Saving Juliet (18 page)

But Tybalt started ramming the church door.

"Come," Friar Laurence said. I slipped my feet into the wooden shoes, my toes screaming with each step. We followed the friar down the stairs and into the sanctuary. The altar stood aglow in candlelight. Tybalt screamed Juliet's name, hurling himself at the door. Friar Laurence hurried to the statue of St. Francis, kissed its feet,
then
pushed at its base. The entire statue slid back effortlessly, revealing an opening in the floor with stairs that led beneath the church. "We will need you to close the opening," the friar told Juliet. Then he made the sign of the cross over her head. "May St. Francis see you safely
home.
"

I was the last to enter the dank stairway, turning as the statue slid back into place. As Juliet's freckled face disappeared from view, doubt gripped my entire body. I waited and listened, not wanting to leave until I knew she'd be okay. Juliet unbolted the church door.

"Traitor!"
Tybalt cried. "I will drag you back to the house for all to see. You will be disowned. Where is he, the one with the wounded leg? Is he your lover? I will kill him for having led you astray."

"You will do no such thing." Juliet's assertive tone surprised me. "You have as much to benefit from my marriage as everyone else. You will take me back home, Tybalt, and deliver me safely to my room so that the wedding may proceed, as much for your neck as for mine." Well said. I gave her a mental high five.

"And then what? Romeo will come and rescue you? Is that what you are planning?" There was a long silence. Friar Laurence, Troy, and I held our breaths. "You are a fool with a little girl's mind," Tybalt said. "You cannot avoid this wedding. If anyone tries to stop the wedding, they will have to do so over my dead body." There was a shuffling sound. I think he grabbed her. "I will deliver you safely. But then I will send my men to search this church and to search the entire city. We shall find the bastard with the wounded leg, and we shall find Mimi of Manhattan and Romeo. I shall personally kill all three."

Jeez.
Enough with the death threats.

"She seems capable of handling him," Troy whispered. "So, are you coming with me to get Romeo?"

"Yes." But I didn't mention my latest plan.

Walking through a sixteenth-century tunnel is not for the faint of heart. First of all, things dripped on me. Don't ask me what kind of things because I didn't have the stomach to investigate. The air was cold and dank. If there's anyplace where that poisonous black mold might grow, this was the place. I imagined microscopic spores infiltrating my lungs.

Another downside to the whole sixteenth-century tunnel experience was that things squeaked and squealed.
Living things
and they occasionally brushed against us as we walked. I screamed a few times and I'm not proud of that fact. Rats bring out the distressed damsel in me. Even Troy reacted with curses and groans. He started humming his song, "Girl, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, girl," either from nervousness or as a way to warn the rats that we were coming. I started humming it as well. Even the friar took up the mind-numbing melody. I bumped into Troy twice during our songfest. The first time he ignored me. The second time he snapped, "Watch out for my leg."

Last, but not least in the list of horrors, was the fact that the stone floor was under about three inches of standing water. I don't know what color the water was, but it slopped into my shoes. A headache throbbed at my temples, brought on by the lack of oxygen and the probably toxic mold. A scalp massage, a la Benvolio, sounded lovely, just like the one he had given me in the alley. But did I really want him touching my hair again? I hadn't washed it in days, hadn't brushed my teeth either. I probably had
a half
-dozen pimples from that oily party makeup and I was pretty sure all the BO in that tunnel wasn't coming just from Troy. Okay, so I was being vain, even with multiple death threats hanging over my head. But I was hoping to see Benvolio again and I didn't want to smell like a sixteenth-century gutter.

"Almost there," Friar Laurence said, his lamp bouncing with his short steps.

The tunnel slanted uphill for about thirty paces then dead-ended. The friar handed Troy the lamp. "Our exit is up there." He pushed at the ceiling and grunted until it gave way. Dim light filtered through, as did strands of straw. "This barn belongs to the church's neighbor. He is a friendly man, but still, we should attempt quiet." Troy pushed the friar's wide rear end through the exit. Then Troy struggled out. Both he and the friar took my outstretched arms and whisked me into fresh air.

A full moon had begun to rise. A cow gave us a curious look. Some chickens stirred,
then
tucked their beaks into their feathers. Friar Laurence extinguished the lamp and left it in the barn. "We will take the side street to Montague House," he whispered.

"We have to get to Romeo before Tybalt does," I urged.

"But Tybalt is
supposed
to fight Romeo," Troy said, poking me in the arm. "And Romeo kills him. That's a good thing because then Tybalt won't kill us."

True, Romeo kills Tybalt in the play, but as much as Troy wanted it to be, this was not the play.
This
Romeo was a tender guy whose heart overflowed with love and whose mind was weighed down by depression. This Tybalt was a bulging hulk whose heart overflowed with hatred and whose mind craved revenge. This Romeo was no match for this Tybalt.

I quickened my pace. "Holy St. Francis," I mumbled. "I hope we're not too late."

***

"Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?"

W
e arrived at an imposing stone fortress. Men in black and orange uniforms flanked the entryway
--
a set of carved doors lit by mounted torches. The friar bowed and spoke to a guard, who in turn told us to wait. Troy and I scanned the street. Thankfully, no one had followed us. Though I guessed it was around dinnertime, the surroundings lay in deep silence. Working folk seemed to tuck themselves away early. That made sense, I supposed, in a world without electricity or television.

A man emerged from Montague House. Long and lean, he wore checkered tights, red shorts, and a puffy blue shirt that billowed as he sashayed toward us
--
certainly not Montague colors. His shoulder-length hair could have been a color swatch for Fire Engine Red. He tipped his feathered hat and bowed. "Friar Laurence, a delight to see you as always."

"Good evening, Mercutio," the friar said. I had forgotten all about Mercutio. Neither Capulet nor Montague, he's a very good friend of Romeo's. Actors really love the role because Mercutio has these huge monologues and a gloriously melodramatic death scene at the hands of Tybalt. "May I introduce Mimi and Troy of Manhattan," the friar said. "They have come to speak with Romeo."

Mercutio bowed again,
then
repositioned his hat. The feather caressed his powdered cheek. "My young friend has locked himself in his room and will speak to no one. I have exhausted myself trying to tempt him forth. Come, maybe you will have better luck."

Friar Laurence took me aside. "I must return to my church. If I am not there when Tybalt's men arrive, they might do great damage."

"But what will you tell them about Troy and me?"

"I will tell them that my church is a place of sanctuary and those who come seeking medical attention, be they Capulet or Montague, will receive care." He smiled. "I leave it to you to work out the rest of the details. Romeo is well familiar with the streets beyond Verona so he will have no trouble guiding Juliet out of the city. When you hear the bells chime tomorrow eve, you will know that Juliet has drunk the potion. Soon after, we must all meet at the Capulet tomb." I must have looked terrified because he took my hand and squeezed. "God works in mysterious ways, my child. I believe that your magic charm is one of those ways. Your arrival serves a greater purpose. We must have faith, but we must also have courage." He squeezed again,
then
waddled off.

Like Capulet House, dozens of paintings lined the inner Montague hallway, and a winding staircase led to Romeo's room. Mercutio rattled on and on about the house's design.

He was a total bore. He walked on tiptoe and whipped his hands around like a hyperactive conductor.

"Is Benvolio around?" I asked. Right on cue, Troy snorted.

"Benvolio is on patrol but he's due to return shortly. Ah, here we are," Mercutio announced with a graceful flourish.

A servant stood outside Romeo's bedroom, hovering over a basket of laundry. "Young master will not be moved," the old man told us. "I am to bathe him and change his clothing but he refuses."

"More stubborn than an ass," Mercutio said, pounding his fist on the door.
"Romeo!
Madman! Lover! Speak to me, friend. A song will suffice.
Perhaps a sonnet.
Recite one simple rhyme and I shall be satisfied."

"Go away."

"Go away. That, my friend, does not rhyme." Mercutio folded his arms and leaned against the door. "How about, go away until another day? Or, go away and eat some hay."

"Go away, I say!"

"A true poet, yet he does not know it." Mercutio tilted his hat to the side. "Come out and charm us with your verse."

"Not until Rosaline loves me."

"Dear boy, if a woman does not wish to love, then she will not love. Women can control their hearts in ways that men can never imagine. Wouldn't you agree, Mimi?"

This particular woman had no idea how to control her heart. It thumped one minute for Troy and the next minute for Benvolio. Well aware of Troy's stare, I shrugged. "I'm the wrong person to ask."

"I will never come out!" Romeo cried.

I had hollered those exact words when, just before the first rehearsal of Romeo
and Juliet,
I had locked myself in my room. Mother had gone ballistic. "You have a contract with the theater. Don't make me call the doorman. I'll have him unscrew the hinges and carry you out of there." Even the black-and-white cat across the street had known that my situation was hopeless. He had mouthed a little
meow
before stretching out on his window ledge.

"I will never come out. I don't want to be in
Romeo and Juliet,
I don't want to act anymore."

"You have no choice. The only thing that will get you out of your contract is a debilitating illness," my mother had said as she paced outside the door. "Mimi Wallingford, are you listening to me? You come out of there this instant."

Debilitating illness.
Oh my God, could Troy have been right? Had I conjured up the stage fright on purpose? Was I so pathetic that I couldn't admit it even to myself?

"Romeo," I said. "It's Mimi and Troy."

"Mimi from Manhattan?
And Troy, the wounded singer?"

"Yes."

"Singer?"
Mercutio asked, sweeping his long, flaming hair off his shoulders. "I sing as well, mostly my own compositions. You are likely familiar with my love song 'Girl, Come Hither and We Shall Dither.'"

"Uh, no," Troy said, rolling his eyes. "Hey, Romeo, buddy, let us in. We've got to talk to you about something."

"Please, Romeo."

"Lady Mimi?" A quiet voice floated through the crack under the door. I knelt and dipped my head as close as possible. "Have you come to speak of love? Do you know why Rosaline will not love me?"

Talk about a one-track mind. "I do," I lied. "Let me in and I'll tell you."

"Romeo, Romeo," Mercutio said, kneeling next to me and pressing his face close to the door's crack. "Rosaline will not love you because she is a thick-headed bolt of linen. Come join us in the garden for a late feast. We shall sing and be merry. Troy has agreed to sing my song 'Girl, Come Hither and We Shall Dither.'"

"Uh, not really," Troy said.

"Perhaps you would prefer 'Girl, Come and Handle My Candle'?"

The latch rattled,
then
the door cracked open. Mercutio and I scrambled to our feet. "Only Lady Mimi," Romeo said, holding out a beckoning hand. "I only want to see her."

Mercutio patted Troy on the back. "The Montagues possess a renowned selection of instruments. Let us go down to the courtyard to compare songs. I have a few new verses that I should like to put to music."

"Go ahead," I told Troy. "I'll take care of things here."

Troy didn't look convinced and he pressed his mouth close to my ear. "Remember, it's a story, Mimi.
A story that we need
to end."
His breath warmed the inside of my ear. I closed my eyes for a moment. Benvolio's breath had tickled me like velvet fingers. Troy's tickled me as well, only it ran down the length of my spine. I opened my eyes and he was staring at me. I couldn't convince myself that I hated him.

He had saved my life. He had trusted me enough to let me clean his wound. He had shared secret worries with me.

As soon as Troy and Mercutio had left, Romeo opened the door wide enough for me to slip inside.

"Clean clothes, young master," the servant said, lifting the laundry basket. Romeo thanked him and took the basket. "But master
...
"

"I will dress myself. That is all."

The Decorator from Hell had left his mark on Romeo's room. Montague black and orange covered everything, like Halloween had exploded. It made me dizzy. That horrid room had to be one of the causes of Romeo's gloom.