully executed. I think it is by far your best work to date.”
Gabriel paused a moment to wet his whistle with a shot of rum before continuing.
“I just think that Ill So-So show drew a bit of the crowd away.”
“Probably didn’t hurt that they stole some of our publicity with that poster prank,” Bugs said indignantly.
“I had checked into that Bugs, and apparently, they had been doing that for a few days prior. I can’t say how many they managed to cover, but yes, maybe that did detract a little,” said the fatherly Gabriel. “It’s no matter though. Tomorrow, The Ballyhoo will put out their reviews of both shows. I’m fully confident The Nursing Spirit will outshine anything John Smith and his misfits could clumsily convey.”
Gabriel took another shot of liquor before bidding his young partners goodnight.
All things considered, Bugs and Timmy could agree the opening night was a success. The real test would be the story’s longevity over the next month or so. If it truly were a tale of worth, the people would come, and keep coming. If not, there was always the street corner.
The next day found the Perfects in preparation again. That night would be the second performance of The Nursing Spirit, and the group wanted to iron out some details and soften some rough edges they had discovered on their first go-around. Only the most dedicated of theatergoers would notice such things, but it was this adherence to painstaking refinement that defined their reputations. They were true artisans to the last.
Everyone was present save Lancelot, who had gone earlier to retrieve a copy of the day’s Ballyhoo. While his compatriots were in the middle of walking through a scene, Lancelot returned with paper clutched in hand.
“Here it is, fellas,” he said with excitement.
“Have you read it, Lancelot?” Timmy inquired, searching his friend’s face for any revelation that he had.
Lancelot shook his head from side to side. “Nope,” he stated, while handing the edition to Timmy.
Timmy opened the publication and leafed through its wilting newsprint pages. Coming to the AMUSEMENTS section, he unfolded the entire sheet and laid it flat on a nearby table. The rest of his mates circled around to get a good view.
“The Spirit of Genius,” Timmy said, reciting the page’s headline.
The article continued, and Timmy conveyed its contents with increasing joy.
“Last night, I had the pleasure of witnessing a great piece of entertainment. Hot off the heels of their cherished comedy The Grapel Duke’s Burnt Straw Knickers, The Royal Perfects manifested more magic in the form of The Nursing Spirit. This delightful tale told of a relationship turned bitter and how an act of life brought two main characters to reconciliation. Playing the role of Lily, Timmy Wicketts shone bright and studious. The dedicated thespian conveyed the needed warmth and tenderness of the female lead. John Ladyfist proved his acting chops and comedic timing to be quite good as the often-hilarious Nurse Wellington. And former boxer-turned-actor Brock Bullsock scored a knockout blow with his nasty-turned-nice portrayal of Vladimir Repin. With a spot-on supporting cast and errorless stage presentation, The Nursing Spirit proved a show worth seeing more than once.”
When Timmy concluded, the entire group shared a boastful round of self-congratulations. Compliments and pats were exchanged like presents and the entire company took pride in their written review. Bugs made his way over to the bar and retrieved a sealed bottle of brandy, which he promptly cracked open for communal consumption. As the drinks flowed, Timmy found another article worth reading.
“Now hear this, lads,” Wicketts chimed. “A True Sophoclean Tragedy,” he said while reading the headline.
“The newly re-formed Illegitimate Sons of Sophocl
es presented one of his classic Greek plays last night at the Halfwit Theater. It can be said that this performance was indeed one of improvement over past Sons’ productions with a varied cast capable of a greater range than the previous. Unfortunately, the range was only fractionally expanded, and the execution only marginally improved. Reviewing an earlier Sons’ work, I wrote that if they were stone throwers, this group was barely capable of hitting the side of a barn. This newest incarnation may manage to strike an outhouse, although the stench of both would be equivalent. The lone bright spot was Genevieve Jenkins. She continues to prove a moving actress, and if given a capable supporting cast, could very well be a crown jewel in any company.”
Bugs and the others broke into laughter, happy to take joy in the harsh review laid upon the Ill So-Sos. They clinked glasses and drank to the rival team’s poor press.
Timmy was more concerned with the mention of Genny. He hadn’t realized she was an actress. Last he had heard, Genny was meant to take over her father’s import and trade business, which specialized in the acquisition and supply of highly valued archeological artifacts as well as fine art and sculpture.
The career path made sense, for Genny had been a superb student who was fluent in several languages and cultural histories. It struck him as strange that she would forego all of that intellectual and professional investment for a far less lucrative endeavor such as acting. But based on what he had just read, perhaps it was the wiser choice. The review did laud her skill after all.
Bugs had taken notice of Timmy’s preoccupation.
“Timmy, so what is it? You have the same dreamy look on your face that you had when Smith and his gang were here. You’re thinking about that Jenkins girl, aren’t you?” Bugs asserted having heard her mentioned in The Ballyhoo. “Who is she?”
Timmy leaned back in his chair, balancing on its two back legs. He folded his arms and gazed off into the distance as transparent memories in his mind grew more concrete and colorful.
“Genny was the only one,” Timmy began. “She was the lone soul of solace amongst a horde of horrors at Vainville. She uttered not a single insult, thrust not a single dagger. She simply stood behind the angry wall of shadows, peering through with sorrowful eyes until the darkness passed. It was then she would help me up, dust me off, mind my wounds and then pass once more into the crowd, leaving behind only memories of her kind touch.
“I can recall one particularly nasty episode. I was eating in the dining hall, sitting alone, as usual, due to my plagued persona. That day’s meal was stew, crust, and a serving of roasted lamb carvings. As I sipped my soup, I was smacked in the cheek by a cold, damp something. It stuck fast, and then peeled away slowly, accompanied by a sickening suctioning sound. The projectile was a slice of lamb thrown by an older classmate from a table across the room. I looked his way, and he returned an impish smirk and a questionable finger gesture. The rest of the crew at his table supported his actions with snickers of their own, slapping hands and trading jollies. To that point, this was not really a unique occurrence, but what came next did burn this episode clearly in my mind.
“I suppose the bully and his cronies were feeling particularly cruel that day because, moments later, I felt a shove on my shoulder. I turned. My heart had already started to sprint. The nasty, Rudebaker Smart was his name, stood towering over me. Red-haired and mean-spirited, he informed me that I shouldn’t waste Headmaster Vainville’s food. He pointed to the slab of lamb now resting upon the filthy dining hall floor. He then stepped upon the meat with his dirty boot, grinding it in, bent down, peeled it off the tile, and plopped it on my plate. The vile villain next ordered me to eat the defiled cut, soot, dust, and all.
“I refused, and was served instead a right hook to the jaw. It knocked me off my seat, and that’s when the wolves leapt. Kicks and punches, shoving and wrenching, they brutalized me for an agonizing spell. As I absorbed the punishment, I couldn’t help but wonder why not a single monitor was jumping in to end the crime. There were always two or three stationed in the dining hall during eating hours, but apparently they were all looking the other way at this particular moment. I would have thought the shouting and jeering of a mess hall full of students would have attracted attention, but that was not the case.
“Not until Genny appeared did the beating begin to subside. Through swelling eyes, I could see her pulling at the boys surrounding me. Through ringing ears, I could hear her reprimanding my assailants. She forced her way into the fray, and in doing so, dispersed the mob. Soon after, a monitor did manage to enter the scene and sent the students back to their duties. Genny’s selfless act saved my hide that afternoon, but it also opened her up to ridicule.
“She was labeled a sympathizer, and attitudes began to shift. Hurtful words and rumors were beginning to spread concerning Genny. I knew it wouldn’t take long to spiral out of control, damning her to a life as a social outcast. I couldn’t live with myself if that took place. I would not let her become a pariah such as myself, and so I laid out a plan.
“In a crowded hall of the academy, I lugged an armful of books. On top was a model I had constructed of Buckingham Palace. It was an elaborate, well-crafted piece needed for a passing grade in my architecture class held later in the day. With purpose, I weaved through the students, careful not to drop my belongings. At the same time, I hailed the excellence of my model at the top of my lungs. Several disgusted glances and rude comments were hurled my direction, but that was the intended result of my boasting. I then saw Genny standing by the library’s door. I walked as swiftly and closely to her as possible, and once there, fell head over heels onto the floor, crushing my Buckingham with my backside and throwing my books asunder. I immediately shouted my grief, accusing Genny of tripping me. She hadn’t, and was momentarily taken aback by the assertion, but that quickly changed as my plan became evident.
“Fellow schoolmates laughed at my expense and celebrated Genny’s assumed actions. They congratulated her on her ruthlessness as I knelt grasping the splinters of my model and crying aloud my imminent failure of architecture class. Everyone believed that she had indeed tripped me, and done so with iniquitous, pre-planned intent. The act restored her good standing. Genny realized what I had done, but never uttered a word. The thankful look in her eyes was all that I needed.”
“Well, that’s quite a tale, buddy,” Brock announced. He and the rest of the Perfects had gathered around to hear Timmy’s story as he conveyed it to Bugs.
“So, did you fail architecture?” John inquired.
“I did,” Timmy said with acceptance, “but it was a small price to pay for saving Genny’s name.”
Bugs pulled his chair in closer. “You were enchanted, weren’t you?”
Timmy smiled. “I have to see her on stage,” he stated with longing.
Bugs could tell this meant a lot to Timmy, but a major hurdle lied in his path.
“How? The Ill So-So shows are held on the same nights and at the same times as ours. There’s no way we could perform The Nursing Spirit without you. You’re the blasted lead,” Bugs said.
There was no need for Harrington to declare the problem. Timmy realized the conundrum seconds after stating his desire to see Genny perform. Hope was quickly fading in his heart.
“I have an idea,” Romeo announced as all eyes turned toward the Casanova of Southrump. “What about an understudy? I know the perfect chap. I met him down by the train tracks one night, back when I was getting coin by another means.”
“An understudy?” Bugs questioned with doubt. “Who could possibly perform the role like Timmy?”
“I think this man could,” Romeo answered.
“Why don’t you two bet on it?” Lancelot added, eager to see a gamble, even if he was not directly involved.
Bugs disregarded Lancelot’s inane comment and contemplated what Romeo was proposing. He turned toward Timmy to get his take.
Timmy smiled again. The idea was indeed interesting. If this second held promise
, and Timmy could teach him all he needed to learn, it would free him to see Genny at the Halfwit.
Bugs could see Timmy’s face glowing at the thought.
“Fine, Romeo,” Harrington said with a bit of exasperation. “Go get this character. If he seems like he can do it, we’ll use him. If not, we’ll just have to figure out something else. Okay, Timmy?”
Timmy placed a thankful hand on Bugs’ back as Romeo headed out the door.
The crew returned to their rehearsal, taking up their duties once more. As the actors exchanged lines, it was clear to everyone that Timmy was distracted. His fluidity had stiffened a fraction and his delivery was somewhat weaker than everyone was used to. Wicketts was still in a class by himself, but it was evident Genny was on his mind.
A few hours later, Buffington returned, accompanied by quite the disheveled sight.
“This is Francis Dinkyworth,” Romeo proclaimed, pointing to the rag-wearing man to his right. The hobo was dirty and slouching. His stubble-marked mug hid a younger complexion, not one near Timmy’s toddler-like quality, but a clean shave would definitely have taken five years off.
Bugs looked at the man, looked at Timmy, and laughed.
Timmy withheld judgment, realizing he had probably looked the same, minus the facial hair, only months earlier.
“Mr. Dinkyworth, why don’t you have a seat and tell us more about yourself?” Wicketts asked.
John Ladyfist offered up a chair as Smirks retrieved a hot cup of tea for the fellow. They all gathered around to see what this assuredly homeless man had to say.
In a gentle, high-pitched, almost feminine voice, Francis Dinkyworth laid before them a tale of sad misfortune. From birth, he was unwanted. His parents gave him up for adoption when he was but an infant. His nurse mum at the orphanage grew tired of his colic and crying and one day set him, still covered in dried pea soup from lunch, upon the stoop of a local brewery. Before anyone of repute came across young Dinkyworth, an insane woman laid her eyes upon him.
Mammy Tanglelocks, as Francis came to call her, saw what she thought was a small green man wrapped in a long coat, not a baby covered in dried pea soup. To her, this small broccoli boy was undoubtedly a leprechaun. Mammy knew if she cared for the leprechaun long enough and spent time learning his crazy “goo-goo, ga-ga” sprite language, the elf would lead her to hordes of gold.
And so, Mammy Tanglelocks cared for Francis for years, sheltering the child in her rickety shack made of broken broom handles and discarded roast racks. The poor woman was so crazy, she paid no mind as Francis' complexion grew pasty-white when the flakes of soup peeled away. She paid no mind as Francis grew into a young boy. She paid no mind when he stopped babbling and started talking. And most unfortunately, she paid no mind when she walked right into the path of an oncoming steam locomotive one fateful summer day.
Francis became a heartbroken man in his twenties having lost the only person who had ever cared for him. He spent days and nights in a dizzying mourning, simply walking the streets of Upper Southrump with no real sense of what to do next. Luckily, he ran into a sympathetic ear attached to one Romeo Buffington. They sowed a mild friendship, and apparently, Francis’ story made a lasting impression on Romeo.
It was a sad tale, no doubt. Timmy too felt an immediate place in his heart for Francis, a man who suffered in many ways similar to himself. He handed Dinkyworth a bit of dialogue from The Nursing Spirit and asked that he take the stage and give everyone a sound read.
The part involved a monologue presented early in the play by Lily, bemoaning her broken heart and weary soul at the hands of Vladimir. Drawing upon his own vast sorrow and memories of Mammy Tanglelocks, Francis delivered a fitfully moving soliloquy. It was both heartfelt and poignant. By the passage’s end, Bugs, Timmy and the rest knew they had found a capable thespian.
Timmy congratulated Francis on a spot-on delivery, and Bugs complemented Romeo on his scouting. While Dinkyworth lacked the somewhat lady-like appearance of Timmy, he did capture the emotion of Lily in mighty form. After everyone made their proper introductions, Francis Dinkyworth was officially brought into the Perfect fold. He was overjoyed.
“Okay mates,” Timmy announced, “last night was a great show, but tonight needs to be even better. Word’s now out that The Nursing Spirit is a winner, so the expectations will be even higher from our viewing public. For the rest of the week, I’ll continue to play Lily while Francis learns the part. That said, here are a few points we should all address.”
Timmy read off a list of items he had hoped they could resolve prior to that evening’s show. The company discussed the topics and debated the methods before breaking into diligent action. The next show was only hours away, and there was more work to be done.
The taste of beef and salad still on his lips, Bugs glanced at the mass gathered in the Rat’s Tail that night. The turnout had been increasingly positive over the past few days, and by this fifth night of performances, the tavern was, indeed, packed wall to wall. An abundance of spectators was even forced to stand.
As Bugs scanned the gathered throng, he noticed several notable men and women. Business owners were in attendance, as well as lawyers, doctors and statesmen. Even the recently elected mayor of Upper Southrump, Percival Snodgrass, had come out for the show.
Percival was an interesting man. He was about the same age as many of the Perfects, but he had made the keen decision to marry into power. His wife, the kind, though somewhat plain, Madison Strutney, was the daughter of Admiral Dottingburn Strutney. The clan was the first family of Upper Southrump. Their lineage had been a founding force in the town’s history, and they had made money hand-over-fist throughout the decades. Madison was Admiral Strutney’s only offspring, and she lived a life of luxury and high culture.
Word was that Madison met Percival at a ball. Percival was not a native of Upper Southrump but was visiting on business. He sought out the homely lady and courted her with vigor. After wooing both her mother and father with pristine manners and chiseled good looks, Percival won favor among the Strutney house. This later led to Percival’s political ambitions being well funded and fervently supported, and only months after marrying Madison, Percival had been elected mayor of the town.
As mayor, Percival relished his influence and all-knowing position of opinion. He had already signed into law several decrees aimed at preserving his office. A cunning man, he knew as long as Madison was happily at his side, he had the ear of the powerful and could instill fear in his enemies. Madison was his golden goose, but Percival was also a man in the most prehistoric sense. Though never caught acting upon his baser instincts, it was widely rumored he had a wandering eye. Bugs could add to that case, as he noticed the mayor taking note of several lovely ladies throughout the tavern that night. Madison simply sat at Percival’s side, waving a hand to friends, devoid of the knowledge her husband was mentally undressing other women at that very moment.
“Hey, Francis,” Bugs whispered to the nearby, newest Perfect, “even the mayor’s turned out for this one.”
Francis had been learning his role well, observing Timmy on stage at night and practicing with Master Wicketts during the day. He now helped the Perfects with prop duties and was aiding the cast in costuming and last minute adjustments.
Francis passed the news down the line, informing Timmy and the rest that the crowd was full of life and brimming with the upper crust. The men were ready and eager, happy to once again step out on stage and delight the people of Upper Southrump. All of them could hear the introductions voiced by Gabriel Goldhand, and moments later, Bugs raised the curtain and another show began.
The performance was once again astounding. If even the slightest error in delivery had been uttered, no one was the wiser. The Perfects were just that good. A misstep was simply rolled into an improvisational moment that would seamlessly weave back to the plot’s unfolding. All of the actors had this ability, and all could captivate the audience with a single word or look. It was g
lorious and engrossing storytelling.
When the final bows were taken, the entire tavern shook with the loud reverberation of yet another standing ovation. It lasted for several minutes and was accompanied by quite a few roses tossed at the thespians’ feet upon the wooden dais. The Nursing Spirit had again garnered acclaim, and the Perfects themselves by intimate association.
After the show, many of the troupe mingled with the lingering crowd. Most of the people had headed home to their cottages or flats, but a few fans always stayed behind in hopes of gaining favor amongst the stars they so adored. They were welcomed to partake of the now customary after party, when the staff of the Rat’s Tail celebrated with the acting company over drinks and food. It was another evening celebration of success and relief. Many of the Perfect players flirted with the ladies, some simply enjoyed a late meal and swapped stories. Lancelot was always in the middle of another hair-brained gamble. On this evening, it was a bet concerning his ability to name every ship in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, consuming a full measure of brew between each mention.
By the time he reached the H.M.S. Daedalus, he was spitting out names of jungle animals and random people from ancient history. Pantaloons erupted in a great belly laugh, spewing his liquor everywhere, as Lancelot firmly believed that the H.M.S. Jesus Christ had sailed the waters of Scotland a few years earlier. When others protested the claim, Lancelot answered by asserting his belief at a louder, more obnoxious tone until finally, he slouched over in his seat and passed out.
Timmy, Bugs and Francis sat at another table, offering their assessment of things in relation to that night’s performance.
“So Francis,” Timmy began, “I think you’re ready. Tomorrow night you star as Lily.”
Francis was excited by the news but received it coolly, not wanting to seem overly nervous or unprepared.
“I will do my best to do you justice, Timmy,” he replied.
“And you? You’re still intent on heading to that So-So play?” Bugs asked, already knowing the answer.
Timmy flashed his boyish grin. “I am. I can’t wait to see what they call a production in the Ill So-So world.”
“You can’t wait to see Genny,” Bugs corrected.
Timmy did not argue.
The three raised their cups and toasted to a fine night, and to the promise of another tomorrow.
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The Royal Perfects Page 6
