Lord Capulet beamed. "You have a keen palate as well as a discerning ear. Marks of good breeding. Manhattan, you say?"
"Juliet, would you do me the honor of a dance?" Paris asked, bending his long neck to one side. Juliet curtsied and presented him with an exaggerated grin. Green stringy bits dangled from her front teeth. Lady Capulet gasped and wildly pointed to her own teeth. Juliet ignored her.
"I should love to dance," Juliet replied, leaning as close to Paris as possible and exhaling extra hard on dance.
Paris took a step back as Lady Capulet pulled her daughter aside. "What have you been eating?" she demanded in a tone best described as a whispered shriek.
"Whatever do you mean, Mother?" Juliet asked, her onion breath enveloping the balcony. She turned and took Paris's arm. "Let us dance the night away." Paris scrunched his nose and led his wife-to-be down the stairs. He could barely hide his repulsion. I wiggled my toes excitedly. Success was at hand.
For the briefest of moments I stood next to Juliet's parents. Lord Capulet, still sniffing the air, checked his own underarms and was about to check his wife's but she pushed him away. I had no desire to hang out with those two. I peered over the railing. A servant headed past the stairs with a tray of miniature tarts. The realization that I was wide awake struck me again as my mouth watered. Maybe I should have taken the time to consider my situation. Maybe I should have found a dark corner where I could have thought things through. Where exactly was I, if not in a dreamworld? How had I gotten there? What was to become of me?
But again, I ignored all those questions. You see, when faced with magic, it's easier to accept than you might imagine. I had been waiting for something in my life to change. I had been whining about my life for so long I could barely stand to be with myself. I let the moment envelop me. No worries about stepping onto a stage. No worries about what the future would bring. Only that moment mattered as I stood in some kind of alternate reality, and all I really wanted at that moment was one of those tarts.
With a growling stomach, I lifted my dress's heavy hem and took the stairs as quickly as possible. "Excuse me," I said, pushing through guests, trying to catch the servant. But as hard as I tried, the tray remained just out of reach.
"Excuse me. Sorry," I repeated, having stepped on someone's boot.
"The fault was mine for having placed my foot in the path of a hungry woman."
A masked face stared back at me. Black curly hair cascaded down a dark brown neck and my body temperature shot up ten degrees. "Lady of the Orchard," Benvolio said. How could he possibly recognize me with this freaky hair and mask? But he had. He took a huge risk in speaking to me in public. How did he know I wouldn't turn him in? I might have yelled out, "Montague! A Montague has sneaked into our party!" and Tybalt would have rushed right over and impaled him with his golden codpiece. But of course, I did no such thing.
"Your beauty makes the torches burn brighter," he said.
In Shakespeare's play Romeo delivers that line to Juliet. Maybe Benvolio had stolen the line but I didn't care. I felt kind of woozy, but in a good way. Benvolio reached over my shoulder and whisked two tarts from a passing tray, presenting me with one. "Thanks," I said. He popped the other into his mouth, focusing his sultry gaze entirely on me. It's difficult to eat when someone's staring at you in a lusty way. I nibbled on the pecan-filled crust as if I had no appetite at all. I didn't want bits of food between my teeth.
"I have a dilemma, Mimi from Manhattan. You are a Capulet and yet, I cannot bring myself to hate you."
"I don't hate you either."
He smiled. "Then will you dance with me?"
"Um, okay." You'd think after performing Shakespeare most of my life, I'd be able to express myself a bit more eloquently.
As he led me toward the other dancers, I shoved the rest of the tart in my mouth. I was starving! I grabbed another tart along the way. Benvolio wasn't wearing one of those stupid codpieces, which made me like him even more. On the dance floor, I ended up standing next to Juliet. Paris had scrunched up his face as if in pain.
The ladies formed a center circle, the men formed an outer circle. The steps were easy--four left, dainty jump jump, four right, dainty jump jump. Benvolio guided me and my nerves melted under his confident touch. Paris coughed as Juliet continued to bombard him with her breath. She leaned close to tell him about her boil. "It's inflamed," she said. "Near to bursting." She giggled, obviously pleased when he actually plugged his nose and came up with an excuse to stop dancing.
Benvolio grabbed my waist and lifted me off the ground, which totally took me by surprise. I giggled like a pathetic airhead. I hoped the next dance would be slower, so I could press against his chest the way I had pressed against Troy's in the Wallingford production. As we smiled at each other, I tried to remember what I knew about Benvolio. He didn't die in the play, so that was a good thing. He was loyal to Romeo and often proved to be the voice of reason. As if reading my mind he said, "I wish Romeo would come and dance. But he insists on moping in the garden."
"Oh, that's too bad." Honestly, I didn't care about Romeo at that moment. The Wallingford burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I was someone else. That moment belonged to me and my Italian hunk. So caught up in my euphoria, I didn't notice what was transpiring on the balcony until Lady Capulet's voice pierced the room.
"What have you done?" she screamed at Juliet.
The music stopped. Paris was nowhere to be seen.
"Keep playing," Lord Capulet ordered the musicians. They started up again.
Straining to see what was going on, I caused a traffic jam in the dance circle. Lady Capulet's face contorted with rage and she began to pull Juliet down the stairs. Juliet grimaced as her mother yanked her arm. She was in huge trouble. She'd probably get grounded. I needed to explain.
I started toward her. "I cannot follow you," Benvolio told me, taking my hand. "I must not go anywhere near Lady Capulet."
"I've got to see if Juliet's okay."
"I understand." He smiled sweetly, then kissed my hand. "Until we meet again."
My entire body felt that single kiss. Reluctantly, I slid my fingers from his. "Yes. Until then."
Struggling to get through the crowd, I lost sight of Juliet and her mother but figured that they would head to her bedroom. The uncomfortable wooden heels clunked as I stumbled up the marble stairs, twisting my ankle twice. Nurse stood outside Juliet's door, still in her stained apron, pacing fretfully. Juliet's sobs penetrated the walls. "Oh dear," Nurse said, wringing her hands. "She's in dire trouble, she is. Don't go in there. Her ladyship's temper is not fit for delicate ears."
"Mother, please!" I heard. I went in anyway.
Lady Capulet held Juliet by the shoulders. The Leaning Tower had tumbled over and Juliet's black mask lay on the floor. "How dare you do such a thing?" her mother shrieked. "You have embarrassed the entire family."
I said nothing. I didn't know what to do. I stood in the doorway, trembling.
"Mother ..." Juliet choked back tears.
"Don't speak to me, ungrateful child." She slapped Juliet's cheek--a sharp sound like the snap of a whip. Juliet gasped and ran to the comer, but Lady Capulet followed. "You will obey your parents. We know what is best for you. I know what is best for you." She slapped her again and Juliet fell to the floor.
I wanted to rush forward and hug Juliet. I wanted to slap Lady Capulet myself. My mother had never slapped me-- never. But she had called me ungrateful. And she had told me she knew what was best for me countless times. All my resentments bubbled to the surface. Yell back, I wanted to shout. Tell her you don't want to marry him. Tell her to leave you alone. Tell her you hate acting.
Lady Capulet stood over Juliet, who lay in a heap of velvet and fallen hair. "I shall have to lower my price, if he will still have you. Your father shall beat you for this insolence. Do you hear me?"
Juliet said nothing and, honest to God, Lady Capulet raised her foot, about to kick her daughter.
&n
bsp; "Wait," I cried out. If this were Manhattan I'd tell that woman to lay off. I'd tell her that I would report her to the authorities for child abuse. I'd take Juliet to Los Angeles with me. "It wasn't her idea."
Lady Capulet turned on me like a vicious dog, all teeth and spittle. "What do you know of this?"
"Mother," Juliet begged. "Please, she knows nothing of this."
"Aha!" Lady Capulet said, plucking the last onion from my tower. "I should have known. I thought there was something suspicious about your sudden arrival. How much did the Montagues pay you?"
"What?"
"How much did they pay you to shame my family?" Then she slapped me as well. And it hurt. Even with a thick coat of oil-based makeup to cushion the blow, it hurt.
I don't know if you've ever been hit by another person. I hope not. It's a vile experience because, along with the shock and pain, you feel shamed by the act itself, when it's the hitter who should feel the shame. But Lady Capulet showed no remorse.
Tears stung my eyes and I pressed my hand against my throbbing cheek. "You had no right to do that."
"Mother," Juliet begged again. "It was all my fault. My fault."
This wasn't fun anymore. What happened to all the fun I was supposed to be having? What happened to the great adventure? "Come on, Juliet," I said. "Let's just get out of here."
"Silence!" Lady Capulet grabbed hold of my arm and forced me into the hallway. Anger fueled her surprising strength. I tried to fight her off but couldn't. She locked Juliet's door. I tripped and stumbled as she forced me down the hall. I managed to get a few steps ahead when we reached the marble stairway, fearful that she might push me to my death. Can you die in an alternate reality? She pushed me past the portraits and landscape paintings, past happy party guests, and out the front door of Capulet House, where she planted one final push. I fell into the darkness, landing on cobblestones.
"You are henceforth unwelcome in this house, Mimi of Manhattan, if that is truly your name," she announced. Three Capulet guards pointed swords in my direction. "You are hereby exiled from Capulet land and from Verona as well. I give you one day to be gone. If I catch sight of you after that, your life is mine."
I'm still not sure if it was courage or fear that brought me to my feet. A group of guests mingled in the doorway, snickering and staring through their masks. Darkness crept around me, as did a few drunken men. I suddenly realized my vulnerability.
"What do we have here?" one of them asked, grabbing my waist. I squirmed from his grasp, starting back toward the house but three more guards drew swords. "Come on, love. Give us a kiss."
I had promised Juliet that I would help her. "Juliet!" I called out. My hand throbbed. I had cut it on a sharp cobblestone.
Another drunk tried to grab me. I supposed that girls disappeared as much in the sixteenth century as in the twenty-first. Gone missing because they had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. I had no choice. I had to leave Juliet. Drunken laughter faded as I ran. Guided by pale moonlight, I found an alley and slipped into its shadows.
Now was definitely the time for contemplation. My train of thought went something like this.
I had already established that this was not insanity or a dream. Clearly I was not the victim of time travel. Romeo and Juliet are fictional characters. While Shakespeare had set his play in an actual historical place and time, and while feuding families had plagued the Italian city-states, the Capulets and Montagues are fictional. So I had not stepped into some sort of wormhole. I had not gone back in time.
Shaking, and breathing way too fast, I thought back to those last moments in Manhattan. Standing by the backstage exit, I had said something to Troy about wanting to be somewhere else. He had said that I was dressed for Verona and I had said, "Verona is as good a place as any." Then the charm had broken and those ashes ...
Whether your ashes come from the quill that wrote Hamlet, Twelfth Night, or Romeo and Juliet, they are certain to influence your destiny.
The charm?
Look, I'm not stupid. I know it took me a long time to figure it out, but put yourself in my shoes, without a smidgen of hindsight. How was I to know?
This was kind of like that movie where the two teenagers get pulled into a black-and-white television show. Who in their tight mind could believe such a thing? Yet there I stood in my Renaissance platform shoes, my head pounding beneath a towering head of hair, my leg bruised by a golden codpiece, and my hand bleeding from a sharp cobblestone. I had stepped into Romeo and Juliet's world--their fictional world. It's very strange to think that someone can be transported from the real world into a story. It's unbelievable. We're talking about magic here. Crazy old world magic.
Obviously, the story I had walked into was based on William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. But not exactly. No one was speaking Elizabethan English. The people I had met sounded more like me than like Shakespeare. But the framework of his story was all around me.
Then I remembered the Prince of Verona. When I had first arrived, he had been giving a speech in the town square somewhat like the speech he gives in the play. Shortly after the prince's speech, Romeo is supposed to enter the town square and complain to his friends about Rosaline. But that had not happened. I had found him sitting beneath the willow tree. By speaking directly to Romeo, I had changed Shakespeare's story. I had conspired with Juliet, danced with Benvolio, and angered Lady Capulet. I was the reason the story had changed direction. Could I be the reason it sounded different? The ashes had sent me somewhere else just as I had wanted, far away from the Wallingford Theatre. Could this be my story, not Shakepeare's?
The alley's dampness seeped through my clothing. Surely an equally important question was, How could I get out of there? And how would I survive in the meantime? Where would I spend the night? What would become of me if Lady Capulet found me? Would Juliet's father truly beat her?
"I told you that I would not meet anyone. No one can take Rosaline's place." Romeo's soft voice floated down the alley.
"You refused to take notice of other girls. You sat in the garden all night."
Romeo and Benvolio walked past the alley. Maybe they would help me? I didn't know who else to turn to.
"Try to cheer up," Benvolio urged his cousin. "How about that strange little song we learned today? That should ease your melancholy." As they strolled off, Benvolio began to sing a tune--a tune I recognized.
"Girl, oh oh oh oh oh oh, girl."
"Wait!" I cried, running after them.
Thirteen
***
"Holy St. Francis! What a change is here."
"Where'd. you hear that song? " I called. "Mimi?" Benvolio held a small torch above his head "Mimi, what are you doing outside Capulet House again?" He lowered the torch and gently took my wrist, turning my palm upward. "You are injured. How did this happen?"
Romeo stepped forward and traced his finger along my cheek. "You have been crying," he said softly. "Why do you cry, Lady Mimi? Why are you unhappy?" His tender voice coaxed my tears and I began to blubber in a most embarrassing way.
I tried to explain but I'm not sure I managed a complete sentence, between the outright sobs and runny-nose sniffling. I don't know what was more upsetting to me at that moment--the idea that I had been transported into an alternate reality, or the fact that Lady Capulet had mauled me. At least I felt safe with the Montague cousins.
"Easy," Romeo said, sweetly patting my arm. "Did you just say that you were thrown from Capulet House?"
"And exiled." I wiped my nose on my sleeve. "Who exiled you?" Benvolio asked. "Lady Capulet."
He lowered his voice. "You must tell us what she said. Her exact words."
I took a deep breath. "One day, she said. I have one day to get out of Verona or my life is hers."
Benvolio raised the torch and looked around. "Then you must return home. Immediately."
"Yes," Romeo agreed. "Immediately."
"Home? I don't know how to get home." My face contorted as I fought
back another bout of sobbing. "I don't have any more ashes." Then I remembered Troy's song. "That song you were just singing. Girl, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, girl. Where did you hear it?"
"I found a man in the square, earlier today," Benvolio said. "A Capulet guard had attacked him. He wore Montague colors so I helped him."
Could it be? "Is he all right?" I asked.
"He's injured but he will survive. I took him to Friar Laurence to treat the wound. The friar gave him herbs to take away the pain and to put him to sleep, but last I checked he had not yet woken. He sang that particular song in his sleep, over and over. Do you know this man? Is he a Montague?"
Saving Juliet Page 9