| |
––––––––
WHEN THE CURTAIN ROSE for the final time the crowd took to its feet, but in the absence of a second gaffe big enough for a true celebration of Jennie Bryer bungling the part, Vera only allowed herself a half-hearted attempt at applause.
“You would have performed the role brilliantly, Vera,” Rosemary assured her friend.
“Jennie did a credible job, but I wouldn’t call it a spectacular performance, to be sure,” Abigail contributed with enough sincerity that Rosemary decided she liked the woman even more.
“Thank you for saying so,” Vera replied. “Would you and your husband like to accompany us backstage? My friend Samuel played the part of Bottom, and I’d like to tell him what a splendid job he did.”
Abigail looked at Martin, her eyes sparkling, “Oh, can we, please?”
“Of course, my love,” Martin agreed. “Your wish is my command. I do demand we retire for drinks afterward, as I wouldn’t mind washing the excess of Shakespearean prose from my memory.”
Frederick craned his neck around Vera and Rosemary to heartily agree. “Desmond and I concur. In fact, why don’t we get a table at that pub just around the corner, and you can meet us there when you’ve finished?”
Rosemary thought Frederick’s idea an excellent one. Even if Jennie hadn’t bungled Titania to Vera’s satisfaction, there was no denying the woman had looked magnificent onstage. It would be best if he and Desmond resurrected their discussion of her finer attributes well out of Vera’s earshot. Not, of course, that Desmond would purposely utter a word intended to infuriate Vera—he knew better than to poke a raging lioness. Besides, he’d been too busy surreptitiously watching Rosemary’s facial expressions during every scene to ogle Jennie anyway.
With a plan in place to spend a scant few minutes congratulating Vera’s friend before catching up with Frederick and Desmond, the Redberrys followed Vera and Rosemary to the backstage area where the latter had arrived at the start of the night.
Before the show, the atmosphere had been hopeful, but now it fluctuated between frustration and elation; those who felt they had played their parts well exhibiting the latter, while the actors who had missed a line or a cue displaying the former.
“This is so exciting!” Abigail whistled out a breath and clutched her husband’s hand. “I’ve never been backstage before.” Wide eyes took in the whole beehive of activity behind the scenes: actors wearing various bits and pieces of costume, stagehands tearing down and setting up for the next run, props being gathered and returned to their places.
They found Vera’s friend easily enough, as he was sitting in front of a mirror and wiping the last of the donkey makeup off his face. After planting a kiss on his cheek, Vera gushed over his hilarious portrayal of an overzealous actor who found himself entangled and then dragged into the middle of an argument between the faerie king and queen.
“You were simply marvelous, darling Samuel,” Vera concluded sincerely. “If I weren’t leaving for a holiday tomorrow afternoon, I would make a point of attending the entire run of shows if only to cheer you on.”
“You are too kind, and you know it, Vera dear,” Samuel replied. “You must have caught my stumble in the second act, and I felt as though my Bottom could have been a bit more whimsical.”
“Perhaps if you’d been cast alongside an actress worth her salt, you’d have had more to play off,” Vera said wryly, and then took a surreptitious look around for Jennie Bryer.
Unfortunately for her, the actress in question had been seated at a mirror on the opposite side of Samuel’s, and when she poked her head around the corner to see who’d had the temerity to critique her performance, her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.
“What are you doing back here, Vera Blackburn? This area is for members of the company only, and the last time I checked, you were not included in that group.” There was such derision in her tone as to send blood rushing into Rosemary’s cheeks, abruptly turning them to flags of red, and she automatically opened her mouth to defend her friend.
She needn’t have worried, because Vera was more than capable of taking care of herself. Before Rosemary could get a breath out, Vera pierced Jennie with a look and retorted, “And what exactly did you have to do to get the part, Jennie? Take a little after-hours romp with the esteemed director? At least I have enough pride not to stoop that low.”
The most poisonous of snakes couldn’t have held more venom than the smile Vera turned towards her nemesis.
Rosemary glanced between the two women as animosity built until the pressure nearly made her ears pop. Abigail clutched her husband’s arm, her breath hitching, and her eyes sparkling with excitement. The scene playing out before them was better than anything they’d witnessed on the stage that evening.
“Your pride isn’t worth nearly as much as your mother’s money, is it? How lovely for you not to have to worry about paying the bills. Acting isn’t a flight of fancy for the rest of us as it is for you. It’s not all fun and games. When you’ve finished for the evening, you get to cool your heels in a lavish flat while the rest of us work for a living. You don’t have the drive or the hunger to succeed, and you never will. You’ll end up a no-name has-been, just like your mother, mark my words!”
Jennie Bryer had gone too far. The next moments seemed to crawl past, and still, Rosemary couldn’t have warned Jennie in time to duck. Nor would she have, since she considered the punishment far less than the crime deserved.
Light glinted off her diamond ring as Vera reared back and curled her hand into a fist. She might have stopped herself, even hesitated for a fraction of a second, but Jennie smirked, and that was all it took to push her over the edge.
Arrowing towards its target, Vera’s fist landed with a dull thud that sent Jennie reeling back a few steps. Scarlet erupted from her lip, and her eyes widened as she touched the painful spot and came back with bloodstained fingertips. Abigail, upon seeing the spout of blood, grimaced and turned away.
“How dare you!” Jennie cried, whirling towards the mirror to examine her face. “You could have knocked my teeth out, you jealous, horrible witch!” Two strides had her standing eye to eye with Vera, whose face had contorted into an expression displaying both satisfaction and shame.
Jennie hauled back as if to return the blow, but Samuel grabbed her and pinned her arms behind her back. “Let go of me!” she screeched, drawing the attention of everyone within hearing distance, which included the entire company and the director.
“Let me take a look,” Martin said in the tone adults usually reserve for small children or yapping dogs. “I’m a dentist.”
The girl allowed Martin to examine her, and Rosemary noted that he was extremely gentle for a dentist. “You’re going to be just fine. Ice that lip, but your teeth are intact.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket and deposited it in Jennie’s clean hand. “Call me if you experience pain or if you feel any shifting of the teeth.”
“I think it’s time for us to go, Vera,” Rosemary said, shooting an apologetic glance at Abigail and Martin and pulling Vera towards the door.
“You’re banned from all further performances, Miss Blackburn,” the director informed her in an icy tone as they passed him on their way out. Head bowed, Vera nodded and made a hasty retreat along with the rest of the group.
Once outside, Vera crumpled and apologized. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” She directed the sentiment towards Abigail and Martin since Rosemary was already well acquainted with her temper.
“Oh, don’t apologize! The events of this evening were most exciting. Believe me, aside from the blood, I’m having an absolutely fabulous time!” Abigail gushed. Martin smiled tightly and nodded absently in agreement, his gaze having settled upon something across the street.
When he spoke, his voice sounded choked. “You three go on ahead. I’ll meet you at the pub in a few minutes. I have some business to attend to.” With that, he dropped his wife’s hand and walked off in the opposite direction.
“Martin!” Abigail called to her husband’s retreating back. “Of all the nerve.” She turned to Rosemary, her face flushed. “I’ve been abandoned like something meant for the bin. Oh, I could simply kill him for the way he’s been acting lately.”
If there was one thing Vera could never resist, it was the urge to cheer up the downtrodden. “Come now,” she said, slinging an arm over Abigail’s shoulder. “No use letting that flat tire spoil your mood. Let’s get—what was the term Freddie used? Spifflicated.”
As willing as a puppy, Abigail followed Vera towards the pub.
Rosemary’s curiosity got the best of her, and she craned her neck to see what it was that had caused Martin to abandon his wife on the street. He was talking to a tall, thickly muscled man, and though his back was turned so that she couldn’t see his face, Martin appeared more than annoyed. He gesticulated wildly for a moment but kept his voice low enough that from that distance, Rosemary couldn’t hear what he was saying.
Feeling like a voyeur, Rosemary returned her attention to Vera and Abigail, who were laughing heartily by the time the trio reached the pub across the street.
“You mean we missed all the excitement, and the opportunity to see Jennie Bryer undressing?” Frederick whined once the tale had been retold to his satisfaction a solid three times.
Martin, who’d joined them just a couple of moments after they’d ordered drinks, brightened infinitesimally. “It was a sight to see, I’ll vouch for that.”
“Vera was fantastic,” Rosemary enthused. “It’s a wonder she didn’t break the poor girl’s nose.”
“Poor girl,” Vera harrumphed. “Considering what she said to me, that poor girl is lucky I didn’t do more than tussle with her.” Her voice had begun to slur thanks in large part to the second G&T an enthusiastic Frederick had just lavished upon her.
“She might have a point, Vera darling,” he said, winking in Desmond’s direction. His friend, at least, had the sense to keep his mouth firmly shut other than to offer congratulations to Vera. True, Desmond had spent countless hours with the group as a child, but it had been years since then, and he judged wisely that he ought to get the lay of the land before invoking Vera’s wrath.
What he remembered of her was that she’d been a spunky, fearless girl who’d played as roughly as any of the boys. In fact, sometimes even more so in an attempt to prove herself just as tough. It appeared she hadn’t changed much, and if pressed, he would admit he admired her tenacity. As far as Rosemary went, there were plenty of attributes to admire there, but he was wise enough to keep his thoughts on those to himself, as well.
“What do you mean, she might have a point?” Vera demanded, the color rising in her cheeks. Rosemary pushed herself away from the table slightly, just in case Vera came to blows again. She didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire.
Frederick gulped, realizing he might have bitten off a bit more than he could chew, but refused to backtrack. This was how their arguments always started: Frederick poking at Vera and Vera shoving back at him. “Well, you aren’t counting on a paycheck, are you? She’s not wrong about that. Perhaps a degree of financial insecurity provides a higher level of motivation.” He sat back, eyes twinkling, and waited for the onslaught.
Vera, angry but also well on her way to being completely ossified, raised an eyebrow while contemplating how to respond.
Martin spoke up in her favor, earning him a few points in her esteem. “In my own experience, you can never tell what might drive a person to do anything.”
“Fair point, my friend,” Frederick said, nodding to Martin in thanks for taking the heat off him for even a second. “Fair point.”
“That is true,” Vera slurred, “and we know from firsthand experience, don’t we, Rosie?” She tried to wink, but it came off as more of a flutter of the lashes and Rosemary wondered whether she ought to get just as sozzled. Vera, in a combative mood was much easier to take when one was also carrying an edge.
“What is she talking about?” Abigail asked, avid with curiosity about the look that passed between Rosemary and Vera—and even more curious about Vera in general. The way the woman goggled, she might as well have been sitting across from the Queen of England.
Rosemary leaned over the table towards Abigail, but before she could get out so much as a word, Frederick beat her to it.
“Rosie here is the next best thing to Sherlock Holmes. A regular sleuth, don’t you know?”
“A private dick they call them in the States,” Desmond added to the conversation. “Or would that make her a dickess? One can never be sure about these things.”
Deep in his cups, Frederick found the term inordinately amusing. “Whatever you call it, she is the one who solved the murder at Barton Manor. You must have read about it in the papers. Of course, the police took all the credit, but Rosemary and Vera almost got themselves killed tracking down the culprit.” His voice rang with pride as if he’d forgotten how terrified he’d been at the time.
“Oh, Freddie, hush,” Rosemary admonished. “It wasn’t as thrilling as you’re making it out to be. We simply put the pieces together, is all.”
Vera guffawed. “It certainly was that thrilling, and you know it. I have no problem taking a bit of the credit. We only narrowly escaped death!” She’d become even further intoxicated and, having missed the opportunity to perform onstage, even more theatrical than usual.
She told the tale, and by the end of it, had everyone cheering for herself and Rosemary. Martin peered at Rosemary with newfound respect, and Abigail could barely contain her excitement. His hand rested on her back, and it appeared his transgression from earlier had been entirely forgotten.
When Vera moved on from true life events, she began reciting Titania’s lines from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Nearby patrons, most of them well greased, egged her on. Before anyone could stop her, Vera had mounted the bar to stand and deliver her lines to the packed house, and despite having consumed a number of cocktails, she never missed a word. The performance would have put Jennie Byers to shame had she walked through the door.
By the time Frederick and Desmond had persuaded Vera from her perch atop the bar, Martin had reached his limit, “I have early patients in the morning, dear. Are you ready?” He yawned, and Abigail reluctantly agreed it was time to depart for home.
“I’ll see you all soon, I hope,” she said as she made her way to the exit after an enthusiastic hug and a kiss from Vera that was meant for Abigail’s cheek but landed somewhere near her ear instead.
