Learning Her Lines

by Amelia C. Adams

  Kissing. Gracious. Two people pressing their lips together—it was actually a rather odd thing to do, when she thought about it. Who came up with the idea in the first place? Ancient man said to ancient woman, “Hold still while I push my lips against yours.” What a ridiculous notion. She giggled as she thought about it.

  But as silly as it seemed, it was still the most wonderful, romantic thing in the entire world, and she wanted to kiss Mr. Westcott.

  Even though she’d never admit it to him.

  She finished smoothing her hair, then picked up her reticule and headed outside. She would use this short walk to calm her nerves—the spring sunshine would do her good. And then she would see what happened, whether she was meant to be an actress or not. If not, she was certainly no worse off than she was before.

  She pulled open the heavy theater door cautiously, feeling like a trespasser. She’d never been here during the day before—only to see a show, when a hundred other people were also coming and going. The building seemed almost abandoned now, it was so quiet, and she held her breath as she stepped inside.

  “Hello!”

  Catherine startled as a friendly looking girl appeared at her elbow. “Hello. I’m here to see Mr. Westcott.”

  “Yes, he said you’d be by. I’m Alice—I do a little bit of everything around here, and if you get the part, I’ll help you try on the costume so we can do alterations.” She scrutinized Catherine just a bit more carefully than Catherine felt comfortable with. “Thankfully, you’re about the right size already, so it won’t be a difficult task.”

  Catherine smiled at the idea that she was the right size rather than the dress being the right size. “Thank you, Alice. Could you please tell me which way to go?”

  “Of course. Down that hallway, the last door on the right.”

  Catherine thanked her, then walked down the hall. The carpet was so plush, it almost felt springy beneath her feet, something she wasn’t used to.

  The last door, Alice had said. There was no nameplate or anything to confirm that she was indeed in the right place, so she raised her hand and knocked, hoping she wouldn’t end up in the janitorial closet or some other such place.

  “Come in.”

  That certainly sounded like Mr. Westcott. Exhaling with relief that she wasn’t lost, she opened the door and found herself in the most elegant office she’d ever seen. The desk in the center was richly polished mahogany, and the walls were paneled in the same wood. The curtains and the carpeting were all red, but a deep red, not a bright or garish color. She wanted to stand in the middle of the room and spin in a circle so she wouldn’t miss anything, but she figured that would likely seem unprofessional, so she didn’t follow through with it.

  “I’m glad you were able to come,” Mr. Westcott said, walking around his desk with his hand outstretched to greet her. “I was afraid that something would come up and you wouldn’t be able to make it after all.”

  “You mean, that my nerves would get the better of me and I’d be too scared to come?”

  He chuckled. “I did worry about that too, but here you are, and I see that my worries were unfounded. Your cousin was able to step in for you?”

  “Yes, and she can stay until closing time. That is, if you wanted to introduce me to the rest of the cast, for instance.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad you were able to clear so much time.” He picked up a slim book from the desk, and she recognized it as the one he’d been fussing over just the other day. “I’ve chosen out a selection for you to read, please. It’s not the standard monologue usually presented during auditions for Juliet—I wanted something a little different. Are you familiar with the play?”

  “Of course. It’s considered one of Shakespeare’s most influential plays, although perhaps not his very best work.” She blushed. “I don’t mean to criticize—I know very little, actually. But I was chatting with Tobias Redfern the other day, and we were discussing it because the whole town knows it’s the next play being put on at the theater. It’s on everyone’s minds.”

  “Another reason why we should push through with it, then.” He paused, considering. “And what is Shakespeare’s best play? In your opinion, not Tobias’s.”

  “I haven’t read them all yet, so I can’t exactly say. I did find Much Ado about Nothing one of the better comedies, but until I’ve read all the tragedies, I can’t honestly say.”

  Mr. Westcott nodded. “I appreciate your candor. The selection I’ve marked for you is a conversation between Juliet and the friar. It’s the segment where she’s begging him for help or she’ll stab herself.”

  Catherine took the book from his hand and looked down at the page. There were several crossed-out words dotting the dialogue, and she smiled. “I see the marks of your editing here.”

  “I was changing some of the editing that had gone on before. Give it a read and see what you think.”

  She read it over silently at first, then cleared her throat. “I think I’m ready to read this aloud for you. That is, if you’d like. Should I?”

  “Yes, please. I’m going to stand back a bit so I can get an overall picture of your stance and bearing.” He moved around to the other side of the desk, then nodded at her to proceed.

  She swallowed, then began. Oh, this was so much harder than she’d anticipated. Juliet was in agony and was beseeching the friar for help, but at the same time, her words had to stay crisp and clear so the audience would be able to understand them. Catherine wasn’t sure how to find the balance between displaying enough emotion and showing far too much.

  Mr. Westcott had folded his arms across his chest and rested his chin in his hand while he listened, and now he contemplated her with an expression she couldn’t read.

  “Was it terrible? Please tell me quickly so we can get it over with.”

  “It wasn’t terrible. Not at all. However, it also wasn’t very good.”

  She sat down with a thump, most unladylike by any standards. “I’m sorry. I knew this wasn’t a good idea.”

  “Now, Catherine, listen to me.” He sat down as well and fixed her with a pointed gaze. “You weren’t very good, but you can be taught. That’s my job as a director—to take those with potential and help raise them to the level where they should be.”

  “But . . . you don’t look at all hopeful. You look like your cat just ran away or like you have a sore throat.”

  He laughed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I do look rather austere when I’m working—Alice often tells me that I need to seem less ferocious. I’d very much like to offer you this role, and I will coach you through it personally. You’ll also work quite a bit with Gerard North, who is playing the role of Romeo.”

  “Oh!” Catherine sat up straight as the realization struck her. “Oh, my.”

  “I beg your pardon? Is something the matter?”

  “You’ll have to forgive me for being so absentminded, but I’d completely forgotten about Romeo. Will I . . . will I have to kiss him?” She didn’t know Gerard North—she’d never even heard his name before. He was either new to town or he had never been into the Iron Skillet.

  “No, you won’t have to kiss him. He will take your hand from time to time, and at the end, you will embrace each other as you die, but that will be the extent of it.”

  “Oh, that’s good. I’m sure he’s a very nice man, but I couldn’t imagine myself kissing someone unless I had feelings for him.” Catherine pressed her lips together, worried that if she wasn’t careful, she might keep talking and reveal the growing feelings she was developing for Mr. Westcott. For a moment, she imagined what it would be like if something terrible were to befall Mr. North and he couldn’t play the part anymore. Mr. Westcott would be forced into taking over—he would make a wonderful Romeo.

  “Catherine?”

  She came back to herself with a start, and she realized that she’d missed something. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “I was inviting you to step into the dressing roo
ms and find Alice. Our budget didn’t extend to several lovely dresses as would suit Juliet, but we do have one rather nice gown that we’d like you to try on.”

  “Yes, Alice mentioned a fitting. Thank you.” Catherine stood up and followed his directions until she found Alice. She had passed the first hurdle—now there were only several dozen left to go.

  Chapter Five

  “You chose very well.”

  Melvin startled and spun around to find Mrs. Van Dyke standing near the window of his office, smiling. “How did you get in here?”

  She shook her head. “One of these days, you’ll hit upon a more suitable greeting. For now, I suppose I’ll have to accept that as your own personal routine.” She set her reticule on the edge of his desk and motioned toward the door. “Miss Ross is a lovely girl, and I believe she’ll make a wonderful Juliet. With coaching, of course. Quite a lot of coaching.”

  “Yes, but I’m more than happy to do so. I have a feeling she’ll be a quick learner.”

  Mrs. Van Dyke gave him an incredulous look. “You’re going to be her acting coach? What experience do you have in that regard, Mr. Westcott?”

  He returned her incredulous look with one of his own. “You believe I have what it takes to be a director, but not to be an acting coach? Tell me, Mrs. Van Dyke—what is a director if not an acting coach?”

  “I concede your point, but just barely.” She touched the tip of her nose with a handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve. “Why don’t we compromise and work on it together? We’ve had our differences, but surely we can put them aside and become a team, especially when it’s for the good of the theater.”

  “I’m not sure we can.” Melvin sat back down and steepled his fingers. “How is it that Miss Ross can see you, and yet Alice, my able assistant, couldn’t when you first arrived?”

  “I didn’t have a need for Alice to see me, but if I’m to become part of your theater as an acting coach, I’ll make myself visible to everyone,” she replied. “I am what the moment requires. I do what the situation warrants. That’s part of my calling, you see. I must be spontaneous, and yet dependable.”

  “Yes, yes, I understand.” Melvin waved a hand at her. “I tell you what, Mrs. Van Dyke. I’m prepared to call a truce and agree to work with you for the good of the play and the future of the theater. I—”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful. I assure you, this is the right thing to do—you won’t regret it for a minute.” She beamed at him. “Why, the two of us together—”

  “I must insist on full disclosure,” he went on, not feeling guilty for interrupting her because she had just interrupted him. “I still don’t believe you’re an angel, and I’m going to be watching you every minute. Yes, I’m skeptical, and I’m sorry that disturbs you so badly, but you must understand my position.”

  “Oh, I do. Absolutely. If someone were to come to me and tell me such an outlandish story, I’m sure I’d struggle with it as well.” She fixed him with a look. “At some point, however, I’d start to listen, and maybe to observe the evidence that was being placed before me morning, noon, and night, and I’d push my pride over into the corner and focus on the truly important things I should be doing.”

  Melvin shook his head. Despite himself, he was starting to enjoy their little banter sessions—just barely, though. She still annoyed him more than he thought it was possible for any one person to experience. And he still believed she might be a criminal. That would make it difficult for them to become friends.

  “I’ll introduce you as our new acting coach, and you can begin working with Miss Ross as soon as she’s available,” Melvin went on. “You’ll need to work that out with her—I’m not entirely certain what her arrangements are like at the restaurant, but I do know she’s there almost every time I go in.”

  “Which is quite a bit,” Mrs. Van Dyke added.

  “We’ve established that I’m not a good cook. I was thinking that you might find it easiest to work with her at the restaurant—perhaps while she’s doing dishes or some such thing.”

  “Excellent idea. I’ll talk it over with her.” Mrs. Van Dyke moved over to stand by the door, looking expectant. “Shall we go? I’m eager to meet everyone officially.”

  “Officially? Do you mean that you’ve met them unofficially already?”

  Mrs. Van Dyke put on an innocent air. “I might have wandered around a bit to get a feel for the place. It’s all part of preparing myself for this assignment, you see.”

  “Yes. I see.” Melvin tried not to appear too irritated, but his face was growing tired from the effort of looking civil. He opened his office door and motioned for her to precede him into the hallway. Time to introduce his “heavenly” visitor to the rest of the crew.

  ***

  Catherine pulled the brocade gown up over her shoulders, then stood still as Alice laced up the back. “Oh, it’s like it was made for you,” Alice said as they both studied Catherine’s reflection in the dressing room mirror. “I won’t have to alter it one bit—thank you for agreeing to do this.”

  Catherine smiled. “I’m glad I was the right size.” She fingered the rich burgundy-and-gold fabric. “Did you make this?”

  “Yes, I did. It was a challenge, I’ll tell you—I didn’t have a pattern, so I studied some books from Mr. Redfern’s shop, and I paid a call on Mrs. Deveraux. Have you met her?”

  Catherine shook her head.

  “She runs the dress shop like she thinks this is Paris, but her work is beautiful. She was kind enough to give me some pointers.”

  “I think it’s lovely. Definitely the loveliest thing I’ve ever worn.”

  Alice’s cheeks turned pink. “Thank you. I did work hard on it.” She loosened the back of the dress, and Catherine stepped out of it. It certainly was a hot, heavy dress, and she was glad to put on her regular clothing again. She wondered how hot it would be up on stage—would she be a melted puddle by the end of each performance?

  Her stomach roiled at the thought. Just how many performances would there be? Not only did she have to memorize an entire play and carry it off to perfection, but she had to do it over and over again . . .

  As soon as she was dressed, she sank into the chair nearest her, trying to pull her thoughts together. She felt lightheaded, and just a bit like she might vomit.

  “Oh, dear,” Alice said, pressing a hand to Catherine’s forehead. “Are you feeling ill?”

  Catherine didn’t want to admit it, but she did indeed feel ill, and she feared she might make a fool of herself if she pretended otherwise. “I believe it’s my nerves getting the better of me.”

  Alice looked at her with concern. “Several ladies have felt ill in this room. I’m starting to wonder if I’m bad for them in some way.” She forced a laugh, but her concern returned to her expression immediately. “Please sit still for a few minutes. I’ll get a glass of water.”

  “Thank you, Alice.” Catherine focused on her breathing while the girl was gone, hoping that she could put her mind over matter. When Alice returned, she was feeling a bit better, but she still accepted the water gratefully.

  “How many performances will we be doing?” she asked after she’d swallowed all she felt it was safe to take.

  “Four. We’ll do Friday and Saturday nights the first week, then Friday and Saturday the second week.”

  “So there are several days between the two sets.”

  “That’s right. That gives us time to fix anything that went wrong the first two nights—mending costumes, fixing faulty sets, brushing up on lines, and that sort of thing. It also helps us keep from becoming too exhausted.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Catherine thought that was a very good idea indeed—it might keep her from curling up into a ball and crying. “And . . . and do you really think I can do this?”

  Alice looked at her with surprise. “Of course. If Mr. Westcott asked you to take the role, you must be suited for it. He wouldn’t take you on simply to save the play—yes, it worked out that way,
but if you weren’t a fit, he would have said so.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that. I feel like the entire success or failure of this theater is on my shoulders, and that sort of pressure . . .”

  “You’re not to give that a second thought. All the risks here are being taken by Mr. Westcott, and he knows it. It’s part of the business.”

  Catherine nodded. That made sense. “Are you an actress, Alice?”

  The girl looked startled. “Me? Oh, gracious, no. I’d rather die. I’m much more comfortable behind the scenes, where I can be helpful but without anyone watching me work.”

  “That’s how I’ve always been too. Until Mr. Westcott came along, that is.”

  “If I were you, I’d plan on a lot of things being different now. Mr. Westcott has a way of changing lives.”

  A note in Alice’s voice had Catherine looking at her sharply. “Alice, are . . . are you in love with Mr. Westcott?”

  Alice’s gaze flew up to meet hers. “What? Oh, no! Nothing like that. I just meant that he has a way of introducing new concepts and new perspectives into a person’s thinking. I mentioned the studying I did to create the Juliet dress—a year ago, I would have given it up as an impossible task. I wouldn’t have thought I was smart enough or talented enough. Now I know that I’m capable of doing whatever I set my mind to doing—I just have to want it and be willing to pursue it.”

  “If he can truly inspire people to believe in themselves that way, he’s blessed with a wonderful gift,” Catherine replied, more grateful than she could express that Alice wasn’t in love with him. She liked this girl immensely already and hoped they’d be good friends—that sort of conflict would be the end of any such friendship.