Act One. Scene Three.
“How did it go today?” Aurora came out through the
sliding doors, juggling a wineglass and two boxes of takeout
Chinese.
Esti jumped up to help her arrange things on the
tiny balcony table. “I got the part of Lady Capulet, and I met a
very cool Puerto Rican girl named Carmen. She’s playing
Nurse.”
“Lady Capulet?” Aurora didn’t hide her indignation.
“Who got Juliet, then?”
“Danielle, the blond girl who was here the other
day. I always suspected that Shakespeare didn’t really envision my
straight brown hair and flat chest.”
“You know the actors were all men back then.”
Aurora sat down and took a sip of wine. “Juliet probably had to
shave every morning.”
Esti tried to laugh.
“I was so sure you’d be Juliet again,” her mom said
with a frown. “I can’t believe they’re making you play Juliet’s
mother.”
“It’s okay, Aurora. The other kids are really
good.”
“They’d better be.”
Esti squirmed on her rattan chair, pretty sure the
words were meant as a compliment. Aurora still seemed to harbor
some reservations about Cariba, and Esti wasn’t entirely certain
what her mom expected from her.
Her dad had always expected perfection, of course.
When Esti was younger, she’d always been eager to comply. She
thought about how she had worshipped his private office in the
middle of their house, warm and regal, with full-length windows
overlooking Lithia Park. She hadn’t been allowed in at all until
she turned ten, but by the time she was a teenager, she spent most
of her time there. The day she turned thirteen, she had devoted her
entire birthday to making a collage of pictures for an upcoming
acting seminar he had planned.
They worked side by side, she remembered,
surrounded by cheerful lute music and the tap-tap-tap of the
computer keyboard. Occasional bursts of cinnamon and honey swirled
through the air, promising a yummy birthday tarte to follow
Aurora’s annual Elizabethan birthday dinner of artichoak pye
and spinnedge fritters.
“Why don’t you use the same handout you used last
time?” Esti had asked her dad, stealing glances across the room as
she arranged her ideas into words and images. His unruly black hair
had needed a haircut, she remembered, his hazel eyes twinkling
beneath the signature bushy eyebrows.
“Each seminar is different.” He reached over to
tousle her long hair. “This class is for kids your age, so they’ll
relate to your ideas. In fact, I’d like for you to come with me, if
Aurora lets you miss a couple of days of school. I can’t think of a
better teacher than a girl who already knows what she’s
doing.”
Esti barely remembered the pride she’d felt around
her dad before she decided to jump headfirst into his world. Before
he proved to her the brilliant, devastating perfection of his
acting. Since the television performance, all Esti had accomplished
was a lot of self-doubt. And after today, she was pretty sure
Aurora must doubt her abilities as well.
“You know what Dad would say,” she said, glancing
back at her mom. “It’s fine that you didn’t get Juliet this
time; this is a chance to prove yourself in a different way. He
could always steal the show, even when he played a small
role.”
Aurora smiled. “You can too, sweetie. You know
that.”
“Thanks.” Esti picked up a spoonful of fried rice,
then put it back down again. She couldn’t eat with this feeling of
knives in her stomach. Only her dad had been honest with her—both
supportive and ruthless—in a way she never doubted.
“Listen,” she said, “after dinner I want to walk
back down to the school. I’d like to see the theater again, without
so many people around.”
“That’s a good idea. Do you mind if I stay here?”
At Esti’s nod, Aurora lifted her glass of wine. “I’m in the mood to
feel sorry for myself.”
“I’m feeling the same way.” Esti’s eyes were drawn
to the nearby island, beautiful despite the eerie rumors. It was so
hard to let go sometimes; no wonder people believed in
ghosts.
The high school campus had been renovated from a
centuries-old sugarcane plantation. The theater was the biggest and
most ornate building, with conch shells and coral worked into
mosaics of rock and red brick. As she approached the old stone
structures, Esti thought about the school brochures Rodney Solomon
had given them before they moved here. While the glossy photos were
stunning, they didn’t capture the exquisite reality of seashell
patterns fading in the twilight. Its peacefulness lifted her
spirits until she recognized the two people sitting on the
grass.
“Hi, Danielle,” she said awkwardly. “Hi,
Greg.”
“Hey, Leg-guard.”
Greg smiled at her just as Danielle demanded, “What
are you doing here?”
“I wanted to come down and look around.” Esti
glanced at the fading silhouettes of islands in the sea. “It’s
pretty.”
Danielle shrugged suspiciously. “Yeah, the campus
is nice.”
“Built on misery.” Greg leaned back, his hands
propped on the grass behind him. “Elon Somand was a brutal slave
master.”
“Don’t even get started.” Danielle whacked him on
the shoulder.
“Danielle comes from slave owners, but her dad’s
ancestors were the nice kind, right? Not the ones who worked
their slaves to death.” Greg grinned. “It does get kind of spooky
around here after dark. If you listen hard enough, you can hear the
jumbees wailing.”
Esti wondered if Greg was trying to scare her, or
if this was some sort of subtle flirting. All she wanted was a few
minutes of quiet meditation in the theater building, and maybe—she
suppressed a sheepish smile—the unlikely chance to hear Romeo’s
voice again. Before she could think of an excuse to go inside,
however, the theater door swung open.
A tall West Indian man walked out with Mr. Niles,
breaking into a movie-star smile as he saw her. “Esti! How are you
doing?”
“Hi, Rodney.” She returned Rodney Solomon’s hug.
“Hi, Mr. Niles.”
“Good evening, Mr. Solomon,” Danielle said
formally. “My mom didn’t tell me you were back on the
island.”
He laughed. “I’ve had a lot of catching up to do.
Esti, could you tell your mom I’ll stop by tomorrow? Jayna wants me
to make sure there are no problems with your house.”
“The house is great,” Esti assured him. “But I’ll
tell Aurora you’re coming.”
As the two men walked away, Danielle gracefully
rose to her feet. “Come on, Greg,” she said in an irritated voice.
“My parents hate it when we’re late for dinner.”
With a sigh, Esti walked to the front of the
theater. Although the wooden panels along the side walls were
firmly shut, she was relieved to see that Mr. Niles had left the
main doors unlocked. She groped along the rough wall for a minute,
trying to remember where she’d seen rows of light switches. Finally
she gave up and carefully made her way into the room, her
peripheral vision slowly discerning the faint path of an
aisle.
As her footsteps echoed in the room, she inhaled
deeply, tasting the scent of damp stone and old wood, a hint of
mothballed costumes and greasepaint lingering in the air. The smell
of the dark theater reminded her of the old playhouse in Los
Angeles, and she smiled.
No one in the world had existed in that playhouse
except little Serene memorizing lines with her dad. He loved to
recite Shakespeare with all the lights off, testing her memory and
praising her efforts. Darkness was the best way to rehearse, he
often said as she grew older, as it kept an actor honest. It also
made sure she would never be afraid of the dark.
She sat on the edge of the stage, tapping her heels
against the wood. She rarely thought of Serene Terra unless she was
filling out official paperwork. Rafe Solomon had actually been the
one who started calling her by her initials when she was in
kindergarten. Even though she liked the hippy-chick name her
mom had given her, it had been thrilling to have a different
identity around Rafe.
With a sigh, she leaned back. Rafe had been so shy
when he first moved to Los Angeles, she remembered; a lot of kids
avoided him because he had a West Indian accent and the darkest
skin in her high-priced neighborhood. Since Rodney worked with her
dad, however, Esti and Rafe soon became friends. He would help with
her math homework, then watch while she practiced her Shakespeare
skits, cracking her up with silly comments, like “What pencil
have Hamlet use, mon? 2B or not 2B?”
With his accent, he made the name Esti sound
mysterious and grown-up, like one of Shakespeare’s characters.
Although he was a year older than she was, they quickly became
inseparable. When her family moved away to Oregon a few years
later, she decided to stop introducing herself as Serene. Esti had
become her name.
“Serene, doff thy name,” Esti said to the empty
theater. Sighing again, she added wistfully, “And for that name
which is no part of thee, take all myself.”
“I take thee at thy word.” Romeo’s rich voice
filled the stage.
Esti leaped to her feet, instantly forgetting about
Rafe. “Who’s there?”
“Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized.” A
hint of a smile colored his reply. “Henceforth I never will be
Romeo.”
His voice sent a delightful thrill along her spine.
“What man art thou,” she said before she could stop herself, “that
thus bescreen’d in night so stumblest on my counsel?”
“By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am.
But I’d like to know what Niles is thinking, to have Danielle play
Juliet when he has such a rare opportunity in you.”
She couldn’t help the smile playing on her lips.
“Okay, where are you?”
“On the stage, of course.”
She twisted around, surprised at her difficulty in
pin-pointing his voice. She knew she should feel uneasy talking to
a strange guy in the dark, but the warmth in his tone made the
thought of fear seem ridiculous. “What are you doing here?”
“I watched the auditions today. I’ve rarely seen
such a convincing Juliet as yours.”
She cringed, knowing he must have seen the entire
thing. “Uh . . . thanks for your help.”
“Did I help?” he asked in bemusement, an intriguing
accent touching his words.
“You helped with Juliet,” she said, embarrassed.
“My Lady Capulet was awful.”
To her surprise, he burst into laughter. “Not many
actresses are so honest. I admire what I’m seeing.”
“It’s pitch-black.” Esti forced a light note into
her voice, hoping she didn’t sound as flustered as she felt. “You
can’t see a thing.”
“Talent doesn’t require visual cues, especially
when speaking Shakespeare.”
Suddenly shy at the unexpected compliments, Esti
wrapped a long strand of hair around her finger. “That sounds like
something my dad would say.” Except, she thought, my dad
wouldn’t have let Lady Capulet off so easily. “He liked
rehearsing in the dark because he could focus better.”
“And what about you? Does the darkness help Esti
Legard focus better?”
“It helped a lot when I practiced with him.” She
drew her brows together. “So, you know who I am. But who are
you?”
“My name”—the voice hesitated—“is Alan.”
“Like my dad?” Chaotic longing surged through her,
and she wished she had turned on the lights when she walked
in.
“Yes. I studied Legard’s theories in school.”
“Did you go to his acting seminars? He taught at a
lot of different schools during his theater tours.”
“Acting seminars,” Alan repeated softly.
“Yes.”
“I usually helped him prepare for those.” As Esti’s
heart gave an odd thump, she wondered if Alan had ever gotten any
of the handouts she’d made. She barely controlled an urge to tell
him every last detail about honeyed birthday tartes and lute music.
This is crazy, she thought. I have no idea who this guy
is. Why would he care about lutes? “So you met my dad?”
“I did have that great fortune,” Alan said.
“Shakespearean actors have rarely influenced American culture, but
your father certainly did. His film presence was amazing.”
“Mmm hmm.” Esti instantly grew wary. Just one more
fan, enthralled by the Great Legard’s presence. She couldn’t
escape it.
But Alan’s next words surprised her.
“I imagine it was difficult around your father,” he
added. “You’re an exceptional actress in your own right, you
know.”
Esti sank back against the edge of the stage, her
knees trembling as Alan drew out one of her deepest fears and
effortlessly smoothed it away. Where was this guy who
practically read her mind? His voice seemed close enough for her to
touch him, but she could swear she was the only one on the dark
stage. “Thou know’st the mask of night is on my face,” she managed
with a deep breath, “else would a maiden blush bepaint my
cheek.”
He burst into another delighted laugh. “I like you,
Esti. I’m surprised you don’t have a string of movies under your
belt.”
Her knees grew even weaker, and she took a deep
breath. “My dad made sure I could audition for parts all over the
Oregon Shakespeare Festival. And in my high school theater. Not to
mention the occasional Renaissance Faire. He wanted me to have lots
of acting opportunities.”
“Mmm hmm.” As Alan repeated her generic reply, she
realized how spoiled she sounded.
“It’s not like I didn’t have a blast doing it,” she
quickly added. “People loved it when we showed up in theaters all
over the country with very little warning. I just haven’t done any
acting since . . .” She shoved away the memories of her last
performance with her dad. “Since before he died.”
“His death was a terrible blow.” She barely heard
Alan’s soft words.
Relief swept through her at the chance to really
talk about the loss of her father—a topic she still didn’t dare
bring up with Aurora—followed by unexpected fury at yet another
stranger pretending to understand. “Yes, it was,” she muttered.
“I’ve got an entire notebook of tabloid memorials from people who
barely knew him.”
For a moment Alan didn’t speak. “I’m sorry,” he
finally whispered. “No one could imagine what it must be like for
you.”
“No, I’m sorry.” She took a slow, controlled breath
at his genuine sorrow. “Thank you for saying that.”
“I wish I could help.” She almost didn’t hear
him.
“You are helping.” As she said the words, she was
surprised to realize how true they were. She stared into the
darkness, feeling like she could pour out all her anger and hopes
and fears, and this stranger would somehow understand. “I’m
glad so many people respected my dad.”
“Yes.” Alan paused. “And I’m glad you’re
here.”
A weird, tingling sense of hope began to grow
inside her at his uncanny ability to follow her mood.
“Who are you?” She casually kicked her foot against
the stage. “Are you in the play?”
“I’m not a student,” he said.
“So you teach with Mr. Niles?” she continued.
“I’m not a teacher here either. I am merely an
actor, like you.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t use the word merely.” Esti
suppressed a laugh. She felt a sudden giddy empathy for Juliet on
the balcony, falling so quickly for a voice in the dark. “I don’t
remember my dad talking about any young actors named Alan. What’s
your last name?”
“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by
any other name would smell as sweet.”
This time she couldn’t help giggling. “Don’t
distract me, Romeo. Tell me you’re not one of those jumbees I’ve
been hearing about.”
Soft laughter brushed her like the caress of a silk
scarf, and her skin jumped in response. For the first time since
she was a child, her easy comfort in the darkness wavered. Rubbing
her arms, she rose to her feet.
“I’d better turn on the lights.”
“As you wish.”
“I don’t believe in jumbees.” She felt her way back
along the aisle with a calm, measured stride. She knew she’d
seen light switches somewhere beside the main doors.
“Wise of you.”
Despite her unease, she couldn’t help smiling again
as his amused voice followed her up the aisle. Even her dad would
have been impressed by Alan’s perfect projection.
“What I want to know,” she said, “is how I heard
you this afternoon, when no one else seemed to.”
“Magic.”
She snorted. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t
you?”
“Immensely.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
Esti felt an odd satisfaction at his answer. Boys
her own age seemed unable to see past the fact that she was The
Great Legard’s daughter, but Alan didn’t seem intimidated. “What
does Mr. Niles think about your prompting work?”
This time, however, Alan didn’t answer.
Esti half turned to face the dark stage, her smile
fading. “Did Mr. Niles know you were here?”
“This evening has been my greatest pleasure, but I
must leave.” Alan’s formality suddenly returned. “Please don’t
mention me to anyone.”
“I . . . why not?” She quickly swept her hand along
the rough wall beside her.
“I wish . . .” He trailed off, his voice wavering.
“I think it was a mistake to talk to you.”
“No, it wasn’t.” She felt the truth of her reply
all the way down to her toes. As she finally found the switch,
light enveloped the theater in a comforting glow.
She studied the empty stage for a moment. “Alan?”
she said uncertainly.
A chill crept over her as the silence lengthened,
not broken by even the sound of departing footsteps. Although
Alan’s voice still played in her head like fine music, she was very
clearly alone.