by Robbi McCoy
“Coward?” Wren repeated, sitting up straighter and releasing Kyle’s arm. “What enemy are you talking about?”
“He who even now is knocking at thy gate and plotting thy destruction.”
“Huh?” Kyle said, wrinkling his brow. “Is that even Shakespeare?”
“What difference does it make?” Wren said through gritted teeth. “Since when did crazy require consistency?”
“Can you clarify that?” Kyle asked Cassandra, obviously toying with her.
“Nay! Mock not, mock not,” Cassandra warned, scowling at Kyle. “All things I see come to pass, in this world or the next.” She pointed threateningly at Wren. “Thy fate will be sealed by the midsummer moon.”
“I don’t think you should make fun of her,” Wren whispered close to his ear.
“You don’t think she’s for real, do you? I think she’s putting it on for the tourists. Okay, I’ll be nice.” He turned back to Cassandra. “Thank you, lady prognosticator.” He handed her a couple of dollars, which she took, stuffing them into her jacket and grinning, the first time Wren had seen anything approaching a friendly expression on her face. But her grin was as off-putting as her scowl and hardly endeared her to Wren.
Cassandra started off down the sidewalk, pulling her wagon behind her.
“What did I tell you?” Kyle said. “Just another kook trying to make a few bucks.”
“Maybe you’re right. I don’t know why I let her scare me.”
“Never mind her,” Kyle said. “After all, we can’t have you believing that bit about your fate being sealed by the midsummer moon. Midsummer’s only a few days away and the full moon is due on Saturday. Ah! The night of the gala!”
Kyle’s obvious delight at that realization gave her no comfort. She was sure Cassandra was a kook, as he said, or just putting on a show. Either way, nothing she said was of any consequence. But the way she said it, so menacingly, left a cloud of apprehension over Wren. If she had wanted to put any store in what Cassandra said, that part about her enemy closing in on her would be eerily credible.
She heard her BlackBerry buzz and slipped it out of her bag to see a new message. “An email from Sophie,” she breathed.
“Oh? What’s she say?”
“It’s to Eno, not me. She says, ‘Dear Ms. Threlkeld, I want to thank you so much for the incredibly generous article about our farm. It more than makes up for the earlier slight and I appreciate your taking the time to do it. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. Sophie’.”
Kyle frowned. “Not even ‘Love, Sophie.’ She does know it’s you, right?”
Wren put the device back in her bag. “She does. She obviously doesn’t want to see me again, even after that flattering article.”
Kyle patted her hand sympathetically. “Sorry.”
Feeling the wave of disappointment descending upon her, Wren realized she’d allowed herself to hope again. “It was stupid, thinking anything I said about her cheese would make any difference, one way or another.”
“Ungrateful bitch!” Kyle looked comically indignant. Seeing she wasn’t able to muster up a smile, his face fell. “Poor thing. I wish there was something I could do.”
Wren shrugged. “‘Oh, I am fortune’s fool.’”
“When we’re done here, I’d like to stop by Sprouts.”
“Are you hungry after all?”
“No. I want to ask Ellie where I can get one of those No Shakespeare signs.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate.
—Henry V, Act V, Scene 2
As she and her mother were finishing dinner, Sophie got a curious call from Ellie, begging her to go to the theater.
“What play is it?” she asked.
“Much Ado About Nothing.”
“What?” Sophie was stunned. “Shakespeare? Are you kidding? Why in the world—”
“I know! I’ll explain everything when I see you. Will you come?”
“All right,” Sophie relented. “I’ll come. I’ll meet you outside the theater at seven thirty.”
She hung up, puzzling over this odd request. As far as she knew, Ellie had never actually been to a live production of a Shakespeare play, unless you could count her father’s living room rehearsals. So what had persuaded her to go tonight?
When Sophie arrived at the theater, Ellie was waiting for her out front. She wore black dress pants and a shimmery turquoise blouse, cut low with a ruffled open V-neck, revealing a significant amount of cleavage. When she caught sight of Sophie, she hurried over to greet her with a hug.
“Thank you so much for coming!” she said. “I know you’ve already seen this play, but it’s going to be different tonight.”
“How?”
“Max is the star!” Ellie smiled joyfully, looking beside herself with excitement. “He’s playing Beatrice.”
“What happened to Raven?”
“He’s sick. Max says nothing serious. Maybe only for this one performance, so of course Max is ecstatic, terrified, out of his mind. He begged me to come. He said he may never have another shot at a big part like this. I had to come, he said. So here I am.”
Sophie felt her mouth fall open. “You must be really serious about that guy.”
“I admit I can’t stop thinking about him. I’ve never felt like this…about anyone.”
“He still hasn’t asked you out?”
“No. Unless this counts.”
“Not really. You’re out with me, not him.”
Max had given Ellie his guest tickets, so they were excellent seats, similar to the ones Sophie had originally gotten from Raven, two on the aisle in the center orchestra section. Ellie took the inside seat and Sophie took the aisle. Though this was her second time seeing this production, Sophie had to admit to some curiosity about the upcoming performance. For one thing, she couldn’t picture Max in the role of Beatrice. Raven’s style was all over it now. She was worried, for Ellie’s sake, that Max, the soft-spoken moppet, would stink as Beatrice. But with no experience of live Shakespeare, Ellie might not recognize a stinker when she saw one. All the better for Max. Sophie continued to puzzle over how Ellie had fallen so suddenly and completely under his spell. She had never been romantically interested in a man before. Why this one? What was it about this small, effeminate, hyperactive boy that attracted her so?
“This is exciting,” Ellie said, glancing around the theater. “Is that the sky, the real sky up there?”
Sophie looked up and laughed. “Yes. It’s an open-air theater. Does it look painted on to you?”
“No. I was going to say, it’s very realistic.”
“Later when the stars are out, it creates a special ambience.”
Moments before the curtain went up, as the ushers were taking their seats and the lights started to dim, a woman rushed in and slid silently into an aisle seat ahead, across the aisle. She wore light-colored pants, sandals and a long-sleeved blouse. Her dark brown hair was short and cut close to her head. From the back, she looked remarkably like Wren Landry. Though the curtain was rising, Sophie remained transfixed by the late-comer. Just someone who looks like her, she told herself. There was no reason for Wren to be here, especially not tonight. Raven wasn’t performing. It was only when she heard Ellie gasp that she gave off looking at the Wren-like woman.
Ellie gripped Sophie’s arm with one hand and covered her mouth with the other, staring wide-eyed at the stage, her expression one of astonishment.
Sophie looked to the stage to see Hero, Beatrice and Leonato speaking to a messenger. Beatrice looked surprisingly similar to the first time she’d seen this play. With the same wig, costume and makeup, little redheaded Max looked a lot like little brown-headed Raven. Sophie recalled the first time she’d seen Raven in that costume, mistaking him for a woman. A grotesque woman. The guise played more naturally on Max with his more feminine features. So much so that the audience might not realize Beatrice was being played by a man, and the playfulness of t
hat device would be lost on them.
“I pray you,” Beatrice spoke, loud and clear in a convincing female voice, “is Signior Mountanto returned from the wars or no?”
Sophie pried Ellie’s fingers off her arm. Ellie glanced apologetically at Sophie before settling into her seat.
Max didn’t stink after all. He was competent. He used some of Raven’s gestures and mannerisms for comic effect, especially the fan, which he used as a pointer and flipped open with attitude just as Raven had done. He spoke his lines accurately in a much more natural voice than Raven’s, whose voice was deep and had to be artificially raised for the part. Max wasn’t as funny or flamboyant as Raven, but Sophie attributed that in part to nerves and lack of practice. He was slightly stilted. With nothing to compare it to, the audience seemed satisfied, laughing in the right places. Ellie was completely rapt. Even when Max was offstage, she seemed caught up in the action.
At the end of the third act, the lights came up for intermission amid enthusiastic audience applause. Sophie glanced at the woman ahead on the aisle. She caught her breath, certain it was Wren even before she stood and turned to reveal herself.
“Oh, God!” she whispered, then grabbed her program and opened it in front of her face.
“What’s wrong?” Ellie asked.
“Shhh!” warned Sophie, wrapping the program around her head so close she couldn’t possibly have read it.
After Wren had passed by, she lowered the program and breathed deeply. “Sorry. Wren’s here. I didn’t want her to see me.”
“Why not?”
“Uh, just awkward. You know, the whole thing has gotten so weird.”
“Is she here with her husband?”
“No. She’s alone.” Certain Wren was out of the theater, Sophie relaxed and said, “What do you think of the play?”
“I think it’s wonderful!”
“You mean, he’s wonderful?”
“No. I mean, it’s wonderful. Very funny. I thought Shakespeare was incomprehensible. When I was a kid, I couldn’t understand three-quarters of it. But it’s making sense to me tonight.”
Ellie was flushed and excited. Sophie was speechless to hear her enthusiasm for Shakespeare, so she just smiled.
“Max is rockin’ it!” Ellie continued. “He’s so cute in that costume. I just want to run up there and give him a big old kiss.”
“Maybe afterward,” suggested Sophie.
“He did ask me if I wanted to go somewhere after. I wasn’t sure about that because I didn’t want to say anything about hating the play, you know. I thought for sure I would. But now I can tell him the truth, that I love it!”
“You don’t know how glad I am to hear that. I always did think you were giving Shakespeare short shrift.”
“I don’t know what I’d think about all the others, but this one’s funny. And this theater is gorgeous.” Ellie craned her neck to look straight up. “The stars are out now, just like you said. What a beautiful night!” She looked back at Sophie, then seemed to look past her. “Wren’s coming back in.”
Sophie grabbed her jacket from the back of her seat and flung it over the top of her head like a hood, hunching over her knees so there was no way anyone could have seen her face.
“This seems kind of silly,” Ellie whispered.
“Is she gone?” asked Sophie from her cloth cave.
“She’s in her seat, yes.”
Sophie removed her jacket. “It may seem silly to you, Ellie, but you don’t know what that woman does to me. I don’t trust myself with her. I need to stay away from her. I’m afraid I’ll go all wobbly if I hear her say my name or she looks me in the eye.”
“I know what you mean,” Ellie said, shaking her head. “I’ve felt it myself these last few days. Heart palpitations, giddiness. I never know what kind of stupidity’s coming out of my mouth next. The only thing that’s saved me from running and hiding is that Max is equally affected. We’ve barely had a conversation of more than two sentences. We both stand there looking at one another, dumbfounded and blushing.”
Sophie smiled at Ellie’s incredulous expression. A trumpet announced the beginning of the fourth act as the lights dimmed. The next time Beatrice appeared on stage it was to parley wits with Benedick again. The scenes between the two reluctant lovers were among the best in the play. Beatrice wielded her fan as a sort of weapon as usual. Benedick reclined on a bench, trying to convey nonchalance.
“But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?” Beatrice asked.
“Suffer love!” spurted Benedick. “A good epithet! I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will.”
“In spite of your heart, I think.” Beatrice laughed and snapped her fan shut. “Alas, poor heart!” She spun on her heel toward the audience. The momentum of her twirl wrenched the fan from her hand and lofted it over the first several rows of seats. All eyes in the theater followed its arc up nearly to the bank of lights above and then downward as it began its descent. Sophie stiffened, planting her feet firmly on the floor, realizing the fan was headed directly for her. She reached out and snatched it before it made contact.
Both Beatrice and Benedick heaved a sigh of relief. The audience clapped at Sophie’s catch. She realized everyone was looking at her. Including Wren. Their eyes rested on one another. Wren’s look of surprise faded into a mild expression of melancholy.
I’m responsible for that sadness, Sophie thought, her heart melting.
“Allow me!” Benedick called, leaping from his bench and off the stage, bounding up the aisle to Sophie’s seat. He bowed and took the fan from her, then took her hand and kissed it gallantly. “Thank you, milady. A most excellent catch!”
He was then back down the aisle and on the stage in a flash, snapping the fan open Raven-style and handing it back to its owner to warm applause from the audience. The action resumed.
Sophie found it hard to laugh at the rest of the show, thinking about how sincerely hurt Wren appeared. Ellie, on the other hand, laughed so hard she had tears on her cheeks. When the final bows came, Ellie jumped in place and whistled shrilly.
“Meet you out front,” whispered Sophie.
She rushed out before the rest of the audience had finished clapping, wanting to get out ahead of Wren, to make sure they didn’t have an awkward moment. She recalled the other time they’d both tried so hard to connect here after the play, desperately wanting to keep one another in view. What a contrast!
When Ellie came out, they walked to the curb together. The night was calm and cool. Ellie glowed with excitement and evident joy. She looked almost like a different woman tonight.
“Max said he’ll pick me up here,” Ellie said. “Oh, that was such a wonderful show! I really liked it.”
Sophie laughed. “Imagine that! You’re a Shakespeare convert.”
The sound of a motorcycle drew their attention. Max came riding around from behind the theater and drove up to the curb. He’d changed into street clothes, but still had makeup on his face, including the remnants of red lipstick, apparently in too much of a hurry to make a full divestiture of Beatrice. As he saw Ellie, he beamed blissfully at her.
“Max!” she hollered, running up to him and flinging her arms around him. “You were wonderful!”
She held his face in her hands and kissed him hard. Then he kissed her, softer. She climbed on the bike behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Max glanced at Sophie and winked. She waved as they sped off looking for all the world like a couple of girls. Sophie smiled to herself, then glanced around at the thinning crowd, wondering if Wren had looked for her. Noticing it had gotten chilly, she pulled on her jacket, then walked down the hill toward the parking lot with her hands in her front pockets, fingering her car keys.
A few feet from the car, she pressed a button and the car responded with a flash of its lights as the doors unlocked. She opened the driver’s side door and was about to get in when she heard her name, spoken softly. She turned to see Wren st
anding beside her. Her eyes sparkled like black pools in the dim parking lot light. The expression on her face was earnest, full of feeling. She couldn’t have looked more lovely or more fragile with the tinge of sadness around her mouth.
Sophie reached for her and Wren responded by coming close and lifting her face, her open, welcoming face. Sophie wrapped her arms around her and kissed her long and deep, pressing their bodies tightly together. She felt so good. She tasted so good. Her mouth was warm and eager, merging into Sophie’s, spreading happiness and desire throughout her body.
Suddenly realizing what she was doing, Sophie reeled back, dismayed with her inability to manage her emotions. “I didn’t mean to do that,” she whispered. “I’ve got to go.”
“Sophie,” Wren pleaded, “can’t you stay awhile? Can we talk?”
Sophie shook her head, feeling desperate. “No, I can’t.” She knew if she stayed another minute, she’d never be able to pull herself away. She escaped into the car and started it, then rolled down the window. “’Bye,” she said to Wren, then backed out of the parking space. She tried not to look back as she drove out of the lot, but the image of that sweet woman standing there looking helpless and forlorn haunted her all the way home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
You’re much deceived:
In nothing am I changed
But in my garments.
—King Lear, Act IV, Scene 6
When Wren arrived back at the house, she saw Max’s motorcycle parked at the curb. She was momentarily disappointed to see they had company. It had been her intention to slink off to bed. She wasn’t in the mood for socializing. She was still bummed and confused by Sophie’s behavior. The woman was obviously attracted to her. The memory of her kiss lingered vividly. Why, then, did she keep running away? It had made sense when it appeared she was married. But now... Wren shook herself as she walked up the steps to the porch, preparing to be cheerful for Max. Maybe she could just stick her head in and say hi and leave Max and Raven to their conversation, a deconstruction, no doubt, of the night’s performance.
