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“AN EVENING OF BORING theater was not what I had in mind when I said I’d like a night on the town, you know,” Desmond complained as he topped off his glass of gin with a splash of tonic and a squeeze of lime. “I never did enjoy the Bard as much as my teachers thought I ought to. Downright depressing, old Shakespeare, wasn’t he?” He leaned over the bar cart and tilted his head towards her.
Rosemary tilted her head to one side. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream is a comedy. How can you not enjoy a story filled with fairies and lovers and beautiful poetry?”
He lifted a shoulder carelessly. “I’m male, I suppose. That’s my only defense. We aren’t always attuned to the finer nuances and tend to prefer our love stories off the page. Or off the stage, as it may be.”
Being quintessentially male, he proved the point by missing the subtle roll of Rosemary’s eyes towards the heavens, though he gave her a smile that smoothed over the gaffe. Tonight, she thought, was not a night for pointing out the glaring differences between male and female sensibilities.
She dragged her attention away from his dimples and back to the words he was speaking.
“You certainly do look lovely, Rosemary. You’d fit right in with the fairies of Shakespeare’s imagination.”
She had to admit, she felt better in the deep-purple silk dress than she had in unrelieved widow’s black, especially since she knew it set off her golden hair and complemented her figure. Not carefree, exactly, but far better than she had in ages.
She blushed, and took a swig of her drink to avoid replying immediately, and then decided to accept the compliment without worrying whether it might mean anything. “Thank you, Desmond.”
Rosemary was grateful when Vera and Frederick swept into the parlor and drew the attention away from her, and she didn’t even bat an eyelash at their squabbling. She supposed she might as well get used to it. Two weeks with the pair of them acting like children would drive her mad unless she maintained her sense of humor.
“It was Clifford Leighton,” Frederick insisted. “He bragged about it for weeks.”
Vera stopped, turned, and wagged a finger under Frederick’s nose. “You’re all wet. It was Jonty Emsworth, and that’s the final word on the subject.”
Rather than backing down, Frederick thrust his face closer to Vera’s. “Clifford Leighton,” he enunciated each syllable.
Stretching up on her toes, Vera matched his fervor. “Jonty, and he did a right good job of it, too.”
“It was not.”
“Was too.”
This went on for several more turns until Rosemary couldn’t help but intervene.
“Here now, what’s this all about?”
So close their noses nearly touched and without taking her eyes off Frederick, Vera snapped, “Your brother is under the misguided notion that Clifford Leighton was the boy with whom I shared my first kiss.” Then she called Frederick a name that no lady would repeat in polite company.
As she had done in the past, Rosemary dearly wished the sparks between Frederick and Vera carried even a hint of romantic feeling. As vehemently as they argued, she thought they’d love one another even more so. Alas, it was not to be, and the insults grew increasingly scandalous until Rosemary couldn’t hold back her laughter.
“You’re fools, both of you,” she said between giggles, “and wrong besides. Vera’s first kiss was with Basil Harrington at the church fete the year we turned twelve. She gave him a boiled sweet, and he rewarded her with a peck on the lips. Then his ears turned red, and he had to go to confession.”
Vera’s sour mood popped like a soap bubble, and her silvery laugh rang out. “I’d forgotten. He had to say ten Hail Marys, and he didn’t speak to me again for a month.”
Turning to Frederick, Vera couldn’t resist a final taunt. “You were still wrong.”
“So were you,” came his retort.
“Come now, you two. We are all adults here, are we not?” Desmond intervened while Rosemary convulsed with silent laughter.
“It’s a losing battle, Des. I promise you. Just bring plenty of cotton to stuff in your ears while we’re in Cyprus. Trust me; you’ll need the relief,” Rosemary sputtered while she tried to catch her breath.
Desmond shrugged and sat down on one of the armchairs, crossed his legs, and watched while Rosemary tried to corral her brother and her friend. She appeared to shift between irritation and amusement, which was the customary response to Vera and Frederick’s shenanigans.
“And you, Freddie dear, should know better. Vera needs our support now, and that’s what we’re going to give her. Well, that and our sternest, most judgmental review of Jennie Bryer’s performance. Do you think you can handle that? Or shall we leave you at home?”
Frederick pursed his lips and turned to approach the bar cart, muttering something about how he hadn’t wanted to attend the theater tonight anyway.
Ignoring her brother, Rosemary focused on Vera, who looked, in her opinion, far more like a fairy princess than Rosemary ever would. “I simply cannot believe the director passed you over for the part of Titania. You look perfect for the role just as you are. No costume needed.”
Vera’s frock, in palest pink, had a shirred shoulder that skimmed down into a fitted, corset-like bodice, then dropped gently to swirl around shapely calves. Sparkling beads sprinkled across the skirt caught the light like tiny, pinprick stars.
“Thank you, Rosie. You always know what to say.” Vera kissed Rosemary on the cheek with a genuine smile on her face. “I thought for sure I had that role in the bag. Perhaps I’m not cut out to be an actress, after all.” A sliver of doubt crept into her tone.
The mere thought that Vera would think she was less talented than Rosemary knew she was irked, and she shot her friend a scathing glance. “Stop talking like that. You’re the daughter of the great Lorraine Blackburn. You have the pedigree, you have the talent, and you—usually—have the ego to match. I much prefer the Vera who knows the director was a dolt to the uncertain woman standing before me. Now, shall we go and discover how badly he got it wrong, or would you rather mope around here and give Jennie the satisfaction of knowing she bested you twice?”
Vera’s eyes narrowed, but her spine straightened, and she tilted her nose in the air. “Come on then. We wouldn’t want to miss the opening curtain.” She strode out of the room followed by Rosemary with Frederick and Desmond on their heels.
