Chapter Eight
I’m a Pisces and I’d like to learn to roller-skate was hands down the most memorable introduction in the history of table reads. Lola wanted to laugh in delight, but Annie looked miserable. Lola tried to catch her eye, offer a supportive smile, but Annie’s gaze was fixed on the table.
Discomfort flickered through Lola. Typically, she’d brush it off. But being back in Rhodes made everything feel sharper. More present. Like a fog she hadn’t realized she’d been living in was beginning to dissipate. She wanted to understand her unease, not ignore it.
“Lola?” Jazz indicated she go next.
Lola met the circle of curious gazes with her most generous smile. “Hi, everyone, I’m Lola Wilson. I’m playing Guildenstern, and Jazz has invited me to be her assistant director. I’m looking forward to supporting all of you in bringing this exceptional play to life.”
The words came easily, as they always did. But to her surprise, they didn’t feel like a script. They felt…real. Like she actually meant them. When was the last time she’d said something with total certainty?
“Like Annie, I also grew up here and was a member of the Rhodes Players,” Lola went on, “which prepared me for a career as an actor. I live in New York City now, but I’m grateful and excited to be back, with my old friends, helping make this meaningful show happen, for both Jazz and the community as a whole. ”
Lola smiled at Annie, who was watching her warily. “I, too, like banana splits, and I believe they are made with fudge.”
Everyone laughed lightly, except Annie, who watched the rest of the introductions with the expression of someone awaiting their execution.
Vicky went next, then Dylan. Jazz always cast a mix of theater kids and quirky locals, the latter represented by nail salon owner Deborah Buttrose, who self-defined as a “childless MILF,” and Clyde, the longtime grocer, who worked in his hypothesis that “aliens may walk among us” because “how else can we explain Comic-Con?”
The clean-cut thirty-something man introduced himself as Jamie. “Ophelia,” he added, “but Ophie to my friends.”
This won some chuckles.
Buoyed, Jamie went on. “I’m in Kingston, so not that far. I just moved up, after six years in Brooklyn.”
“Looking for a change of pace from city life?” Deborah asked.
“Not exactly.” Jamie paused, took a breath. “I moved up after…well, after my fiancée broke off our engagement because she was sleeping with my best friend.”
“Jamie.” Dylan pressed a hand to their heart, as everyone made sympathetic noises.
“Yeah. Turns out no one goes to that many hot yoga classes,” Jamie said with a rueful smile, fingering the collar of his polo shirt.
“Anyway, I did theater in high school and college but not since. I love this play—big Stoppard fan—and gender swapping it is genius. Really looking forward to meeting some new friends and trying something different.”
“Thank you, Jamie,” Jazz said. “Happy you’re here. Mikaela?”
The short young woman with choppy blond hair waved at the group. “Hey, y’all. I’m Mikaela, but most people call me Mikki.” She had a higher-pitched voice and a sweet, clear energy. “I’m also in Kingston. Shout-out to Rough Draft.”
“Great bookstore,” Jamie said with a nod and a smile.
“I’m playing Horatio, and I’m tickled pink to be here,” Mikki went on.
“Also a former theater kid who gave it up when I graduated college to work in experiential marketing in New York. Did that for almost four years before accidentally getting pregnant when I was twenty-five.” She waggled a finger at the teens. “Kids, wear a condom.”
The teens stared back, mortified.
“I quit my job and moved back in with my mom.” Mikki smiled, a dimple popping in each cheek.
“My daughter, Flora, is three now, and she is my entire world. This play is the first thing I’ve done just for me, since she was born.
I’m so excited to talk with adults about topics other than Bluey and Elmo and pooping. ”
“You’re in luck,” Jazz declared. “Very little of all three in this play. Next?”
This was the woman in her sixties dressed conservatively.
“I’m Maria.” Two spots of color rose in her cheeks as she fiddled with the purse in her lap.
“I live just outside Rhinebeck. I retired last year after working in the local library for twenty-five years. Now I spend my time with my grandkids and I’m in a women’s choir,” Maria all but whispered, “which is how I met Jazz and heard about this show. Jazz’s email said I was playing King Claudius? ”
Lola could not picture this soft-spoken former librarian embodying the powerful and manipulative king of Denmark, uncle to Hamlet and head of the royal court.
She risked a glance at Annie, expecting a flicker of relief—finally, someone more out of their depth than she was.
But Annie’s shoulders were tense, her gaze directed straight ahead.
Maria looked to Jazz, as if certain Jazz would correct her.
But Jazz just nodded, looking nonplussed.
“Welcome, Maria. That brings us to our four Tragedians.” Jazz indicated the teenagers.
“While our band of down-on-their-luck traveling actors have next to no lines, they’re still a vital part of the show, performing clowning and other physical theater. Plus, they’re our understudies. Emery?”
The white-blond teen with double eyebrow piercings. Emery lifted a hand in a limp half wave. “What’s up, I’m Emery. They/them.”
Emery cut their eyes at Dylan, who’d not only introduced their pronouns but explained what those meant for those who needed the debrief (Clyde and Maria). Dylan gave Emery an encouraging smile.
“I’m a sophomore at Hudson High, which I kind of hate. Everyone there is, like, so boring. I’m vegan and I have ADHD. Ritalin girlie, represent. Understudy for Hamlet and Horatio.” Emery flashed a peace sign then slouched back down.
Next was the pretty teen in an artsy aquamarine top.
This was Orchid, a “proudly bisexual Vietnamese Dutch senior at Riverstone Prep” who was an “actress, filmmaker, writer,” and at least three more things Lola lost track of.
“Understudy for Ophelia and the Player,” she added, smiling brightly at Vicky.
Kat was a self-described libertarian socialist with short sharp bangs who embraced community theater as an anti-capitalist form of resistance. “Understudy for Polonius and Guildenstern. She-slash-her,” she said, seeming to accidentally direct her entire introduction at Orchid.
Which left the strawberry blonde in the crop top, who looked the most eager out of the entire cast. “I’m Zoe Lark,” she said, her gaze lingering on Lola. “Understudy for Rosencrantz and Gertrude. And the craziest thing just happened to me.”
Zoe’s voice was so rich and confident, Lola assumed she’d had vocal training.
“Last week, I was on my stepfather’s yacht in the Caribbean,” Zoe said, “and we were rolling deep. My stepdad’s a big-time entertainment lawyer and a bunch of his clients were there—Miley, Olivia, Sabrina. Just like, a crew.”
“Okay, money,” Emery murmured.
“Whatever, it was chill. But then,” Zoe said as her eyes widened, “we were attacked by pirates.”
Kat gasped. “For real?”
“For real!” Zoe nodded vigorously. “Like, they came on board the yacht with guns and swords and it was so scary. Because the captain was blackout drunk! So then I had to fight them!” Zoe was fighting a smile.
“I grab one of the swords”—she mimed a sword fight—“and I’m going at it, like hah!
Hah! Hah!—” At this, Zoe broke into uncontrolled laughter.
“Sorry, sorry. I’m totally messing with you. ”
Orchid was wide-eyed. “Wait, did any of that happen?”
Zoe shook her head, still laughing. “My stepfather’s an accountant. I live with my parents in Westchester, and I like to tell stories.” She mock bowed in her seat. “Triple threat, at your service.”
Lola chuckled, amused. She’d missed those theater kid antics more than she’d realized.
“Whoa, I totally believed you!” Emery laughed, no longer looking bored.
“Same here, I was like, Bitch, when are we going on that yacht?” Orchid said.
“Pirates of the Caribbean,” Kat said, putting it together. “Good one. Though I bet most pirates are disenfranchised minorities who do it as means of surviving global inequity.”
Orchid swung to Kat. “I think you’re going to teach me things.”
Kat blinked, looking unsure. “Only if you want me to.”
Orchid gave a coquettish shrug. “I’m up for it.”
Lola leaned over to Annie, whispering, “Pirates could happen to anyone.”
Annie returned Lola’s grin with a shaky, “Huh?”
Lola’s smile dropped, realizing her error. “Oh—it’s from the play.”
The play Annie had not read. Poor thing looked spooked.
“Tragedians.” Jazz tried to get their attention.
“How do you define yourself politically?” Kat asked Orchid, sounding shyer than before.
Orchid tapped a fingertip against her lips. “Open to ideas.”
“Tragedians!” Jazz quietened the teens. Their director indicated the script. “Shall we begin?”
The cast turned their attention to their pages. Despite still feeling worried on Annie’s behalf, Lola felt a fresh bubble of excitement expand in her chest. Table reads were sacred, the critical first step of the rehearsal process. They could never happen twice.
Jazz began reading the opening stage directions, “Two Elizabethans passing the time in a place without any visible character.”
The play began with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern betting on coin tosses, which had landed on heads seventy-six times in a row, and counting.
The implausibility of it was a source of contention.
Annie’s Rosencrantz accepted the situation while Lola’s Guildenstern was more concerned.
The play’s defining characteristics surfaced quickly—wordplay, circular logic, the confusion between reality and illusion.