Set the Stage

by Karis Walsh

  “Well, I think the exact phrase was smart-ass. But you get the point.”

  Emilie gave her back the notebook. “This is brilliant. Why haven’t you shown him yet?”

  “I don’t know,” Arden said, avoiding eye contact with Emilie. She still hadn’t figured out her reasons in her own mind, so they were hard to explain to someone else. Hopefully, Emilie would get what she was trying to say. “It’s really not my thing. I take care of plants and pull weeds. I don’t need to do more.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.” Emilie poked her thigh. “You’re all dressed up, and you have a great idea.”

  Arden squirmed. “I’m not dressed up,” she protested, even though she had spent more than her usual thirty seconds choosing what to wear this morning.

  “Yes, you are. Nothing you’re wearing has holes in it, and I can’t see—” Emilie paused and cleared her throat. “Usually I can see skin. So what are you afraid of? You know Jacob will be all over this idea.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “What’s the worst that will happen? This will be a big hit in the park, and you’ll have more opportunities to use your landscape design degree?”

  “I thought you’d be more compassionate.” Arden leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. How had she misread Emilie like this? “Like I try to be when you say rehearsals aren’t going well.”

  Emilie crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d be compassionate if I thought that was what you needed. And when I whine about rehearsals, you never tell me to give up. You listen, and then you get me to read lines for you. Or you make jokes that lighten my mood.” Arden wasn’t sure if she heard frustration or anger in Emilie’s voice, but she settled on anger when Emilie kicked her foot sideways and caught Arden in the calf. Not really hard, but…

  “Ouch.”

  Emilie continued as if she hadn’t heard her. “And if I told you I was quitting, you’d talk me out of it because you know how much it means to me to have a second chance with my acting.”

  Arden tried to come up with a reply, but Emilie was right. Still, their circumstances were different. Emilie was following a dream. Arden was doing a job.

  Emilie poked her in the ribs. “There he is. You go talk to him, and I’ll hide.”

  “Ouch,” Arden said again, rubbing her side, but Emilie had already moved to the other side of the path and was standing behind a huge Douglas fir. She got up and walked over to the maintenance shack, where Jacob was standing next to his Mule.

  “Hello, Arden,” he said. He raised his voice slightly and added, “Hi, Emilie.”

  Emilie’s arm appeared from behind the trunk and waved in their general direction before it disappeared again, leaving only a few inches of her red sweatshirt showing. Arden rolled her eyes. Apparently Em hadn’t played much hide-and-seek as a child.

  “What’s up, Little Philips?”

  “I have something to show you,” Arden said, gesturing with the notebook. He looked about to protest, so she hurried to continue. “Not a joke this time. A serious idea.”

  “Let’s see what you’ve got, then.” He took the notebook and set it on the driver’s seat of the small utility vehicle, opening to the first drawing.

  “I was thinking we could make small stages and put them around the park. See, this one is Tudor inspired, but we could also make some that represent different settings, like a garden or the inside of a house. We could ask some of the company members to show up and do impromptu rehearsals every once in a while, but anyone could have a chance to be onstage.”

  Arden flipped to another page, losing herself in the concept. She could almost feel the excitement of park goers who might stumble across a spontaneous performance, and tourists who were inspired by watching a play and who wanted to take part in the festival in their own way.

  “We’d make weatherproof boxes and fill them with scripts. Short monologues and scenes that fit the settings. Everyone who walks through the park will have a chance to playact if they want to.”

  Jacob was nodding while she spoke. “I’ll bet some local high school and college drama students would be happy to stop by as well. You’ll turn the entire park into a living theater.” He looked up from the drawing of a minimalist stage in the corner of the Japanese garden. “Your grandfather would be proud, Arden. These drawings are beautiful, and each stage you’ve designed honors the part of the park you’ve chosen for it. See? I knew you had serious talent you were hiding in there.”

  He poked a finger against her breastbone, and Arden frowned. Why was everyone jabbing at her today? “Well, I’m glad you like it.”

  “I love it.” He held up the notebook. “I’ll get permission from the board, but you go ahead and start getting the materials you need. Start with the six you have in here, and be thinking of more.”

  Arden nodded and stepped back as he got in the Mule and drove down the path, waving at Emilie again as he went past her. She came out from behind the tree and walked over to Arden.

  “That went well! I couldn’t hear what he said, but he looked impressed. We’ll have to play a scene together to christen the first stage you make. When do you start?”

  “Right away, I guess,” Arden said. She felt confused. She was excited about the project, and knew it would be a perfect fit for the town, the park, and the festival. But she felt kind of sick at the same time.

  “Walk with me,” Emilie said, linking her arm through Arden’s and heading deeper into the park.

  “You’re demanding today,” Arden said, but she laughed and leaned toward Emilie. Her nearness was calming, and eased some of Arden’s conflicting feelings.

  “You needed it. But now that I forced you to talk to Jacob, I can be the compassionate listener you wanted me to be. You have the same nauseated look I always see on my face in the mirror after I’ve been onstage. Hyped up, but strangely let down at the same time. Why was this so hard for you to do?”

  Arden sighed. Was she glad Emilie had pushed her, or would she have been happier going on as she always had? Maybe a little of both.

  “I told you my grandparents raised me, but I never really told you why. Have you heard of Rose Canton?”

  Emilie made a scoffing laugh. “Of course. Who hasn’t? I saw her in New York once, and it was amazing. She was acting in…Oh. She’s your mom?”

  “She played the part for a brief period. Then she moved on to bigger roles.”

  Emilie came to a halt, pulling Arden around until they were facing each other. Standing so close. Arden clenched her fists to keep from closing the short distance between them and stroking Emilie’s concerned-looking face.

  “And your father? Don’t tell me. Harrison Ford?”

  Arden had to smile. “No. He’s a director, not an actor. He was with the company here when they met. Brent Philips.”

  “Almost as much of a legend,” Emilie said with a shake of her head. She still had her arm entwined with Arden’s, and she rested her other hand on Arden’s shoulder. “When did they leave?”

  Arden stopped the nearly involuntary shrug she always used when talking about her parents—as if to prove that their departure meant nothing to her—because she didn’t want to make Emilie move her hand away. “I was four. According to my grandparents, they were going to take me with them, but Gramps convinced them to let me stay where I’d have a real home and could go to school.” Arden looked over Emilie’s shoulder, focusing on a dogwood behind her that needed pruning. “Of course, I’ve never been certain if that was true or just something they told me to make it seem like my parents still wanted me. However it happened, leaving me here was probably the most unselfish selfish thing they could have done.”

  Emilie stared at her with a sad expression, and Arden marveled again that even though it was easy for Em to become another character, when she was being herself she was somehow completely without artifice.

  “I thought when you talked about actors leaving, you just meant women you’d dated. And you seemed so relieve
d when we decided to just be friends. I didn’t realize…”

  “I didn’t tell you.” Arden finished her sentence. “How would you have known? The other women are reminders, I guess, especially since I seem compelled to reprise my parents’ departure scene every few years or so. You and I are just friends, so this time I won’t get hurt when the season ends.”

  Lie. Arden decided she might have some of her mom’s acting talent stashed away in a gene somewhere because Emilie didn’t call her on the obvious falsehood.

  “But you still seem to love the festival, even though it must be a reminder, too.”

  Arden started walking again, tugging Emilie with her. “My grandparents loved the theater. They shared their passion with me and taught me to appreciate the plays we saw together, and I feel close to them every time I attend a performance. Besides, I owe my existence to the festival. I can’t really hate the thing that brought my parents together.”

  “But you can hate the profession that took them away from you. My profession.”

  Arden bent over to pick up a fallen branch without releasing Emilie’s arm. “Hate is too strong a word. Mistrust might be better. Or maybe I just understand all too well what kind of sacrifices someone might make for an acting career.”

  “And so you don’t want to make the same choices in your own career and make ambition a priority.”

  “Exactly,” Arden said with satisfaction. She was relieved that Emilie finally understood.

  “But I don’t see how it’s the same thing at all. You’re just—”

  Arden stiffened. “Just a gardener? Nothing to compare with an actor?” The words were as chilling as a dip in Ashland Creek.

  “That is not what I meant,” Emilie said sternly, shaking Arden’s arm as if she wanted to jostle the tension out of her. “I meant, you’re just you. Single, without kids. You can decide to take a job designing gardens at the White House, and you wouldn’t be leaving anyone behind. Arden, most people who move because of their jobs don’t leave their children behind. You would never do that—you’d take your family with you.”

  Arden didn’t even have to pause and think. Emilie was right—she’d sacrifice any career aspirations for a child or a partner. She even did so for the child she used to be, even though it wasn’t logical at all.

  “No. I’d stay in one place with my family. It wouldn’t be fair to make anyone move because of me.” She saw that Emilie was about to protest, but she continued. “You know better than I do, Em, how hard it is to give up your life to feed someone else’s dreams.”

  Emilie closed her mouth. “Touché,” she said after a few moments of silence. “I guess we can agree that it’s a bad idea to date an actor, but it’s okay to be one.”

  “Or a landscape designer with her sights set on turning the White House lawn into a mock representation of the Senate. With gnomes.”

  Emilie laughed. “Well, we’re lucky we didn’t get involved with each other, aren’t we?”

  Arden gave in to temptation and brushed her thumb over Emilie’s lips, still reddened from stage lipstick. “Lucky. Yeah, that’s exactly the word I was thinking.”

  They sighed in unison, and Arden smiled. At least she wasn’t the only one who was wanting more, even though more would only cause them pain. She started moving again, with Emilie at her side. She’d take the companionship Em willingly offered, and keep her heart safe.

  Chapter Ten

  Emilie squeezed through a crowd of actors when her name was called and sat in a reclining black leather chair in front of a brightly lit makeup mirror. The seat was narrow, and she was hemmed in on either side by various company members. Fairies and royalty from her play intermingled with Roman guards and senators from Julius Caesar, which was being performed simultaneously in the Angus Bowmer Theatre. Emilie wouldn’t perform there until Richard III. Tonight she’d be on the open Elizabethan stage, and she hoped the rain wouldn’t wash off all the makeup they were about to put on her. She tucked her backpack between her knees and leaned back when directed to.

  She had survived two of her three February premieres so far. She had spent most of the time before Merry Wives lurking near the bathroom in case she had to throw up, but she had managed to get through the night without any major problems. Her performance surely hadn’t inspired critical acclaim, but she had few lines to say and not much stage time. She wasn’t expecting that play to be her ticket to stardom, and she was happy to have the lower-stress show as a counterbalance to the others. Titania and Lady Anne were her most promising roles. They were solid tests of her acting skills, and good performances in both plays should lead to meatier roles in the future. Cassella would have given her a chance to make a huge splash, but she would also have had a chance to be an enormous flop.

  She closed her eyes while Betsy, one of the makeup artists, stretched the bald cap over her tightly bound hair and then applied the foam latex prosthetic that emphasized her cheekbones and sharpened her features to an elf-like delicacy. Contrary to the rumor mill, Gemini hadn’t deserted the company, and Emilie had hovered backstage as understudy while Gem and the cast performed Skywriting to perfection. The reviews had been dazzling, and Emilie wasn’t sure whether she felt more relief because she hadn’t been pushed into the challenging role or more sadness because she hadn’t had the chance to shine. She wanted to believe that she would have been just as good or better in the role, but she couldn’t quite convince herself of the fact. Especially given the feedback she had received during rehearsals.

  Arden had been to both performances, and she would be here tonight as well. Emilie fought to keep her face still while Betsy put on her makeup, but the memory of Arden’s reactions to her performances made her want to smile. She had been effusive in her praise of each word Emilie had spoken as Anne Page and had shrugged off the performance of Skywriting as if it had been nothing more exciting than a grade-school play. Emilie had identified that trait in Arden—she was fiercely loyal to the people and places closest to her. The memory of her grandparents, Lithia Park, her close friends. Emilie was surprised to see evidence of her inclusion on Arden’s roster of important things, and she attributed the warm glow she felt inside to her long hiatus without support and true companionship. And gratitude because Arden hadn’t rejected her offer of friendship and never pushed for anything more.

  Although Emilie had to admit she wouldn’t mind if Arden pushed a little. There were plenty of times these days when Emilie would be willing to say yes.

  She tried to keep her attention on the sensations she was feeling now and not the imagined ones that Arden would surely evoke in her. She stayed in the present and felt her skin being pushed and pulled in different directions as the soft pinkish base coat was smeared over her face and neck, blending the prosthetic until it became part of her. When she opened her eyes and looked in the mirror, she saw herself transformed from mere mortal into a fairy queen. Glittery, pale makeup highlighted the planes of her cheeks and forehead, while tones of blue and purple were expertly added to the shadows on her face.

  “Look up,” ordered Betsy. Emilie did, trying not to blink while one-inch long, bright blue false eyelashes were glued to her lids. As soon as Betsy was finished with her, she was scooted along the assembly line where a cast of her own head sat on a shelf, wearing a disturbingly serene expression, especially considering how claustrophobic she had felt while making the mold.

  She turned away from her doppelganger while one of the wig makers lifted the mass of curls off her decapitated self and stretched it over her scalp. It was surprisingly light and easy to wear, even though the wig was thick with intricately woven hair, pearls, and flowers. The edges were glued down and covered with foundation, and she was ready for wardrobe.

  A thin film of gauzy lilac fabric flowing over a green catsuit was the extent of Emilie’s clothing. She had costume changes, but each was a variation on this outfit. She looked around the room at the rest of the cast. Arden had told Emilie about her first experience with t
his play, and Emilie was sure this evening was going to be bittersweet for her. The costumes and set were as magical and glittery as the ones Arden had described from her childhood, and the play was going to bring back memories of being at the theater when her grandparents were alive. Emilie was torn between feeling grateful that she would help recreate that night for Arden onstage and wishing she was going to be sitting in the audience with her instead, supporting her through whatever emotions arose.

  The actors who would be first to go onstage were slowly filing out of the green room, opening up more space in the cramped room. She knew some of the other actors felt confined in the underground tunnels, with their cinder block walls and low ceilings, but Emilie was comforted by the crush of people and the enclosed space. Upstairs on the open stage—that’s where she would experience the painful jitter of nerves.

  She swallowed with a gulp, pushing down the nausea that came when she realized she had forgotten all her lines. As always. And, as always, they would all come flowing back to her once she stepped on the stage. The words were embedded in muscle memory, not in her mind. But even though this same drama played out in her mind and stomach before each performance, her logical side had no chance of convincing her panicky, frightened self that everything would be okay.

  Emilie flicked her gauze skirt, waving cool air over her suddenly overheated skin. She rested her hip and shoulder against the concrete wall and sent her mind somewhere safe and happy. Out into the park where she knew Arden would be right now.

  *****

  Arden clapped along with the crowd as the troupe of jugglers finished their performance. The Green Show took place on a stage in the park, entertaining visitors with period music, acrobats, and dancers in a constantly changing performance. Arden usually stayed after work to watch even if she wasn’t attending a play, but tonight she hurried toward the Bricks as soon as the last flaming torch had been tossed.