by Karis Walsh
Emilie nodded. “The plays are great, but you’re right. Without the restaurants and the park and everything else there is to do here, Ashland wouldn’t have nearly the same appeal to tourists.” She looked around them, and Arden did the same, noticing the beautiful stone bridge and the ferns overhanging Ashland Creek. “This place is so peaceful and natural—it’s the perfect backdrop to the plays.”
Arden had always felt the same way, and she liked how Emilie had noticed it, too. “When did you eat last?” she asked as Emilie finished the last of the chips.
“This morning. My roommate likes the festival all right, but she has a rather unflattering view of actors in general. Today’s breakfast conversation was all about the way narcissistic personality disorder runs rampant through the acting community.”
Arden laughed and choked on a piece of apple. She swallowed and took a drink of water. “What did you say to her?”
“I said I couldn’t talk about that because I was too busy planning my day and deciding what to wear, and did she think my hair looked better in a ponytail or hanging down, and did she want the privilege of hearing me run lines? At least she got my joke, and she said she’d stick to less hot-button topics in the future, like religion and politics. She’s great, but I sometimes feel like a specimen in her lab more than a roommate.”
Arden laughed, enjoying Emilie’s wit. She let her mind wander to a fictional place where they could share wisecracks and serious conversation over breakfast with each other every morning. She only let the fantasy linger for seconds before stowing it away.
“Come here, and I’ll show you the beginning of the festival,” she said, packing up the waste from their lunch and stuffing it in the paper bag.
She led Emilie a few yards down the trail, and turned her so she was facing the Angus Bowmer Theatre and the Elizabethan Stage, both barely visible through the park’s heavy foliage. She had her hands on Emilie’s shoulders, but the feel of her was too nice, too tempting, and she let go. She stayed close behind her, though, speaking quietly in her ear.
“Angus Bowmer was an English professor at the college here. One day, he was standing close to this spot when he looked at what was left of the old Chautauqua dome and thought it resembled the curved walls of the Globe Theatre. He came up with the idea to stage some of Shakespeare’s plays there, and Ashland gave him a chance to try. The festival lasted three days every year at first, and it grew into what you’re taking part in today, with world premieres and almost ten months full of plays every season. You’ve seen the ivy-covered walls around the Elizabethan? Well, those are the old cement walls from the dome.”
Emilie managed—somehow—to understand what Arden was saying to her and not to fixate on her nearness and the soft exhales that brushed against her skin. She had been focused on her own role in the company—she knew what Olivia would have to say about that—but Arden’s description of the origin of the festival made her feel connected to a greater whole. Of course, that meant even more pressure on her to do well. Great.
Emilie watched Arden while she talked. Her words made the claim that there was a strong connection between the townspeople and the festival, but her expression convinced Emilie of the truth. Neither the city nor the festival could be removed from this place without irreparably changing the other, and together they seemed to possess something resembling the notion of true love that Emilie had always believed in. Like family or lovers, they might have occasional squabbles and disagreements, but the underlying bond was unbreakable. Arden was part of the history of this place, relying on its revenue for her livelihood, its plays for entertainment, and its stars as her personal dating pool. She might have personal issues with actors who had a propensity to follow a nomadic lifestyle, but she saw the festival itself as something stable and deeply rooted in the community.
Arden cleared her throat and Emilie suddenly realized that Arden had been silent for a few minutes while Emilie stared at her and had disconcertingly envious thoughts about the type of relationship forged between the city and the festival, and—especially—between Arden and the beautiful actors she must have met along the way.
“So…” Emilie searched frantically for a question to ask that would redirect Arden’s attention away from her heated face and onto some new topic. She looked around and saw the sign with its old-fashioned font advertising Ashland’s water. “Why is it called Lithia Park? Is there really lithium in the drinking water? I haven’t had anything but bottled water since I got here.”
“Not here exactly,” Arden said. She gestured for Emilie to come with her as she walked to the park’s entrance. “Some people tried to turn Ashland into a health resort in the early 1900s to get back the tourist trade they’d lost after the Chautauqua ended, with mineral spas and delightfully lithium-rich water for sale. The town voted to tax itself and pipe water in from a spring that’s a few miles away. The plan never came to much, but you can still try the water.”
She stopped in front of a large rectangular concrete block, with stairs leading up to the white marble fountains. The contrast between the plain cement and the ornate drinking fountains was strange, and Emilie had avoided the monstrosity.
“It looks like a mausoleum,” she said warily, not moving beyond the bottom of the steps. “That doesn’t back up the whole healthy-water claim.”
Arden looked at the fountain and shrugged. “Yeah, it’s ugly as sin. But you can’t truly be a part of Ashland until you’ve tasted the water.”
Emilie sighed and walked up the two steps. “This feels like peer pressure,” she said, poking a questioning finger into the stream of frothy water that was spewing out of a bronze ball-shaped spigot.
“Think of it as an initiation into an exclusive club,” Arden suggested.
Emilie bent forward and merely let the fountain wet her lips, without taking an actual sip. She coughed and backed down the steps. “Ew, that’s gross. It can’t possibly be good for you.”
“It’s full of minerals, and you didn’t even take a real drink,” Arden said, laughing while Emilie wiped her mouth with her sleeve. She handed her a bottle of water. “Besides, the city removed the Do not drink signs a few weeks ago.”
Emilie looked for signs that Arden was joking, but she looked serious. “What was wrong with it?”
Arden waved off her concern. “A little extra barium in the mix. But it’s been tested and it’s perfectly safe now.” Arden stopped laughing and looked at her with a serious face. “I wouldn’t have had you drink any if it was dangerous. I watch the city inspector do the tests every week. Think about it. You just tasted part of the history of Ashland, and that’s pretty awesome.”
“It is,” Emilie conceded. “Disgusting, but slightly awesome.”
Emilie still wanted a little payback, so when they skirted around the water fountain she quickly hopped up the two steps and caught a handful of water, flinging it at Arden. Arden shrieked in surprise and jumped aside before running to the far side of the fountain and splashing water toward Emilie in return. They jumped around, landing nothing more than droplets of water on each other, until Emilie remembered that she had Arden’s water bottle in one hand still.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Arden exclaimed, laughing and grabbing Emilie around the waist from behind and trying to grab the bottle.
Emilie was laughing too hard to be able to hold the bottle steady enough to fill. She held up her hands. “Truce?”
Arden had gotten hold of the top of the bottle while Emilie kept her grip on the bottom. “Truce,” she agreed.
They both let go at the same time and the plastic bottle fell to the ground. Arden bent down to pick it up. When she stood again, she looked as composed as ever, although the corner of her mouth quirked as if she was holding back more laughter. “Shall we continue with our tour?” she asked formally.
“By all means,” Emilie said with a little bow. She bumped Arden’s shoulder as they walked. She hadn’t laughed that hard since…well, she couldn’t even remember.
“What’s our next stop?”
“Have you been to the old Black Swan Theatre yet? You’ll probably be rehearsing there.” Arden pointed in the general direction of the city, and they walked off the park grounds.
“I’ve seen it on my schedule, but I haven’t been there yet.” The out-of-shape laughter muscles in Emilie’s face relaxed, and she had to fight the urge to lean against Arden as they walked. She brought out everything Emilie had thought was in hiding, too deep inside her to be found again. Emilie was happy to see the recurrence of joy and playfulness, but she kept a tight hold on the blossoming desire that threatened to break free along with them.
“I think I was going to audition there, but it was closed for repairs. Poisonous gas leaks, perhaps? Or a plague of bedbugs in the upholstery? This town seems fraught with danger.”
Arden beat her chest with her fist. “A little barium now and then keeps you strong,” she said with a laugh. “And the theater was closed last year because they were renovating the basement, but they’re finished now. It’s used for storage and offices, besides the rehearsals.”
They stopped in front of the large picture window with the building’s name printed in elegant black letters on the glass. Arden cupped her hands and peered inside. “The Swan was a black-box theater. Tiny and intimate as hell—the audience was practically part of the cast. You could see the actors spit when they enunciated, my gramps used to say.”
Emilie looked inside with interest, but all she could see was a foyer decorated in pale blues and stark whites, a sharp contrast to the type of theater it had once held. She had never performed on that sort of stage before. “Did you ever see a play here?”
“Yes,” Arden said, with excitement clearly expressed in her voice. “The Thomas Theatre replaced it in 2002, but I saw a few productions here, including an amazing version of Macbeth. My grandfather and I made a diorama of it together for my English class at school. How nerdy does that sound?”
“Perfectly nerdy,” Emilie said with a grin, picturing a younger Arden and her grandfather working together on the stage. She had some good memories from her own childhood, but none like that. None that had shaped her in such a positive way as Arden’s grandparents had seemed to have done. “Do you still have it? I want to see.”
Arden started walking again, covering the short distance back to the park with her long steps, her arms gesturing as she talked. “I think it’s in the attic, but I’m not sure where. The set was simple, with only a few pieces of rough-hewn rock, but the way the lighting was arranged made the shadows fill in the empty places, giving the illusion of walls and towers, or of battle encampments. It was brilliant. Someday I’ll take you to see some photos they have in the festival’s archives.”
They stopped near the water fountain. “Well, my lunch hour, and therefore our tour, has come to an end.”
Emilie smiled and softly touched Arden’s arm, barely moving the fabric of her shirt. “Thank you for showing me around. And for making me drink the Kool-Aid…I mean, the water.”
“You’re one of us now,” Arden intoned in a deep voice. “You will await our instructions.”
“I will obey,” Emilie said, with equal somberness. She was kidding. Really, she was. Sort of.
Arden winked at Emilie and turned away, walking farther into the park while Emilie turned toward the steps leading to the festival. Back to their normal lives. Emilie turned once and looked back, catching Arden just as she glanced over her shoulder and toward Emilie. Emilie jogged up the steps, but she knew she’d be back. She couldn’t resist the way she felt when she was around Arden. She’d visit her again, looking for companionship and a break from the hectic theater life. And nothing more.
Chapter Eight
Emilie hugged a pillow over her head, trying to squeeze in a few more minutes of sleep before she had to face the day. Her schedule was skewed toward evening, with some of her rehearsals lasting late into the night, but her roommates only seemed to have a four-hour window of sleep most nights. They were up late studying or hanging out with friends, then up early for class.
Other than the noise associated with her ground-floor room, Emilie was content with her living arrangements. She had a little oasis here, far from the world of the festival. Her housemates were friendly enough, and Steph had finally stopped examining every item Emilie pulled out of the fridge to make sure it wasn’t something of hers. Mary was quiet to the extreme, and she and Emilie had once sat at the dining room table and worked on a puzzle together without saying a word for 126 minutes. Emilie had kept track. She could have broken the silence herself, but after a half hour of not speaking, it had seemed weird to suddenly ask about Mary’s day or comment on the weather. She had come to find Mary’s company soothing, since absolutely nothing was expected of her when they were together.
Olivia continued to ask probing, personal questions. Emilie answered when she could, and took the Mary approach and remained silent when she wasn’t comfortable with a line of inquiry. Olivia had no qualms about delving into every aspect of Emilie’s childhood in her attempt to discover the deep psychological reasons behind Emilie’s desire to become an actor. If she’d only listen, Emilie could tell her exactly why, but the reality didn’t make as exciting a thesis as Olivia was apparently seeking. The truth was, Emilie’s childhood had been fine. Boringly, blandly fine. Emilie’s first role in a play—as Peter Pan in a disastrous grade-school production—had given her a taste of the other possible worlds and emotions.
The back door slammed shut, and Emilie tossed her pillow to the side. She stretched her arms over her head, arching her back and easing the stiffness out of her muscles. Long days and lots of sitting cross-legged on the stage were taking their toll on her lower back. She sighed and rolled off the bed. She was due at the theater in a little over an hour. Time to start the day.
Emilie took a quick shower, and then filled her travel mug with coffee. As different as she and her roommates were, their trajectories all converged at the coffeepot. Emilie had a feeling she would be forgiven for not paying her rent on time, but if she forgot to contribute to the caffeine fund, she’d be on the curb with all her belongings before anyone could say, We’re out of cream. The pot was huge, and always full of fresh coffee. Emilie peeked inside to make sure she didn’t need to start more brewing before she left, but it was over half full. She carefully twisted on the lid to her mug and walked out the door.
She stood on the front porch for a moment to get her bearings. The shift from being safely tucked inside her house and becoming her outside, public self was always jarring. She had thought her trepidation about returning to acting would ease once she had been to a few rehearsals, but it was only getting worse. And once she had to go onstage…well, she was familiar enough with her stage fright to know what to expect then. She’d have a brief respite while she was in front of an audience, but then she’d be sick and shaking again before the next performance. Sadly, all of her time with the company in Ashland seemed to be an extended version of her pre-performance anxiety.
This house was her only place of solace. Well, the house and Lithia Park. She forced herself to walk off the porch and toward the main part of town, and the only thing keeping one foot moving after the other was the thought that she’d have a break between rehearsals today. She’d have a chance to get to the park, surround herself with growing things, and clear her head. Something about being around trees and plants was very soothing.
Of course, it had nothing to do with Arden.
Emilie walked a little faster along the sidewalk. She had been visiting Arden almost daily for over a week now. They hadn’t been out again, but she would trail after Arden while she tended her plants and listen to her talk about them. They managed to keep the conversation away from most topics that were more personal than a preference for flower colors—Emilie liked purple ones, and Arden preferred a soft, peachy kind of orange. Arden occasionally talked about her grandfather, though, and Emilie realized it was because she saw him
in every inch of the park. Arden couldn’t talk about it without bringing him up.
Emilie wanted to ask more. About Arden’s mysterious parents and her personal hopes and dreams, but then she’d be opening a door she wouldn’t have the strength to shut again. Plus, she’d be expected to respond in turn to questions about herself and her concerns about her career, and she wasn’t ready for that either. Arden always asked about her rehearsals, and Emilie always answered with some version of the word fine. And changed the subject by asking about aphids or slugs or some other impersonal, nonromantic subject.
Their casual conversations didn’t keep Emilie’s mind from wandering off-topic, though, and onto the way Arden’s delicate hands gently cradled flower buds when she talked about them, or the way her shirt would slide up and reveal her slender waist and incredibly sexy abs when she reached up to trim a high branch…Emilie was just managing to keep her thoughts and hands to herself during those tempting moments, and she’d clear her throat and ask about some plant that happened to be nearby.
Emilie pushed through the glass door of the Thomas Theatre, where her first rehearsal of the day would be held. If she were feeling more secure in the company, she’d most likely toss aside her determination to remain unattached and take a chance with Arden. But she was on shaky footing here. Her moments playing Titania weren’t disastrous, but they also were fairly bland. She knew the director expected more from her, and she felt the same way. She hadn’t been able to recapture the transfixed feeling she’d had when Arden had caught her playing the role alone in the woods.
Emilie joined the rest of the cast onstage. The mostly black interior of the space, combined with the arrangement of the seats, made the theater seem very intimate. She looked around, imagining an audience of three hundred or so people filling the teal and wood seats. They would be very close. Emilie closed her eyes, trying to get back to the present, but her mind continued to spin. Right now, they were rehearsing while the stage crews erected the sets for King Lear. The stage was set in the three-quarter thrust configuration, with audience members on three sides, but for her play, Skywriting, the theater would be changed to an arena. The stage would be in the center, completely surrounded by the public. All entrances and exits, as well as some scenes, would take place on the aisles. Close enough for people to touch her. Or easily hit their intended target with a rotten tomato.