“I know. I know,” Buddy shouted. “You’re Landslider. You’re the one William hits in the eye with the flower.”
Even Clarice came over to the table and chatted with Aunt Fiona and the kids, and though she didn’t actually talk to William, she didn’t glare at him as much as usual. And when he said hi, she even went, “Hi” back in a fairly polite tone of voice. But after she left, Jancy scooted her chair closer to William, and when everyone else was busy talking to Trixie and Buddy, she whispered, “She’s mad at you, isn’t she? Clarice is mad at you.”
William grinned. “Oh really?” he asked. “How did you guess?”
Jancy frowned thoughtfully. “Why is she? What did you do?”
William shook his head. “Who knows?” he told Jancy. “I sure don’t. I’d ask her if she’d talk to me.”
Jancy’s nod was quick and firm. “I’ll find out.”
William only shrugged, but what he was thinking was, Good luck.
It wasn’t until the crowd had pretty much thinned out that William and Aunt Fiona had time to make some plans for the rest of the day. After breakfast they would all spend some time in downtown Mannsville and then go for a swim in the college’s swimming pool. That caused a lot of enthusiasm, because there wasn’t anywhere to swim in Gold Beach, except the Pacific Ocean. And then Trixie and Buddy got into an argument about whether a swimming pool was better than an ocean.
Trixie preferred swimming pools because all that sand was so messy, but Buddy said messy didn’t matter. “Oceans are bigger, and big is what matters.” The argument went on until William interrupted everybody to remind them that when the day was over, “Then comes closing night, and my very last performance as Puck.”
Everyone at the table turned to look at him, and Jancy said what all of them must have been thinking. “Will you be sad?” she asked. “Will you be sorry it’s over?”
He thought for a moment before he said, “I guess I will. Sort of.” He grinned at Buddy. “Except for the ears. I won’t miss those ears.”
“Why?” Trixie wanted to know. “I like the way those ears look.” She cocked her head and made pointed ears out of her hands.
“Yeah. I guess they look pretty Puckish,” he said. “But the tape that holds them on gets tangled up in my hair, and after a while it starts to hurt.” He shrugged and grinned. “I’ll bet fairy wings would get uncomfortable too, if you wore them long enough.”
Getting back to making plans for the day, William let the kids know they didn’t have to sit through the play again if they didn’t want to. “If you’ve had all the Shakespeare you can take for now, we could—”
“Could what?” Buddy demanded.
“Well, I don’t know,” William said. “Maybe Jancy could …” He started to say “babysit,” and decided against it. “Maybe Jancy could stay at the motel with you and just Aunt Fiona could go to the play again, or—”
“But I want to go again. I really, really want to, William,” Jancy said.
“So, how about it? Could you see the play one more time?” Aunt Fiona asked, and Trixie and Buddy agreed, if not too enthusiastically.
“Okay, okay. If I can go see the fairies again afterward,” Trixie finally said.
So then William had to tell her that she couldn’t, because there was to be a closing-night party for just the cast and crew right after the final curtain. “It’s kind of a Mannsville tradition, and no one is invited except the people in the play,” William told her. “It’s a strict rule on closing night. And we’re not supposed to have any dressing room visitors tonight either, so the cast can get together in the greenroom right after the final curtain. Okay?” Trixie pouted for a while but she finally said okay.
So that was the way they left it. The Hardison family would all sit—or sleep—through A Midsummer Night’s Dream one more time, and then Aunt Fiona would take them back to the motel so William would be free to go to the closing-night party. And the next morning, just like the day before, they’d meet William at the cafeteria. Then they’d stop by Edwin Hall just long enough to pick up his suitcase before they started off on the long trip back to Gold Beach.
That was the plan, anyway, and everything seemed to be going along smoothly, right through until the final curtain. A curtain with even more applause and standing ovations than usual. And William’s response, his bows and kisses thrown to the audience, seemed different too, because even as he bowed and waved, he was suddenly very much aware that his life as Robin Goodfellow was about to end. To end completely, as was his existence as an actor who was praised and applauded night after night, and followed around by people wanting to have him autograph their programs.
And so, what would come next? That wasn’t a question he’d given much thought to until that night. Always before he’d taken all those curtain calls still feeling like the sassy, quick-witted servant of King Oberon. There just hadn’t been any time to worry about what the future would hold for William “ex-Baggett” Hardison. But that night, as the final curtain came down, and even while the cheers and clapping were still going on, he was suddenly very much aware that this was the end.
By the time he was finally able to head for his dressing room, he was struggling with a throat-tightening, eye-flooding surge of emotions. He’d only meant to stop off in his dressing room long enough to get rid of his uncomfortable ears. But once there he was glad for the chance to wipe his eyes and get control of himself before he headed for the greenroom.
So, taking his time, he worked slowly and deliberately as he pulled at the painfully sticky tape. He was still wincing from detaching the second ear, when something happened that took his mind completely off sad endings, and painful elf ears as well.
It began with some hurried footsteps just outside his dressing room door, an unexpected sound that caused him to turn away from the mirror in time to see the door open and Buddy stomp into the room.
“Buddy!” William yelped impatiently. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you hear me say I have to go to a party that’s only for people in the play? Where’s Aunt Fiona? You’re supposed to go back to the motel with—”
He hadn’t even finished his sentence when Buddy shook his head fiercely and squealed, “I know. I know that. I was going to, but then I saw them. I saw some Baggetts.”
“You saw what?”
“Baggetts. Two of them.”
William didn’t believe it. He desperately didn’t want to believe it. “Where?” He gasped. “Where did you see them? Buddy, you couldn’t have seen Baggetts.”
Buddy nodded hard. “I did too. I did too see them.”
“Did Aunt Fiona and Jancy see them?”
Buddy shook his head. “I don’t think so. Aunt Fiona and Jancy and Trixie were all in the ladies’ baffroom. I saw them all by myself. I saw Rudy, and Gary, too. They didn’t see me, I think, maybe. So I ran real fast to tell you.”
Even as a sudden memory of last night’s scary premonition pushed its way into his mind, William went on trying to convince himself it couldn’t be true. What would Baggetts be doing so far away from Crownfield, and at a play by William Shakespeare? It just wasn’t possible. “Are you sure that’s who you saw? You haven’t seen them for more than a year. They must have changed since then.”
“They did.” Buddy nodded. “They got bigger. But they’re still Baggetts. Both of them.”
William shook his head, and went on shaking it, telling himself that Buddy must have been mistaken, but at the same time, being more and more afraid he hadn’t. And if Buddy was right, what should he, William, do about it? The first thing that came to mind was that he had to get Buddy safely back to Aunt Fiona.
“Does Aunt Fiona know where you are?” he asked.
Buddy shook his head. “No. I told you. She was still in the ladies’ baffroom. I ran too fast to wait and tell her.”
William had been afraid of that. And by now she was probably really worried about where he’d gotten to. “Well, come on,” he told Buddy. “The first
thing we have to do is take you back to—”
But at that very moment the dressing room door opened again and two big men pushed their way into the room. Like Buddy said, they were even bigger, but they were Rudy and Gary Baggett, all right. No doubt about that.
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They were grinning. Rudy’s big whiskery chin and Gary’s lumpy face were both stretched into what was probably supposed to look like smiles as they tried to shove all four of their big shoulders through the doorway at the same time. Once inside, they both turned and slammed the door shut behind them. Slammed it hard. Then for a minute they just stood there, grinning at William as he backed away across the dressing room.
It was Rudy who spoke first. “Well, well, well,” he said. “It’s him all right. Jus’ like we heard. Our skinny little brother making himself famous by prancin’ around in front of hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of people. I cain’t hardly believe it, Gary. Can you?”
Gary shook his head. “No siree,” he said. “Cain’t hardly. But it’s him all right, underneath all that face paint. We seen it with our own eyes, just like Pa told us we had to, just to be sure, before we done anything about it. Pa heard about it and even saw it in the papers, but he just couldn’t believe it really was our own little Willy.”
“Right you are,” Rudy said. “And don’t think we ain’t proud of you. Getting to be a famous person at your age.” He threw back his head and laughed loudly. “And we feel pretty lucky, don’t we, Gary? Not everybody gets to have a rich and famous person for a little brother. Ain’t that right, Gary?”
It wasn’t until then, backed up against the dressing room mirror, that William began to understand why a couple of Baggetts had spent the evening watching Shakespeare. To understand, and fear the worst. Catching his breath and swallowing hard, he said, “Now, wait a minute. Just a minute. I’m not your brother. Not any longer. I’m a legal Hardison now. All four of us are. And I’m—”
Gary came closer, with Rudy right behind him. “That don’t mean nothing, and you know it.” Gary’s voice was turning into a typical Baggetty growl. “It’s blood that counts, and by blood you’re a Baggett and you always will be.”
Rudy grabbed Gary’s shoulder and pulled him back. “Now, hold on there, Bub,” he said to Gary. “We don’t want to cause no trouble or hurt nobody. Not unless we have to, that is.” As he turned back to William, his phony smile was changing into a sad-eyed plea. “It’s just that Pa’s been real bad lately, his bad back and all. He’s been out of work mostly all last year. All of us have been. And his relief money got cut a lot since the four of you skipped out on us. What Pa’s been thinking is that you might see fit to help out a little with some of this playactin’ gold mine you fell into. I mean, seeing as how we’re still your rightful kin and always will be.”
His voice went on and on, but William didn’t have to hear any more to know what was happening and why. They had come to ask for, to demand, money. A lot of it. And he also knew that, given what they’d read in the papers and maybe even heard on the radio about what a hit he had been, they’d never believe him when he told them he hadn’t made any money. They’d never believe him, but it was the truth, and he would try to tell them so. He’d see if he could make them understand, but before he started, he had to think of some way to get Buddy out of the room. To be sure they wouldn’t have a chance to take it out on Buddy, if they didn’t believe him. Backed up against the mirror, William looked around quickly—and then looked again more carefully. No Buddy, anywhere.
Where could he have gone? Not under the makeup counter or behind the chair. There were no other shelves or cupboards big enough to hide a five-year-old as substantial as Buddy. But then William realized what must have happened. The door that Rudy had slammed so hard was now not quite shut. It looked as if Buddy must have scooted behind them when they were walking across the room, and while they were yelling he must have quietly opened the door and slipped out.
Good for you, Buddy, William was thinking, when he felt Rudy’s big hand on his shoulder and stopped thinking of anything except how he could make the two of them believe the truth. The truth that except for a little change in his pocket, he had no money at all.
“Listen. Please listen,” he began. “Here at Mannsville, beginning actors who aren’t members of Actors’ Equity or anything don’t get paid except just their room and board. See, when an amateur auditions and gets a role here, it’s considered just a part of their training and they don’t get any real pay.” He could tell his voice was shaky and unconvincing, but he kept trying. “The thing is, I don’t have any money at all.”
One of Rudy’s big hands was moving from William’s shoulder up to his throat. “Don’t give me that, kid,” he said. “We saw how you got more cheerin’ and clappin’ than any of them other dudes. Don’t try to tell me the big shots who run this place don’t know what side their bread’s buttered on. They pay crowd-pleasers like you a bundle. They got to, or some other show-business guy comes along and hires their big star away, and pays ’em even more. That’s what Pa says, and you know it’s the truth, and don’t think for a minute that we’re too dumb to figure it out.” His fingers tightened. “Now where’s our part?”
It went on and on for what seemed like forever, with William trying to pull Rudy’s fingers off his throat, while both of them yelled at him. First one and then the other, or sometimes both of them at once, saying things like, “Big Ed says just a couple of hundred bucks would do, at least for right now. Just enough to help us pay a few bills.” And then, “Our old man knew you’d try to lie to us, like saying you ain’t got paid yet, or some such baloney. He warned us about believing any of your smart-mouth lies. He says nobody gets their faces and names in all those newspapers unless he got bushels of money already.”
William was still struggling, trying to talk, trying to make them believe the truth. But Rudy’s big fingers were still on his throat when the dressing room door opened again, with a loud bang. Rudy’s grip tightened as he whirled around, dragging William with him. Before his mind went blank, William heard a deep voice shouting, “Okay. What is this? What’s going on here?” And another voice, high-pitched and squeaky, saying, “Stop. Stop that. Make them stop, Sergeant.”
And then William was thrown against the wall like a rag doll, and everything went dark and blank. But it couldn’t have been much more than a few seconds later that he began to be aware that he was sitting on a chair with Sergeant Blanding bending over him, and no Baggetts anywhere in sight. Groggy as he was, he managed to make sure of that.
“You all right, kid?” The sergeant was holding him upright and patting his cheek. “How you doing, boy? How about a little sip of water? Get that glass, Buddy. Over there on the table.”
Still feeling too limp to turn his head, William only rolled his eyes to watch Buddy scoot off to get the glass, carefully fill it at the tap, trot back, trip—and spill most of it in William’s lap. That did it. Suddenly William Hardison was fully conscious and feeling pretty much back to normal, except for being a little bit soggy. He was even grinning a little as he told the policeman where to find a towel.
And not much later Sergeant Blanding saw William to the door of the greenroom, before he headed off to find Aunt Fiona, carrying Buddy on his shoulders. But before he left he told William, “I’ll be back to get you in one hour. No later.” He motioned toward the door of the greenroom, where the cast party was already going full blast. “That bunch will probably be carryin’ on till daybreak, but it seems to me you’ve had about all the excitement you need for one evening, young man.”
So William joined the fun at the good-bye party, still wearing his slightly damp tunic and telling everyone who asked, and almost believing it himself, that the only reason he’d been late was because he’d had a hard time getting his ears untangled.
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So what happened then?” Jancy said. “Why didn’t the sergeant arrest them and pu
t them in jail?”
“I don’t know if he could have caught up with them by the time he’d finished finding out if I was still alive,” William answered. “I wasn’t noticing much at the time, but afterward, Buddy told me that before Sergeant Blanding picked me up off the floor, he grabbed both of those Baggetts by the backs of their necks and threw them out the door, and they didn’t even try to come back.”
William and Jancy’s conversation was taking place on the front steps of the cafeteria, while Aunt Fiona and Trixie were still at the table watching Buddy finish his big breakfast and talking to all the people who came over to say good-bye.
“By the time he made sure I was still alive,” William went on, “those Baggetts were long gone. He told me he was going to go looking for them as soon as he got Buddy back to Aunt Fiona, but I told him not to bother.”
“Why?” Jancy demanded, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “Why on earth did you tell him that? He should have thrown them in jail. Both of them.”
“Shh,” William warned her as some people came out of the door. It turned out to be Tom and Virginia, and they stopped long enough to tell William good-bye again, and ask him to keep in touch. “I’ll bet we’ll be reading your name in neon before too long,” Tom said. “I’m counting on it.”
And William laughed and said, “Great. But don’t hold your breath.”
They both took the time to write down their addresses, and have William give them his Gold Beach one, while Jancy squirmed and poked William and whispered for him to hurry. But as soon as they left Jancy asked again, “Why on earth didn’t you want the sergeant to arrest those thugs?”
William said he had to think about that for a minute, but down underneath he really knew why. If Sergeant Blanding had arrested the two Baggetts, there would have been a big fuss, and stuff in the papers and everything. And all the people he’d met at Mannsville would have had to know how he, William, was related to the two goons who had tried to rob him. And all sorts of other embarrassing Baggetty stuff would have had to come out.
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