In Harmony(33)

My X’s on the page had turned to question marks. Why did I care? I didn’t. Couldn’t. I snapped my notebook shut.

Martin Ford strode in with the assistant director, Rebecca Mills, their arms laden with red notebooks identical to Isaac’s.

“Official scripts,” Martin said as the cast took their seats. “We all need to be on the same page. Literally.”

I put my library copy away and took the heavy binder on my lap. Once we were all seated, Martin stood in the center of the circle, turning to address us all as he spoke.

“My first command as your director—”

Veteran cast members finished in unison: “Get. Off. Book.”

“That’s right,” Martin said. “Get memorized. You cannot act with a script in your hand. You can emote, but not act. Two different things.” He spread his arms, as if the room were as wide as an African savannah. “We want to look outward and explore the vast, rich landscape of Shakespeare’s words instead of being trapped—” he bent over, hands framing his face, “—our eyes cast down, noses stuck to the map.”

I shifted in my seat. This shit was real. Martin Ford was a legit director and this was a serious show, and…Oh my God, I’m going to fuck this all up.

“Make sense?” Martin asked. “I give you three weeks and then I start elevating understudies. So, let’s get started.”

Martin gave a little bit of his background and a short speech about why he chose Hamlet—not merely just to play Polonius, he joked—then he had us go around and introduce ourselves, and state the role we were playing.

When the circle came to Lorraine, she sat up straighter.

“I’m Lorraine Embry, and I’m portraying Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, mother of Hamlet.”

I bit my lip and out the corner of my eye, I saw Justin doing the same. We exchanged short, amused looks. I felt Isaac’s icy stare before I saw it—his glare wiped my smile off quick, replaced by hot embarrassment. The kid who got caught passing notes.

“Isaac Pearce. Hamlet,” he said.

I stared at my feet until it was my turn. “Willow Holloway. I’m playing Ophelia.” I said, certain that at any second they’d see this was a mistake and tell me I was in the wrong room.

Martin smiled. “Willow is new to Harmony and I’m so pleased to have her fresh energy here in our theater.”

A round of spontaneous applause startled me, and I cringed farther back in my seat. I glanced at Isaac but he was picking at the hole in his jeans.

Justin was next.

“Justin Baker, and I’m playing Laertes.”

“My stage children,” Martin said, beaming like a proud father. He glanced around the room. “Done? Great. Unt now,” he said in a German accent, “we read.”

A flutter of pages as people opened their scripts. I glanced over at Isaac again. My damn eyes wouldn’t or couldn’t stay off him. This time, his gaze met mine then jumped away.

The read-through began. A lot of people took notes, Isaac scribbling the most. I wondered if I should be doing that, watching as the dialogue brought us closer and closer to Act 1, Scene 3. Ophelia’s first lines.

Rebecca, the assistant director with the boxy glasses, read all of the stage direction. “Enter Laertes and Ophelia,” she said.

Justin, as my brother Laertes, began a long diatribe against Hamlet. I mentally noted he was telling Ophelia not to sleep with the prince—to be afraid of sex and wary of giving away her ‘treasures’ to a guy who wouldn’t marry her anyway.

Then Martin, as Polonius, started in. Treating his daughter as if she were a clueless idiot. Completely helpless and na?ve about the ways of men.

“You do not understand yourself so clearly,” Martin said. “As it behooves my daughter and your honor. What is between you? Give me up the truth.”

I knew Isaac’s eyes were on me as I read my lines. “He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders of his affection to me.”

He helped me at the audition, I thought. He brought me my jacket when it was so cold…

“Affection?” Martin scoffed. “Pooh! You speak like a green girl, unsifted in such perilous circumstance. Do you believe his tenders, as you call them?”

I raised my eyes to Isaac. “I do not know, my lord, what I should think.”

Isaac held my gaze as Polonius went on to rant that Ophelia must obey him, as her father, and stay away from Hamlet.

I swallowed and kept my eyes on the script that was throwing my own life back up to me in black and white.

“I shall obey, my lord.”

Four hours later, the play ended with nearly every character dead. A dozen red binders shut with a resigned thump. We all stretched and gathered our things. Justin leaned over as I pulled up an Uber app on my phone. Leaned far enough into my space to make me cringe. I took a step away, pretending to readjust my bag.

“You need a ride?” Justin asked. “Where do you live? I got you covered.”

“Oh, uh…”

My gaze sought Isaac for some stupid reason, but he was talking to Martin. Justin was waiting for an answer. The weight of his expectations hanging over me. I heard myself blurt my address in that fucking ridiculous way girls have been taught since time immemorial—saying or doing things they’re not comfortable with for the sake of accommodating a man’s feelings.