Standing for Weirdo

Chapter 31

The play started at seven, as if it were a professional opening. The auditorium was full, and while most of the public consisted of friends and family members, we always relied on word of mouth and curiosity to get the rest of the community to come afterwards, during the weekend performance. It had worked other years, and I had the surety that, this time, the tickets would sell out.

We didn’t look like a group of high school kids. Professor Hedford had morphed completely into his director role. The younger members all wore plain but utilitarian clothing, ready to rush around and add their bit. Even Mickey, who just had to keep water available for everyone in the breaks, had a resolute set to his jaw that betrayed how seriously he was taking it. And we, the actors who had landed parts? We had spent hours doing up our hair or styling our wigs. The makeup was thick, but not colorful—it looked very much like our research said the ladies and gentlemen of Regency England would look, as a matter of fact. The dresses hadn’t been put together from spare pieces, either. They’d been supplied, and we’d only made slight adjustments to fit our sizes.

Director Hedford gave us all a once over and I could see his chest expanding with pride.

Right, now we only have to make sure that the performance is on par with the props.

He peeked out into the auditorium after a moment of silent contemplation, signaled me to enter the stage and gave a thumbs up to the girl in charge of the curtain.

I took a deep breath.

Here goes nothing.

The light didn’t allow me to see much from the seating area, but I heard a round of polite applause when the play officially started, and I hid a grin under my distressed exterior. This would be my challenge. To make sure they weren’t clapping politely at the end, but rather screaming their throats hoarse with passion.

Alex entered the stage and all thoughts left my mind as the memory of Trevor's song while we rehearsed this scene for the first time slammed into me. In a blink, I wasn’t worried at all about the public or their reactions. I was just a betrayed, scared woman who didn’t want to believe what the clues were rubbing in her face. Alex must have reacted in very much the same way, because I saw Lord Windermere, pained and tired, but adamant in his silence and unyielding in his terrible request that I must invite the woman who slighted my honor to my party.

Lines started to pile upon lines, emotion brimming and then overflowing the stage as we danced in and out, weaving the story just as we’d learned, building up inexorably for Act II. The curtain fell and three younger girls and a boy rushed out to add the small decor details that would turn the drawing room into a ballroom floor. I had time to take a deep breath as myself and to note the tense, expectant silence that enveloped the public before we started again.

I was giddy while the music started and the attendants came over to pay their respects, everyone aware, but ignoring the scandal that loomed over my head. The theme for Lady Windermere’s Fan sounded different from the rehearsals, and for a staggering fraction of a second I had enough presence of mind to worry that it’d not work. But then, at the same time as everyone else, I realized what was happening. Trevor wasn’t only highlighting our emotions and helping us to build upon them. His music encompassed the whole auditorium, which up until that night had been empty, and so we were cocooned in the sea of expectation coming from the audience.

I took it, relished it, added it to my tethering hope, and sent it right back to them.

In response, the wave of shock and tension and outrage and pain that came to me when Mrs. Erlynne finally made her entrance floored me. I faltered at the proud, unapologetic smile on her face and everyone felt my dismay. The discordant, broken undertones that entered the song brought out their indignation to sustain me, and I pulled all the dignity I could from the melody and kept going, forgetting that it was a play and that I was not Lady Windermere.

When the play finished, there were no whistles of appreciation or delighted screams.

There was just a roaring round of applause that drowned the maddening pulse in my ears and lasted while the curtain came down and up, down and up, again and again.

I was in a daze even when the lights were switched off and the auditorium emptied little by little, in a moved silence. Someone hooted backstage, an escape for the amount of pent-up emotion that still permeated the air, and I grinned and laughed and hugged everyone. Even Director Hedford.

I rushed to the pit then. He’d been wonderful. He’d been even better than in his first performances during rehearsal period. He’d given us the hearts of the public…

“Trevor?” I asked, the smile wavering on my lips as I saw him.

The pallor that had receded during his musical break was back in full force. The guitar lay against the wall, and he sat in a corner, pressing one hand against his mouth while shudders shook his entire frame.

“Oh my God, Trevor, what’s wrong?” I rushed to his side, not minding the tumble of curls perched precariously on my head or the huge gown that made the pit entirely too small. I knew what was wrong, but I wanted to be mistaken.

He looked up, startled, as if he’d not heard me coming to him, and then he forced his lips into a thin smile. “You were incredible,” he said, ignoring my question.

“Everyone was,” I whispered, framing his face in my hands and examining him eagerly for… I didn’t know what, exactly.

“Everyone played their part well, but you owned that stage like you’d been born for it. Congrats.” Color returned to his features in small doses, little by little, and I allowed myself to relax.

“Your song made me feel like I was.”

He smiled softly and leaned in to kiss my lips, just brushing against them. Warmth instantly spread through me and I fought the urge to melt against him. It didn’t make me forget about what I’d seen when I entered the pit, but it sure convinced me that it had been a bad case of scenic panic and nothing worse.

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