Mark started washing his dishes as his father came back into the room. “You can have the van, Mark. She’s going to pick me up. Her kid’s coming too. She said to tell you she’s sorry she won’t get to meet you, and she hopes she will soon.”
“I hope to meet her too,” Mark said politely.
“Maybe I can invite her over to dinner next weekend. Maybe we can invite them both over. Maybe Saturday, after work. No. That would be too pressured. How about if we invite them both over next Sunday? I can cook my famous steak a la Driscoll, and you—what can you make?”
“How about a salad? And I can also make chocolate chip cookies.”
“Great, great! So what do you say, Mark? How about Sunday?”
“Sure, Dad. I’m free Sunday.”
“If her daughter’s anything like her, I bet you’ll really like her.”
“Right, Dad.” Mark was thinking maybe he’d call Cindy as soon as he got to San Leandro. Maybe she’d be home tonight. He could get together with her after the party, and they could talk about what’s been happening. Maybe catch up on each other’s life. She was always interested in what he had to say. She was always a real good listener, but he couldn’t remember— maybe he just hadn’t noticed—but he couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen lights in her eyes.
Chapter 7
“Thank you,” Beebe said, and tried not to laugh. Jim was helping her off the ferry as if she were some kind of cripple. He was using two hands to help ease her over the small crack between the boat and the dock. Her mother had already been safely transported onto land, and stood smiling indulgently behind him.
“All set?” Jim asked, bending over her, examining her face to make sure she hadn’t suffered any damage.
Her mother laughed out loud. “Stop babying her, Jim. She’s as tough as you are.”
He straightened up. Tall man, Beebe thought approvingly, and good-looking, too, for his age.
“And stronger than she looks,” her mother continued. “You should see her tote four bags of groceries at one time. Show him your muscles, Beebe.”
“Oh, Mom!” Beebe protested, but she pushed the sleeve of her sweater all the way up her arm and clenched her fist. Jim put a finger out to touch the muscle.
“Oh, my God!” he cried, shrinking back in mock terror and smiling a crooked smile that made Beebe laugh. He really was a nice man.
“I’m not used to girls,” he said, taking each of them by an arm and steering them towards the island. “Especially little, strong ones.”
“And we’re not used to boys,” Beebe’s mother said. “Especially big, noisy, male chauvy ones.”
“Who’s a male chauve?” Jim asked, giving her arm a shake. She said something back, and for a few moments Beebe felt like the extra spoke on the wheel. But only for a few moments. Jim quickly turned his attention to her. “My daughter is twelve,” he said. “I don’t see her as much as I’d like.” He hesitated for a moment, and then said slowly, “I guess I don’t know her as well as I do Mark. He’s my big boy, and I guess I even know Jeddy, the little one—he’s nine— better than Marcy. I guess I just understand boys better.”
“That’s perfectly natural,” Beebe said kindly. “I suppose a woman will always understand a girl better than a boy, and vice versa.”
Jim’s face was thoughtful. “The funny thing was—I felt a lot closer to my mother than to my father. There were only two of us, my sister and me, but I never felt close to him.”
“Did your sister feel closer to your father?” Beebe asked.
“No, she didn’t. She hated all of us,” Jim said, grinning.
“She was probably jealous,” said Beebe’s mother. “I’ll bet your mother babied you. I know my mother babied both my brothers, but she expected me to act like a grown-up by the time I was six years old. I was always jealous of my brothers.”
“Well, didn’t you baby Beebe?” Jim asked.
“Baby Beebe? No, I don’t think I did,” said her mother. “Did I, Beebe? Did I ever baby you?”
Beebe found it a difficult question to answer. Her mother had certainly always been there, was always interested and involved in her life, always ready to listen and advise—but, in a funny way, her mother had always expected her to act like a grown-up too. “No,” she agreed. “No, you never did baby me.”
“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....”