by Gigi Blume
“You can ask me anything you like, but that doesn’t mean I have to answer.”
She threw up her hands. “I can’t believe this.”
“That seems to be a recurring problem with you.”
“I just want to know if there’s anything going on between you and Will Darcy.”
Oh, boy. Wasn’t that the question of the century.
“You just said that would be ridiculously impossible,” I cried.
“It ought to be impossible if he were level headed. But you’re a pretty girl. I’ll give you that. If you were smart, you’d stay away from him.”
“And why is that?”
“Do you know who I am?” she said calmly. “I am a major stockholder in Pemberley Pictures. I’m entitled to know his business.”
“Actually, no. Not his personal life. And not mine either.”
If I didn’t get her out and soon, I’d miss Will’s entrance. I didn’t want to miss Will’s entrance.
“Listen to me, young lady,” she spat. “When I die, my granddaughter will inherit all but five of my shares in the company. I was obliged to leave the rest to my sister’s good-for-nothing son. With only forty-six percent, Anne won’t be the controlling board member as I am now. That is why it’s so imperative she join her stock with his. Through marriage.”
Ummm…
“That’s actually kind of creepy and archaic.”
“What a brassy, impolite girl you are. Is this how you thank me for the hospitality I showed you at the New Year’s Eve ball?”
Right. That was a night I couldn’t soon forget. But not because of her hospitality.
“I can pull the plug on his funding at any time, you know,” she threatened. “Sell the stocks and dissolve the company. Is that what you want?”
I shook my head. “That really has nothing to do with me.”
“Oh, it doesn’t?” she hissed. “Then tell me once and for all. Are you or are you not dating Will Darcy?”
I really didn’t want to satisfy her with an answer, but after a long moment to consider if I would, I decided it would be better to get her out of my dressing room before the show started and so I replied, “No, I’m not.”
She shut her eyes in evident relief and slowly exhaled. “And do you promise you never will?”
“No.”
Her eyes shot open. “What?” She shook her head with apparent disgust and spat, “I am not leaving until you make me that promise.”
“Well, then you are going to be standing here a long time.”
At that moment, the ASM made another pass with a tap on the door.
“Five minutes.”
“Thank you, five.” I shrugged and reached for my parasol. “Gotta go. Five minutes to curtain.”
I brushed past her to leave, but she maneuvered around to block my exit. She was fast for her age, that was something. All those years dancing. I silently noted she reminded me of a mixture of Madame Giry and Professor Umbridge.
“I’m not done talking to you,” she said with a vice grip on my arm.
“Too bad. Because I stopped listening. Now I have to get on stage.”
“You’re not in the opening number,” she snapped.
“And neither are you,” I replied as sweetly as possible. “So, please take your seat in the audience.”
I wrenched free of her grip and mentally gave her the bird as I walked away.
“Enjoy the show.”
Ugh! That infuriating woman. Where did she get off poking her nose in my personal life? How did she get backstage? It wasn't like she was the only VIP in the house. The audience was full of them. Imagine if every single performance artist in the audience felt entitled to wander into the dressing rooms. It would turn out to be a study in narcissism.
I tiptoed to the crossover, where even if that woman had followed me, she’d have to remain silent unless she was hell bent on ruining the show. The audience hushed as the orchestra eased into the first notes of the overture. There was a spark backstage that could only be attributed to the special kind of energy of opening night. Everyone in the cast and crew mouthed the words ‘break a leg.’ Some made a twig-breaking gesture with their hands that meant the same sentiment. Everyone looked fabulous and colorful in the costumes Ari designed. No matter how many shows I’d done, this moment never got old. I could imagine skydivers and Olympians felt a similar rush right before performing death-defying feats. It was electric, and I felt like hugging everybody.
I made my way past the rigging, sliding set pieces, and black-clad crew on headsets to claim a spot in the wings to watch the acrobatic entrance of the pirates. The way they swung from the ropes and transitioned into backflips off the ship and across the stage was like Cirque de Soleil meets La Bohème. A roar of applause thundered throughout the house. But my favorite sight was the Pirate Captain riding in on the mast with a spyglass to his eye. I always had a thing for billowy shirts and tight leather trousers, but Will brought swanky swashbuckling pirate to a whole new level. And those boots! Heaven help me. The man knew how to wear boots.
He was in his element, flying down the mast on a rope, dueling with one of the pirates on the gangplank, and falling off the deck backwards into the linked arms of waiting pirates all while singing Pour Oh Pour the Pirate Sherry.
Everything about the production was amazing. And I was part of it. My tribe. I felt a pang in my heart for Lydia. If only she could be with us as she should have been. She promised to see the show as soon as she could, and we made a promise to her we’d have a place for her backstage anytime she wanted to be close to her friends. The same invitation extended to Nora.
All through the first act, I ached to talk to Will. Things needed to be said, and although I knew we couldn’t very well have a heart-to-heart during a performance, I felt a little off-kilter without so much as a ‘break a leg’ before curtain. When we weren’t on stage, we were at opposite wings. It was actually quite convenient all those times I tried to avoid him. Now it was just annoying. The first contact I had with him all day was during our lift sequence. He caught me in his arms with the same movement and choreography we rehearsed, but his touch was more sincere. Reverent. His eyes reflected the stage lights with a spark as he looked over my features while he sang with a swoony grin, “Here’s a first-rate opportunity to get married with impunity…”
Meanwhile, my baby-making parts were doing an impromptu conga line and in the midst of the little shakers and maracas, I may have forgotten to sing my part. But the moment was over as swiftly as it began when we took our places for I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General on opposite ends of the stage. I was once again separated from Will for the rest of the act.
Intermission found me in the midst of excited cast and crew. Anyone not hugging and squeezing with joy was changing into their act-two costume. I had to change from my beautiful bustle dress into the frompiest nightgown imaginable which guaranteed the opposite effect I hoped to achieve with Will. Maybe I was being pathetic, but if I didn’t find him at intermission for a quick chat, I’d go nuts. Luckily, he was waiting outside my dressing room to do just that.
“Elizabeth,” he bade. “Do you have a moment?”
Did I have a moment? I had the rest of my life. But I played it cool.
“Sure.”
He gently placed his hand at the small of my back and led me to the stairwell. For a second there, it seemed talking wasn’t on his agenda, but he paused at the middle landing and backed away from me to give me space. His expression was soft as he regarded me thoughtfully.
“Thank you for returning my father’s book to me. I thought it was gone forever.”
“How did you know it was me?” I hadn’t written a note, and I didn’t think he saw me go in his dressing room.
“Jane told me,” he said. “She came in with Bing when I found it.”
“Oh.” Even though it wasn’t my fault, I still felt rotten about having the book in my possession. “I’m sorry.”
“Sor
ry? Why? I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“You owe me? More like the total opposite.”
What was retuning a book compared to saving someone’s life?
“How can I ever repay you for what you did for Lydia?”
He knit his brows together with a question in his eyes.
“Even if my friends and I saved up for a year—”
“I don’t want to be repaid,” he said softly. “That’s not why I did it.”
I narrowed my eyes on him intently, trying to figure out this enigma of a man.
“Why would you do that? Risk your life for someone you hardly know?”
He was silent for a long moment as though he was trying to form his words.
“I… felt responsible,” he said tentatively. “Even though Jorge isn’t my brother by blood, I felt I had to atone for whatever led him down this path.”
“His behavior isn’t your fault.”
He shrugged and blinked back what looked like the beginning of tears.
“Maybe not. But that’s not why I went down to Mexico.”
“Then why?”
He parted his lips ever so slightly and looked deep inside my eyes. His voice, barely a whisper, resonated through my being.
“Elizabeth,” he breathed. “Don’t you know?”
Zing! I was a goner. Did he seriously imply he risked his life deep in the bowels of dangertown and paid a king’s ransom to free my dim-witted friend… for me? I wasn’t sure if I wanted to throw my arms around him or run away and hide. Most guys gave girls chocolates or made a lame mix tape. This guy decided to channel his inner James Bond. I didn’t want to be the one to break it to him, but he was setting the bar a little too high for himself. What would his next grand gesture be? Eradicate world hunger? Save the rainforests?
The distinct footfall of boots sounded on the stairwell. It was Stella, and she was dressed and ready in her act-two costume—a proper pirate wench, complete with a belt three inches thick.
“Do either of you two know how Catherine de Bourgh got backstage? I had to have her thrown out.”
Will and I exchanged a wide-eyed glance. That skinny old hag lurked backstage after I dissed her to tell him off. I just knew it.
“Well, anyway,” Stella said, passing us to descend the remaining stairs, “carry on. But don’t dawdle too long.”
She wagged her brows and grinned a little too knowingly before disappearing into the shadows.
“Will,” I said awkwardly. “I’m sorry I pulled your hair.”
Fluency of speech had never been my forte, especially when it came to apologies. I don’t think I was wired for it. But there I was, blunt as ever, blurting what was at the forefront of my thoughts. He seemed to like that about me, though, as a smile spread across his face, reaching his beautiful eyes.
“I deserved it,” he replied. “I was a Jack-as-the-beanstalk.”
I burst in a peel of laughter. “I see what you did there.”
“Well, you’re beginning to rub off on me,” he said with a wink.
“I certainly hope so,” I exclaimed. “I mean…”
I was a blubbering idiot. Why couldn’t I just shut up? Blushing furiously, I noticed Will’s eyes flash over my frame with fascination—and a sprinkling of amusement.
I was saved—sort of—by the A.S.M. calling places, and Will shot me a smile as I rushed to the crossover.
Real smooth, Beth.
I joined my stage sisters in the wings and reflected wistfully on our short conversation.
‘Don’t you know?’ he’d said.
Actually, I preferred people to spell it out for me. I was always rather blunt in my communication and expected the same from others. Will, however, was too cryptic. The note, the little comments he made at the gala, the sideways glances.
I could almost feel his eyes on me during the first two numbers of act two. Not that I was any less obvious. I was rubbernecking big time during his Paradox scene with Bing and Stella. I was on the stage-left wing, which was better for watching the performance unobstructed by set pieces, but unfortunate because Will’s exit was on stage right. When he disappeared behind the legs, I thought he’d gone to the back of the house to prepare for his next entrance. Cole was all about audience interaction and placed actors in the aisles whenever he could. He called it the Lion King entrance. The pirates played up With Cat-like Tread hilariously during rehearsals, and I could only imagine what they’d do once an audience occupied the seats.
As Jane and Bing began their scene, the same one I’d performed with Will at the gala, I drifted as close to the stage as possible without being seen. Using the heavy, black curtains as a shield, I silently listened, remembering the beautiful night I spent in a fairytale. The night I danced one last time with a man I’d thought was a beast, but was really a prince, only to run away to aid a friend trapped by Gaston. Admittedly, I watched too many Disney movies.
I sighed at Jane’s execution of the soft part of the song. She had a quality of voice which floated lightly above reality and yet there was so much feeling beneath the surface. As my lips silently sang along, I perceived a white billowy shirt emerge from the shadows. Will stood on the opposite side of the stage from me, mirroring my position behind one of the legs, and watching the movement of my mouth. I observed a deep breath fill his chest (which was partially exposed, by the way), and my lips curled in response, still singing along. And then we locked eyes with knowledge of each other's thoughts. He was remembering the gala, too—the whole of his features betraying his feelings.
When Bing took over on the second verse, Will’s lips moved with the lyrics…
He loves thee, he is here…
…and his gaze never fell from mine. He wasn’t being cryptic anymore. This was as straightforward as it got. I understood now what he meant in his note.
Something else you left behind.
That something else was him.
He was something else.
Oh, yes, I thought to myself. He certainly was.
I was hyper-aware of every quickening sensation—the tingling in my fingers, the lightheaded dizziness, the relentless hammering of my heart. I parted my lips, focusing on him, beaming the sentiment right back at him and sang along.
Fa la la la la la.
The final notes sung in duet hung in harmony between us, suspended for a long moment once the applause died down. It was the part where the characters kissed, and I could see the memory play on his own lips as he curled his mouth into a smile meant only for me.
Kitty, meanwhile, was back in business, and she was doing the happy dance.
I had to go to him. Perhaps if I used the crossover quickly enough, I could reach him before he had to go. He nodded as if to say, ‘Yes, let’s meet in the middle and totally make out backstage for five seconds.’ But an arm reached to him from behind, prompting him to move into places so he wouldn’t miss his cue. ‘Later,’ his eyes communicated. And he was gone.
“Beth.” A breath of a voice whispered behind me. “Come here.”
Holly motioned furiously for me to join her and the rest of the Stanley Sisters. They were all huddled behind the metal stairs leading to the catwalks. It was a vision of long, white night dresses and mop caps against the darkness. Only a beam of a blue stage light spilled into the corners where they stood, making them appear like a frolicking band of ghostly figures.
As I joined them, I was greeted by hugs and smiles, even from the girls I didn’t get to know as well as others. Even from Caroline and Mariah.
“I want you to know,” said Holly in hushed tones, “that Lydia felt so sad she couldn’t be here tonight to see us perform.”
A general wave of disappointed sighs ensued, and a few nods of understanding were communicated. She went on.
“But she promises to come as soon as she’s well enough to laugh without too much pain.”
A few of the girls whispered encouraging words.
“We’ll wait for her to get better.”<
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“Tonight is for Lydia.”
“She’s here in spirit.”
Holly nodded. “Yes, she is. That’s why she wanted to make sure I give you these.”
She dipped her hand in a paper gift bag and pulled out small satchels tied with a satin ribbon. Attached to the ribbons were little tags, which Caroline helped Holly read as she passed them out to each of the girls.
“I knew we wouldn’t see much of Jane backstage, so I made sure she got hers before curtain.”
As she handed me the small gift, she said, “Cole gave us permission to use these in the final number.”
I looked at the little tag attached to the ribbon and smiled.
To, Edith. Love, Lettuce.
She must have made these before the boat trip. Funny, I never knew what she did in her free time except party. Now I knew she was crafty, too.
Pulling the string, the fabric opened up into a beautiful, embroidered handkerchief with a single piece of saltwater taffy inside. It was decorated with a Guipure lace trim and in one corner were the initials E.S. for Edith Stanley.
“Cole told the pirates and police to expect us to drop them in the final song,” she said.
Caroline stuffed her handkerchief down her bodice and grinned. “Denny knows where to find mine.”
Denny?
My eyes shot to Holly for confirmation, and she nodded emphatically. That’s right. Caroline and Denny.
I didn’t see that coming.
Glancing back to the action on stage, I caught a glimpse at Denny tiptoeing behind General Stanley in Sighing Softly to the River. His silly face making comical contortions behind heavily applied guy-liner, that false gold tooth he spiritedly wore, and his tall, lanky figure were the most bizarre combination of nerdy and dashing imaginable. I could see the appeal.
Jane appeared to my left and gave me a side hug. The smile between us spoke volumes in its own silence. These are the days, my friend. Let’s do this.
I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her in for a squeeze. Our mop-capped heads tapped in a brief toasting to our friendship as if to say we would be BFFs forever. And if that didn’t mean she wanted me for her maid of honor, I was prepared to get all Bridesmaids Best-Friend-Speech on her. Because, yeah—that’s what friends are for.