by Robbi McCoy
“You were very nice to Ginnie.” Raven counted out his money, sticking his tongue out in concentration as he calculated the tip.
“I was, yes, but no more than she deserved. I’m sure she’ll like it. I sent her an email telling her to be on the lookout for it today. I mean, Eno sent her an email.”
He nodded, pulling theater tickets out of his wallet. He handed her one. “This is yours. I’ve got a few left over. What should I do with them?”
“Give them away. No point wasting them.”
“You’re right.”
Raven climbed onto his chair and stood his full, not so impressive height, announcing, “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m giving away free tickets to tonight’s performance of Much Ado About Nothing, a comedic masterpiece, in which I steal the show in the character of Beatrice. These are orchestra seats. Best in the house.”
Ellie stood near the door to the kitchen, her hands on her hips, frowning at Raven’s theatrics, but allowing him to continue.
Sophie raised her hand. “I’ll take one,” she said, approaching their table and glancing briefly at Wren.
“Ah, my good lady,” Raven exclaimed, bending over to hand her a ticket. “A most excellent choice for an evening’s entertainment.”
She curtseyed slightly and said, “Thank you, good sir,” before returning to her table.
“Is that Shakespeare?” asked a young man in baggy jeans. “What’s it about?”
Wren noted the almost imperceptible look of frustration on Raven’s face before he adopted a theatrical smile and said, “It’s a comedy, sir. A Shakespearean comedy full of wit and whimsy. Two pairs of young lovers, a semi-effectual villain, improbable misunderstandings. Ultimately and predictably, all lovers are united to live happily ever after.”
“Okay,” said the man without enthusiasm. “Gimme two.”
“Here you are, sir,” Raven said gamely. “Two on the aisle. Enjoy the show!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench!
I love her ten times more than e’er I did:
O! how I long to have some chat with her!
—The Taming of the Shrew, Act II, Scene 1
Before the play began, Sophie checked the playbill to learn the name of the young man playing Beatrice: Raven Landry. Interesting name, she thought. She was still intrigued by the fascinating resemblance of Raven to his twin sister whose name she still didn’t know. She’d been unable to keep from staring at them all through lunch and was still preoccupied with the sister as she found her seat and settled in for the performance. She was seated on an aisle on the left side of the orchestra section with an excellent view of the stage, which, at the moment, was hidden by opulent red curtains.
She was both startled and overjoyed when the very woman on her mind, wearing tan chinos and a matching tailored jacket, walked past her and sat on the other side of the aisle two rows ahead. She slipped off her jacket, revealing a sleeveless coral tunic beneath and a bare arm so exquisite Sophie caught her breath at the sight of it. How opportune, she thought, staring unabashedly at the woman’s small foot in chic brown sandals as she crossed her legs and made herself comfortable. Like Sophie, she’d changed for the theater, but her hair was still mussed, confirming that the look was deliberate. Why not? It suited her, the touch of feistiness.
Sophie had wanted to look at her even more in the restaurant, but every time she tried, she found the woman looking back at her as if they knew one another. Sophie was sure she didn’t know Raven’s sister. She didn’t think she could forget meeting someone so… She sighed. She wasn’t sure what it was about her that made her want to stare. Like her brother, she was fair-skinned and dark haired. Like her brother, she moved fluidly and rapidly. She had an androgynous look about her, except for her mouth, which was lush and feminine and her eyes, which were thick-lashed and capped by those unusual, linear eyebrows. No great mystery, is it? Sophie asked herself. She’s lovely to look at. She’s the kind of woman she had always been attracted to, the kind of woman she could see on a street and immediately want to touch. That kind of woman didn’t cross her path very often. Like most things in life, the rarer they were, the more precious they seemed.
They were seated in the outdoor theater, Sophie’s favorite. Above them was the open sky, settling gradually into dusk. As the curtain rose, she reluctantly turned her gaze to the stage.
Because Raven was playing a woman’s role, she had guessed all the parts would be played by men, a throwback to the original Elizabethan custom. But while both Benedick and Beatrice were played by men, Hero and Claudio were played by women, so the two pairs of lovers were same-sex couples, a very campy approach to this play and one that was a hit with the audience judging by the laughter and applause. Raven Landry was wildly entertaining, flinging the skirt of his dress flagrantly this way and that as if it were a matador’s cape. Sophie was glad he was good. She wanted to like him.
When the little redheaded boy she’d seen earlier in the restaurant appeared onstage, looking identical to before except for the simple costume of white shirt and brown pants, Sophie remembered with renewed wonder how Ellie had been struck by him. He ran off stage to fetch Benedick’s book after his scant two lines and was heard no more. If Ellie knew he was an actor, she would quickly lose interest. Of that, Sophie was sure. Ellie’s disdain for the theater and those associated with it was vast and uncompromising. It seemed she had transferred all her rage at her father to the thing he had loved most.
While watching the play, Sophie found herself glancing often at Raven’s sister, watching her laugh at the antics onstage. What would she think, Sophie wondered, if she knew how I was staring? At least she would probably be pleased to know it’s with admiration. Definitely admiration. Maybe a little bit of lust too, if she were being honest with herself. The very cerebral Sophie Ward wasn’t beyond lusting after a beautiful young woman, though that had been a rarity in recent years. She couldn’t remember feeling this way since before Jan, during college when lust was in every girl’s heart. In the last two years, she hadn’t thought much about sex and hadn’t met anyone who triggered those thoughts. Until today. Another piece of evidence that she was totally over Jan.
At intermission, Sophie walked out to the snack bar to get a bottle of water. She turned from the counter to find Raven’s sister standing right behind her, observing her with a cunning smile.
“Hi,” she chirped. “We meet again. How do you like the play?”
“It’s hilarious. Your brother— The man playing Beatrice, he is your brother?”
“He is. That’s Raven. My name’s Wren.”
She held out her hand and Sophie shook it, then they moved aside to get clear of the snack bar. Sophie felt exhilarated to be speaking to this woman rather than just admiring her from a safe distance.
“I’m Sophie,” she said. “Wren, like the bird?”
“That’s right. Wren and Raven.”
“Oh! I just assumed Raven was a stage name.”
“No. It’s his real name. My parents are birding fanatics.”
Sophie heard herself snort out a laugh. “Do you have any other siblings?”
“Yes. An older sister named Robin.”
Sophie laughed more freely this time.
“I’ve always thought she got the best deal.” Wren’s luscious mouth curled into a crooked smile. “A normal name.”
“I don’t know. I think Wren and Raven are very interesting names. Exotic and romantic.”
“Yes. I like it better now than I did as a kid. You know how that goes.”
“Well, your brother’s doing a wonderful job. They all are.”
“Are you a big Shakespeare fan?” Wren asked.
“I like it, sure. I suppose if I were really a fan, I’d make more of an effort to see it, especially since we have such good theater right here in Ashland. Living here, you can’t really escape Shakespeare. The town is sort of a live theater experience. You might run into a scene from Rom
eo and Juliet just walking down the street. It sometimes seems a little redundant to go to the theater.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way. The town’s a little surreal, I guess, as a place to live. A perpetual Renaissance faire.”
“Downtown is, but the rest of the town is ordinary. There are regular neighborhoods, schools, places you can live your entire life and never see a man in tights.”
There was that smile again, Wren’s easy smile, natural and engaging, forcing Sophie to stare at those luscious lips.
“Men in tights, yeah,” Wren said, “or a woman in the middle of summer in a heavy, floor-length cape.”
“You met Cassandra earlier, didn’t you?”
“Is she okay? I mean…sane?”
“She’s okay. Harmless, anyway. Up until four years ago, she was a member of the company.”
“She was an actor here?”
“Right. I heard she was pretty good. Not from her sister. Ellie never, ever goes to a Shakespeare play. Cassandra, on the other hand, lives for the theater. Well, she did. I’m sorry I never got to see her perform.”
“What happened?” asked Wren.
“She clashed with Cleo Keggermeister,” Sophie explained, giving Wren a drastically abbreviated version of the story. “She runs the show here.”
“Yeah, I actually know who she is.”
“Several years ago, Cleo fired her and banished her from the property for life.”
“That would explain what I saw this morning.”
“She hasn’t been herself since.” Catching the irony of her statement, Sophie laughed tensely. “Literally.”
“That’s sad.” Wren shook her head. “I’d better get in line,” she said, “if I’m going to get something to drink before intermission’s over.”
Sophie said goodbye and found a quiet spot to make a phone call home.
“Is everything okay?” she asked after her mother picked up.
“Fine,” Olivia said. “Everything’s fine. I milked the goats, fed the chickens, made myself a little dinner.”
Anyone not knowing Olivia before wouldn’t notice anything odd about her voice, but Sophie did notice the slight slur, the lingering effect of the stroke. She had recovered remarkably well, almost completely, regaining most of the movement in her left side, her face and arm. For a while now, Olivia had been able to do everything she’d been able to do before the stroke. More even, because she had thrown herself so completely into recovery that it went well beyond simply recovery. At the age of fifty, Olivia had radically changed her lifestyle, taking up serious regular exercise and improving her diet. She’d never been a slouch, but now she was a genuine health nut. She was far more healthy now than she had been just prior to the day Klaus found her lying on the kitchen floor, semiconscious, paralyzed on her left side. Her neurologist was impressed with her determination and astonished at her recovery. Just shows how important the right frame of mind can be, he had said. Dr. Connor, a kayaking fanatic, had even gotten Olivia out on the river a few times, a sport she was growing more and more fond of, judging by how quick she was to accept his invitations.
“What are you doing tonight?” her mother asked.
“I ended up going to a play, Much Ado About Nothing.”
“Is that the one where the two sets of identical twins with the same names get each other all mixed up?”
“No. I think that’s Comedy of Errors.”
“Is it the one where two pairs of lovers fall in and out of love with each other in the woods and a bunch of fairies are flitting about? And somebody named Bottom is turned into an ass?”
“That’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. No, this is the one where two pairs of lovers, despite several unlikely misunderstandings, get together in the end.”
“That’s not much of a description, Sophie.”
“It’s not much of a play!” She laughed. “At least as far as plot goes. Very aptly named. There’s a dimwitted constable named Dogberry. Does that ring a bell?”
“No,” Olivia said flatly.
“Let’s see.” Sophie searched her mind for something distinctive. “John the Bastard frames Hero so her fiancé thinks she’s seeing another man. He calls off their wedding at the last minute.”
“Oh! John the Bastard! I remember.” Olivia chuckled. “I’m glad you’re having some fun. Did you sell any of that sage cheese?”
“Sold the entire batch,” Sophie reported. “I think it’s going to be a hit. I have the one delivery in the morning, then home. I should be back before noon.”
After her call, Sophie made her way back to her seat. As she sat down, Wren turned around and smiled at her. She returned the smile and they both settled in for the rest of the performance. The sky above was aglitter with stars now that the sky had darkened. There was a cool breeze wafting through the theater, welcome after the hot summer day. Though the audience was now in semidarkness, Sophie could see well enough to watch Wren pull her jacket on, cross her legs at the knee and settle back in her seat.
Although she was facing forward, caught up in the play, Sophie sensed that they both remained acutely aware of one another’s presence. By now she had the impression that Wren was as interested in her as she was in Wren. There was something telling in the way she held Sophie’s gaze and in the undercurrent of tension between them.
She began to imagine some next step, some gesture to insure they might see one another again, get to know one another, maybe become friends. Then, later on, who knew what else?
Suddenly she was thinking about Tallulah and Rose, her mother’s original two goats, and their immediate and absolute dislike or attraction to any new animal who came into the farm. Like the little tan one, Tater, that they both adored from the moment she walked into the yard. A touch of a nose, a sniff of a butt and they were lifelong enemies or the dearest of friends. Humans liked to think of their relationships as much more complex than those of animals, but there was no denying there are people you meet you have an instant rapport with or take an instant disliking to. That was what was happening here. Sophie was experiencing an irresistibly strong attraction to Wren Landry, even without the benefit of sniffing her butt.
Feeling flushed and embarrassed, Sophie quickly glanced at Wren, but she was facing the stage and appeared not to have received that thought transmission. Relieved, Sophie sat back and tried to focus on the play.
CHAPTER EIGHT
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
—Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene 2
Wren was on her feet, clapping emphatically, as Raven and his fellow actors took their bows. He looked triumphant in his showy orange curls and azure gown, his eyes shining with unmistakable joy. Wren waved both arms above her head, trying to get his attention. At last he noticed her and waved.
As soon as the clapping died down, the audience was on the move, heading out of the theater. Wren stepped into the aisle and stared, shocked, at the empty seat where Sophie had been. She scanned the crowd ahead. She felt suddenly desperate, not to mention stupid. She should have gotten her phone number at least. She didn’t even get a last name. Wren wasn’t sure what she wanted from Sophie, but she knew she wanted something, some further contact. Maybe just to see her self-conscious smile again or watch her walk with those hips in that swaying dance that left Wren feeling so fluttery.
She pushed through the crowd of theater patrons until she was outside where she could watch from a controlled vantage point. She examined every woman who emerged from the theater until she realized Sophie must have made it out ahead of her. Still she stood there, powerless, hoping there had been some delay, that Sophie had stopped at the gift shop or the restroom and might still appear. How could I have let her get away? she berated herself. As she stood intently watching the doorway, growing more and more angry at herself, someone tapped her shoulder.
She spun around to see Sophie. She was so
relieved, she grabbed hold of her arm and clung to it.
“There you are!” Wren cried. “I thought you’d already gone.”
“I was looking out for you.” Sophie looked down at her sleeve.
Realizing she was gripping Sophie’s arm, Wren abruptly let go.
“Hey,” Sophie suggested, “would you like to get drinks or coffee or something?”
Her smile seemed both warm and genuine. With that invitation, Wren relaxed considerably, knowing she wasn’t alone in wanting more.
“You know,” she said, “I’m really hungry. Shakespeare always makes me ravenous.”
Sophie laughed lightly. “Really? I wouldn’t mind a snack myself. There’s a little hole-in-the-wall hot dog place I know. They’re simple, but good. Could you go for that?”
Hot dogs? Wren thought, smiling to herself. It had been a long time since she’d had a hot dog. It wasn’t the sort of thing people normally suggested to her, assuming that because she was a food critic, she would turn her nose up at something as humble as a hot dog.
“That sounds perfect!” she said gratefully.
Sophie suggested they walk through the park, so they took a path beside a creek, winding through dense trees, the way lit at regular intervals by overhead lamps.
“It looks so different here at night,” Wren observed. “You do know where you’re going, right?”
“Uh-huh. I spent many hours here in my youth.”
“Oh, you grew up here? You’re a native?”
“Yeah. My sister and I used to hang out here after school waiting for our mom to get off work. She was a school bus driver. When we were in grammar school, we rode the route with her mornings and afternoons. In high school we waited here, playing soccer with other kids or reading under a tree or whatever. I know this place like my own yard. I know all the secret spots.”
They crossed a wooden bridge over the creek.
“What are all these secret spots you know about?” Wren prodded.
Sophie laughed quietly, as if to herself. “I’ve got to admit, most of my secret spots are well known to every high schooler.”
