Chapter 5 #2
People hustle to their seats and sit down, a general flurry of excitement.
I have to admit, I do love the read-through.
It’s such a blank slate, you have no idea who is who and how it’s going to sound.
I’m actually a little nervous. I am one of two people onstage who everyone is going to expect great things from, not counting Arthur, already the darling of Tempest. The town librarian can play a queen, and no one’s going to care much how she does, but Theo and I are the big draws.
Maybe it is more pressure than I realized.
My dad clears his throat. “I am to discourse wonders—but ask me not what.” A few people laugh, recognizing it from the play.
“That’s my line!” Arthur calls out, and my father shoots daggers at him. Weird. I thought they were friendly.
My father presses on. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream .
. .” He pauses and everyone waits expectantly.
What will the great Roscoe Belmont have to say about this Shakespearean play?
It’s all too delicious. “. . . explores realms beyond this world. It asks us what is reality, and what are our imaginings? What is the value of our real life, and what spell does love cast on us all? How can we, in our humanity, explore the nuances and magic of nature as we navigate the confines and structures we have tried to build around it?”
He looks around the room. They are rapt.
“The play takes place in three worlds—that is to say, there are three layers to our cast. First, we have the royals and the lovers, as we prepare for the wedding of Hippolyta and the duke Theseus. The four young lovers seek each other in the woods, where fairy magic wreaks havoc on them. Then we have the world of the rude mechanicals, peasant folks, simple, local merchants.” There’s a small chuckle at the irony.
No one wants to say it, but there is an underlying distinction of theater nobility and peasants in this very room.
He clears his throat and continues. “The mechanicals are preparing a theatrical to present at the royal wedding, which goes askew when the lead actor is kidnapped by the queen of the fairies to take as her own lover. Which leads us to the final realm, the fairy world, where the laws and balances of nature are at odds, as the fairy king and fairy queen are also at odds with each other. Only as they are restored to each other’s arms can the balance of nature realign. ”
People nod and murmur in appreciation. This is what they’re here for.
Deep thoughts by the big smart director.
“These worlds merge through the mischief of the fairies. As Oberon and Titania wreak havoc on each other, so too do they wreak havoc on the young lovers. It’s a challenging play; there are a lot of moving pieces, and we are working with multiple ensemble casts.
That’s part of the beauty of it, though, too: You will find each world is insular.
” He shuffles his notes. “Please turn your attention to the cast list. You will note a few amendments to the original. Our guest artists, as I’m sure you already know, are three local favorites, Arthur Crew, Theo Raye, who I’m sure you’re all familiar with, and Miranda Belmont.
” He pauses, I foolishly hope to add some flattering detail about me, but no.
“And now, Sally will take us through some housekeeping.”
I’m expecting the read-through to be tedious, but I’m pleasantly surprised.
I’m quickly humbled by the local talent.
Sure, there’s the occasional person stumbling through iambic pentameter; lots of people are retired and just want to be part of something social.
There is also, very evidently, a strong theater scene in North Lake.
I guess I thought I would be able to succeed on my notoriety alone, but I can see that I really have to do a good job here.
I know how arrogant that sounds, but it’s kind of a relief.
It means that, if nothing else, I get to really act. I haven’t done that in so long.
There is a lot of laughter. I’d forgotten how funny the play is, and no one laughs louder than my mother when Arthur speaks.
Personally, I’ve always found him a little shrill.
Theo, my parents told me, had his pick of roles.
I think we all expected him to go with one of the handsome lover types, and he surprised everybody by requesting to play Puck, the mischievous fairy whose frequent bungles wreak havoc on the fairy realm and human world together.
You’d think his height would make for a strange fairy, but my mother and the high school drama teacher playing the fairy king are both tall and slender, so they all kind of go together.
Theo reads well as Puck. He’s funny. I forgot how funny he is.
As Helena, I spend most of the play with three other characters: Helena’s friend, the lovely Hermia, who is played by a blond girl named Bailey who seems to be the shining star of the local university theater program.
She is pretty, petite, and incredibly good.
Lysander is played by another of the theater students, Max.
He is conventionally attractive, chiseled, and built in the way that is effortless when you are twenty-four.
He seems nice and he reads with great energy.
Then there’s Demetrius, Helena’s love interest. I don’t catch his name, but he seems to be about my age.
He is wearing glasses and a slouchy knit cap, which should be douchey given that it’s June, but he somehow looks very cool.
He is wearing some band’s T-shirt, which reveals two full sleeves of tattoos covering his arms. He is pleasant but guarded.
When Demetrius speaks, his voice is gruff, raspy.
There’s an underlying violence to him in the role that surprises me, especially because between scenes I see him soften, share a pencil with the old lady next to him, laugh openly at the funny parts.
He seems to be well known, well liked, but as Demetrius, he’s menacing.
It’s weird doing the scene at a table when so much relies on the physicality, but he looks at me piercingly across the table, eyes flashing, voice clipped.
He’s really good. That excites me. I keep trying to flip to the cast list to look for his name and then lose my place, coming in late for my next scene.
When we break for intermission, I make a point of crossing over to him.
I put on my most charming smile, my hand outstretched.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m . . .” He shakes my hand, a quick, warm, solid handshake, and the instant his hand is on mine, I know I’m in trouble.
“Miranda Belmont,” he says. Of course. Everyone knows who I am.
“Nice to meet you,” I say. My smile feels 10 percent too strong, but it’s too late to dial it back now.
“Nice to meet you too.” He blinks at me.
“Sorry, I don’t know your name,” I say. He blinks again. There is the tiniest flicker of mirth behind his eyes. There is a game afoot, but I don’t seem to be playing it. We stand there awkwardly.
“Will,” he says. He seems content to let me do the heavy lifting in this conversation.
“So, have you done Tempest shows before?” I ask after a moment. He’s very cute.
He nods, deadpan. “Yeah, a couple. I was in The Crucible last year; did you see that one?”
I shake my head. A good daughter would come home every season; a good daughter would have seen all her parents’ plays and would recognize the recurring actors.
I’m not a good daughter. I haven’t been home in three seasons.
I’m racking my brain for some other piece of small talk, or some idea as to why this guy seems so familiar, when my father sits down, looks meaningfully around the room, and we all get back into place.
After the read-through, there is a general enthusiasm and congratulations; a couple of people come up to me.
“You’re really good,” gushes a high school kid. “I love your show. I can’t believe we get to act with you!”