Part 15 (1/2)
Bertie widened her eyes as far as they would go. ”I'm here in a professional capacity this afternoon. You would do well to remember that.”
The Stage Manager clapped his headset on and disappeared into the wings with a muttered, ”Argh!”
The fairies giggled, and Bertie drank the last of her coffee just as another appeared over her left shoulder.
”I thought ye might need this.” Nate took a hesitant sip from his own cup and grimaced.
Bertie accepted the cup and peered into it. ”Is this from the Green Room?”
”Aye. Bilgewater 'tis today.”
”Will it put hair on her chest?” asked Moth.
”Yuck! Girls shouldn't have hair on their chests!” said Cobweb.
”Hey, Nate!” Mustardseed popped his head up over the chair back. ”We saved you a lemon tart!”
”Did ye, ye wee beastie?” Nate settled into the seat behind Bertie. ”That must have taken tremendous restraint.”
”It did!” Cobweb agreed with a wag of his head as the other boys pushed the nearly empty pink box under the seats.
Nate leaned forward to snag the piece of pastry before one of them stepped in it. ”My thanks.”
”Sorry about what Mrs. Edith said to you.” Bertie sipped the coffee and confirmed it tasted as awful as it smelled. ”That whole 'defiler of innocents' line was a bit much.”
” 'Tis all right. I can't blame her, considerin' what it must have looked like.” Nate concentrated very hard on his dessert. Bertie finished her bilgewater, not knowing what else to say as the Players trickled in, singly or in groups of two or three. Gertrude arrived with her entourage, which included minor characters from other productions.
”This is a closed rehearsal,” Bertie said, jumping up from her seat and hurrying onstage. ”You weren't called.”
”But we want to see the changes.”
”Like when Ophelia forgot her lines-”
”It isn't fair to keep us away!”
”No, no, no, no.” Bertie herded them to the stage door. ”Out. All of you.”
”Excuse me, Mesdemoiselles.” Mr. Hastings sidled through the clucking women, burdened with an a.s.sortment of Egyptian antiquities.
”What are you doing here?” Bertie closed the door firmly behind him, despite the protests of the banished.
”The Theater Manager thought you ought to have some properties to set the mood, and you did ask for asps.”
Bertie looked over the dangerous a.s.sortment of daggers, vials of poison, and a basket that hissed a warning. ”Plastic snakes, right?”
”Of course.” Mr. Hastings adjusted his spectacles.
”Where do you want the pyramids?” Mr. Tibbs arrived, sneaking covert glances at Mr. Hastings' contributions.
Bertie blinked. ”How many are there?”
”Three,” he said, scattering ash on the stage.
”Arrange them as you see fit,” Bertie said. ”I trust your judgment implicitly.”
”Is that so?” Mr. Tibbs s.h.i.+fted his cigar around his mouth, trying not to look pleased and failing. He stomped off past a distracted Ophelia, who wandered in the wings near Mrs. Edith. The Wardrobe Mistress appeared to be wrestling the sheet off the Ghost of Hamlet's Father.
Bertie turned to Peaseblossom. ”What's Mrs. Edith doing?”
”She said she needs that sheet. Something about using it for a template to make his new costume.”
The first of the pyramids landed Center Stage as the Danish Prince slouched in, eyes deceptively lazy.
”So glad you could join us,” Bertie said. ”I hope the call didn't inconvenience you.”
Hamlet leaned against the flat and took a long drag off a cigarette. ”Not at all.”
”Put that out,” Bertie said, though she longed to join him. ”We have rules about smoking in the theater.”
Hamlet rearranged his beautiful mouth into a scowl, dropped the cigarette, and ground it out. ”Better?”
”Nearly. Now pick up your litter and put it where it belongs,” Bertie said.
Hamlet gaped at her. ”That's the Stage Manager's job!”
”If I see you make the mess, you get to clean up after yourself like a good little boy.”
They glared at each other for a moment, and Bertie wondered if Nate would have had something to say if his mouth hadn't been full of lemon tart. In the end, the prince shrugged, picked the b.u.t.t off the floor, and flicked it into a nearby wastebasket.
”There,” said Bertie with an insincere smile. ”That wasn't so hard, was it?” She turned to the rest of the a.s.sembled Players. ”And let me take the opportunity to announce that henceforth, latecomers will be replaced by their understudies.”
There was a collective intake of breath from the princ.i.p.als while every member of the Gentlemen's and Ladies' Choruses straightened.
”Can that even be done?” Peaseblossom whispered to Bertie.
”It's just a threat,” Hamlet said.
”Try me.” Bertie returned his cold stare, frost for frost. ”Now, if I could have everyone sit down.”
With impressive silence, the Players took their seats around the stage. Gertrude arranged the skirts of her practice costume. Polonius lingered next to the curtains. The Ghost of Hamlet's Father sulked near the edge of the center pyramid.
”Mrs. Edith couldn't have found a less distracting subst.i.tute than a pink sheet with flowers on it?” Bertie demanded of the fairies.
”I guess not,” said Moth between hiccups of laughter.
Bertie watched the Ghost b.u.mp repeatedly into the wooden flat. ”It's really s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with his head.”
”He'll get over it,” Cobweb said.
”Let's hope so.” Bertie moved to the front of the stage and raised her voice. ”This afternoon, I'd like to start by explaining the changes we'll be making to our production. We've set the stage to help you envision Ancient Egypt.”