by Karis Walsh
Chapter Eleven
Three days later, Arden found herself in the courtyard outside the Thomas Theatre, waiting for Emilie. She was early, impatient to see Emilie again even though she thought it might be best to get some distance from her. Every time she made up her mind to push past the boundary of playful flirtation they had set when they first became friends, she learned something more about Emilie. Something that made her remember how important this season was for her, both as an actor and as an individual. She could read Emilie’s signals well enough to recognize that the attraction between them wasn’t one-sided, but she could also read Emilie’s hesitation and her determination to regain control over her life.
Arden flipped to a new page in the unlined journal she had bought at the gift shop after watching Emilie’s play. She had filled several pages with drawings for her stages, as well as sketched reproductions of the set for A Midsummer Night’s Dream, while she had waited for Emilie on the Bricks that night. She carried it with her everywhere now and had more ideas for the park’s impromptu stages than she would be able to use. Still, the process of imagining a concept and putting it on paper was enlightening—she was using her mind in new ways, but at the same time, it felt as if she was doing what she had been born to do. She felt connected to her plants and gardens in Lithia Park, but somehow the pencil lead and paper were more natural for her to wield.
Unfortunately, when she spent more of her time drawing Emilie as Titania—the Titania she had first met in the woods—she lost sight of her resolve to put more space between them. After their evening at the ice cream parlor, Arden had decided she needed to step back and protect both herself and Emilie from the connection growing between them. So when Emilie had called yesterday and asked her to come on the backstage tour with her, of course Arden had said yes immediately. And of course she had gotten here a half hour early, just to have extra time to sketch Emilie and think about Emilie and want Emilie…
She was relieved when Em actually walked across the courtyard toward her, wearing the smile she always seemed to have when she first spotted Arden and that made Arden’s heart beat faster than a sprinter’s during a race. Arden put away her journal and her fantasies about Emilie and stood. When Em got close, Arden thought she saw the same hesitation in her expression, the same question about how they should greet each other. Hug? Kiss on the cheek? Hearty handshake? They both settled on a hello accompanied by a goofy grin.
“I’m glad to see you,” Arden admitted, laughing a little at the feeling of having a schoolgirl crush. “Thanks for inviting me.”
Emilie bumped Arden with her shoulder as they walked toward the glass door entrance to the theater. “I thought you might say no. I’m sure you’ve been on this tour hundreds of times with all your old girlfriends.”
“I’ve taken the backstage tour a few times, but I never went with anyone I was dating.” Arden had usually avoided seeing her dates in the context of the festival. Once she had started seeing someone, she never went to see her perform unless specifically asked to—which was rare, since the women she had dated seemed happy to keep her separate from their work lives as well. When she had gone out with them, it was always to the most non-festival-related places she could find in this Shakespeare-mad town.
Emilie stopped with the door halfway open. “Why not?”
Arden shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned, although she was struggling with the same question. “I guess seeing one of them giving a tour or acting or anything connected to the festival would only make it more obvious that they were here short-term. I prefer to forget about the eventual ends of relationships while I’m in them.”
“But you’re here with me. Should I assume that means you don’t care about me leaving?”
Arden raised her hand and cupped Emilie’s chin, making sure they kept eye contact because she wanted Emilie to truly understand how seriously she meant what she was saying, even though she kept her tone light and had what she hoped was a playful smile on her face.
“Exactly the opposite, Em. You’re going to break my heart when you go.”
“I don’t want to,” Emilie said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“And I would never want to keep you from moving on.” Arden shrugged. She pulled her hand back slowly, letting her fingers shiver along Emilie’s jawline. “That’s life in a theater town. Always changing.”
Emilie finally opened the door all the way, and they walked into the elegant foyer where other members of the tour group were already milling around. A group of teens was being herded from photo to photo by an enthusiastic teacher, and several senior couples were clustered together and poring over a map of Ashland. A family with two small children stood on their own near the door.
Emilie and Arden wandered over to the wall of pictures while they waited for Geoffrey to come start the tour. Emilie was here as an observer, and she’d be starting tours of her own in a week or so. More stress to add to her life. She didn’t need Arden acting moony over her right now, and Arden made a conscious effort to return to their normal lighthearted banter.
“Gemini,” Arden commented as they paused by one of the stills from Skywriting. “That can’t be her real name.”
“Maybe she’s actually a twin. One body, two egos.” Emilie slapped her hand over her mouth. “Shh,” she hissed from behind her fingers. “I shouldn’t say anything bad about other company members.”
Arden glanced over each shoulder as if she was checking for spies. “I don’t think anyone overheard you,” she whispered. “I’m guessing she’s a bit of a diva?”
“Unfortunately, she earns the right to be a prima donna. She’s very talented.”
Arden had to agree. Gemini had been amazing in her performance as Cassella, and the play had been one of the most emotionally moving ones Arden had ever seen at the festival.
“Ugh, I can see it all over your face,” Emilie said with a scowl. “You’re thinking about how wonderful she was in that damned play.”
Arden trotted after Emilie as she stalked over to the next photo. “I was thinking about how wonderful the damned play was. And how much better it would have been if only the understudy had been onstage.”
Emilie crossed her arms over her chest and looked directly at Arden. “Tell me the truth. Do you really think I could play the part as well as she does? Complete honesty.”
Those blue eyes demanded nothing less, and Arden couldn’t lie to her. She chose her words carefully, though. “The part requires an actor who is willing to let go completely onstage. To be vulnerable and weak and without an ounce of self-consciousness. If you played the part like you played Titania the first day we met, then I believe you would be even better than Gemini was.”
“And if I played Cassella as well as I played Titania at the premiere?” Emilie waved her hand. “No, don’t say it. You already answered the question in a roundabout way. I agree, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to bring the same kind of performance to the stage as I do when we’re alone in the park. Luckily, I don’t have to worry about it this time.”
Arden worried that Emilie would sink into the low place, where she seemed to wrestle with self-doubt, but she smiled brightly at Arden instead.
“Don’t look so nervous, Arden. You’re being honest, and you help me see things more objectively. Where I need to improve, and the level at which I’m capable of performing right now. C’mon, Geoffrey’s about to start.”
Arden breathed a sigh of relief when Emilie took her hand and pulled her over to the gathered tour group. She half listened to the introduction she had heard many times, in various versions, since she was a child. She was more focused on Emilie’s hand in hers, the way it was calm and steady while Arden’s was always flickering with movement. Ready to stroke the soft skin between Em’s thumb and forefinger, or to link their fingers tightly together. Instead, she opted for a gentle squeeze before they both let go when Geoffrey started leading the group through the foyer.
They filed into t
he theater and sat a little ways apart from the main tour group sitting in a small cluster around Geoffrey, who perched on the edge of the stage. The teal upholstery on the seats was the only splash of color in the room, since almost everything else in the theater was painted black, and the set for King Lear was dark and spare. Arden hadn’t been to see the tragedy yet, but she had a ticket for next week’s performance. She couldn’t recall a season when she hadn’t seen every play except for the ones in which someone she was dating was performing in a starring role. Now she knew she’d be disappointed by any play that didn’t have Emilie in it.
Arden listened to the tour spiel for a few minutes, while Geoffrey explained how the company functioned and told several funny stories about mishaps he’d experienced during his three-year run in Ashland. When he started asking people in the group where they were from and what had brought them to the festival, Arden leaned closer to Emilie and whispered her question.
“Is Geoffrey Irish? I don’t remember him having an accent when you introduced us last week.”
Emilie had her elbow on the armrest between them, and when Arden moved closer to her, their shoulders and knees touched. Arden barely registered Emilie’s answer to her question.
“He’s from Minneapolis. I’ve heard him give three tours now, and he changes his accent every time.”
“Are you planning to do the same thing?”
“I might pretend to be a wee lassie from Scotland. Or maybe I can convince everyone I’m from Mexico, or France, or Germany.”
Arden covered her mouth to hide a burst of laughter at Emilie’s words. Her accents were spot-on, but she switched them around so they didn’t match the country she was naming at the time. Arden knew she should return her attention to the tour, but she liked hearing Em’s voice and feeling the exhale of breath against her skin when Emilie tilted her head toward her.
“What’s it like to act on a stage like this?” she asked, searching for a topic to prolong their intimate conversation.
Emilie shrugged, creating an arousing sense of friction where their arms touched. “Actually, I never have. I’ve only rehearsed in here. It’s…” She paused, as if searching for the right words to describe what she felt. “It’s quieter, in a way. Like I’m talking to individuals and not projecting to an audience. And more mobile. We have to choreograph the scenes, not just set marks as guidelines, since we need to make sure we’re not standing with our backs to a quarter of the audience for very long.”
Arden looked at the stage again, with a new perspective. For King Lear, the back portion of the set was curtained off, but when she had been at the performance of Skywriting, there had been seats on all four sides. Comparing her memory of the other play with what she saw in front of her, she could see the way the set designer had cleared sightlines, not only making the actors visible for every spectator, but making the stage workable for the performers as well.
Arden was caught in the wonder of the way set, script, audience, and actors were interconnected, and she didn’t realize the tour was leaving the theater until Emilie pulled on her sleeve. The weather had turned drizzly outside, and they hurried across the street and into the Bowmer Theatre. The Elizabethan stage was almost gaudy, with its beams and different levels, while the Thomas cleared away everything that might get between the play and the audience. The Bowmer was somewhere in between. Simple and elegant and traditional. They sat in comfortable gray seats in the middle of the theater, and Arden let Geoffrey’s words fade into the background while she watched the stagehands who were working on the set for Julius Caesar.
She pulled out her notebook and quickly sketched the set in front of her, as well as the one she had just seen in the Thomas Theatre, wanting to get the details in place before they had to move on to their next tour stop. She’d think more about the dynamics of set creation later, when she had time to go over her drawings and try to interpret the intentions of the directors and set designers. She felt Emilie watching over her shoulder, but she didn’t stop sketching until the group rose and followed Geoffrey. Arden was moving with them, but Emilie grabbed her forearm and tugged her down the stairs and toward the stage.
“Shouldn’t we go with them?” Arden asked, gesturing toward the door that was closing behind the group.
“We’ll catch up.” Emilie raised her voice and called to one of the people on the stage. “Hi, Gwen. Mind if we come up?”
A woman in her early fifties waved them forward. She was wearing a long-sleeved black shirt and black jeans, as if conditioned to fade into the background onstage, and she had a short ponytail of graying hair and a pair of large red glasses. “Sure, Emilie. Just mind those planks.”
Emilie climbed the short flight of steps, keeping hold of Arden’s arm as if she might bolt, but Arden wasn’t about to go anywhere but onto the stage. “Arden, this is Gwendolyn Bryson. She’s the head set designer for the festival. Gwen, Arden works in Lithia Park. She’s interested in set design, and she’s been working on some stages for the park, where actors and tourists can do impromptu performances.”
“Um…” Arden was at a loss for words, unable to get past Em’s assertion that she was interested in set design. Was she? She had noticed sets before, of course, but had never dissected their form and function the way she was doing today. Emilie had sparked something in her, though, when she had brought her rendition of Titania into the woods. “Nice to meet you,” she finally said, shaking Gwen’s hand. “I’m not doing anything on this scale in the park. Just a few platforms, to make the festival accessible in a small way.”
“Pssht. Not as small a scale as you think, Arden,” Emilie said, nudging her arm. “Quite a few of the company members are already making plans to get involved as soon as the platforms are built. Geoffrey and I have already picked out a scene from Much Ado About Nothing.”
“What an interesting concept,” Gwen said, tapping a finger against her mouth. “Will the stages only be open to actors?”
“No, I want the public to take part, too, and get a taste of what it would be like to be an actor. We’ll have laminated scripts at each stage, with short scenes from Shakespeare’s plays, and a box of simple props. So people can spontaneously take part if they feel inspired.”
Emilie gave Arden a quick smile, as if she was thinking about her spontaneous performance, too. The performance that had brought them together.
Gwen nodded, giving Arden the impression that she was taking her project as seriously as if she was developing a concept for the staging of a major play. “I love it. I’ll come by the park soon, to check out these stages of yours.”
“She’s there almost every day,” Emilie said. “You have to see the plans she’s made for them—they’re going to be works of art. But we should catch up to the tour now. See you soon, Gwen.”
Arden barely had time to say good-bye, let alone take the time to roll her eyes at Emilie’s comment about her platforms being anything with artistic merit, before Emilie had grabbed her hand and was pulling her off the stage and out the door the tour group had taken. They jogged through the empty foyer and through a door leading backstage.
Arden had done the tour enough times to know which staircase led to the catacombs beneath the stages, but she let Emilie guide her along until they reached the cinder block tunnels. Green stenciled markings pointed the way to different areas of the two stages accessed by these underground routes, and Arden imagined Emilie down here, in full stage makeup and costume, as she prepared to perform.
Arden stopped suddenly. Emilie continued forward for several steps, without realizing Arden wasn’t moving with her anymore, but bounced to a halt when she got to the end of Arden’s reach. Arden gave a swift tug, and Emilie was in her arms.
She stood silently, giving herself the permission she often denied and studying every detail of Emilie’s face. Those expressive blue eyes that were able to convey a range of emotions from innocence to sultriness when she was acting, and that now stared at Arden with a widening look of surp
rise and the slight darkening of what Arden hoped was arousal. Those beautiful lips, often curved either in a playful smile or in a frown of concern, and rarely set in a neutral expression.
Right now, Emilie’s mouth was slightly open. She was a little out of breath from their run through the corridors. Arden raised her free hand and gently stroked Emilie’s lips with her fingertips. Then the delicate curve of her cheekbone, then the arc of her eyebrow. She had a soft beauty about her, made irresistible because Arden understood the strength and determination she had inside.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice nearly inaudible.
“For what?” Emilie asked in the same near-silent tone.
Arden shrugged. How could she explain how Emilie’s belief in her—in her abilities and her potential—somehow made Arden believe things about herself she’d never dreamed of before. Or how she wanted to repay the favor and erase all Emilie’s self-doubt and help her see how truly wonderful and talented she was. Arden didn’t have the words to express what she was feeling, and she had no choice but to show Emilie what she meant.
Arden’s relationships had always sparked high. Passion, in her experience, was laced with anger, or fear, or drama. Never with peace. But the moment her lips touched Emilie’s, she felt a wave of emotions run through her that was nothing like she’d experienced before. A sense of connecting and communicating. Coming home. And wanting, more than she had thought possible.
The sensation of burying her fingers in Emilie’s hair and the gentle roughness of Emilie’s tongue moving across her lower lip overrode any concerns Arden had been feeling. Thoughts faded as Arden’s nerve endings took over, pulsing in rhythm with her rapid heartbeat every place where Emilie’s body met hers, from thigh to hip to breasts. Warmth and strength seeped into her from Emilie, making her feel invincible, able to handle what was happening between them now, and what would happen later.
Arden blindly reached for Emilie’s hand where it rested on her hip and took it in her own, lacing their fingers together and gripping her tightly, anchoring them together. She would need to protect herself, eventually. Just because her feelings for Emilie were so different—so much deeper—than anything she had felt for past lovers didn’t mean the end of their relationship would be any different. Emilie was still an actor, with dreams she’d follow wherever they took her. She’d still walk away from Ashland, leaving Arden alone in her park. The only real change would be the way Arden would feel. Broken, but changed for the better, too.