A Star in Cornwall Read online

  "Yeah, but this is a tragedy, remember?" said Katie. "It's Shakespeare's greatest tragic romance."

  "About a girl who throws everything away for a guy on the rebound?" he said. "Just think about it. There's got to be more to the story than the surface of true love thwarted by a family feud."

  "If you're so sure about all this, why don't you read?" said Katie. "You're pretty full of advice on the subject. You should give it a shot."

  "Here, here," said Rosie, who had been listening, too. "We could use every willing and able body we can get, and we've armchair directors aplenty, believe me. By all means, read something."

  "I don't know," said Riley. He sounded dismissive and uncomfortable, all of a sudden. He hadn't realized we were listening to their conversation. Maybe the play had been a handy excuse to flirt with Katie at this moment, and he hadn't been serious about his suggestions.

  "Come on," coaxed Lady Amanda. "You can't possibly be worse than I was. At school, I played Oscar Wilde once — an utter disaster, I assure you, but nary a soul ever confessed it to me."

  Rosie tossed him a script. "Don't waste your breath on anything but lines, laddie," she said.

  "Looks like you've been cornered," I told him, with a smile. "Give us your best shot."

  He opened the script to a random page and looked at it for a moment. We waited for him to begin reading, knowing that most cold reads are filled with pauses and hesitations while the actor figures out the motivation.

  But Riley hit his knees on the stage before Martin without more than two seconds' of reading. "'Banished,'" he said, in a voice that seemed breathless. "Screw your comfort. Unless comfort can make a woman like Juliet appear out of thin air. Or move a town's foundations ... or change someone's fate ... it's useless to me." His voice was bitter, choking with despair. "Don't mention it to me again."

  Martin fumbled with his pages. "Why is it crazy men never listen?" he read.

  "Why should they?" Riley scoffed. "Smart men can't see the truth."

  "Let me talk sense into you —"

  "You can't speak to me of something you don't understand!" Riley cut him off in fury, without waiting for a theatrical cue. "Were you like me — if you had someone like her who loved you —" He stopped abruptly, as if searching for the right words. "If you had done what I did just an hour ago, only to think about what she would say...." Here, he stopped speaking once more, hands buried in his hair, as if trying to tear it out at the roots. A little groan of pain came from his lips. "You would know. You would want to be dead."

  We were all six silent for a moment. Gerard's hammer had ceased pounding. Lady Amanda's jaw had dropped open, while Martin looked as shocked as if he was really the victim of an angry young lover's temper.

  "Well," said Rosie, after drawing a deep breath. "In my opinion, that was .. quite decent." Her voice was hollow. She glanced at me and Lady Amanda.

  "Decent?" repeated Lady Amanda. "Spot on, I would say. And what's more —"

  "— he's American," finished Rosie. "It's perfect, isn't it?"

  I turned to Riley. "I think you're in the cast," I said to him. It had taken me a moment, too, to recover my powers of speech after his audition. Somehow, that performance was the last thing I had expected from Riley, who seemed so laid-back and mild. He was proving to be a man of many diverse talents.

  He flipped his script closed, his thumbs tapping against its back cover. He looked as if he was thinking about it, and as if he wasn't sure. "Okay," he said, at last. He shrugged his shoulders. "Cool. I guess if that's what you want." He looked at us. "What part do you want me to play?"

  "Any part," blurted out Rosie. "Take the lead if you want it." She giggled slightly — her astonishment still hadn't worn off.

  "Umm...I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not one of you guys. I don't think I should do that."

  I was surprised by that, too. Maybe he was shy after all, and didn't want to be in a spotlight in front of strangers.

  "You simply have to be in it," said Lady Amanda. "You can’t refuse, not after that reading."

  He still didn't look fully committed, so I decided to try a new approach. "What part do you want?" I asked him. "If you could play any part in the script."

  He thought about it for a second. "Mercutio," he said, with a funny smile. "I'd play him."

  "Why Mercutio when you could have Romeo?" asked Katie, sounding amazed.

  "I like comedy," he said. "What can I say?" He climbed to his feet again and handed me the script. He didn't quite meet my eye as he did this, although he smiled. He picked up his hammer and went back to building the set.

  That wasn't what I was expecting. Nor was anybody else here, of course. But I found that I respected him more for his choice. After all, it would have been easy to choose the lead, if he had wanted — and bypass all the regular, albeit less talented, longtime performers among the local players. Since the part he chose was by no means a small one, it wasn't shyness behind it, either.

  "Mercutio?" said Katie. "He's a clown. Your reading was the best tonight. Even Andy wouldn't hold it against you if you took the part." It was pretty obvious that she was a little impressed, too.

  "Like I said, I don't want to be the hero," he replied. "Besides, I saw somebody awesome play Mercutio once, too."

  "In New York?" she countered.

  "Yeah. In New York," he said. "Maybe I'll channel that guy when I'm out there. Who knows? I might get lucky and be pretty good." He pounded a nail into the supports behind Gerard's apartment false front.

  "Next up, Katie and Loreena, front and center for the Juliet scene, please," I said, reading their names off the list. Katie grabbed her script.

  "Break a leg out there," called Riley. I saw her glance back at him with a grin, then proceed onstage. The faintest blush on her cheeks vanished as she opened the pages to read.

  I couldn't help but notice that her Juliet reading was very different from the first time she said those lines.

  ***

  "I think I've managed the blocking of the scenes," said Rosie. "I only wish I could manage the costumes as swimmingly. Andy says he feels Romeo in leather is a bit passe...and I've argued Martin twice on the subject of Tybalt in a proper American ball cap at least once."

  She took a sip from her pint at the Fisherman's Rest — for the first time ever, I was seated at the players' 'regular' table during rehearsals, a privilege usually afforded only to the closest friends of the theater company.

  I bit my tongue, not wanting to discuss the regional fashion rules behind ball caps, since Rosie was adamant regarding her vision of the performance. Me, the director, despite that title, was just supposed to worry about the performances themselves, and whether we could make this production have an 'across the Pond' flavor. Still, I thought I could persuade her to let go of a few tropes in favor of a classier vision of New York.

  "Let Nora badger the performers about their costumes," I suggested, as a way of changing the subject away from ball caps. "Isn't she in charge of costumes anyway?" I knew enough about the players to remember this fact.

  "Costumes, yes. People's home closets, no," answered Rosie.

  "Thank heavens Gerard is worrying over the lights," said Lady Amanda. "I suppose even a family crisis can't keep him from ensuring the production is at its best."

  "Just wait until Millie hobbles into our midst," said Rosie. "If we haven't rallied this production by then, she might force herself to take command."

  That didn't sound so bad to me, given how little confidence I felt about telling actors and actresses what to do — but I tried to put on a more confident expression for Rosie's sake. "I'm sure Millie will be thrilled by the casting choices. And Gerard's set pieces look great."

  Most of the cast was squeezed at the bar, including Katie and Riley. The number of admirers gathered around our newest company member had finally abated, leaving Riley with breathing room at last. I could hear him telling Katie a story as I waited for my soft drink.

&nb
sp; "I worked at a service station for my first job," he said. "My dad, he was a carpenter ... I helped him out when I was a kid, then I got on with a crew building a house. Only they really wanted somebody to do electrical, so I raised my hand and said, 'hey, that's me.'"

  "Did you know how?" Katie asked.

  "No. I mean, I learned, of course. I was a fast learner, so it didn't take long. And the house didn't burn down because I worked on it, so don't worry."

  He had a nice smile, one that was part teasing and mischief, part seriousness. One of Riley's many charms, which would undoubtedly make him a great Mercutio on the stage in a few weeks.

  I thought of Matt's teasing words about him, and was a little glad my true love hadn't seen Cliffs House's handyman in actuality. He might actually feel a little jealous — I had only seen Matt jealous once, and as it was a small thread in his personality, it rarely emerged. But given all my recent theater exposure, a part of me pictured that little touch of drama as exciting.

  Grow up, Julianne, I chided myself. The ludicrousness of Riley's charm making Matt jealous ... of even sneaking a wish for it on my part ... couldn't be put into words. Besides, Matt would definitely notice the crush Katie was developing on our budding thespian, and the evidence that it was returned by him.

  "My first job? Making shakes at a Tastee Frost," said Katie. "First time I operated the ice cream machine, it sprayed milkshake all over the place."

  "No way! The same thing happened to me," said Riley. "I worked at one the summer after the construction crew — mine was a chocolate cherry shake."

  "Vanilla sprinkle," said Katie, with a grin. "That was my one and only job, by the way, other than the study hall on campus. Not like your dozen or so jobs. A jack of all trades."

  Riley shrugged. "It's not as many as it sounds like," he said. "Some of my experiences weren't exactly 'jobs.' I learned stuff by teaching myself, by doing things. Somebody would teach me something, and I'd hang onto it. Even without actually pursuing it as a job."

  "Like Julianne becoming a director," said Katie, jokingly. "I saw the books on your desk, by the way," she said to me. "A Junior Theater's Guide to Putting on Plays."

  "I need all the help I can get," I said. "Unless we're letting Millie hobble around on one leg for the summer production."

  "You'll do great," said Riley. "Directing's just instinct and motif. You plan events, right? That's all about themes and harmony. So it's practically the same thing."

  "I suppose you saw one of the greatest directors ever stage Romeo and Juliet in New York," I said.

  "It just so happens I did," he said.

  "In between one of your many jobs," teased Katie. "Oh, wait — they weren't jobs, were they?"

  "So you weren't really a crazy taxicab driver?" I said. "What a shame." I had heard the handyman entertain Katie with that story last afternoon, about racing around a metropolis at top speed with various harried, grumpy, or rattled customers in his back seat, along with a few shady characters, too.

  "Um ... let's just say I've had some experience at it," he said. "But not what you'd call a career investment."

  His smile made it impossible to tell whether he was joking or serious, that being its primary drawback. For a moment, I wondered if Katie sensed that, too, and if she should be a little careful.

  "So with no experience in theater as a kid, not even high school drama, you walk onstage today and wow everybody in the room," said Katie. "That's pretty amazing. And you expect me to believe that was just beginner's luck?"

  "Beginner's luck," said Riley. "I never played in community theater, never joined drama club. I was pretty shy as a kid. Stages and lights would've terrified me, believe me."

  "You? You seemed really comfortable," said Katie. "You always seem comfortable and relaxed."

  "Not always. I was the quiet one in a crazy family," said Riley. "Practical jokers, always the life of a party. They were a big, noisy crowd, and I was a skinny little kid who wore corrective lenses for half his childhood ... basically, I was a shy nerd until I was about nineteen or so."

  "How crazy?" I asked. "They just sound like fun, outgoing people."

  "Yeah, on the surface ... but you had to know them. My grandfather? He was a daredevil. Rodeos, stunt driving, stock car racing — he did it all."

  "So that's where the crazy taxicab story comes from," guessed Katie, shrewdly. "But was he crazy, or just indestructible?"

  "Well, when I was growing up, he was just a regular guy with a grocery store," said Riley. "But spend a family weekend somewhere with zip lining or whitewater rafting — and, bam! Gramps was out there doing his stuff."

  "Yup. Sounds crazy," I said. "But I'm guessing you must have thought it was fun, or you wouldn't have followed in his footsteps."

  The look that flashed across Riley's face was hard to read. "I don't think I'm the same kind of daredevil," he answered. "Maybe I just want to be free. You know, make my own decisions."

  "Maybe you should take up acting," hinted Katie. "I hear theater's a pretty free place. I wouldn't know, since my one and only brush with it was as understudy for Juliet — nightmarish, to say the least — but I don't have your gift for picking up skills at the drop of a hat, either."

  "That's some gift," I said. "Maybe better than your cab driving skills, since you didn't nearly run over anybody onstage."

  "So can you learn to do anything in five minutes or less?" asked Katie.

  "Just about," said Riley. His gaze lingered on her for a few seconds after this statement before he looked away.

  I felt a hand on my arm, and caught the hint of familiar cologne — Matt was here, joining us at the bar. "You're home," I said. "I thought you were going to be working late — if I had known I would've skipped the post-rehearsal drink."

  "I thought I'd join you, rather than make you come home to heat up some stew for me," teased Matt. "And see you in your new element as well."

  "Matt, this is Riley O' Connell," I said. "He's playing Mercutio in the summer production. Riley, this is my husband Matt. He's a botany professor working at a local public garden right now."

  "Pleased to meet you," said Matt, shaking hands with the younger man. His smile wasn't a forced polite one, so he wasn't pretending to be friendly towards the estate's new handyman. Not a hint of jealousy in his face at all.

  "Nice to meet you, too," said Riley.

  I looked at Matt. "Do you want to have a quick half pint?" I asked him. "Then have a little late dinner, just the two of us?"

  "Sounds perfect." He kissed my cheek. "Let me order a quick bitter, then I'll walk you home."

  The brief fantasy of Matt's eyes flashing with concern when meeting Riley was gone — along with that of a Shakespeare-style duel, in which Matt fought a romantic rival based on only the merest hint of a threat. Of course, in this fantasy I was a girl of Kate's wide-eyed innocence in a Medieval gown, which could hardly become reality, either.

  But a girl can dream, can't she? And luckily for me, I was going home with the man of mine, who might agree to read some Shakespearean sonnets aloud to me tonight, if I asked him.

  ***

  When I wasn't focused on upcoming events at the manor — or making sure that my refrigerator didn't go empty with Matt and I both so busy — I spent my spare time at the Cliff's Edge Playhouse, trying to make this play a good one.

  "I think this play is cursed," groaned Rosie during the latest rehearsal.

  Gerard wasn't here tonight, so the lights were reduced to one glaring spotlight, all that Andy could coax the stubborn board to produce. Once again, Martin was late because of his notorious tire punctures; and to make matters worse, I found that nobody had managed to memorize the 'newfangled' lines of our modern Shakespeare script well enough to finish a scene without tripping up.

  "This script's just too odd," said Nick. "Shakespeare without the proper lines. It doesn't seem worth doing it, really. I just can't quite feel the part."

  "Could you try a little?" I said. "Millie really
wanted to try modern Shakespeare. Modern theater would expand your horizons, she said."

  "Maybe horizons don't need expanding," said Nick.

  I sighed. Except for Gerard and the younger members of the company, this was pretty much the sentiment of the group. At this rate, Millie would never have luck introducing Chekhov or even Beckett to the company.

  From behind the curtains, a tremendous crash made all of us onstage jump. "The crypt just collapsed!" announced Andy, dashing from the wings.

  "What?" Three voices answered him simultaneously — me, Rosie, and Nick.

  "The — you know — Juliet's grave," said Andy, motioning to the wings. "The coffin - the chapel frame — it fell on Martin!"

  "Heavens!" said Rosie. "Someone call the doctor, quickly! An ambulance from Truro —"

  "I'm fine." Martin emerged from the right hand stage, staggering a little despite these words. "Just a little bruised, I trust. Nothing to worry about." He gripped the curtain for support, as Andy ran to help him.

  "He's bleeding!" I said. "Someone find the first aid kit!"

  "Just a scratch," assured Martin. His eyeglasses were cracked, and there were splinters of plywood on the knees of his trousers from Juliet's ruined coffin. Rosie helped him roll up the torn knee of his corduroys, revealing a nasty gash.

  "This could really benefit from a doctor's opinion," she said to him.

  "What was that noise?" Katie, Riley, and Lorrie were climbing the stage's steps. "Oh, my gosh — blood, " said Katie. "I don't do well with blood." She turned around quickly, her face a greenish pale color that made me think Katie's dinner was about to join us onstage, too.

  "Deep breaths," said Riley, squeezing her shoulder. "Don't look and you'll be fine."

  "I just don't want to embarrass myself by getting sick," she said. "Besides, I don't think Martin needs the extra germs with his open wound."

  "Even the greatest actors get sick," said Riley. "Nerves, stage fright. Probably for blood if there's a big action scene." His words made Katie giggle, and she looked less green now.

  "I've seen plenty of blood," said Lorrie, helping Rosie with the bandages. "Last week, two of the lads at school thought it would be a proper laugh to put one of the others in a rolling dustbin and give him a shove down the hill's pavement. I've never seen skin peel off like old paint before." A slight retching noise came from Katie now, who leaned over and braced her hands on her knees.