Saving Juliet (12 page)

Romeo stepped forward and traced his finger along my cheek. "You have been crying," he said softly. "Why do you cry, Lady Mimi? Why are you unhappy?" His tender voice coaxed my tears and I began to blubber in a most embarrassing way.

I tried to explain but I'm not sure I managed a complete sentence, between the outright sobs and runny-nose sniffling. I don't know what was more upsetting to me at that moment
--
the idea that I had been transported into an alternate reality, or the fact that Lady Capulet had mauled me. At least I felt safe with the Montague cousins.

"Easy," Romeo said, sweetly patting my arm. "Did you just say that you were thrown from Capulet House?"

"And exiled."
I wiped my nose on my sleeve. "Who exiled you?" Benvolio asked. "Lady Capulet."

He lowered his voice. "You must tell us what she said.
Her exact words."

I took a deep breath. "One day, she said. I have one day to get out of Verona or my life is hers."

Benvolio raised the torch and looked around. "Then you must return home.
Immediately."

"Yes," Romeo agreed.
"Immediately."

"Home?
I don't know how to get home." My face contorted as I fought back another bout of sobbing. "I don't have any more ashes." Then I remembered Troy's song. "That song you were just singing.
Girl,
oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, girl.
Where did you hear it?"

"I found a man in the square, earlier today," Benvolio said. "A Capulet guard had attacked him. He wore Montague colors so I helped him."

Could it be? "Is he all right?" I asked.

"He's injured but he will survive. I took him to Friar Laurence to treat the wound. The friar gave him herbs to take away the pain and to put him to sleep, but last I checked he had not yet woken. He sang that particular song in his sleep, over and over. Do you know this man? Is he a Montague?"

"Yes." I couldn't believe it. Troy had been transported as well. His was the voice I had heard in the town square. "He's a Montague, from Manhattan."

"The two of you traveled together?" Benvolio narrowed his eyes. "He is your lover?"

"No.
Definitely not.
I didn't even know he was here until just now."

"He followed you then. He desires you?"

"He must be in love," Romeo said.

"He's not in love with me. He has lots of girlfriends. We're just acquaintances." My mind raced. Troy was here. Maybe he'd have some ideas about getting home. I had to talk to him right away.

Marching feet approached. Romeo and Benvolio pushed me back into the alley. Benvolio blew out his torch and put his hand over my mouth. "Steady," he whispered.
Five Capulet guards passed by.
We sighed with relief when the last one cleared the alley's entrance. I pushed aside my tower of hair, which had fallen across my forehead. "Your hairstyle will draw attention," Benvolio said. "If we ate to walk across the city, then you must blend in." Feeling in the dim moonlight, he began to unwind my hair, pulling out pins and ribbons and dropping them to the ground. Romeo kept a lookout at the alley's entrance as Benvolio removed the wooden frame. What a relief. My hair tumbled free as he worked his fingers through the knots. You know how nice it feels when someone combs your hair? I could have stood in that alley forever, pressing against Benvolio's comforting fingers. "We had best get you to a safe place.
All clear?"

"All clear," Romeo replied.

I followed Romeo and Benvolio down the street, away from Capulet House and that crazy woman, but also away from Juliet. Poor
girl,
locked in that room. "We will take you to Friar Laurence's. He can mend your hand and give you safekeeping," Benvolio said. "And reunite you with your
acquaintance."

I sensed a touch of jealousy in his voice. Had I more experience at that point in my life, I would have wondered about this jealousy. I would have realized that it was way too early in our "relationship" for jealousy. But you don't know how to spot a possessive man when you've absolutely zero experience with men. But still, I felt safe with him.

The moon
rose
above the city roofs. Our walk turned out to be a long one, due not to distance but to the fact that Romeo moved like a zombie. He sighed at least a hundred times. His depression made my own look about as serious as a yawn. The journey should have given me plenty of time to ponder my situation, except that Romeo kept interrupting my thoughts. "Why doesn't she love me? I cannot live without her. Griefs of my own lie heavy in my breast," he cried, seizing his chest.

I tried really hard not to judge him, recalling the adage about not judging someone until you've walked in his shoes. People judged me all the time
--
Clarissa, for example, who thought my life was so perfect and blessed. Every person has a right to be unhappy, to suffer in peace without someone else telling her that she is acting like a spoiled brat. Without a certain someone telling her
constantly
that her life is the stuff that everyone else dreams about. Happiness is not a one-size-fits-all kind of thing. No way was I going to
judge
Romeo.
If he wanted to act like the living dead, then good for him.
But a little whining goes a long way. I should know. I'm the Queen of Whining.

"Woe is me," he sighed.

You might think I'm being hard on Romeo. Some of you might have imagined him in a different light. But the truth is
,
if you go back and read the play, he's a real downer.
And way too melodramatic about the whole love thing.
I mean, he claims he can't live without Rosaline and then that very night he decides he's in love with Juliet and he can't live without her. But the onion incident had changed the story. Even though Romeo still suffered from a broken heart, the onions had actually saved his life. No Juliet, no suicide. I had changed things for the better. If only I could figure out how to make things better for
me.
I didn't want to live in a sixteenth-century fable forever, especially not with a crazy Capulet after my head.

We walked up the steps of a quaint stone church. "Get those friggin' leeches away from me!" a familiar voice yelled from a second-story window. Inside the sanctuary, Benvolio and Romeo dipped their fingers into a basin of holy water, making the sign of the cross the way Catholics do. It was a simple church, humble by Renaissance standards. A marble statue of St. Francis overlooked the altar where candle nubs burned. At this late hour the benches were empty. We climbed a flight of narrow stone stairs at the back of the church. With no light, I kept close to Benvolio. I could feel his warmth in the damp stairway. When I tripped, he reached back and took my hand. It felt calloused and strong. I remembered that same hand touching my waist at the Capulets' party.
Funny how a touch can linger long after the act.

"I
said,
no leeches!"

Lamplight tumbled from an open door at the top of the stairs. I wanted to rush in but Benvolio held me back. "Is that your acquaintance?" he whispered, his breath tickling my neck like velvet fingers. I peered around his shoulder. Troy lay on a cot, inside the room. I felt overjoyed at seeing him. Even though I had spent the last few months avoiding him and trying to convince myself that I hated him, I wanted to run up and throw my arms around his tanned neck. I wasn't alone after all, in this strange place and time. But Benvolio wouldn't let me pass. "Wait," he whispered. "We should not interrupt the friar's work."

Friar Laurence stood over Troy, holding a bowl and a pair of tweezers. His silver cross reflected light onto Troy's face. "I must apply these to the wound again," the friar said calmly and steadily, as if speaking to a child. "They must be applied at regular intervals."

Troy raised his head from a grungy pillow.
"No way.
You touch me again and I'll sue!"

"My son, there is no reason to be distraught. The leeches will cleanse your wound." The friar scratched one of his enormous ears with the tweezers. I once read that human ears continue to grow throughout life. The friar's were in overdrive.

"Distraught?" Troy's arm lashed out at the bowl. "I'm pissed. You hear me? Totally pissed! Get those leeches away from me."

The friar was not easily bullied. "I have taken an oath to God to heal the sick. God, in His wisdom, has placed you in my care."

"My insurance doesn't cover freaky friars or leeches." Troy sat up and swung his legs over the cot. A strip of cloth was wrapped around his gray tights, just above his left knee. A dark red stain had spread across the strip. "When my agent finds out you've kept me here, instead of taking me to a hospital, he'll cram a lawsuit up your butt so fast you'll be the one who's ...
distraught."

The friar shook his head. "My son, your anger blinds you." He placed the bowl of leeches on a bedside table. "But you have the freedom to choose your own method of healing. If you do not want the leeches, then I shall put them aside." He took a long drink from a blue jug.

"Great! Just get them away from me." Troy rubbed the side of his head. "How'd I get here? What idiot brought me here?" I took a step back, hiding in the hallway's darkness. I was the idiot. They had been my ashes, after all.

"He seems dangerous," Romeo whispered.

"I agree," Benvolio whispered back, adjusting his sword. "Remain here, Mimi, while I speak to him." Benvolio and Romeo entered the room. "I see that you have awoken."

Troy struggled to his feet, keeping his weight on his good leg. Seeing them face to face, I realized that Troy and Benvolio were polar opposites. Benvolio, the winter warrior, dark as night, calm as the morning sea.
Troy, the summer prince, golden as the sun, temperamental as the California surf.
They glared distrustingly at each other.

"Who are you?" Troy asked.

"I am Benvolio Montague. This is Romeo Montague, my young cousin."

Troy grimaced. "Are you guys some kind of Shakespeare fanatics, like those
Star Trek
freaks who walk around dressed like Klingons? Is this one of those Renaissance fairs?"

"This is the man I told you about," the friar explained, indicating Benvolio. "He found you injured and brought you here."

"Oh yeah?
Why didn't you take me to a hospital? What's up with those costumes?"

"I brought you here because you are a fellow Montague," Benvolio explained, placing his hands on his slender hips. "And you had been stabbed by a Capulet guard. Had I left you in the square, he would have returned and made mincemeat of you."

Romeo bowed to Troy then leaned against the wall and sighed.

Troy snorted.
"Capulet guard?
Fellow Montague?
What is this,
Candid Camera
or something? Am I being
punk'd
?" Then he groaned and fell back onto the cot. "My leg is killing me." He winced as he untied the bandage.

"You were stabbed, my son," Friar Laurence explained.

I leaned forward to see what Troy was gawking at. His wound ran from his knee to his upper thigh. Black stitches crisscrossed it like something from
Frankenstein.
Locks of blond hair fell over Troy's burning eyes. "What have you done to me? I'm supposed to be shooting a beach video tomorrow. I can't wear shorts looking like this. And what's with this bandage?" He waved it. "It looks like an old dish towel. I'll probably get gangrene." Then his face went slack. "What do you want with me?"

"Want with you?" the friar asked.

Romeo slunk to the windowsill and peered into the darkness. "Woe is me," he moaned.

"My child," Friar called softly. "What ails you?"

"He's lovesick," Benvolio explained, helping
himself
to the blue jug. "He has given me a headache with all his moaning about Rosaline. I'd wager he has given Mimi a headache as well."

"Mimi?" Troy dropped the bandage.

I took a deep breath and stepped into the room.

***

"Though this be madness, yet there is method
in
^'
t
.
"

"
M
imi? What happened to you? What's that white stuff all over your face?" Troy didn't wait for my reply. He turned and pointed a finger at Benvolio. "What's she doing here? You've got no right bringing her here. Look, my label will pay whatever ransom you want
--
just let her go."

He thought we had been kidnapped. "Uh, Troy
...
,
" I said.

He hobbled forward, grimacing with each step, and roughly took my arm. "Don't say a word, Mimi," he whispered. "These guys are nutjobs. Look at them. They're dressed like Renaissance fair nerds and that guy pretending to be the friar says it's 1594. They stabbed me in the leg. There's no telling what else they're capable of, so let me handle this." He was using that parental voice I knew so well.

Fine.
Go ahead and make a fool of yourself. My feet were killing me anyway. I sat down on a stool and took off the wooden shoes.

"How much do you want?" Troy repeated.

"While I do not understand your question, I do understand your tone, sir, and I find it insulting." Benvolio wrapped his fingers, slowly and menacingly, around his sword's hilt. Romeo pressed his face against the window's glass, still staring into the darkness.