by Lian Dolan
MEET CUTE: In a palace near the battlefield, with their countries at war, surrounded by translators and advisors. And then a treaty is signed.
WHY THEY WORK: It’s bigger than the both of them: He is England and she is France.
BEST LINE MAYBE EVER: “You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate.”
RELATIONSHIP MOTTO: “Customs curtsy to great kings. We are the makers of manners, Kate.”
SHAKESPEAREAN COUPLE MOST LIKELY TO: Appear on the cover of People a record number of times.
WHO THEY REMIND YOU OF: The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, if Will had to conquer France before he could marry Kate, and Kate had to learn a foreign language. Or Beyonce and Jay-Z.
CHEMISTRY FACTOR: 4.5 OUT OF 5
CHAPTER 12
The heart of the Oregon Shakespeare Festival lies in the bustling theater complex that sits a short but steep hike up from East Main Street. Comprising multiple theaters, rehearsal spaces, scenery and costume workshops, and offices, this is where all the action happens during festival season. From the faithfully re-created outdoor Elizabethan stage, to the elegant Angus Bowmer theater, to the intimate new black-box space, the three-block beehive was bursting with creative energy and theater adoration even this early in the season. The courtyard in between the theaters was the hub for ticket selling, pre-play lectures, musical performances, and glorious banners. It was also the spot to line up before a play and to gather to discuss the work after the curtain came down. The beloved, verdant Lithia Park provided a cooling background even on the hottest summer days. It was Ashland’s Times Square, Central Park, and Lincoln Center combined, minus the car horns and taxicabs but with the lovely Tudor Guild Gift Shop, staffed by lovely Tudor Guild volunteers, who were there for all of your Shakespeare-themed cocktail-napkin needs.
I’d been here a half dozen times before as a theatergoer with students and friends, but never like this, on the inside of a production. As we climbed the pitch up Pioneer Street, I felt my pulse racing. This is why I came to Ashland, to feel this sense of excitement and purpose.
I was so happy to be among my people that I almost forgot I wasn’t really wanted. FX took my hand and squeezed it. “Here we are!”
Well, at least one person wanted me here.
We ducked into the New Theater, which, according to the press guide that Angie had included in our welcome packet, had recently been renamed the Thomas Theater, thanks to the generosity of a group of donors, none of whom were named Thomas. The new name hadn’t caught on yet, but the festival was trying. The rehearsal space for Midsummer was inside the complex, and FX knew where we were headed. The security person at the door nodded as we produced IDs, noting that only FX was on the list, but he waved us all through when FX said, “They’re with me.” I should take him to LAX with me.
We stood in the wide hallway, pausing before heading into the room where the cast and production team would be waiting. FX looked more nervous than I’d seen him look since we started this grand experiment back in April. He took a deep breath. “Back onstage, Lizzie. Can you believe it?”
“I can,” I said. “You’ll be great. You know that, right? This is going to be epic.”
“It will, won’t it?” he said, but he didn’t look like he believed it.
I tried to assuage his fears. “Do you want to create a safe sign? Like an SOS?”
He shook his head, but I went on. “Just in case you feel like something is going awry and you want a gut check.” Yes, it was a little foolish, but I was getting paid to look out for his broader interests, and besides, I needed a little job security. That kitchen wasn’t going to remodel itself. And I was not losing that prep sink just because some Aussie director didn’t want to share the spotlight. The least I could do was make myself available, even if I had to pretend to be invisible. “Believe me, if things are going really badly, I’ll call 911. But short of that, you might need me.”
“Well. …”
“If you’re concerned, flash me a peace sign.” I demonstrated. “I’ll take notes and talk to you about it after.”
“Okay, that’s a good plan. But it’s going to be great, right?”
“It’s gonna be great.”
It was going to be great, if the three-hour read-through was any indication. From the moment we stepped through the door, it felt like we’d entered another world. A world of magical words and wonderful actors and big, big thinkers. I was afraid to use the bathroom because I didn’t want to miss a second of the rehearsal.
Taz dominated the afternoon, but the actors held up their end in terms of electricity. Because of the short timeline and the lastminute nature of the production, the casting had been done by the OSF casting director, not Taz and FX. But it was clear that the actors were seasoned and lovely to look at, with skin of every color. For some reason, they also smelled really good, like they’d all gone out together in the lavender fields, rolled around, and headed into the read-through. I hoped the perfumed air was symbolic of the love and harmony to come.
Maddie and I slipped into a dark corner, kept our heads down, and observed the proceedings like they, in and of themselves, were a piece of theater. It took me right back to my high school productions. I could pick out the diva, the ingénue, the bit players, and the leads. There was the guy who’d been desperate for attention at sixteen and was still desperate for attention at thirty-six. The players might have been more polished and professional, but the dynamics were the same.
Taz and his crew were already deep in conversation as the actors wandered in. I guessed his choreographer, Phoebe, was the woman in all black with the wide headband and dreadlocks. The lighting designer, I think Taz had called him Jason, was a tall, thin man with a short beard and neatly cuffed jeans, like Carson Cressly with half the sass. Lulu, his stage manager, was a short, stocky woman with a buzz cut, a tight white T-shirt, and Dickies, and she’d clearly break heads if anyone missed a cue. The sound designer, a young guy in a Radiohead T-shirt, hung on every word Taz delivered. The costume designer, Zadie, a striking woman with a long gray ponytail, exuded energy and color, perfect for the show. Off to the side, a young intern, about the same age as Maddie, juggled two cell phones and a clipboard. He looked absolutely terrified. This was a formidable team and obviously one that did not need a community college English professor to advise them on how to mount a production of any sort. What was FX thinking? What was I thinking?
I noticed the actors sneaking quick glances at FX as he waded his way through the crowd, introducing himself and shaking hands. The youngish foursome, laughing a little too loudly, must be playing the young lovers. The actor playing Puck was easy to spot, spry and slightly green, as if he’d had a little too much to drink last night. A gaggle of character actors stood in a circle telling stories; they were probably the ones who’d been cast as the Deadheads/Rude Mechanicals. One was even wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt in solidarity. These were professionals who had dozens of plays, Shakespeare and otherwise, on their resumes. Belonging to a well-established repertory company like OSF allowed them the sorts of perks most actors never achieved: steady paychecks, regular work, and artistic satisfaction. But FX was a rich movie star and People’s Sexiest Man on Earth 2008, and those were credits that ninety-nine-point-nine percent of working actors would never earn.
Right away, FX found the actress who’d play Titania to his Oberon. Her name was Sabrina Cooke, and according to her bio on the website, which I’d memorized that morning over coffee, she had studied at UNC and Juilliard, been a member of the company for ten years, and had a recurring role on Law & Order: SVU, among other TV parts. This summer, in addition to her Midsummer role, Sabrina was Katherine, Queen of France, in Henry V, and she was also playing Cinderella in the production of a new high-concept musical called Medea/Macbeth/Cinderella.
Oh good, I thought, she not only can act but sing and dance while doing both light comedy and heavy drama. A real no-talent.
Sabrina was striking in that “Nicole Kidman is my Persona
l Jesus” kind of way, with skin that had never been sunburned, an emerald green scarf, and deep auburn hair that looked like it cost a small fortune to maintain. Where did she find a colorist that good in this neck of the woods, I wondered, as I watched her toss her locks back and forth. Even from a distance, I could tell FX was charmed. I felt a little sick to my stomach.
The scene took me right back to New York City in 1998, when FX had debuted in Cymbeline, his first gig out of college. He’d won a small but noticeable part in the Public Theater’s production with Liev Schreiber, that summer’s offering for Shakespeare in the Park. I toiled away as a production intern, which meant mountains of copying, sorting, filing, and occasionally handing out free tickets on street corners. Meanwhile, FX got his first taste of New York applause, great reviews, and willing cast mates. As I watched him now, my face burning, I couldn’t help but wonder how many Sabrinas there had been in our short marriage. Well, besides the one I knew about.
Better not to think about it. Denial was my Personal Jesus.
Fortunately, just as I was about to spiral downward into what Bumble would call “a pity party for one,” Taz started off the rehearsal with a rousing speech that outlined his vision for the play and the schedule over the next two weeks leading up to opening night. Then he introduced FX, who got a small round of applause. He humbly thanked the company for welcoming him into their midst under special circumstances. “I know you’re all performing at least three roles this season, six nights a week, with barely a day off. I’d like to get at least some credit for doing two roles in one play a couple of days a week. First round on me after we open.”
A short cheer went up from the other actors. FX glanced at me and I gave him the thumbs up. Not our safe sign, but I thought he’d understand the meaning.
Once the read-through started, Taz exerted his control. He was more of a conductor than director. He stood in the front of the room, his ripped arms highlighted by his body-hugging white shirt, commanding the actors to speak. Occasionally he grabbed the actors and led them through simple blocking while they did their speeches, like a dance partner. Sometimes he’d stop actors mid-scene to praise and skip ahead. “Good, good. No need to read further. Let’s move on. Next. …” Or give them an instruction and have them try it again. At the tops of scenes, he’d point to his technical crew, as if he held a baton in right hand, and they chimed in with what the lighting would look like, what the costumes might suggest, what music would be in the background to give the actors a sense of what they were working with. There was laughter and romance from the words on the page, but there was also pressure and high expectations from Taz. By the time the last line was delivered, the vibe in the room was a collective shout. Taz was dripping in sweat.
I was blown away.
After thanking everyone for their hard work, Taz sent the actors off for the night. Many of them had to be onstage in a few hours, as the season was already in full swing, including productions of Henry V, The Tempest, Our Town, and two new plays by young playwrights. “Good work. Lulu’s posted the call sheet for the next week. Get your sleep and eat your Wheaties, because this show is going to rock ’n’ roll.” For the first time all day, Taz looked in my direction. He gave me a subdued head lift and eyebrow raise. I reciprocated with a brief smile.
That guy didn’t like me.
“So?” FX asked after the rest of the cast had left.
“That was something else. Everyone is so good. That was a first read-through and the pace and chemistry was crazy good.”
“I know. Just…wow. I haven’t felt like this in years. Remember Cymbeline?” Yeah, I did. I hesitated, and FX quickly amended his question. “The electricity onstage? It felt like that.”
Taz wandered over and skipped the pleasantries. “FX, are you staying? Lots to go over. We’re ordering dinner. Maybe your intern can help our intern Dylan here.”
My jaw dropped. Confirmed. Taz really didn’t like me. No way I was helping the shiny-faced teen in black jeans get dinner for Lulu, et al. Then FX piped up, “Yeah, I’ll stay. Maddie, are you busy? Can you help the other intern get food for us?”
Oh, Taz meant Maddie. I felt a huge wave of relief and then realized that Maddie was going to get to listen in on production details and I was being sent home. I jumped in to save face. “Great idea. I have to run home to walk the dog. This was fantastic to watch, Taz. Thanks for letting me observe. So much to take home to my students. Maddie, you’ll stay, right?”
“I’d love to.” Her enthusiasm for fetching food made me suspicious until I saw her mooning at intern Dylan. Of course, she was excited about being near a movie star and a famous director, but clearly she was more thrilled to be near another soul who loved theater, wore glasses, and was cute. Maddie turned to me, “You sure, Elizabeth?”
“Of course, you’re here to learn. And one of the most important things you can learn how to do in your career is order meals. I think you have a leg up on Dylan, because I know Bumble doesn’t cook. But don’t walk home alone. Text me if you need me to come get you.”
Oh God, I sounded like a soccer mom. FX laughed. “It’s Ashland. I think the last crime committed here was in 1982 and involved lawn gnomes.”
“Hey, we have a missing ferret on our street. You don’t know what happened to that ferret.”
“I’ll make sure she gets home safely,” Dylan said with a shy smile.
3 Guys
Your Mom Will Love
COUNT PARIS FROM ROMEO & JULIET
The guy Juliet was supposed to marry if her parents had had their way before Romeo had his. Stiff and formal, an awkward dancer, and a really bad kisser. Often portrayed as overbearing and presumptuous, but methinks he’s just trying to win Juliet with trumped-up courage and faith in the future.
Who He Reminds Us of: Matthew Crawley.
Why Moms Love Him: Rich, polite, and no threat to daughter’s virginity.
Major Drawback: Lacks passion.
DUKE ORSINO FROM TWELFTH NIGHT
The perfect gentleman: handsome, brave, virtuous, and rich. Tends to romantic melancholy (“If music be the food of love, play on”) but not so melancholic that he’s a downer. Quickly switches affections from the unattainable Olivia to the former pageboy Viola, but that’s okay because he’s got a poet’s soul and an investment banker’s net worth.
Who He Reminds Us of: James Franco with more money.
Why Moms Love Him: Enjoys the arts. Willing to accompany the in-laws to the symphony and write large checks to arts charities.
Major Drawback: Enough with the Renaissance Man thing.
WESTMORELAND FROM HENRY IV, PARTS 1 &2, AND HENRY V
Stand-up guy, loyal servant to the king, honorable soldier. Has tremendous influence with those in power. Sparked the famous St. Crispin’s Day speech in Henry V, wondering what all those guys in England were doing lying in bed instead of standing up on the battlefield at Agincourt.
Who He Reminds Us of: General Petreus, pre-scandal.
Why Moms Love Him: Wears impressive medals to society events. Has great access to the king. Improves overall status of family by reputation.
Major Drawback: Not home much.
CHAPTER 13
Now I understood why dogs have been so valued across the span of history: Nobody was ever as happy to see me as Puck was when I arrived home. I was dejected and bitter; he was ecstatic and nonjudgmental. He’d been holed up in the crate we bought the first day he arrived and was clearly ready for company, food, and a little walk. His tail wagged like crazy as he slipped in and out and around my legs. Frankly, his unjustified but unbridled love was exactly what I needed. I hugged him with abandon.
Well, this is really working out, I thought as I let Puck out the back door and opened a can of dog food. I’m home alone with a stray dog while my niece has already worked her way into the inner circle. Then it dawned on me that having Maddie on the inside would be incredibly helpful. I couldn’t sit through every rehearsal. Taz’s disdain made
that clear. But Maddie could. Everybody loves somebody who’s willing to go for sandwiches. At least now I’d have some eyes and ears in the room.
Of course, I’d have to come clean with Maddie and give her the scoop on FX’s concerns and my situation vis-à-vis Taz. After watching her handle herself over the past week, I was pretty sure she could keep my status as an outsider a secret from everyone in Pasadena. It wasn’t quite the same as being in the room, but having her there was as close as I was going to get. I let Puck back in the house. He looked up at me hopefully, and I rewarded him with dinner. It was nice to be needed.
One trip to the Ashland Food Co-op and I felt like a new person. Puck and I made the six-block walk together with our reusable shopping bags. First, I was relieved to see that no one had ripped a tag with my phone number off the bottom of the lost-dog poster Maddie had hung up on the community board next to the flyer with the headline “Global Peace through Inner Peace.” (The healer promised to align your chakras, enhance harmonic resonance, and donate all fees to support women in war zones. Win, win, win.) I was beginning to think that Puck had arrived through a spiritual portal and intended to hasten my own chakra alignment. Every time I saw his tail wag, I felt my own personal harmonic resonance.
I tied him outside to a post, next to the water bowl the co-op provided, and dashed into the store. I went for the basics: local produce, a sampling of soft cheeses courtesy of the goats of the Rogue River Valley, and a few prepared foods, including quinoa nut loaf. Nut loaf!
Back in my tidy yellow kitchen, I was reheating the co-op’s local summer squash with bagna cauda and fried capers. Normally I wasn’t a fan of prepared foods, being slightly suspicious of foodborne illnesses. But Ashland was so clean, and a bagna cauda—a “hot bath” of olive oil, anchovies, and garlic—struck me as exactly the sort of thing that a single girl with dog could eat without worrying about breath issues. And who can say no to fried capers?