dealt with it by partying, some by praying. Anthony and Amelia and the others in their circle had gotten together at Blue Jay Point on Friday afternoon and tried to write a song for Erica, but ended up tossing rocks into Falls Lake and counting the ripples until it had gotten too dark to see.
In Our Town , Anthony was George Gibbs to Amelia’s Emily Webb, a casting coup that only reinforced what they were sure was true: Fate wanted them together. Amelia had reported that her father had a different view (“That Winter kid again ? I don’t like that boy sniffing after you this way.…”), but the audiences responded to them with such genuine care and enthusiasm that the director was going to pair them again next spring in Kiss Me, Kate . And who knew? Maybe New York directors would cue in to their tandem experience and keep putting them together—not as leads, okay, not right away; they’d need to pay their dues first. Still, to work together on a regular basis was their dream and their goal. If that also meant that when the other lotharios came sniffing around, he’d be there to warn them off, all the better. He knew that once Amelia was in the world—the real world, the New York City world—men would be drawn to her the way they were to Broadway star Idina Menzel. Amelia’s face would be the jubilant one on the Times Square billboard, she would be the costumed woman whose image would decorate buses and bus stops, whose autograph on a playbill would one day become a talisman for any number of young hopefuls.
The Raleigh Little Theatre’s audience was filing out, and behind the curtain, the actors made their ways to the dressing rooms to wash off stage makeup and transform back to their everyday selves. There was backslapping and merriment over a job well done. Amelia, however, had looked troubled.
Anthony pulled her aside. “You okay?”
She tugged at the high neckline of her white ruffled blouse, then undid the top button, and then the next, and the third. But there was nothing suggestive in her actions. In fact she seemed unaware of what she was doing as she watched the other actors go.
She turned toward Anthony and said, “We did this play, what, eleven times? And listen to everyone, laughing and happy.…” She shook her head. “It’s like they haven’t paid attention to the substance of it at all. Are any of them even thinking about act three?”
Act three was the somber, existential part of the play. Emily, after her death, witnesses her own funeral and muses about life: “It goes so fast. We don’t have time to look at one another.… Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you.… Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it—every, every minute?”
Anthony thought for a moment, then said, “Some are thinking about it, sure—maybe all of them. Could be that’s why they’re happy.”
Amelia turned to him, her eyes wide. “Why are we waiting, Anthony? It could all be over any day, any minute.”
“We don’t have to wait,” he said.
“If it was up to you—?”
“I want you any time, all the time. But I want you to be happy about it, so—”
“All our plans … that’s not what’s going to make it special. It being us is what makes it special. Anything might happen in the next two weeks.”
She was right. Still, he said, “Nothing will happen.”
“Probably not. I hope not. But you don’t know. Nobody knows. ” She checked that they were unwatched, then put her arms around his waist, moving so close that he could feel her thighs, inside her skirt and petticoat, against his own. “Meet me in the clubhouse at eleven.”
“You sure?” he asked, already feeling his blood rush at the prospect.
“Completely.”
At ten minutes before the hour, he’d parked his car on the service road a half mile from Amelia’s house so that there was no chance the sight or sound of a car—especially a sunbaked, dinged-up, decade-old beater like
In Our Town , Anthony was George Gibbs to Amelia’s Emily Webb, a casting coup that only reinforced what they were sure was true: Fate wanted them together. Amelia had reported that her father had a different view (“That Winter kid again ? I don’t like that boy sniffing after you this way.…”), but the audiences responded to them with such genuine care and enthusiasm that the director was going to pair them again next spring in Kiss Me, Kate . And who knew? Maybe New York directors would cue in to their tandem experience and keep putting them together—not as leads, okay, not right away; they’d need to pay their dues first. Still, to work together on a regular basis was their dream and their goal. If that also meant that when the other lotharios came sniffing around, he’d be there to warn them off, all the better. He knew that once Amelia was in the world—the real world, the New York City world—men would be drawn to her the way they were to Broadway star Idina Menzel. Amelia’s face would be the jubilant one on the Times Square billboard, she would be the costumed woman whose image would decorate buses and bus stops, whose autograph on a playbill would one day become a talisman for any number of young hopefuls.
The Raleigh Little Theatre’s audience was filing out, and behind the curtain, the actors made their ways to the dressing rooms to wash off stage makeup and transform back to their everyday selves. There was backslapping and merriment over a job well done. Amelia, however, had looked troubled.
Anthony pulled her aside. “You okay?”
She tugged at the high neckline of her white ruffled blouse, then undid the top button, and then the next, and the third. But there was nothing suggestive in her actions. In fact she seemed unaware of what she was doing as she watched the other actors go.
She turned toward Anthony and said, “We did this play, what, eleven times? And listen to everyone, laughing and happy.…” She shook her head. “It’s like they haven’t paid attention to the substance of it at all. Are any of them even thinking about act three?”
Act three was the somber, existential part of the play. Emily, after her death, witnesses her own funeral and muses about life: “It goes so fast. We don’t have time to look at one another.… Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you.… Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it—every, every minute?”
Anthony thought for a moment, then said, “Some are thinking about it, sure—maybe all of them. Could be that’s why they’re happy.”
Amelia turned to him, her eyes wide. “Why are we waiting, Anthony? It could all be over any day, any minute.”
“We don’t have to wait,” he said.
“If it was up to you—?”
“I want you any time, all the time. But I want you to be happy about it, so—”
“All our plans … that’s not what’s going to make it special. It being us is what makes it special. Anything might happen in the next two weeks.”
She was right. Still, he said, “Nothing will happen.”
“Probably not. I hope not. But you don’t know. Nobody knows. ” She checked that they were unwatched, then put her arms around his waist, moving so close that he could feel her thighs, inside her skirt and petticoat, against his own. “Meet me in the clubhouse at eleven.”
“You sure?” he asked, already feeling his blood rush at the prospect.
“Completely.”
At ten minutes before the hour, he’d parked his car on the service road a half mile from Amelia’s house so that there was no chance the sight or sound of a car—especially a sunbaked, dinged-up, decade-old beater like
Similar Books
