by Jane Tara
“If only I knew he was there. Oh darling Kip, what a fine man he was. A good and dear friend. I will do whatever I can to help him.”
Rhi realized why Kip liked Chandler so much. The guy worshipped him.
Rhi plotted out the play, and worked out ways for the cast to make simple, quick changes from character to character.
“We’ll talk to Toby about lighting. We won’t use elaborate costumes.”
“I’ll have to wear this.” Kip waved his hands down his body. “I’m a little bored with it but have no choice.”
“Oh, I’ve never noticed,” Rhi teased.
“Ha ha.”
“I think we’ll all wear something similar.”
“My advice would be to wear something fabulous, just in case you die halfway through.”
“Do you always have to be flippant?”
“Flippant? I’m being thoughtful. You do not want to be wearing cheap nylon for all eternity.”
The actors were emailed the edited script and would arrive in Hamlet the following Monday for two weeks of rehearsals. Annie had arranged their housing. It wasn’t going to be easy. Not only would they be learning lines in an inordinately short space of time, but they’d also be performing opposite a dead man. They were gifted actors, and each of them was excited about the challenge. They saw this as a spiritual exercise as much as a theatrical one. But mostly, like the good theater folk they were, every single one of them knew that this experience would be grade-A dinner party fodder for years to come. And being part of a good story was priceless.
Chapter 39
Annie had “Song to the Siren” on a loop. The Cocteau Twins blared out from her iPod and filled the car with heartbreak. Spurred on by her soundtrack, Annie sobbed, tossing one soggy tissue after another into a pile at her feet. She’d just seen Sal going into Knight and Day Music, which had triggered the wave of misery that was now engulfing her. She’d managed to drive to the far end of the beach and park away from prying eyes, and then this—half an hour of uncontrollable howling. What the hell was wrong with her?
Love, that’s what. Damn fool.
She knew it couldn’t last forever. She knew one of them would eventually meet someone, move on, and change the dynamic. But why’d it have to be him?
She’d always adored both Jake and Sam. They’d been great friends growing up. Annie had been a bit of a tomboy, and the brothers were a fantastic fit for her as playmates: smart, sporty, a little bit naughty, and lots of fun.
It wasn’t until she was a senior in high school that their relationship first shifted. She went to the prom with Jake, who was in her year. At the end of the night he kissed her. It was her first ever kiss and it was utterly perfect.
Unfortunately someone had spiked the prom punch and not long after the kiss, Jake passed out. Big brother Sam came to the rescue and gave them a lift home. Jake was sprawled across the back seat. Annie was in the front with Sam, hands on her lap, her mind a million miles away—or rather, back at the school hall, reliving the kiss. Sam, ever the gentleman, walked her to her front door and then, to her utter surprise, pulled her into his arms and kissed her too.
“Couldn’t help myself, curly. You look gorgeous in that dress.”
Annie’s legs held until she reached her room, where they buckled and she spent the night tossing and turning in confusion. The following morning she went to the beach with a group of friends, including Sam and Jake. There was no mention of either kiss.
And that was that. The three continued their friendship, but now it was filled with flirting. The brothers were competing for the affections of the same girl, and yet it never affected their own relationship, probably because she never chose one brother over the other.
Years passed, until a final shift, not long ago, when a slow dawning occurred. Annie was at a stage in life where she was starting to think about marriage and babies. Her career was secure and she loved it. Financially, she was doing well. She was generally happy. She wanted a family. And whenever she imagined that family, one man’s face kept appearing. Only one.
She’d tried to ignore it. She’d even attempted to block it out with booze, but she wasn’t a very committed alcoholic—it didn’t suit her. He suited her. Perfectly. And the more she tried to block him from her mind, the more he interrupted her thoughts.
She considered telling him how she felt, but how, after a lifetime of being three, could she change it to two? Someone she cared about deeply would get hurt. The dynamic between them all would irrevocably change. She’d never once considered for a moment that he was actually interested in someone else.
Annie liked Sal. She was a great gal. But dammit it—she wanted him!
Annie tossed another wet tissue on the floor, just as someone tapped on the window. She jumped, and realised Taran was staring through the passenger side window.
“You okay?” he mouthed.
Annie smiled. It was as fake as her fingernails. She was too embarrassed to wind the window down. It didn’t deter him. He opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.
“Cockteau Twins? Would you like to borrow my razor?”
Annie turned the music down. “Why not? It’s clear you’re not using it.”
Taran ran his hand over his stubbled chin. “I haven’t been sleeping. Or shaving.”
“Anything wrong?”
Taran stretched his legs out as far as her small car would allow. “I’ve got a lot of stuff on my mind. How about you?”
“I just needed a howl and what better place for that than a public car park?”
“Couldn’t make it home?”
Annie shook her head, tears threatening to explode again.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
And with that she burst into tears. “I’m in love with someone I don’t want to be in love with,” she wailed.
Taran reached out and took her into his arms. “Yeah, I know how you feel. So am I.”
Annie pulled back. “You are? Who?”
“Her name’s Calypso. She’s English, but we met in New York and I fell for her, big time. Anyway, I told her and she disappeared. Gave me a kiss, sent me into the shower, and when I got out she was gone.”
“Ouch.”
“Yep.”
Annie pulled her hair off her face. The curls were sticking to her wet cheeks. “You didn’t go after her?”
“No… I retreated to lick my wounds.” Taran grinned at Annie. “I figured I’d get over her, but it’s been a year and I haven’t. And then I’ve just had this offer from a gallery in London that wants to exhibit my work. Huge opportunity for me but it would mean living there for a few months.
“And that’s where she lives?”
“Correct.”
“You can at least see her and ask why she just took off.”
“Not sure my ego could take another battering.”
Annie gave his arm a pat and teased. “Oh, I don’t know, Taran, it’s pretty huge. A few dents won’t do it any harm.”
“Thanks. You’ve made me feel so much better. How about you? Are you going to confront the guy you’re crying over? Tell him how you feel?”
Annie pulled a face. “I want to…but…”
“But?”
“He’s met someone else.”
Taran passed Annie another tissue. “Then Annie, you’d better get in there quick.”
Chapter 40
The theater was suddenly filled with life, a little jarring after being tainted by death and on the brink demolition for so long. But the changes suited it. Rhi had her office set up and the phone connected, and other companies were now calling to enquire about the space. The Hamlet Majestic was officially open for business.
Rhi had hired Annabelle Hampton to teach dance and Vaniqua was teaching a Saturday morning singing class. Children were being herded in and out of classes. The foyer was filled with laughter, running, and parents’ raised voices. Any stress Rhi
initially felt about the classes quickly vanished once they began. She enjoyed being with the kids and they certainly had fun. By the second week, her numbers had doubled thanks to word of mouth.
The theater was rarely dark. The Hamlet actors were there late into the night, drinking black coffee and rehearsing their scenes over and over. Everyone was off script from the very first rehearsal, which was incredible—unheard of—and helped ease the pressure of the terribly short rehearsal period. She’d spoken to each member of the cast individually: this wasn’t a career move; this was almost like a charity gig. They all joked about what could be printed on the tickets.
Hamlet to Help the Ghost Pass Over.
The Ghostly Gala.
The Phantom Fundraiser.
Half-price spirits after the show.
Many of the normal opening night stresses didn’t exist. It was a one-off performance in front of a hand-picked audience chosen for their psychic abilities, not their industry contacts. They wouldn’t be there to evaluate the play, but to exorcize Hamlet. And although the cast gelled right from the start, it was not intended to be an ensemble piece. There was one star, and that was Kip.
And he knew it.
“Kip, I think you should move downstage for that exchange.”
“When I directed this play I blocked this scene upstage.”
“I’m blocking it differently,” Rhi said.
Kip wouldn’t budge. “I don’t feel it. The motivation’s not there to move downstage.”
“Then how about you do this crazy little trick I picked up at drama school called acting.”
“Are you asking me to fake my emotion?”
“Kip, can you stop bitching? You’re driving me mad.”
“Good. Use it for Ophelia. That last run through you did, she didn’t seem mad at all.”
The rest of the cast was exceedingly patient with him. Jessica laughed at him at lot, while Darna flirted, two approaches that defused him every time. Kip liked Anton and was a little wary of Juan’s powerful psychic abilities, so he never picked on him. And Chandler, the weak link in the play, received nothing but encouragement.
“Chandler, if you can enter stage right…yes, that’s right, and now deliver that line directly to Hamlet.” Rhi waited for him to do it. “Ah…the line, Chandler.”
Chandler stood on stage, face to face with Kip. They were both silent for a moment. Finally Kip turned to Rhi.
“He can’t see me.”
She noticed that Chandler had no reaction to that, which meant he couldn’t hear him either. She moved to the corner of the room and motioned for Kip to join her for a private chat.
“This is going to be a problem,” Rhi whispered.
“Give the guy a break,” snapped Kip. “He’ll be alright on the night.”
“Perhaps we can recast his roles?”
Kip’s eyes flashed angrily. “Chandler was there for me last time. He’ll be there on the night.”
Rhi took a deep, calming breath. It didn’t help, but she returned to the others anyway. “Okay, we’ll block these scenes very carefully. Chandler, if you can see Kip during the performance, great. But if not, you’ll know exactly where he is, as long as he hits his mark.”
Chandler spoke to thin air in front of him, unaware that Kip was now floating just above his head. “I’m good with that. How about you, Kip?”
The cast rehearsed hour after hour, day after day. Around them, friends rallied to build sets. Vaniqua was running front of house. Hilary was sewing costumes. Toby, who’d come up with Darna, was getting the tech box ready to go.
Each night, Rhi went home to the cottage, where she’d have dinner with Taran and then fall into an exhausted sleep. Exhausted but content. She was filling her days with things she loved. She was busy, and often stressed, but not for one second did she regret taking any of this on.
There were only two things marring her happiness: Tad and Kip. Tad, because no one had heard from him, and she missed him. And Kip, because she knew he too was about to disappear from her life. They’d become friends. And it was going to be hard to let that go.
Chapter 41
Crystal watched as Manhattan came into view out the window as the train made its way into Penn Station. How had it been two years since she’d made this trip? She still loved this city. She couldn’t live here again, but it would always hold a piece of her heart.
She’d been born and raised in Brooklyn by her mother and her mother’s sister, both witches who kept to themselves. Her aunt had never married, and had moved to be with Crystal’s mother after she was widowed when Crystal was only a baby. Crystal’s father had been a policeman who’d died on the job, so her mother lived off a small pension and the readings they did. It had been a fairly normal childhood, considering. People respected the sisters and didn’t bother them. They were low key and didn’t like to draw attention to themselves. They were involved in the community when needed, but never stuck their noses into other people’s business. They were both loving women who hugged a lot and laughed loudly. And at home, behind closed doors, they worshipped the Goddess. Crystal grew up knowing two things: women were strong, and the craft was personal.
Her mother and aunt died, in that order, not long after she’d graduated college. Crystal was grief stricken, but keeping in mind how strong her parents expected her to be, she moved into Manhattan to start a new life. She found a ratty old two-bedroom apartment that with some elbow grease and creativity turned into a quirky home. She advertised for a roommate, knowing it wasn’t good for a woman her age to live alone. She needed a bit of a push to be social. Three people answered the ad. One was Brigid, who had just arrived in New York from London.
It had been one of those meetings that both young women just knew was fated. Their first meeting was like looking into the eyes of a long-lost friend. That’s what they believed they were. And they became inseparable. Crystal forgave Brigid’s shortcomings. She could be moody. She was vain and self-absorbed. She never did any housework. Crystal forgave it all, because Brigid made her laugh. She forgave it all because Brigid could be great company. But mostly, she forgave it all because without Brigid, she was alone.
Until that night when Brigid did the unforgivable, and stole Kip from her. Of course Crystal knew that no man could be stolen; Kip had made himself available and was just as guilty. But men would fail women over and over again. Women should never betray their friends.
The train came to a standstill and Crystal made her way through the carriage and onto the concourse. She was swallowed by the crowd and thrust into the bowels of hell that was Penn Station. Her mother used to tell her about how it was once a grand old station, the most beautiful building in Manhattan. But all that had been destroyed. “In the name of progress,” her mother would hiss each time they were there. “They call this progress?”
Memories of her mother gave her strength, something Crystal needed right now. She eventually found her way out of the station and flagged a cab. She’d forgotten how busy the city was. Her whole life spent traversing its streets and then they were so easily forgotten when she left.
“East Eighty-first thanks.”
The driver pulled into traffic, which was heavy. It had taken Crystal two weeks to garner the courage to make this trip. Rehearsals for Hamlet were winding up and the performance was tomorrow. Kip was keeping up his side of the bargain: he was performing. Now it was her turn. She needed to make sure he’d cross over.
She dug through her purse and pulled out her cosmetics bag. She flipped open a mirror and sighed. Never a kind sight under the harsh light of day. She’d been so gorgeous once. Did the mirror know that? Surely if it did it wouldn’t be so cruel now. She combed her hair and put on some fresh lipstick. What else could she do? She wished there was an effective anti-aging spell. Concealer was as close as she’d get. She shoved the makeup back into her bag. No point getting worked up over a few wrinkles. This was who she was now.
She thought back to the day Kip had ar
rived at her small shop with Tad in his arms. There wasn’t a single second she didn’t know for sure that she’d take him back. But she did it slowly. She’d made him work for it. She’d made him prove he was worthy. And, to be fair, he had been.
They’d started as friends. She came to rely on him as much as he did on her. He helped her move into her new shop. He fixed her toilet, and put an extra lock on her door, and mixed a mean cocktail. For over four years she loved him as a friend, while together they spent time with Tad. She was Aunt Crystal. Weekends were spent at Central Park. She babysat Tad when Kip had a casting or a rare job.
She figured Kip had other women, but he never flaunted them, never discussed them; most weekends were spent with her. And then he found the theater in Hamlet. He was so excited about the prospect of a life there with Tad. It was in that excitement, and her enthusiastic support, mixed with a bottle of wine, that they became lovers again. The minute he touched her she felt like she was home after a long and arduous journey. His scent, his breath, his body—all as familiar as anything in this world. It was her world.
Once their bodies reconnected, they both knew there was no going back. But still she encouraged him to move north, promising to visit. And she did visit. And then again. This time their love was more respectful. He was still a flirt, but Crystal began to trust that it wouldn’t go any further because he valued her. She’d become indispensible. He was still unpredictable and crazy and self-centered. But he was passionate in his feelings for her, and often talked of their future together.
Brigid’s name occasionally came up. He never was able to shake the feeling that she’d cursed him. In his mind, Crystal was his savior. The good witch. Who always defeated the bad. Only Crystal knew the truth.
A sob caught in her throat, but she shook it off. Not now. This was no pity party. She paid the driver then made her way up the brownstone’s steps, and rang the doorbell. She braced herself—it was time to admit how she’d failed Kip. It wouldn’t be easy. There was only one person who could help to free him. The door opened and the two old friends came face to face for the first time in nearly thirty years.