Chapter
15
How many more posters do we have?” Natalie asked, scraping her hair back into a rough ponytail. “It feels like we’ve hung up a hundred.”
“A hundred and five,” I reported, stapling the last corner to the store’s bulletin board and standing back to check my work.
Four months ago, Dave had designed posters advertising Much Ado about Nothing. Three months ago, they had arrived in large boxes that he’d stacked in the drama room. Two months ago, he’d started hanging them up around town, despite my warnings that it was too soon and that they would just be taken down in a month’s time. I’d been right, and when Dave had discovered the disaster, he’d ordered the entire drama class to spend an entire Saturday morning rehanging the posters.
“Don’t worry, Nat, we only have a dozen or so left.”
“Good, my fingers are killing me.” Natalie shook her hands out, rubbing her palms on her jeans. “Tell me again why we’re hanging up posters instead of celebrating your good news about Emery? Shouldn’t these posters have been up weeks ago? I mean, why bother advertising a play the day it opens?”
“Because Dave’s an idiot,” Jason said, shifting the remaining posters from one hand to the next.
“Because Dave’s not very organized,” I corrected. “And because it’s my job. At least you guys will be off the hook soon.” I grabbed a poster from Jason’s stack. “I still have to help stage the play tonight.”
“That’s what you get for being the assistant director,” Jason said, grinning. “All I had to do was build the sets. No worries. No stress. Nothing to do opening night but sit back and relax.”
“Yeah, don’t remind me. I am so not looking forward to dealing with Dave tonight. He’ll be so wired and stressed, I just know it’s going to rub off on me.” I shook my head.
“So about this celebration . . .” Natalie hinted. “We really should be doing something wonderful for you, Abby. It’s not every day you find out your dreams are coming true.”
“I still have to call about the scholarship thing,” I said, but Natalie waved away my words.
“Yeah, but you’re in. They said yes. That counts.”
A secret thrill ran through me. They had said yes. To me. I had managed to wait all the way until six in the morning before I couldn’t stand it anymore and had to wake up my parents with my good news.
Mom’s happy scream woke up Hannah, and Dad managed to placate her Saturday-morning grouchiness with the promise of breakfast at Helen’s Café to celebrate my acceptance to Emery.
I’d called the Dungeon on our way there, but no one had answered. When I’d called after breakfast, Leo had picked up. No, Dante wasn’t there just now. No, he wasn’t sure when he would be back. Yes, it would be before the curtain rose for the play tonight.
Leo gave me the same speech all day, every time I called. I couldn’t help it, though, I was filled with nervous energy and desperate to tell Dante my good news. I couldn’t understand why he had disappeared today of all days, or why Leo wouldn’t tell me where Dante had gone.
“Done,” Jason said, jamming the stapler into his back pocket. “It’s almost two. That should be enough time to have lunch before Abby has to be to the school for the play.”
“It’s almost two?” I grabbed Jason’s wrist, twisting it to look at his watch. “I was supposed to be at the school a half hour ago. Dave is probably flipping out.”
“I thought you didn’t have to be there until four.” Jason extracted his arm from my grip.
I shook my head. “The cast doesn’t have to be there until four. I have to be there early.” I groaned. “Dave’s going to kill me.”
“But what about lunch?” Natalie frowned. “What about our party?”
I shrugged, grabbing my bag and digging for my keys. “I’m sorry, Nat. You guys go without me. We’ll do something after the play, okay?”
“Break a leg!” Jason called out after me as I ran through the parking lot toward my car.
I pulled into traffic in a move worthy of Valerie at her wildest and sped down the street. If I didn’t get to the school soon, I feared Dave would break more than just my leg.
~
Thankfully, Dave had bitten only three of his nails to the quick and I’d arrived before he could start on the fourth. Amanda was already there, sewing kit in hand, hemming the last of the masquerade costumes.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, but the closer the clock inched toward four, the more hectic things became. There was a tense moment when Valerie arrived with V in tow to pick up her costume from Amanda.
I wanted to say something, but my mouth was dry, so I just tried to smile as she swept past me, knocking my shoulder with hers.
“She’ll come around,” Amanda said to me, a dark red velvet dress draped over her arm. “It’s just the stress of the play that’s making her crazy.”
“I hope so,” I said. But as I watched V wrap his arms around Valerie, kissing her by the backstage door, I had my doubts.
“Here.” Amanda nudged my arm. “Dave wanted me to give this to you. I hope it fits.”
I looked down as Amanda held out the red dress to me. “What’s this for?”
She shrugged. “Dave says everyone has to be in costume for the play.”
“But I’ll be backstage. No one will even see me.”
“Hey, if you want to tell Dave, be my guest.” She pointed across the room to where Dave had collapsed in a heap, a dark cloth pressed across his eyes in classic migraine misery.
“Oh. Right.” I held up the dress. The square neckline was low but not too low and a delicate lace hem peaked out from beneath the edge of the full velvet skirt. The bodice of the dress was made entirely of woven silver-white ribbons crisscrossing each other in tight, overlapping layers like the feathers on a bird’s wing. It must have taken Amanda hours, but the effect was stunning. I felt like I was holding folded angel wings in my hands. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
She smiled at the compliment. “Let me know if it doesn’t fit. There’s still a little time to make some adjustments before six.”
Adjustments weren’t necessary, though. The dress fit perfectly. Anticipating my unique duties as assistant director, Amanda had sewn a dress that I could move in easily without tripping over the skirt’s hem. She’d even cunningly hidden a small pocket that was the perfect size for stowing the battery pack of my microphone.
As I pinned up my hair, donned my headset, and switched on the battery, I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. This was it. All our long months of practice came down to this. Opening night. A thousand things could still go wrong—probably would go wrong—but we had done the best we could.
I surveyed the backstage chaos, mentally noting who was here and who was missing.
Lily and Ethan (Hero and Claudio—check) were chatting by the curtain. Valerie (Ursula—check) stood sullenly next to Jill (Margaret—check), who was already in character, tending to Cassie’s needs. (Beatrice—check.) Don Pedro, Don John, Benedick—check, check, check. Groups of messengers, watchmen, and attendants milled around backstage, burning off extra nervous energy before the curtain rose.
One person was noticeably missing, however—Dante. I scanned the crowd a second time, keenly aware of the absence of his tall, lean frame, his dark hair, his glittering snowfall-shaded eyes. A faint note of panic sounded inside me. Where was he? Where had he been all day? Had he somehow forgotten?
Dave appeared at my side, checked his watch, and then called for the cast to assemble one last time.
“Okay.” He drew in a deep breath, looking intently at each person in turn. “Don’t screw this up.” We all waited for him to say something more, but he simply turned away, grabbing my elbow and walking me to the stage door.
“Great pep talk,” I muttered. Dave’s uninspiring pre-performance speeches were legendary in the drama department, but this one was beyond belief.
“Thanks,” he said absently.
“Are the props set for the first scene? Have you checked on Benedick? He was looking a little sick this afternoon. What about Beatrice’s mask for the ball? Did Amanda finish it? Is Amanda even here? I haven’t seen her—”
“Yes. Yes. It’s fine. Yes, she did. Yes, she’s here.” I answered his questions almost as fast as he asked them.
“Oh, good,” Dave sighed. “I’ll need you to manage stage right tonight. I’ll take care of stage left. That’s where most of the entrances and exits are and I want to be there in case someone misses a cue.”
I nodded my understanding. I could hear a low, scratchy hum in the earpiece of my headset. I jiggled the battery and the static went away. I hoped it would stay away. If Dave was going to stay stage left, then the headset would be his only means of communicating with me while the play was running. I couldn’t afford to spend tonight with a broken headset.
“I’m counting on you,” Dave said.
“I can do it,” I said.
He put his headset on and walked quickly into the shadows of stage left.
I resumed my place in the wings, where I could see the action onstage as well as behind the curtain. With the bright stage lights shining down, all I could see was a large, faceless mass of people filling the auditorium. Excited butterflies filled my stomach. It looked like a sold-out crowd.
“Places, please.” I heard Dave’s low voice in my headset. I repeated his words to the cluster of actors who surrounded me. They scattered in a rustle of fabric and footsteps.
I flipped open my script to Act One, Scene One, and watched as Leonato, Hero, and Beatrice took their places around Leonato’s house. Scott the Messenger stood next to me, the all-important letter gripped tightly in his hand. A handful of extras stood on the porch, filling in the stage with their presence. Dante’s spot by the banister remained empty. I felt my excitement for the evening drop a little. He hadn’t come. Even though no one in the audience would notice his absence, I had, and I knew the play wouldn’t be the same without him.
“Everyone ready?” I could see Dave’s mouth move and I heard his voice in my ear. I took a quick survey around me. Everything looked good to me. I nodded to Dave from across the stage. “Then let’s go,” he said.
I gestured to Richard to open the curtain.
Grinning, he pulled on the cord, drawing the curtains open in one smooth motion.
The audience quieted as Scott strode on stage—a little fast, but not too bad—and handed the letter to Leonato.
I practically mouthed the words with the actor: “I learn in this letter that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night to Messina.”
I breathed a silent sigh. We were off. For better or worse, the play was under way.
Glancing over my shoulder, I checked to make sure everyone was in place for their next entrance. Don Pedro and Don John straightened under my gaze, tugging at their jackets. I could see Claudio silently practicing his opening lines. Benedick stood next to him, nervous and twitching. He looked horrible. The dim light backstage turned his skin a waxy yellow-green. Even at a distance, I could see the sweat pouring off him.
Frowning, I gathered up my skirt and had taken exactly one step toward him when Benedick vomited all over the stage floor.
Claudio and the Dons managed to scramble away, thankfully avoiding the worst of the mess. The rest of the cast gave Benedick a wide berth, edging away, rustling and whispering.
I grabbed my headset and hissed, “Dave! Help! Benedick’s sick and—” The only answer I heard was the heavy weight of silence that pressed on my ear. Numbly I looked down at my battery. The bright red eye of life had dimmed and faded to black.
Cold fear clutched at my spine, paralyzing me for a moment. A snatch of dialogue reached me from onstage—“How much better it is to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!”—and I groaned. We were almost to Benedick’s cue. But he wasn’t going onstage anytime soon. He’d collapsed into a ball on the floor.
My paralysis snapped and I ran to his side. Ruth was there with a glass of cold water and Amanda was cleaning up the mess with some of her fabric scraps. Claudio tried to help as best he could without ruining his costume.
“Thanks, guys,” I whispered, kneeling down and stripping off my headset. I glanced up at the horrified faces that ringed us. “Sherri,” I barked. “Run stage left and get Dave.” She vanished before I’d finished. I leaned over Benedick. “Isaac? Can you hear me?” I touched his arm, feeling the fiery touch of fever under his skin.
“Don’t feel good,” he slurred. “’Msorry, Abby.”
“It’s okay.” I risked a glance at the action onstage. The Dons were gathered in the wings, waiting for their cue.
“What are we going to do?” Claudio hissed. “We need him for the scene. He has, like, half the lines—”
“I know.” I cut him off with a gesture. “Let me think.” But that was easier said than done. Isaac was in no shape to perform tonight, that was a given. I bit my lip, wondering if I dared order someone to step in as Isaac’s unofficial understudy. The problem was that, while we all knew some of each other’s lines, no one but Isaac knew the entire part.
“Abby—” Claudio tugged at his jacket. “We gotta go on.”
“Then go!” I waved him to join the other actors, poised in the wings. “I—” But I didn’t have a clue as to what to say next. Maybe Dave would know what to do. But Sherri hadn’t returned with him, and even if he had been here instead of me, the harsh truth was that we were out of time. Maybe . . .
A pair of polished black boots stopped in front of me. My eyes darted up to meet Dante’s clear gray eyes. Dressed in his costume—black pants and a tight white shirt—he took in the situation with one glance and then a small smile crossed his lips.
I heard Scott announce the cue: “Don Pedro is approached.” My heart beat triple-time and my mind raced, trying to think of a way out of the problem. Time spun out in painfully slow ripples. It seemed like the agony would never end.
“I would apologize for being late,” Dante said, “but it appears I have arrived just in time.”
My mouth dropped open as Dante strode past me and the rest of the silent cast, directly into the bright lights.
Don Pedro and his company looked to me for instructions. Should they go on? Should they stay backstage?
“Go! Go!” I hissed, waving them onstage in Dante’s wake.
Don Pedro nodded and darted from the wings, smoothly overtaking Dante so that he was the first to reach Leonato and deliver his line: “Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble.”
Dave silently skidded around the curtains, arriving breathless at my side. “Abby, what happened? What’s wrong?”
“Isaac’s sick and Dante’s onstage in his place,” I said in one breath, gathering up my skirts and stepping past Dave to the edge of the curtain, almost unable to believe what I was seeing. Dave followed, speechless.
Dante assumed Benedick’s place in the action seamlessly, as though he had been rehearsing it every single day. Leonato and Beatrice kept glancing at him, thrown off balance by the sudden change in the casting. Dante, though, was relaxed and confident, with a smile bordering on arrogance. It was perfect for Benedick’s role. I dared a sigh of relief; maybe we were going to make it after all.
“Abby!” Ruth hissed from behind me. “No microphone!”
The sigh caught in my throat. My gaze jumped to Dante’s ear—no mike—and then to the small of his back—no battery pack. Claudio hadn’t been lying—Benedick had the most lines in this scene. If the audience couldn’t hear him, we were sunk until near the end of the act. Ruth pushed Isaac’s mike pack into my trembling hands and padded away to take her place for her cue.
I watched in silent desperation as Don Pedro gestured to Beatrice, “I think this is your daughter.”
Leonato smiled and inclined his head, “Her mother hath many times told me so.”
I held my breath, a wordless prayer frozen on my tongue.
“Were you
in doubt, sir, that you asked her?” Dante’s voice rang out clear and strong through the auditorium.
I gasped in relief. Dizzy stars filled my vision, sparkling and vivid. I leaned against the backstage wall, gulping in air until the stars disappeared.
Amanda slipped up next to me, offering a glass of cold water and my headset, which was alive again with a fresh battery. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. “So far.” I downed the water in two large swallows. “How’s Isaac?”
“Okay. We moved him to the drama room.”
“Thanks,” I said, slipping my headset on again. “Maybe you should have been assistant director.”
“I should go tell his parents,” Dave stammered, obviously torn between needing to see to Isaac and wanting to see Dante’s unexpected performance. Responsibility won out, and he slipped out the backstage door.
Returning my attention to the action onstage, I watched in amazement as Dante’s Benedick traded verbal barbs with Cassie’s Beatrice. To Cassie’s credit, she played off Dante as easily as she had Isaac. The audience laughed in all the right places, and I started to breathe easier. Somehow we’d managed a complete switch of the main character of the play midscene and no one in the audience seemed to even suspect.
When Dante exited the stage near the end of Scene One, I grabbed his sleeve as soon as I could. I could feel the heat of the stage lights on his clothes and the deeper heat of his body beneath. He fairly crackled with energy.
“I hope you don’t mind my stepping in for Isaac.” He brushed his hair away from his sweaty forehead. A wild and slightly reckless look burned in his eyes.
“No . . . How . . . ?” I stumbled over my words, my thoughts scattered by his intense gaze. I swallowed and tried again. “When did you learn Benedick’s part?”
Dante’s smile sparkled in the shadows. “I’ve been studying.”
I couldn’t help but return his smile. “It shows.”
“I guess I’ll finish the role for Isaac, then?”
“You’re the only one who can,” I said. “Check in with Dave in case he has any instructions for you. Then check with Amanda to see if his costumes will fit you. Quick—you’ll be on again before you know it.”