After much pleading, I finally convinced Emmy to come with me to see Romeo and Juliet at the Canterbury Amphitheater. Understandably, she was worried about a run-in with the paparazzi we’d heard was camped out in Topsail, hoping to snag a photo of her. Zosia had the brilliant idea of having Emmy borrow one of Mistress Monica’s wigs to use as a disguise. We chose a short black pageboy style à la Catherine Zeta Jones in the movie Chicago. Not fully satisfied with Emmy’s makeunder, Zosia also lent her a baby pink and mint green Lilly Pulitzer caftan dress covered with baby palm trees. By the time we finished, Emmy J. looked like any other tourist spending the summer on Topsail Island and nothing like an international popstar.
At the suggestion of the hotel concierge, I picked us up a picnic dinner in town to enjoy during the show. There was no assigned seating in the Canterbury Theater, so we planned to get there early to get a good spot. Turned out, everyone else had the same idea, and by the time we got through the audience line, the only seats left were in the far back of the theater.
“It’s better if we sit out of the way, anyway,” Emmy said. “Less of a chance I’ll get spotted.”
“You really think somebody here will recognize you? With the wig and the outfit?”
“You’d be surprised.”
The usher directed us to two seats behind the lighting booth and passed us each a playbill before leaning in and saying, “I’m a huge fan of yours, Ms. J.”
Emmy threw up her hands. “So much for being incognito.”
“I’m sure he won’t say anything to anyone.”
She turned and pointed to the usher, who was furiously texting away on his cell phone.
“And I’m sure he’s alerted at least half his friends by now,” she sighed.
“What do you want to do? We can leave and head back to the hotel?”
“No, you stay. You wanted to see the play. Shakespeare’s not really my thing anyway.”
“Are you sure? Emmy, I really don’t mind leaving with you.”
“Did you know there are only two ways on and off the island, a high-rise bridge in Surf City, and a high-rise bridge in North Topsail Beach? I feel a bit too much like a sitting duck. If I leave now, I can avoid the cameras I’m sure will be waiting for us at the end of the show. I’ll have the hotel shuttle come pick me up.”
“I honestly don’t know how you do it.”
“Up until my breakup with Matt, I really didn’t mind the attention. It’s all part of the job, right? But, I’m feeling a little more fragile these days and just not in the mood to have my life on display right now.”
“I understand.”
She squeezed my shoulder. “I know you do. I’ll see you back at the hotel. Enjoy the play.”
I settled back into my seat and opened the Playbill. I figured chances were high I’d recognize one name or another from the Gerber Agency. I flipped to the bios and read through the performers’ resumes, which were mostly comprised of local productions and credits, many of the actors having just come off the Topsail Little Theater’s spring production of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Carousel.
When I was a sophomore in high school I was cast as Julie Jordan, the lead in the musical Carousel, a role I’d coveted forever. I pleaded with my mother to come to just one show, but at the last minute, my father was able to get her into an experimental cancer treatment program in Stockholm, and they missed every performance. Sam, though, had flown home from college to see me in the role, sitting through the show at least five times before heading back to New York, and of course, I loved him all the more for it.
Though my father let me know my mother was heartbroken over disappointing me, I refused to speak to her for two solid weeks. Two weeks! Now, I’d give almost anything to have even just two minutes with her. The guilt and regret over the way I treated my mother and her illness was sometimes too much to bear. All it would take was the smallest of triggers for those emotions to come bubbling up again.
I closed the Playbill and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand as the chorus stepped out onto the stage to recite Romeo and Juliet’s famous first lines. In my line of work, I’d seen Romeo and Juliet performed at least a dozen times in all sorts of incarnations. A few years ago, New York City’s Public Theater put on Romeo and Juliet as part of their summer Shakespeare in the Park series at the Delacorte Theater. The show’s creative team built a revolving set featuring a seventy-foot wide pool with water, through which the actors waded, splashed, and stomped about. While the mood the unique set created was nothing short of visually stunning, an unfortunate side effect was the fact much of the story and dialogue ended up being forfeited to the over-the-top spectacle.
In sharp contrast, the Canterbury Amphitheater production was totally stripped down. The actors wore simple costumes in front of minimal sets that utilized the naturalistic backdrop of the woods. There were very few spotlights, the director purposefully taking advantage of the full moon that was bathing the performers in gorgeous white light.
The actress playing Juliet was perfectly cast, which, coming from someone who’d spent the last six years working under Stephen Gerber, was saying a lot. Her performance was beautiful, exposing every shade of Juliet’s ingenuousness—and all the heartbreak that comes with it. The actor playing Romeo had a boyish, impulsive bravado that made the instant attraction between the two entirely plausible.
Todd was right, though, the concept of a fourteen-year-old falling so head over heels in love she’s willing to end her life before it even begins was insane, even to me. Didn’t she know it was only a matter of time before Romeo picked up with some wench from the local pub and left her high and dry? No, she didn’t know, because she was FOURTEEN, with no real-life experience or perspective. And for the first time ever, I wanted to jump out of my seat and stop Juliet from plunging that dagger into her heart. She had so much more life left to live and love to experience.
My new opinion on the plot prospective aside, it was an absolutely wonderful production. From the prologue to the prince’s final verse, I was completely entranced. When the show was over, I made my way down to the front of the theater to congratulate Gerald Mason, the director of the theater, whom I’d met briefly during my visit a few days earlier. I wanted to leave him my card, so some of the actors could get in touch when I got back to New York and the Gerber Agency. Part of my job was to scout talent, and there was no question there was an impressive amount of talent in this production.
I waited for the crowd of well-wishers to clear out before I approached Gerald. He studied my face, trying to figure out how he knew me. I reminded him of the afternoon in the Topsail Little Theater, where he graciously let me rest my injured ankle. Then, I passed him my business card.
He put his hand over his mouth and took a large step backwards. “The Gerber Agency? You work for the Gerber Agency? You’ve got to be kidding me.” He popped up on his toes and looked around. “Am I being pranked right now?”
“Not at all. I’m sorry, I should’ve done a more proper introduction the first time we met.”
“The Gerber Agency,” he repeated as he shook his head. “Wow, Stephen Gerber’s a legend. He’s cast all the greats. He just finished Elizabeth, right?”
“He didn’t actually cast for Elizabeth. It’s a pretty sore subject around the office. We don’t mention the E-word anywhere near Stephen. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that your two main leads were amazing. No promises but have them reach out to me. I’d love to have each of them test with us for a few things,” I said.
He tucked the card into his script. “Noah and Olivia are going to flip out. I’ve been trying to convince them it’s time to take their chances in New York.”
“There’s no better place, and I should know.”
“You’re an actress too?”
“I was. I studied to be one, anyway. Didn’t quite pan out for me, though.”
Gerald pulled the flyer announcing auditions for Twelfth Night out of his pocket. “It’s never too late. We hold auditions in three weeks,” he said, passing it to me.
“I don’t know about that. Besides, I’ll be heading home next week.”
“Topsail has a funny way of taking hold. I was supposed to go home years ago.”
I laughed and took the paper from him. “I’ll think about it.”
I decided to walk back to the resort. The Topsail streets were crowded with people who’d just left the show, stopping off for an after-dinner drink or dessert. With its cute shops and quaint restaurants, Topsail really was the quintessential summer beach town, and I could understand what Gerald said about wanting to throw off the rest of the world and settle down here.
I stopped to buy a homemade vanilla bean ice cream cone from a seaside cart, licking all around the sides as I made my way back to the hotel. I gave my name at the Retreat House wrought iron gates and followed the carved path up to the large front doors.
Unlike the bustle of downtown Topsail, the hotel was strangely quiet, with just a few guests mingling about the lobby. I ducked into the ladies’ room to wash my hands, which were sticky from melted ice cream, and when I came out, I spotted Todd and Louisa heading into the Palm Lounge, together. My heart flip-flopped, and my stomach fell. Were they on a date?
I tiptoed out of the bathroom and crept slowly around the corner toward the lounge, which was set up in the evenings as an after-hours bar. I stealthily slid along the wall and into the room, where the two of them were huddled up in a small banquette in the corner of the room, sipping cocktails and watching the live jazz band.
I sighed and leaned back and into the wall. They looked so happy, so right together. It was hard to believe their relationship ended, let alone imploded. Todd whispered something in Louisa’s ear. She threw her head back, laughing, her luscious hair landing gently across her back and shoulders. He pushed a few strands out of her face and took another sip of his martini.
I’d seen enough, or at least, enough to understand they weren’t quite as over as they purported to be. I ducked down and tiptoed out of the lounge and back to my bungalow, where I fished my phone out of the nightstand drawer and plugged it back into the wall charger. After a few minutes, the phone came back to life, pinging away with text messages and missed calls from the last several days—half a dozen texts from Merritt, updates on castings from Courtney and Stephen, baby bump photos from Grace, and then there was the one message that stopped me dead in my tracks. Three simple words from Sam.
I Miss You.