Fairly Human

by Holly Fuhrmann

  "Going for a walk with you. I just wanted to thank you again for wishing us this baby,” she laid her hand gently over her flat abdomen.

  "I was rather in a huff when I did it, and ... Well, if Bernie hasn't told you, I wished this baby to be just like him."

  "Well, despite his occasional flaw, I happen to like him just fine, so that's okay. Plus, Berrybelle handles Bernie well enough. If I have problems with the baby, she'll pitch in and show me how to cope.” Fiona paused and added, “But as thankful as I am about the baby, that's not why I'm here. I wanted to see if you're okay."

  "I just need to figure out what I'm going to do. Myrtle and Fern will simply take over and find me something, if I'm not careful, and I rather think I'd prefer finding something on my own."

  What would make me happy? she asked herself again.

  "What kind of something are you thinking of?” Fiona asked.

  "Something that's just mine."

  She'd never said that to anyone before, but it was a quiet little dream she sometimes allowed herself to think. She'd never share it with her sisters for fear she'd hurt them, but it was there, and this was a time that she could explore it.

  "Something's that's all my own,” she continued. A man approached them, and she was silent until he passed. “My whole life I've been part of a trio. For these six human months, I'd like to try something new, something ... Well, something solo. I'd like to find somewhere that I can fit in, where I'm not the one who always goofs up."

  Fiona laid a hand on her arm, stopping her. “Blossom, do you trust me?"

  "Trust you?"

  "Yes, I mean, I know I sued you and everything, and I realize that my husband is the one who got you into this situation. But you did come through on your bargain and gave me a happy-ever-after with Bernie, and now you've helped give us this baby. So, do you trust me to do the same for you?"

  Myrtle and Fern would caution her not to entrust her happily-ever-after to a fairy godmother. Goodness knows they'd made the journey for their godchildren frequently long and somewhat painful. But Blossom wasn't like her sisters.

  "Yes,” she said with a smile. “I trust you, and believe it or not, I trust myself. Fern and Blossom might not be happy about this situation—with us being human—but I'm beginning to think I am, very happy. It's exciting. And I trust you'll help me make the most of it."

  "It's that simple for you?” Fiona asked.

  Blossom remembered a time not that long ago when Fiona didn't trust anyone, especially not her fairy godmothers.

  "Yes,” she answered softly. “I've always followed my heart, and my heart says you won't let me down."

  So many things had changed with this new human existence, but Blossom knew her heart hadn't changed at all—that it could be depended upon.

  Fiona smiled. “All right then. Your wish is about to come true.” With that pronouncement, she was gone.

  "Fiona?” Blossom called, scanning the park for some sign of her fairy goddaughter turned godmother.

  "Umph,” she grunted as she bumped into something—someone—and landed right on her bottom, which had lost most of her padding, so it hurt.

  "I beg your pardon,” an elderly gentleman said, offering her a hand up.

  Blossom rubbed her injured backside. “It was my fault. I ran into you."

  "No, it was my fault. I was in a hurry. The tryouts are this morning and I was worrying about my lines—Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. Joy, gentle friends, joy ... “ He paused, obviously stumbling around for the next line.

  "...and fresh days of love accompany your hearts," Blossom finished for him.

  "Ah, you know the Bard? Well, good for you. Most youngsters don't. I do wonder just what it is they teach in the schools these days. I mean, I wish I knew him better, but I do know him. Kids today don't have a clue. They think the vocabulary is too off-putting."

  "That's sad. Shakespeare was a peoples’ man. His plays were meant to reach regular people ... and those regular people loved him."

  "And the ladies at the retirement community would just love it if I got the part. They all have a thing for actors. And I have a thing for them. So, I'm not only trying-out, I'm determined to get a part."

  He chuckled, and then said, “First I accost you physically, then mentally. Again, I'm sorry."

  "Try out?” Blossom asked. What was he trying and what was a retirement community? Retire, that meant to sleep. Was it a place where people went to sleep? Maybe. She'd have to ask Glory to be sure.

  Maybe if her sisters became too distraught about her going out on her own, she could find a retirement community to sleep in and escape Fern and Myrtle's incessant nagging.

  Not that they'd started nagging yet. But Blossom had known them too long not to know that as soon as she returned home the nagging would commence.

  And, oh, what a nagging it was bound to be. They were bound to be put out that she'd snuck out.

  "The tryouts for Shakespeare's A Midsummer's Night Dream are today. Are you a fan, perchance of that particular play?"

  "A fan? Why I'm friends with—” She realized what she'd been about to say and stopped short. “I mean, I know Shakespeare's work so well that I almost feel as if I knew his characters personally and that we were friends."

  "I could tell by the ease you quoted the play. Are you trying out as well, then? Why, I can see you as Titania herself."

  "Titania? Why that's a lovely compliment. Titania is a beautiful lady. Of course, Oberon still gets a little put out with her from time to time, but...” Blossom realized Titania and Oberon were supposed to be just fictional characters in this world and chuckled, hoping to cover up her error.

  Oh, these morals did tend to get things mixed up ... more mixed up than she ever had.

  Hurriedly, she went on, “I wasn't planning on trying out.” The words, something that's all my own, played in her head. “But now that I think about it, that might be just the thing."

  "Well, then come along.” The gentleman offered her his arm, and Blossom wrapped her own in it. “I'm Herbert, by the way. Herbert Henry."

  "And I'm Blossom. Blossom...” she paused. After all these centuries she'd never used a last name. Never had need of one. “Blossom Trey."

  She was one of three, but she planned on putting the emphasis on the one for the next few human months.

  * * * *

  The small theater where Herbert led her could use a bit of sprucing up. The paint on the sign proclaiming it Oliver's Theater was weathered and fading. The paint on the trim was peeling. The bricks ... Well, they looked okay. After all, what could go wrong with bricks? If the paint was touched up the old building would look much better. As it was the only better part about how it looked was the realization that it had seen better days.

  "This is it?” she asked her escort, eyeing the worn looking building with a sense of disappointment. She wanted the Palace Theater and she got Oliver's.

  "Oh, yes. The outside isn't anything to write home about, but the inside has been renovated. They're starting work on the outside this summer. Let's go.” He took her hand and pulled her toward an alley that ran between the theater and the next building over.

  "Have you ever done this before?” Blossom asked as they walked in a side door.

  "Well, I've tried out, but I've never landed a role. But I'm hopeful this time I'll get something."

  "Because the women at the bed place would love it?” Blossom asked.

  The older man had a certain twinkle in his eyes that told her the women at the home probably loved him without him being an actor.

  "Bed place?” Herbert asked.

  "Retirement home,” she corrected.

  There, she'd already made a mistake.

  If Fern and Myrtle were here, they'd have something to say about that, and she knew what they'd say wouldn't be good at all. She was going to have to be more careful.

  "Right,” Herbert said. “The women love an actor."

  The theater was dimly li
t. They entered backstage. Though she couldn't see through the curtains onto the stage, Blossom could hear a man, ” ... let the audience look to their eyes. I will move storms..."

  There was a table against the back wall.

  "This way,” Herbert said, leading her toward it.

  The woman was at a desk. “Part you're reading for?” she asked.

  "Theseus,” Herbert said.

  "And you?” the woman asked Blossom.

  "I...” Blossom hesitated, not sure how to respond.

  "Titania,” Herbert said for her. “She's reading for Titania."

  "I don't know, Herbert."

  Playing Titania? That might be too much of a stretch.

  And heaven forbid Titania ever found out. She was just a bit vain about the play, though Blossom had never seen why. After all, her play counterpart had fallen in love with an ass. But then, Titania was still with Oberon after all these centuries and he was an—

  "I do know,” Herbert was saying, giving her hand a squeeze. “She's reading for Titania.” He turned to Blossom and added, “You're perfect for the role."

  Perfect?

  She didn't look a thing like the fairy queen. Titania was ... Well, voluptuous was the word.

  Blossom looked down and sighed.

  No one would call her voluptuous. Not now anyway. Back when she was an older woman—not that she really was an older woman, just that she'd looked like an older woman—she'd been very well endowed. Back then she might not have had Titania's beauty, but at least she'd had the chest for the role.

  The woman at the desk was still looking at her, studying her.

  "Titania,” she echoed Herbert.

  If the real Titania complained, she'd simply blame Herbert.

  The woman handed them each a number and a sheet with their character's lines.

  "So now what?” Blossom asked.

  "We wait. We study our lines and simply wait until they call our numbers."

  "Then?"

  "Then we tryout."

  They found a deserted corner in the backstage room where a number of people were waiting and studied the lines the woman had handed them. About a half hour later, Herbert's name was called.

  Blossom was stuck in the back room waiting with a bunch of other strangers. She'd glanced at the scene, but didn't require much more than a glance. She knew the play by heart, after all.

  "So, how's it going?” Fiona said. “And remember, no one else sees me, so answer carefully."

  Blossom opted to quote the play, knowing anyone who overheard her would simply think she was practicing. "Let me play the Lion too. I will roar that I will do any man's heart good to hear. And I think I'll love the roaring,” she added softly.

  "Oh, I thought you would.” Fiona gave a small clap. “I overheard your gentleman friend say you were trying out of Titania. Maybe I'll get her front row center tickets for opening night."

  "The most lamentable comedy ... “ She dropped her voice to a whisper, “...will be when Titania hears."

  "You do know this play inside out, don't you?” Fiona said.

  "I know a trick or two of that," Blossom answered.

  "That's not Midsummer's Night," a new voice said.

  Blossom turned around and found a lovely looking man standing behind her.

  Tall, dark ... If she added handsome to the mental list, it would sound clichéd even to her. But there it was. This man was a beautiful piece of maleness. Tall, dark and handsome was a very accurate description.

  More than lovely, he was ... What was the word Grace had used when she first spied Max? Hunk. Yes, this man was every bit as much of a hunk as Max was. Maybe more of a hunk.

  What would you call someone who was more of a hunk?

  "And if you can't keep Shakespeare's plays straight, how do you expect to get a role?” the man asked. “I mean, anyone who confuses A Midsummer Night's Dream with King Henry the Fourth, Part One, well, someone like that shouldn't have a role in any of Shakespeare's plays."

  Lump.

  That was another word for hunk. And lump described this man quite aptly.

  She took back her hunkish appraisal. He was a cloddish, rude lump of humanity.

  "You try my patience," she said. “That's from Henry, too. And for your information, I knew exactly what I was quoting when I said it. It's a—” she paused trying to think of a plausible excuse.

  "Don't tell him about me,” Fiona warned. “Myrtle and Fern will be furious with both of us if you're locked up in some insane asylum the first day."

  "I was simply trying to relax. Quoting Shakespeare, any play, works for me.” She paused a moment, trying to remember just the perfect line and finished with, "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: The all have their exits ... That's As you Like It, Scene two, Act seven. It's also a subtle hint. It's time for your exit."

  "You think you're smart?” the man asked.

  "No, I know I'm smart. Do you not know I'm a woman? When I think, I must speak. And I think you've definitely overstayed your welcome. Good-bye."

  The rude lumpish man started to leave and Blossom called out, “Oh, and in case you're worried, I'm confused again, that was Scene three, Act two."

  He turned and glared, then walked away.

  "Farewell, Monsieur Traveler," she called after him, more for Fiona's benefit than anything else.

  The others in the room stared at her, a few with open mouths. Then, as if she'd turned invisible, they all looked somewhere, anywhere, else.

  "Well, you certainly hit it off with him,” Fiona said, laughing.

  "Greatness knows itself, and I think that one knows himself better than most and thinks of himself as better than most.” Blossom's voice dropped to a bare whisper. “I'm tired of everyone thinking I goof up, even strangers who think I don't know one Shakespeare play from another."

  "Blossom, it doesn't matter what a stranger thinks. It doesn't even matter what Fern and Myrtle think. The question is what do you think?"

  "I think I dote on his absence, whoever he was.” The annoying, lumpish man. “And I also think I can do more than anyone suspects."

  "Even you,” Fiona added. “You can do more than you suspect you can. Because I don't think you have even the merest inkling of just how much is possible. This is going to be fun. But if I'm not mistaken, they just called your number."

  Blossom listened as the woman at the door repeated the number—her number.

  "That's me. I'm off."

  "Good luck,” Fiona called as she began to fade.

  Blossom thought she heard her godmother add, "You're going to need it," but she wasn't sure, and she wasn't going to ask. She wasn't going to even worry that Fiona had wished her luck instead of telling her to break a leg.

  Everyone knew that wishing someone luck in a theater wasn't good.

  Not good at all.

  Well, Blossom refused to worry about what Fiona had or hadn't said. She had something to do, something to accomplish. She got up, straightened her back and tried to move with confidence toward the stage.

  It was lit, and Blossom couldn't make out the seats in the audience.

  "Are you ready?” asked an eerily disembodied voice.

  Blossom squinted, wishing she could see just who and how many people sat in the murky audience. If she was still a fairy she'd be able to. But she wasn't. She was a human, with all of a human's weaknesses.

  Including a case of nerves.

  She drew in a long breath and said, “Yes, I'm ready."

  "I'll read Oberon from out here. Begin."

  "What, jealous Oberon? Fairy, skip hence. I have forsworn his bed and his company."

  "Tarry, rash wanton. Am not I thy lord?"

  "Then I must be thy lady ... “ she continued, falling into the role, losing herself in the rhythm of Shakespeare's poetry.

  She forgot to be nervous.

  Though fairy-language had changed and evolved alongside human language in the years that separated Shakespe
are's writing and this, there was a beauty in his words that touched Blossom, and she felt it pulse within the words she no longer read, but felt.

  "...and for her sake do I rear up her boy; And for her sake I will not part with him."

  There was a silence from the dark expanse that held the reader of Oberon's part.

  "Is there anything else? I—” Blossom started to ask.

  The voice that had been reading Oberon's part, interrupted. “We'll be in touch."

  That was it? She was dismissed so easily? It was over?

  The passion she'd felt, that had blocked out all her doubt and nerves, disappeared. Blossom walked from the stage, sure that she'd made a muck of it. She'd thought she'd done so good, but maybe she was wrong.

  "How was it?” Herbert, who was obviously waiting for her, asked.

  "I don't know,” Blossom answered honestly. “When I was reading, it was like ... Well, like magic. But now that I'm done, it feels like a dream and I can't tell if it was any good or not."

  Herbert gave her hand a squeeze. “Don't worry dear, we're both going to make it, I'm sure."

  "And how is it you know?"

  "I have magical abilities, don't you know.” He wiggled a busy gray eyebrow at her.

  Blossom laughed. “I wish I did."

  Oh, how she missed her powers, but if she hadn't lost them, she wouldn't be here. “I'm so glad I met you."

  "And I you, dear, and I you."

  If only she was back to her comfortable fairy godmother persona, she'd make a play for this man. He was kind and funny. Unlike the big lumpish clod she'd met earlier. She hoped he didn't get whatever role he was reading for.

  Since she was human she was prone to their ailments, and having that man around would probably raise her blood pressure, which Blossom knew was bad for humans.

  No, she hoped he didn't get a part.

  Thinking of parts, Blossom realized she had to go home and play one more part today. The role of competent, independent sister.

  It was a role she didn't think Myrtle and Fern were going to buy.

  Chapter Three

  Fern

  "Now, Myrtle, I'm sure she's fine,” Fern tried to soothe her sister.

  Soothing Myrtle could occasionally be considered an almost full-time job.