In that first night performance Louie felt that power and played up to it, tossing the odd line or expression to the audience for an extra laugh, heightening the comedy where she could, the passion when she talked of love to Orsino, the sadness when she spoke of the brother she thought was dead. At the end the audience clapped and whistled their approval as she stood forward, hands linked with Mo, and bowed.
“You were terrific, you were wonderful!” cried Willa, a rush of red hair hying backstage as she joined Mrs. Ashton in hugging everyone. Louie waited for her turn. “You especially,” Willa said to her quietly. “Unbelievable.”
None of them wanted to go home, so they took their time getting changed and setting their costumes and props for the next night, talking all the time about the performance. “Did you see Dena’s face when I mucked up that line?” “What about Rosa—’Unwretched grace’!” “What?” “She said ‘Unwretched grace’ instead of ‘ungracious wretch’!” “And Mo’s shoe! Remember when her shoe came off?” “Oh, god yes,” said Louie, “Talk about ticklish. It was like putting it back on a jack hammer!”
It was hard to sleep that night. Louie was so hyped she ran through all her lines as she lay in bed. When she found she was starting over again, she got up and dressed.
She didn’t often go to Willa’s place at night because it was harder to get in, but she enjoyed the walk anyway. It was still and cool and all Louie could hear was her own breath and the scrape of her shoes on the pavement.
The Duke was in darkness, and Louie stood for a while gazing up, thinking about Willa, about this thing she’d got into. It made her feel special, set apart in some way to have this secret. Partly it was thrilling because it was secretive, full of meaningful glances and midnight assignations. Sometimes that made her frightened, like when she saw her mothers hostility to Willa, but mostly she felt excited and happy and lucky all at once. She wanted to share everything with Willa, every moment, every thought. When Willa wouldn’t tell her something, like what the blue letters were that she kept getting, it drove Louie crazy.
Louie scrabbled around and found some small stones at the base of the fence. She threw three or four before one contacted with Willa’s bedroom window and then the clatter was so loud she shrank behind the fence. A minute or so later, just when she was thinking about throwing another, the window squeaked open and Willa leaned out, Judas’s nose beside her.
Louie waved and Willa made a sort of snorting noise, then disappeared. A few moments later the back door opened and Judas came nosing over to Louie who followed him inside.
p.
Thursday night’s performance wasn’t quite as good—a couple of people lost their lines and the atmosphere was flatter. Mrs. Ashton cheered them though, saying they were the only ones who noticed and that the principal, Mrs. Eagles, had said she thought it was the best production yet. Jolene had gone that night too and afterwards, to Louie’s delight, gave her a big hug.
“You keep acting, Beatnik,” she said privately. “There’s a big difference between music and theatre, I know. But if I was looking for a music star, I’d be looking for that quality you’ve got on stage. You were a delight to watch.”
Most of them packed up quickly that night, and pleased though she was by Jolene’s comment, Louie felt wiped out. All the rehearsals and tension, the nights Willa had stayed late pretending they were learning lines, not to mention last night at the Duke, had caught up on her. Susi didn’t wake her to go to school the next morning and Louie slept solidly for twelve hours.
So when she and Willa arrived at the auditorium for the last of the three-night season, Louie was in good form. “My parents are coming tonight,” she reminded Willa, and hoped silently that they would be as nice to Willa about her lighting as Jolene had been about her acting. She doubted it.
The final night was always the most popular. Most of the staff came, many of the parents and lots of their friends. Dena Mason was beside herself with horror when she spotted her boyfriend Greg in the audience. Willa seemed a bit unnerved too, and mentioned there were some oddbods in the crowd tonight, but Louie was too busy trying to sponge the brown greasepaint marks off her ruff to notice.
In fact the auditorium was full, and the buzz Louie noticed in the audience from the beginning was palpable. Within moments she knew that tonight she mustn’t play to them—they were already overexcited—but pull in and keep control of the atmosphere.
And that was what it must be like for Viola all the time, she thought suddenly. Keeping control of herself and the situation was vital. Always lying, pretending to be a boy servant to Orsino when in fact she had fallen in love with him. The fabric of her existence threatened to fall apart should she let her true feelings show—she could be out of a job, a home, and have lost all chance of being with the one she loved. And it was also like her and Willa—hiding that secret that nevertheless bubbled and fizzed inside you, knowing that you loved where it was forbidden to love.
Louie’s lines were just as perfect as the previous nights; her moves too were impeccable. But there was something extra tonight that she was only semi-conscious of—something in her expression and delivery, that made tears spring unexpectedly to eyes when she said:
My father had a daughter loved a man…
...She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was this not love indeed?
The tenderness on Mo’s face was genuine as she struggled to find Orsino’s words to answer. Louie saw it, and captured it and Mo, keeping that feeling between them for the whole performance. At the end, as Dena sang the final notes of the Clown’s song, there was a long breathless silence, then, like a string that the cast had been holding taut finally snapping, the audience exploded into rapturous applause. Mo’s hand squeezed Louie’s and they both stood forward and bowed. Louie knew without a doubt that it was her best performance ever.
p.
It was after the flowers for Mrs. Ashton and several curtain calls that went on too long because of the stage manager’s enthusiasm that Louie finally saw Willa. She rushed up to Louie first this time, forgetting the others, and threw her arms around her.
“I love you, Louie,” she whispered.
As Louie opened her mouth to reply she caught sight of her parents and Marietta waiting at the door.
“Hi!” she said, knowing she was going bright red, but hoping the greasepaint would hide it. Willa let go and turned round.
“Hi,” she said, and Louie lost all hope as she saw the colour Willa turned.
Susi spread her mouth in something that looked like but wasn’t a smile and gave Louie a quick kiss. “Well done, Louie. You were very good, everyone said so.”
Tony enveloped her in a hug and tried to make up for Susi. “You were fabulous. Nobody noticed anyone else on stage. They needn’t have bothered. You were the star.”
“Dad,” Louie frowned as some other actors were coming in the -dressing room.
“Well that’s what I thought. I’m allowed to, I’m your father.”
“Wasn’t she wonderful?” asked a bouquet of flowers that squeezed in the door in front of Mrs. Ashton.
“She was brilliant,” agreed Tony.
“And Willa’s lighting? Wasn’t that lovely? You did a super job, Willa. I don’t know what we would have done without you. It’s the work behind the scenes that people often forget about,” she told Susi.
Susi smiled tightly. “I’m sure.”
“Hello,” said Mrs. Ashton. “Who’s this? Are you Louie’s sister?”
“I’m Ettie,” answered Marietta. “I’m coming to Woodhaugh High next year.”
“Really? Am I going to get to teach you drama too?”
“No,” Marietta replied. “I’m into computers and cross country. I don’t like plays.”
Mrs. Ashton grinned. “We’ll fix that.”
Eventually Louie cleared her dressing room, but only after Susi said to her, “I’m afraid we don’t have room for Willa if you’re thinking of our giving her a lift.”
“Mum!”
“Sorry, Louie, but there must be dozens of cars going her way. I’m sure she’ll be able to get a lift with someone.”
Louie stewed as she got changed and noticed the beginning of play crash coming on. It was over so quickly—three performances and you’re done—and all that work and effort, the thrill and nerves, were over. The best performance she’d ever managed was already a memory. And all her mother could say was, you were very good and we can’t take Willa home. Mo never got on as much of a high as Louie; neither did she fall prey to depressions afterwards. She packed up quickly and was already talking about her big hockey match tomorrow as she left. Louie took her time spreading cold cream over her face and wiping off the makeup. She exchanged a few jokes with the others, but her heart wasn’t in it. All she could think of was that this was her last performance at this school, her last time working with Mrs. Ashton. She put everything away carefully in its place, taking home her costume to wash. She put her tatty script in her bag along with the programme as a memento and breathed in the smell of the dressing room for a last time.
Nearly everyone was gone. Louie walked across the stage once more. Tomorrow they would begin striking the set. She stood stage centre, feeling that familiar tiny but huge sensation as the air seemed to shimmer about her and echo with all the sound that wasn’t there. It was just a stupid school hall, she knew that. But it was where she had felt the only thing as strong and as right as Willa. Louie looked up at the empty auditorium and gave it a silent thank you.
p.
On the way home Susi seemed determined to talk about anything but the play. She asked Marietta what she thought about Woodhaugh High and mentioned that they might be taking her with them to Bah in the school holidays if she was lucky. Then she asked Tony what other package trips they could get and suggested they might all go, Louie and Nic included. Louie couldn’t have cared less about going to Bali right then. It was only time away from Willa.
“Hey Mum, you know that thing you went to see tonight, at the school, in the hall, you know, what was it again?” she asked, exasperated.
“What do you mean, the play?”
“That’s it,” she clicked her fingers. “I thought you’d forgotten.”
“No, Louie, we told you how good you were. You know we did.”
“What about Mo?”
“She was good too.”
Louie nodded slowly. “Okay … what about Dena?”
“Very good.”
“Vika? Rosa? The scenery?”
“What is the matter with you? They were all good.”
“Especially the scenery,” chipped Tony.
“So haven’t you anything to say about the play itself, or what you really thought?”
“Well,” Susi shrugged a little in the front seat. Louie wished she could see her face. “It was a funny sort of a play to do, really. For a girls’ school, I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, all that, what do you call it—cross-dressing? Girls being boys falling in love with girls. It’s a bit hard to believe.”
Louie felt enormously irritated. This wasn’t about the play.
“It’s
Shakespeare.
”
“I know that. But it is a bit out of date, isn’t it? And Mrs. Ashton always seems to make you the boy. It’s probably just as well you’ll be at university next year. You’ll get more scope.”
“Girls’ parts you mean.”
“Well, yes.” Susi turned and smiled at her. “You are a girl, after all!”
“In Shakespeare’s time all the female parts were played by boys, you know,” Louie said, focusing hard on the back of her mother’s headrest. “And I
was
playing a female part, actually, in case you hadn’t noticed. Viola is a woman.”
“You know what I mean, Louie. She was pretending to be a boy for most of the play.”
“I couldn’t understand what they were saying,” offered Manetta. “I mean, you were good, Louie, but the rest of it was boring.”
“I didn’t ask you,” Louie said grumpily.
“Well I had to go, didn’t I? I’m allowed an opinion. I thought it was dumb.”
“That’s because you’re dumb.”
“Now, now,” Tony interrupted from the driving seat. “That’s enough. Marietta, I saw you laughing lots of times.”
“Yeah, I was laughing at Louie in those dorky tights.”
“Just shut up, will you. You’re pathetic.” Louie kicked her sister’s leg. She wanted to hit her harder, or punch a hole in the car window or something.
“This is why we couldn’t take anyone else home. You’re both tired and I knew there’d be a fight,” said Susi.
“What do you mean, ‘anyone?’ It was Willa.”
“It doesn’t matter who it was,” replied Susi, in her reasonable voice.
“Like hell,” muttered Louie.
“Pardon?” Susi had turned around and looked directly at Louie.
Louie stared back at her angrily. Why did Susi keep pretending? Why did she keep confronting Louie about Willa in snide, sly ways to try and bait her into saying the one thing she didn’t want to hear? She was on the verge of saying
You hate Willa because I love her,
but at the last minute she drew her legs up onto the seat and sank back into the leather. “Nothing,” she answered, looking pointedly out the window.
“Get your feet off the seat,” ordered Susi, and turned back to the front.
It was almost enough to throw her completely. Keith. Sitting nonchalantly in the bright blue seats, and with him, Kevin from Burger Giant. Kevin was wearing his usual work pants and leather jacket, Keith was in a dark suit and tie. What on earth were they doing there?
She knew they’d seen her before the play started, scuttling backstage and then up to the lighting box twice. She’d only met Keith’s eyes the once, but his look was so direct, so full, that it was as if all the auditorium noise had died away and he’d stood and said, “Didn’t expect me, did you?” During the interval he held himself self-consciously, aware of her eyes, turning his head slowly round the auditorium with a slight smile on his lips. He didn’t resemble her of course, but his very presence was a reminder of Cathy, an old, painful feeling.