“At least our bait worked,” said Maggie.
“But we’ll have to be more clever next time.” Nick was serious again. “If I’d realized where that door went, I wouldn’t have chased him. Her. Whatever. But now I’ve given the game away.”
“Didn’t the Blithe Spirit people see anyone?” asked Rob.
“Sort of. I found their stage manager afterward and apologized. Just told him I was new here and that I’d followed someone else through. He asked around, but the only person who saw anything was the girl who helps the actress get into the flying harness. She was standing right under the two catwalks, and said she had the impression that someone on the lower one went out just after I appeared at the upper door. She was the one who told me to get it closed.”
“That’s not a bad way to hide,” said Lisette. “Dodge out the upper door, take the ladder down to the costume room floor, and then casually join the mob in the stairwell coming back up to the rehearsal. No one would see you in the hall with the gift box.”
“Have we learned anything useful?” asked Rob. “I guess we know this person is familiar with the theatre.”
“That eliminates me,” said Nick wryly.
“Yeah. It’s a certain kind of humor, too,” Rob said. “Bugs on the face. Making someone act drunk. Magazine satires. It’s crude, opportunistic.”
“Yeah.” Nick nodded. “Not elevated humor. Like you and me setting up poor old Harmon.”
Rob gave him a reproachful look. “That was in our misspent youth. Two whole years ago.”
“In the full bloom of maturity, you merely set up French restaurants,” observed Maggie. “But look, we really aren’t any further along. I don’t know anyone around here who regularly puts bugs on faces. And unless we want to bring other people into this problem, I don’t know how to get a roll call of who was in the rehearsal room when it happened, and who was in that crowd of suspects you saw coming up afterwards.”
“Wish I’d been thinking,” said Nick. “But I was getting ready to open the box, and I was still in shock from gatecrashing Blithe Spirit I hardly looked at them.”
“I didn’t either,” said Lisette. “I think Jason was in the group. But I stepped back out of sight when I saw them, and he only registered because he’s so tall.”
“You were in the rehearsal room, Rob,” said Nick. “Did you notice who was in that last group?”
Rob shook his head slowly. “No. David had asked me some profound question or other about the Laertes I played in summer stock. We were talking, and everyone else was just part of the hubbub in the background. I can’t even vouch for Brian.”
“I can,” said Lisette. “He went back into the room just before Nicky started chasing the joker.”
“Wow! Progress!” said Maggie. “We’ve eliminated the director and the dean’s son. Two prime suspects.”
Everyone was silent for a moment, discouraged. Then Lisette said stoutly, “Well, it’s not all that horrible. Nicky has become my royal taster, and he’s always been a good bodyguard. The photos aren’t a real problem.”
“Still, let’s all stay alert,” Nick said. “I’ve let the cat out of the bag, unfortunately. I don’t think we’ll trick the joker again that way. But the main object is to protect Lisette from these nasty jokes, and we can do that just as well by being obvious. Forget about catching the joker.”
“Obvious?”
“One of the three of us with her or her things at all times. We can keep the jokes away from her, at least.”
“Oh, God!” Lisette threw her arms around Rob and Maggie. “Now I’ll have to put up with three mother hens!” But she seemed pleased.
Jim had reformed. Well, almost. In the weeks since the night in the dorm lot, he had met her faithfully after almost every rehearsal, even the times when he wasn’t called. Ellen, wanting to trust him, enjoyed her time with him. But she still felt a nagging uneasiness that she was building on hope rather than certainty.
Her father phoned. “Hi, honey bunch!”
“Hey, Dad! How are you?”
“Fine. I’m coming through Jefferson Tuesday on my way to a meeting in Buffalo. How about lunch?”
“That would be great!” Ellen was excited. Thomas Winfield’s corporate law practice kept him busy and often on the road. Lunch with him was a rare treat even when she was home on vacation.
“And why don’t you bring along your young man?” he added casually. “We can look each other over.”
“Oh. Okay. Sure. He’d like to meet you too.”
Her father laughed. “If he’s like me, he wouldn’t. He’d be scared stiff. But tell him I don’t bite.”
Jim had agreed, hesitant and eager all at once. “He’ll like you, don’t worry,” Ellen told him.
“I won’t worry if you won’t.”
Her secret thoughts were flashing neon for him to read. She eyed him sternly. “How do you always manage to see through me? Everyone else in the world thinks I’m the calmest person around.”
Jim smiled fondly. “You are. You ought to see the rest of us inside.”
Well, these days were a test of everyone’s calm, all right. Blithe Spirit had closed, Hamlet had moved down from the rehearsal room to the stage, and chaos had been heaped upon Ellen. As unexpected problems emerged, her clipboard became a mass of urgent notes about platforms, wheels, costumes, paint colors, light colors, and scene shifts. Tonight it was props. The new swords were fine, good-looking metal ones commissioned with the dean’s money. Finally, rehearsals of the Hamlet-Laertes duel could begin. But Tim was panicking about Ophelia’s flowers.
“Pansies, fine. Columbines, fine. Jane says she can get fennel,” he reported. “But what the hell does rosemary look like? Or rue?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Ellen.
Rob, somehow looking elegant in dingy old rehearsal tights, was inspecting the rack of swords. He turned to them, smiling, balancing a sword in both hands. “Rosemary has blue flowers and leaves sort of like pine needles, dark on top and light underneath.”
“Oh,” said Tim. “And rue?”
“Rue is sort of cute. A weedy little plant with little yellow flowers, four petals.”
“Our resident botanist,” said Ellen.
“Your resident former Laertes,” he corrected her. “Had the stuff handed to me every night for a month, that summer. Look, Tim, your library here is pretty good. It’ll have pictures somewhere.”
“Okay, thanks,” said Tim, and left, preoccupied.
“An important point might be made here,” said Rob, tracing a rococo swirl in the air with the blunted tip of the sword. “Even artists of the most applied sort should occasionally do academic research.”
“Heresy!” declared Ellen. “Hargate is not yet ready for such great pronouncements.”
The sword point, flashing, circled gently and disconcertingly a few inches in front of her face. “True,” he said. “Tell me, Ellen, will your matchless roommate be here tonight?”
“She’s up there already,” said Ellen, waving generally at the flies.
“You know,” he said, dropping the sword tip to the floor and looking up, his hair like gilt under the lights, “she is the most three-dimensional person I’ve ever met. Makes me feel as though we’re living in an aviary.”
“She’d probably be an astronaut if they allowed women, you know.”
“Really? She’d be good!” He was more amused than surprised. He’s turned out to be a good sort after all, she thought, easy to work with. The friendly eyes that met hers were suddenly as disturbing as Jim’s. He hesitated an instant, then continued, “Didn’t January’s misfortune bother her? Those three fellows crisped in the Apollo capsule?”
My God. “She was no happier about it than the rest of us,” said Ellen in a vinegary voice.
“Of course.” He was still looking at her, eyes intensely blue, regretful. “Ellen, I’m an oaf sometimes. Try to forgive me. I admire your roommate enormously, and I’d like to be friends with you to
o.”
“Well, sure.” Damn it, he had her off balance again. She pushed back her hair with both hands. “Now really, I have to get that wagon schlepped into place.”
“I’ll help.” And he did, pushing the heavy platform carefully into position. Ellen, grunting as she heaved her own end of the rugged construction, wondered at the contrasts in him. Sensitive and callous all at once. Exasperating man. Fascinating too. The same slim, powerful build that she found so irresistible in Jim, but without Jim’s comfortable directness. She hoped that he and Maggie would continue to keep their distance. Rob’s few spare hours were spent with the O’Connors or in New York, and Maggie seemed content to go to concerts or movies with her math department admirers or, rarely, with Jason. But Ellen still found herself nervous about the situation.
Jim arrived, but she only had time to wave before Rob pounced on him. “Horatio! Come on up, I have a question.” He bounded up the ladder that led to the top platform of the half-finished rampart wagon. Jim followed.
“What’s the problem?”
“Now that they’ve finished this platform, I don’t know if we have room to do the ‘swear, swear’ bit the way we’d planned.”
“I see what you mean. Shall we try it?”
“Well said, old mole! Canst work in the earth so fast?” Rob declaimed, and they began to go through the practiced steps. Rob was right, Ellen thought: the kneeling pushed him uncomfortably close to the brink of the platform, so very high above the stage.
“Ellen, have you seen my prayer book?” asked Lisette.
Ellen turned to her. “Props has to recover it. Can you use something else tonight?”
“Sure. Just wanted to be sure it wasn’t lost.”
“It should be ready tomorrow. Oh my God, Paul, stop!”
Unaware of the two actors high above, Paul and two stagehands had started to shift the ramparts wagon. The unexpected jerk had thrown both Jim and Rob off balance. Jim was all right, sprawled on the platform, but Rob had been kneeling at the edge. They all watched in horror as he struggled wildly, half on and half off the platform, for a long moment. Jim’s efforts to reach him were unavailing. Then, from the catwalks above, they heard Maggie’s chuckle. The flailing stopped abruptly, and Rob waved to her.
Paul, still staring up at him, faltered, “You’re okay?”
The brilliant Jenner smile shone down on him. “Well said, old mole!”
Everyone laughed in relief. Rob bounced up to sit on the edge of the platform. “All the same, Paul,” he added, “we mortals should get together with you old moles soon to work out what life on this platform will be like.”
“Oh, God, yes!” Paul was frantic to make up for his blunder.
Ellen stalked over to her book on the stage manager’s desk. Overgrown children. This was not going to be an easy night.
She was right. They were rehearsing the final scene, and by the fourth time through, each repetition looked worse than the one before. And all her fault, it seemed. (The swords are awfully heavy, Ellen. The platforms squeak. Ellen, why didn’t you tell us these steps were going to stick out so far?)
Well, maybe not entirely her fault. David Wagner was beginning to look a little panicked too. He had had a few fencing lessons, but as a mere senior he didn’t get the regular training that the graduate program provided. On the second slow repetition of the duel, perhaps confused by the new sword, he had forgotten his blocking and struck Rob across the face with the side of the blade. (“Goddamn it, Ellen,” said Brian, “why can’t you people keep the first-aid kit where it belongs?”) Since then, despite Rob’s urging, David had been so cautious that no one could possibly believe a fight was going on.
Brian cut the scene short. “Look, people, this is rotten.” Rob, the red streak flaming on his cheekbone, a constant reproach to David, nodded grimly. David seemed close to tears. Nick and Grace, waiting on the throne platform to die for the fourth time, sat down wearily. Jim and Jason, waiting for their entrances, looked miserable too.
Brian said, “David, you need a rest. Change places with Nick and read the King’s lines, okay? Let’s see if we can at least get the blocking right once.”
David grabbed his book gratefully and went up to the throne platform. Nick took off the ragged cape he was using as a rehearsal cloak and took David’s place as Laertes, and they started again. It was much better. In Nick’s practiced hand, Laertes’ swordplay was convincingly fiery but did not damage Rob. They exchanged swords successfully. Rob leaped onto the platform, killed the King, and then died gratefully in Jim’s arms. At long last Jason got to say the closing lines.
“Okay,” said Brian, relief in his voice. “It will work. Nick, thanks.”
“Sure.”
“David, we’ve got to get you some more fencing time.”
“God, yes! This is horrible.” David was deeply embarrassed.
“Can you see Coach Prosser any extra time?”
“I’ve tried, Brian! But there is no time. I’m working with him once a week. But the only free time I have is in the afternoon, and that’s when he’s working with the fencing team or his phys ed classes. I really have tried, Brian, but there’s no time. I knew I was in trouble, I tried.” David was earnest and shaken.
“Rob,” said Brian, “you’re free in the late afternoon.”
“Yes,” said Rob unenthusiastically. He was inspecting the rack of swords again, his lean back turned to them.
“Maybe you could work with him. He needs confidence as much as anything.”
Nick said, “I could help, Brian.”
“Oh, come on, Nick. You’re already working with the Players. And your classes run later than Rob’s in the first place.”
“It’s all right.” Nick regarded Rob’s taut back with sympathy. “Rob has the longest part. And I’m good with a sword too.”
Brian said impatiently, “Rob, speak for yourself.”
Rob pulled a sword from the rack and held it up, running a finger along the edge from hilt to tip. “I’d rather not, Brian,” he said mildly, without turning around.
“Oh, Christ!” Brian exploded, and Ellen cringed. “This is disgusting! We’re trying to teach people here about professional commitment and devotion to theatre, and our Mr. Bighead Hamlet is turning into a Hollywood starlet instead. Can’t dirty his hands with any extra chores. Upsets the whole schedule so he can run off to the city every weekend. Needs contacts, he says. Can’t wait to get away. So why is it the other three have been in once or twice and you’ve been gone every week? Why is it they’re all working extra time with the students and you’re—”
“Shut up, Brian!” Nick’s voice rang with authority, sharper, colder than Ellen had ever heard it. “You know damn well that the length of the part is the difference. Rob is working harder than any of us. He’s here every goddamn rehearsal. We aren’t. He’s got a hell of a responsibility, and he’s doing a hell of a good job. You can’t just keep loading him up with other things.”
“I’m not loading him up, damn it! He’s the logical one, he’s in the damn fight we’re staging!” All the frustrations of the evening were rising, focused on this problem. Ellen wished she could run away. Brian looked ready for violence. “We’ve all of us got a hell of a responsibility, as you put it. We’ve all got to pull our weight!”
Rob replaced the sword in the rack and turned deliberately away from it, raising his empty hands, palms out, in a gesture of surrender. “Okay,” he said mildly. “I’ll do it.”
“You’ll do it?” Brian seemed astounded, cut off in the midst of his anger.
“Rob, really, I can help,” said Nick. He and Rob looked at each other.
“Thanks for the offer, Nick,” said Rob lightly, smiling a little, the red slash vivid on his face. “But Brian is right. I’m the logical one. I should pull my weight.”
“Well, I didn’t really mean you weren’t doing it,” Brian said uncomfortably.
“I know. Look, we’re all having a bad night. We all said thin
gs we shouldn’t have. Let’s just forget it.”
“Well, okay, thanks. You’ll find the time?”
“No problem. David’s a fast learner. Can you give us two weeks to work on it?”
“Sure. Judy, Ellen, adjust the schedule for that, okay?”
“Sure,” said Ellen, deeply relieved. “What about the run-through?”
“We’ll skip the swords that night.”
“Fine,” said Rob, businesslike again. “Look, right now why don’t we work the end of this scene? I’m still not happy with how I kill Nick, okay?”
“Good idea.” Brian too was very cooperative now. “From ‘They bleed on both sides.’”
Things went better this time, almost as if they had needed to vent the seething little frustrations of the last several weeks before they could work harmoniously again. Ellen hoped fervently that it didn’t have to happen too often. Brian was frightening in that mood. She’d never seen him so angry. She was glad it was over.
Rob came up to Maggie afterward, as they were getting their coats on, and edged her away from Ellen to speak to her quietly for a few minutes. He seemed tired and serious, and looked at her with a new sort of warm respect.
“What did he want?” Ellen asked Maggie when the brief, murmured conversation was over.
Maggie paused on her way to the door to zip her jacket. “He wanted to know about the requirements for becoming an astronaut.”
“God,” said Ellen, “I knew it was a rotten rehearsal, but I didn’t think it would drive him to such drastic lengths!”
Maggie smiled, then added, “He also wanted me to go to the Philadelphia Orchestra concert next week, with him and the O’Connors.”
“Saturday night?” asked Ellen, astonished.
“Mm-hmm.”
“But that’s when he’s gone!”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Well. Looks like Brian’s little tantrum has brought about complete reform.” Ellen was not at all pleased by this turn of events.
Unfortunately, her trials for the evening were not over. Jim was very late in joining her, and when he did there was grief in his dark eyes.
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