The Juliet Spell (18 page)

“Sure,” she said.

“What did you do?”

“The question is, what are you going to do?”

What was I willing to put up with from Edmund because I loved him? Particularly when we weren’t together and he was with some other girl?

“Does Edmund know how you feel?” she asked.

Did Edmund know? Let’s see. Mom knew. And Drew knew. And Maria knew. And if Maria knew then Vivian did. And Bobby probably—okay, maybe the immediate world knew. But Edmund, I was sure, looked at me and saw a fairy, or a sprite, or a cuz—anything but a girl who loved him.

“No, I guess not,” I said.

“You know. There’s another play Shakespeare wrote around 1597. Much Ado About Nothing. I played Beatrice. She was in that kind of situation and she handled it pretty well.”

“What did she do?”

“She never gave the guy a break,” Mom said. “She made fun of him. And she had a mouth on her. You might want to try that.”

“Much Ado About Nothing,” I pondered aloud. “I’ll take a look at it.”

So I went back into the house.

Edmund was curled up on the couch snoring softly. He looked so handsome, so sweet with his mouth open and his head thrown back so I could see his missing molars.

When I caught myself thinking that, I found The Riverside Shakespeare and flipped it open to page 361, then carried the book into my room.

I saw what Mom meant at once. Benedick and Beatrice are crazy about each other and they rag on each other all the time because of it. Because neither of them can admit to the other how much in love they are. Because it’s better than crying.

As luck would have it, I got my first chance to try it just after I finished the play. Edmund woke up when I came back into the living room.

“Ah. Did I fall asleep?” he said.

“If that wasn’t you snoring then there’s a sick pig with a hell of a cold in here.”

Edmund looked stunned. Then he laughed.

“And when did ye learns so much of pigs, cuz? Was it when ye were herding the Gadarene swine?” Then he laughed again and kicked his feet in the air.

“I’m sure that was very funny back in Stratford,” I said.

“Have ye never heard of the Gadarene swine?” Edmund said. “They were the pigs into which Our Lord sent the le.gion of demons so they rushed over a cliff and were killed.”

“See? I knew there was a laugh in there somewhere,” I said.

“And with my good help, ye’ll come to find it in a month or so.”

“And without your help, I’ll find it even sooner.”

Edmund laughed again.

Douglas Rees

Well, if I couldn’t be Juliet, Beatrice wasn’t a bad default. Edmund and I slung zingers at each other all night long. And it was better than crying.

Chapter Twenty

Monday, Drew swung by to pick up Edmund and me, and

there was no Bobby with him.

“Where’s Tybalt?” I asked as I got into the front seat.

“Coming on his own,” Drew said. “That’s what he told me.”

Drew without Bobby. That was new.

“Tybalt without Mercutio,” Edmund mused. “The play is out of balance.”

“Nay, ’tis cool. Bobby’s mad, but I think he’s kind of en.joying acting it. He’ll probably go on to something else be.fore too long.”

But if Bobby was acting, he turned out to be giving it ev.erything he had. He strolled in to rehearsal with one of the girls just before we started. He sauntered past Drew like he didn’t see him. The girl brought him the roll of blue mask.ing tape and he slowly wound some around his right arm. When rehearsal began, he made his first entrance with his head and shoulders forward, ready for a fight.

He gave his first line. Then, he shoved the kid playing one

of the Capulet servants and the poor little guy fell down. “Hey, dude,” the servant said from the floor. “Deal with it,” Bobby said, and went into his sword-fight

stance. The kid got up. Then one of the Montague servants

pushed him down again. The other Capulet servant pushed back. “Dude, what are you doing?” the first Capulet said. Bobby didn’t answer. He just lunged, like he had a sword,

and snaked his leg around and tripped the guy he’d pushed. Then all five boys, the Capulet and Montague servants

and Bobby were shoving each other. It didn’t feel like improv. It felt like a fight. “Cut!” Gillinger roared. “What is this supposed to be?” “Trying to put some energy into the scene,” Bobby said.

“It’s slow. Maybe you’ve noticed.” “Of course it’s slow,” Gillinger said. “You don’t know it

yet. Now apologize.” “Sorry,” Bobby said, to nobody in particular. We went on. Eventually, we got to the party scene where

Romeo and Juliet first see each other. Everybody’s supposed to be masked. Bobby came in, same way as before, walked over to Ed.

mund and pretended to pull off Edmund’s mask. “Capulet bastard,” he said. Then he slapped Edmund. Hard. For a moment Edmund just stood there. Then he threw

a punch that would have dropped Bobby had it connected, but Bobby dodged it and danced around the stage. “What the hell?” Gillinger said. “What the hell are you

doing?” “Subtext,” Bobby said. “Like you taught us in class.” “Stick to the script!” Gillinger snapped.

Edmund dropped his hand to his side, but it was still clenched. “What are you playing at, Bobby?”

“What’s the matter, dude? Don’t they do subtext in En.gland?”

Edmund was furious. He touched his cheek and glared at Bobby. Bobby was still dancing on the balls of his feet, get.ting madder and madder.

“Subtext. It’s what’s really going on in a scene,” Bobby said. “Not just a bunch of words and blocking. You know— acting.”

“Damn it, Ruspoli, I am directing this play,” Gillinger said.

“I wondered who was. When do you plan to start?”

“Ruspoli, outside. Now,” Gillinger spat.

The two of them left the theater. The rest of us stood around wondering what was going on.

“Just like Miss Saigon,” Phil Hormel said. It was all any.body said out loud.

After about twenty years, Bobby and Gillinger came back in. They weren’t walking together. Gillinger strode in and threw himself down on his throne. Bobby followed him, still stalking like he wanted to fight.

“Ruspoli has something he wants to say,” Gillinger an.nounced.

“Sorry, everybody,” Bobby said, center stage. “I overdid it. I know that. But this show, it’s important to me, you know? And now there’s this Ashland thing. I mean, we’ve got make it good, you know? I’m just trying to make it good. Sorry if that wasn’t clear.”

As apologies went, it was more of a brush-off. And I don’t think anyone believed a word of it.

But Gillinger said, “Understood, Ruspoli. Now let’s get back to work.”

Ever wonder what Verona was like with all those Capulets and Montagues running around killing each other? A little tense, maybe. Like you didn’t know what was going to hap.pen next, or who was going to be the target. That was what the rest of that night was like.

And Edmund was still smoldering from the smack Bobby had given him. He wanted to get back at him. He had more sense than to hit him, but he thought of another way.

As soon as Gillinger called break, Edmund grabbed Viv.ian, threw his arms around her and kissed her hard, right in front of Bobby. Actually, it was in front of everybody, in.cluding me. But Bobby was his audience.

When Edmund let her go, she staggered backward and eeped,

“Oh, speak again, bright angel.”

And kissed him back.

And probably that was why the balcony scene was ab.solutely no good at all that night. No, to be fair, Edmund wasn’t bad. I was what was absolutely no good. I kept blow.ing my lines, stumbling over words. And the farther we went, the worse I got. It was like I’d never seen the scene before.

And Gillinger let me know it. “Hoberman, we are too far along at this point for you to be this incompetent,” he said, interrupting me just as Edmund was about to climb up and join me. “Take it from the top.”

And I did, and I was better but still no good. We made it to the end of the scene and Gillinger snarled that it was time to quit, even though we had nearly an hour left.

“For God’s sake, go home and use the extra time to learn your lines,” he said.

We all started to leave. I saw Bobby and Drew talking in the corner. Bobby shook his head at something Drew said, and waved his hand at me and Edmund. Then he went off with Girl of the Week.

“May I give you a ride home?” Drew asked me and Ed.mund.

His formality surprised me. Usually Drew just came over and said, “Need a ride?” or something like that.

But Vivian was already standing in Edmund’s shadow.

“Vivian will bring me home,” Edmund said. “We’ll not be late.”

“But don’t wait up,” Vivian said, smiling.

I was sure they were heading for Phil’s guesthouse.

“Say hello to the roaches for me,” I said in my best Bea.trice.

“We will. For we know they are particular friends of yours,” Edmund said, smiling.

They went off with their arms around each other.

Maria saw me looking after them and smiled a smile that was supposed to say something world-weary in German, I guess.

When we reached his car, Drew opened the door for me.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Sorry,” Drew said.

“Don’t be sorry, just don’t do it,” I snapped. Then I said, “Sorry.”

I could tell I’d hurt Drew’s feelings, so I said, “It was nice of you. If I were out on a date and a guy didn’t do it, he’d get marked down. Big black ‘X’ in the datebook. But we’re just—going home, you know?”

“Yeah,” Drew said.

“So what’s Bobby doing?” I asked. “Is he trying to get Gillinger to throw him out? Is he so ticked off that he can’t play Romeo that he wants to quit?”

“No. Bobby’s a lot smarter than that. And he’s a lot angrier than I realized. I think what he’s trying to do is to build on what Gillinger’s doing already. Mess with everybody’s head, make everyone nervous and afraid, and ruin the show. Do whatever he can to guarantee that we’re bad. The Revenge of Tybalt, in real life.”

“No way,” I said. “Bobby’s a total theater boy. He’d never mess up a show like that.”

“Dudes can do unexpected things sometimes. And it’s the theory that makes the most sense,” Drew said. “I’ve never seen him this mad.”

“Oh, Drew, I’m sorry. Why’s he mad at you…if it’s any of my business?”

“Why do you think?” Drew said. “He thinks I’m freezing him out now that Edmund’s around. He thinks there’s some big secret that he’s not part of, and of course he’s right.”

In the come-and-go glare of the streetlights we drove un.der, I could see Drew’s face was pained.

My own hurt made me feel closer to him. On an impulse I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder.

“It’s really great what you’re doing,” I said. “And I really appreciate it. I know Edmund does, too. It’s huge, actually.”

“Always glad to help,” Drew said, trying to make it sound offhand.

We were pulling into our driveway now. Drew turned off his engine, but I didn’t get out.

“What do you think’s going to happen?” I asked.

“I don’t know. There are too many possibilities. Every.thing’s in play all of a sudden.”

And right that moment, for that moment, Drew was my best friend. Things happen like that in theater. And usually

they happen when things are going badly.

“Have you got time to talk?” I said.

“Sure,” he said.

And then I spilled my guts about Edmund, and Edmund.and-Vivian and how much I wanted to play Juliet to give the performance to my mom. Sitting in the dark in his silly little car, I told Drew Jenkins as much about my heart as if he’d been a girl and we’d been total BFF since kindergar.ten. And it felt totally right and okay to do it because it was Drew.

When I was finished, I said, “I haven’t talked that much in a long time. Thanks.”

“Sure. You’re welcome. Glad to do it.”

“Listen,” I said. “Don’t take this the wrong way—that’s stupid, I know you won’t—but you are really great, man. Globally great. If I can ever help you the way you just helped me tonight, or anything else I can do, just ask. Okay?”

Drew didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he said, “Well there is one thing. Don’t take it the wrong way.”

“What?” I said.

“Let me open your door for you.”

“Okay,” I said. “Just because it’s you.”

And Drew got out of his car and walked around and opened my door. I slid out, gave his arm a squeeze, and said, “Good night, oh awesome one.”

“Good night, Juliet,” Drew said.

Chapter Twenty.

One

Bobby didn’t pull any more stunts like the Monday Night Slap Fest, but he gave off the energy that said that he might, and that was even better for keeping the rest of us on edge than the real thing would have been. Edmund never turned his back on him. Gillinger snarled at everybody more than usual, especially Edmund. Maybe he was trying to keep the lid on things. If so, it wasn’t working. In fact we were di.viding into Edmundites, Gillingerites and a few Bobbyites. It was getting ugly.