Saving Juliet

  "I promise."

  "And once I know where you are living, perhaps I can come for a visit."

  "That would be nice," Juliet said.

  Lady Capulet had reserved a superior sneer for Romeo. "Do not expect me to ever approve of you, young man, but promise me that you will take care of her."

  "I promise," he said, bowing.

  "You look like your father," she added, as if she had just told him that he looked like pig crap.

  "I hear guards," Friar Laurence cried, wringing his hands.

  "That would be your father's men, sent to search for Romeo," Lady Capulet said. "Go now."

  "Quick, get in the cart," Romeo urged as stomping boots echoed through the cemetery. It sounded like a large group of guards, though the Capulet tomb blocked them from our view.

  "Forget the cart," Lady Capulet said. "Take the horse, daughter. It will get you and Romeo out of the city quicker."

  "Mimi's in danger, too," Juliet said. "I can't leave her."

  "She's in no danger," Lady Capulet insisted hurriedly. "I will remove the exile and personally see that she gets back to Manhattan. No one will harm her. Go. Go now!"

  "But Mimi, you brought us together. You and Troy must come, too," Romeo pleaded.

  We couldn't all fit on that horse. Believe me, I wanted to go with them. "I'll be fine," I insisted, showing a brave face. Of course, I didn't trust Lady Capulet for an instant. "Go on. It's what you're meant to do."

  "I will never forget you," Romeo said, kissing my cheek.

  Juliet and I hugged. To this day I can feel that small, warm body. I handed her my letter. "Read it when you can. I know your story, and I want you to know mine."

  "Good luck, you two," Troy said, unhitching the horse.

  Romeo jumped onto the horse. He reached out his hand and pulled Juliet onto the saddle.

  "Go," Lady Capulet said. "Find the happiness that I never found." She slapped the horse's rump and it began to gallop away.

  I felt nervous and excited at the same time. What an adventure Juliet was about to have. I wished I could go along with her, to see how she made a new life for herself.

  Juliet turned and smiled at us, a smile that was both blissful and fearful, just as newfound freedom often is. And off they went--a happy ending after all.

  Lady Capulet watched until they disappeared from view. Then she wiped a tear from her eye. "You are exiled from this town," she told the friar. "You know the truth so I want you to leave Verona immediately. Be gone from my sight." Then she turned to me. "You and that man wait here. I will tell the guard that you are free and have them escort you to wherever you would like to go."

  Lady Capulet looked upon me, one last time, with a stare as blank as virgin canvas. Then she tipped her head, ever so slightly. Her exit was glorious, with her cape billowing behind her as she glided around the tomb's corner and out of view.

  The friar picked up his bag. "I want you to take the main road to St. Luke's church. I have a friend there, Friar Martin, who will help you. Oh dear, I almost forgot to give you this." He reached into his bag and pulled out the quill. "I thought you might like to keep this. It's the quill you used to write Juliet's letter. It's all I have to offer."

  I took the quill. "Thank you."

  He scratched one of his big ears. "I'm curious, though. You told me that someone else had authored Romeo and Juliet's story. But you are the one who helped Juliet find freedom and who helped Romeo find love. And you've helped me as well, for now I am free of my obligations to Verona. Free to tend to the poor." He smiled in his knowing way. "It would seem, my child, that God, in His wisdom, has made you the author of all our stories." He kissed my hand, then disappeared around the tomb's corner.

  "I'm the author," I whispered, staring at the quill. "Troy?"

  "I'm way ahead of you," Troy said, grabbing one of the torches from the tomb's entryway. "Why didn't we think of this before?"

  Why hadn't we? With hindsight it was so obvious, but sometimes we are blind to the most obvious things. Such as our true feelings. "Do you think it will work?"

  "It had better," Troy said, "because even if Lady Capulet keeps her promise, I'm not looking forward to sixteenth-century life."

  I thrust the quill into the flame, the heat almost singeing my skin. The flame instantly took to the feathered end, melting the fluffy white ostrich feather into a black paste. "Your ladyship," I heard a man call.

  The quill's handle caught fire, burning as quickly as a piece of kindling.

  "We are ordered to search the entire city."

  "Search no more," Lady Capulet cried. "The Montague spy and her lover are at the Capulet tomb. Kill them!"

  She had betrayed us, after all. "Here they come," Troy said.

  The flame reached my fingers. "Ouch!" I cried, dropping the quill. Footsteps came closer. I dropped to my knees, hovering over the quill. It had transformed into a snakelike coil of silver ashes. A guard rounded the corner.

  "Mimi?" Troy cried, standing between the guard and me. "Hurry."

  "Montague!" the guard snarled, raising his sword.

  Oh please, oh please, oh please work. I took a deep breath and blew the ashes as hard as I could. They swirled in the morning air, stinging my eyes and nostrils just as they had in the theater. "Troy!" Where was he? Coughing, I squinted through the ash cloud. The guard's sword hovered above Troy's head. As I lunged through the cloud, the sword began its descent. "I wish we were home!" I screamed, grabbing Troy's hand.

  At that moment, it felt as if I had plunged down a roller coaster.

  Troy's hand slipped from my grasp.

  Twenty-six

  ***

  "All the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances."

  My butt felt numb. For good reason, because I was sitting in snow. A few flakes landed on my cheeks as I turned my face to the sky. Gone was the blue Verona morning. Gray blanketed the sky above the little alleyway where I sprawled like something that had just been tossed from a truck. Cold air pierced my lungs as I took a huge breath of realization. This was my alleyway--the one outside the Wallingford Theatre. It had worked.

  I scrambled to my feet and tried to open the backstage door. Locked, as usual. Would Troy be on the other side? I knocked, then pounded. "Hey, let me in! Troy!" No one opened it. Where was he? The image of that sword slicing through the air hit me. What if he hadn't made it back? What if that blade had killed him? I ran down the alley, around the corner to the theater's entrance. The marquee nearly blinded me with its twinkling yellow lights. Troy Summer Stars in Romeo and Juliet, Final Performance, it read. Why hadn't they changed the sign? It wasn't Sunday.

  Pimply-faced guy opened the lobby door. "Ain't you supposed to be backstage?"

  "I'm back," I said, stumbling into the lobby. Applause echoed from the performance hall. The Coat Check Crones peered over their counter.

  "Who's that?" one of them asked.

  "Why, that's Mimi Wallingford, great-granddaughter of Adelaide Wallingford," another said.

  "I'm back," I repeated. "I'm okay." I half expected to be rushed by FBI agents, or a police officer or two. At the very least, I expected someone to ask me where I had been. But the Crones started trying on fur coats, completely ignoring me, and pimply-faced guy shrugged.

  "Whatever," he said.

  Okay, so no one gave a crap about me. But surely they would have been worried about Troy. Famous, rich, popular Troy. "Have you seen Troy?" I asked. "Is he back? Where is he? Is he okay?" The guy squirmed with discomfort. That was the most I had ever said to him. "Why won't you answer me?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about," he replied.

  "Actors always get uppity on the final performance," one of the Crones told another. The final performance?

  Hysterical girl screams erupted from the hall. That could mean only one thing. Troy was onstage. It was the final performance and Troy was onstage. No time had passed, as if we had never left. M
y entire body went slack. Of course Troy was onstage. He hadn't bothered to look for me. He hadn't bothered to wait on the other side of the backstage door. He had jumped right back into his Troy Summer persona. I should have expected as much.

  "Mimi." Fernando rushed into the lobby, waving a foundation brush. "What are you doing out here? You make me crazy." He took my hand. "You need powder, you need gloss. Come." He led me down the hall. "You make a mess with that necklace, you go outside for fresh air, now you feel better." He led me into the dressing room. "But do you think about Fernando? No, you do not. You get snow all over your dress and ashes in your hair. This is Fernando's last chance to make up Juliet, and I'm not sending you out there looking like a street person." He pushed me into his chair.

  A familiar feeling began to well in my stomach. "Fernando? How long was I outside?"

  "I don't know. Five minutes, ten minutes. You make Fernando so crazy."

  What if I hadn't gone anywhere? What if it had all been a dream after all? Just like Dorothy, just like Alice, a stupid dream induced by inhaling toxic ashes. Juliet wasn't free. Romeo hadn't been reborn. Troy didn't love me. My hands started shaking as I realized I was about to perform the play again. Nausea began to churn in the pit of my being.

  "Oh, this is just great," Clarissa snarled. She stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. "I thought you ran home." She stomped her foot. "I got all dressed for the part. I want to play Juliet tonight."

  Bile rose in my throat and I gagged. Fernando grabbed his plastic bowl and held it under my chin. Clarissa smiled.

  "Fantastic. You're too sick to do it." She leaned over me as I fought back the wave of nausea. "You're the worst Juliet ever. Everyone knows that. You'll just go out there and embarrass your mother again."

  Someone was shouting. It sounded like, "We want Troy." The shouting grew louder. It wasn't just one voice, it was the audience, chanting over and over--"we want Troy, we want Troy."

  The director stuck his head into the dressing room. "Oh my God, where's Troy?" he asked, waving his clipboard frantically. "He's missed his first entrance. Has anyone seen Troy?"

  Clarissa intentionally bumped my chair as she left the room. "I'll help you look for him. Mimi's too sick to play Juliet."

  We want Troy. We want Troy.

  Troy wasn't onstage? Troy had missed his first entrance? But they had been screaming for him. It must have been pure anticipation.

  Fernando shook a can of hairspray. "What's the matter with everyone tonight?" he muttered. "Everyone is crazy. Now, hold still."

  But I didn't hold still. I jumped from the chair and ran out of the dressing room.

  We want Troy. We want Troy.

  I didn't care if Dr. Harmony labeled me a hopeless lunatic and made me sit in a little chair for the rest of my life, I knew that it hadn't been a dream. I could still feel the warm Verona air and the blisters on my big toes. I could still taste the marzipan-covered apricots and the friar's bland soup. I could still feel Juliet's hug and hear Troy's words: I'm crazy about you. But what if he hadn't made it back? What if that blade had reached him before the ashes? Holy St. Francis, what if?

  I grabbed the doorknob and pushed the backstage door wide open. Troy stumbled toward me.

  "I've been looking all over for you," he said. Standing in the alleyway, he was still a total mess, with his flat hair and his bandaged leg.

  "I've been looking for you, too," I said. He stepped into the hallway. We smiled, equally relieved, equally amazed.

  He took me in his arms. "It really happened," he whispered.

  "It did."

  "I wish I could have seen the look on that Capulet guard's face when we disappeared."

  "Troy!" The director rushed toward us. "What have you done to your leg?"

  "I... I...," Troy stammered.

  "He fell outside, on some ice," I said quickly.

  "On some ice?" The director gawked at the makeshift bandage. "Never mind, there's no time to explain. Go! You're on!"

  Troy looked confused. "No time passed," I told him. "It's still the last performance."

  "Troy!" the director screamed as Clarissa glared over his shoulder.

  Troy tightened his arms around me and pressed his lips to my ear. "Are we doing this? Are we giving the love scene one last shot?" His warm breath flowed into my body, igniting goose bumps in every possible place a goose bump can be ignited.

  Hell yes, I was giving that love scene one last shot. "Let's do it," I said.

  Clarissa pounded her fist into the wall as Troy and I ran down the hallway. He stepped onto the stage and the crowd went wild, immediately forgiving his tardiness.

  Nurse and Lady Capulet stared disapprovingly at me, as did the stage manager. How well I deserved their scorn. I had done nothing to earn anyone's respect, constantly complaining about a profession that each of them cherished. Tonight was going to be different. Sure, I wanted to get to the kissing scene, but something else tugged at my heart.

  Juliet's smile flashed in my mind. There was so much more to her than Shakespeare ever imagined. Was there more to me? I had moped and whined like a spoiled brat ever since rehearsals began. I had even manifested stage fright as just another way to sabotage my career. Juliet and I shared the same feelings of being trapped, of having our lives directed by someone else. But even though she ultimately chose her own destiny, she still considered her family's reputation. She never wanted to bring them shame or dishonor.

  I tiptoed to the edge of the stage and peered at the audience. My mother had said that she'd be in the sixth row, along with members of an admissions committee who expected to see a brilliant performance by the great-granddaughter of Adelaide Wallingford. It was difficult to see past the squirming fans.

  "I'm right here." I gasped and turned to find my mother standing behind me. "I wanted to check on you. You were so upset. Can we talk?" We squeezed past Nurse and Lady Capulet, and ducked into the prop room. She pulled a plane ticket from her purse. "I didn't cancel it. I may be horrid, but I'm not that horrid."

  "Mom." My voice caught for a moment. I had so much I wanted to say. "I don't hate you."

  "I know. But I've given you plenty of reasons to be mad at me." She sat on a bench, tucking her wool skirt under her lean thighs. "You think I haven't been listening to you, but I have. I just let all this other stuff get in the way."

  I sat next to her. "You mean the debts?"

  She put a hand over mine. "This theater was your father's passion. Before he died, he begged me to maintain it for you. He assumed that his first love would be yours as well." She smiled sadly. "It never occurred to him that the great-granddaughter of Adelaide Wallingford might want to do something else with her life. You were only eight. How could he have known?"

  "Mom, I know you've just been trying to make things work. But at some point, we have to stop trying to live Dad's dream. How about if we compromise?" I scooted closer to her. "I'm happy to perform in the DVD version of Romeo and Juliet, but after that I'm going to take some time for college. But not the Theatre Institute. I still want to try pre-med."

  "Okay. That's a sound plan." She squeezed my hand. "I think your father would understand your decision. He understood passion, above anything else. Believe me, that's why I married him." Her smile sweetened as her gaze drifted into memory. "Your father would want you to feel passion in your life. He would want you to be happy. And that's what I want, for the both of us. What would you think about selling this place?"

  "What?" I couldn't believe the question.

  "Reginald Dwill has made a terrific offer. It would cover all our debts, including the one I've incurred on your trust fund. You could go to college in Los Angeles."

  "What about you?"

  "I'll go back to acting. It's what I do best. Your cousin Greg said I'd be perfect for the role of Dr. Tiffany on his soap opera. She's a plastic surgeon who has risen from the dead." She rolled her eyes.

  The lights dimmed, and the stagehands rushed in to collect the piece
s of Capulet House. Mother and I returned to the wings as the stage was transformed. "Is that what you want?" I whispered. "To act again?"

  "It's what I dream about." She pulled me into a hug. "When I'm not dreaming about you."

  The lights rose and Nurse and Lady Capulet stepped onto the stage. My mother hugged me again, then hurried back to the audience. Fernando blotted my nose. I picked up my special little chair and handed it to him. "Burn this," I said.

  "Where's this girl? What, Juliet!" Nurse called.

  I stepped onto that stage like I had never stepped onto it before, imagining a wild-eyed, freckle-faced girl of not quite fourteen. A girl with hair that defied gravity and a thirst for freedom that is the essence of the human spirit. I stepped onto that stage with one goal--to command it like my great-grandmother, grandmother, father, and mother had commanded it before me. To honor my family name.