The Hourglass Door (26 page)

“Don’t feel good,” he slurred. “’Msorry, Abby.”

“It’s okay.” I risked a glance at the action onstage. The Dons were gathered in the wings, waiting for their cue.

“What are we going to do?” Claudio hissed. “We need him for the scene. He has, like, half the lines—”

“I know.” I cut him off with a gesture. “Let me think.” But that was easier said than done. Isaac was in no shape to perform tonight, that was a given. I bit my lip, wondering if I dared order someone to step in as Isaac’s unofficial understudy. The problem was that, while we all knew some of each other’s lines, no one but Isaac knew the entire part.

“Abby—” Claudio tugged at his jacket. “We gotta go on.”

“Then go!” I waved him to join the other actors, poised in the wings. “I—” But I didn’t have a clue as to what to say next. Maybe Dave would know what to do. But Sherri hadn’t returned with him, and even if he
had
been here instead of me, the harsh truth was that we were out of time. Maybe . . .

A pair of polished black boots stopped in front of me. My eyes darted up to meet Dante’s clear gray eyes. Dressed in his costume—black pants and a tight white shirt—he took in the situation with one glance and then a small smile crossed his lips.

I heard Scott announce the cue: “Don Pedro is approached.” My heart beat triple-time and my mind raced, trying to think of a way out of the problem. Time spun out in painfully slow ripples. It seemed like the agony would never end.

“I would apologize for being late,” Dante said, “but it appears I have arrived just in time.”

My mouth dropped open as Dante strode past me and the rest of the silent cast, directly into the bright lights.

Don Pedro and his company looked to me for instructions. Should they go on? Should they stay backstage?

“Go! Go!” I hissed, waving them onstage in Dante’s wake.

Don Pedro nodded and darted from the wings, smoothly overtaking Dante so that he was the first to reach Leonato and deliver his line: “Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble.”

Dave silently skidded around the curtains, arriving breathless at my side. “Abby, what happened? What’s wrong?”

“Isaac’s sick and Dante’s onstage in his place,” I said in one breath, gathering up my skirts and stepping past Dave to the edge of the curtain, almost unable to believe what I was seeing. Dave followed, speechless.

Dante assumed Benedick’s place in the action seamlessly, as though he had been rehearsing it every single day. Leonato and Beatrice kept glancing at him, thrown off balance by the sudden change in the casting. Dante, though, was relaxed and confident, with a smile bordering on arrogance. It was perfect for Benedick’s role. I dared a sigh of relief; maybe we were going to make it after all.

“Abby!” Ruth hissed from behind me. “No microphone!”

The sigh caught in my throat. My gaze jumped to Dante’s ear—no mike—and then to the small of his back—no battery pack. Claudio hadn’t been lying—Benedick had the most lines in this scene. If the audience couldn’t hear him, we were sunk until near the end of the act. Ruth pushed Isaac’s mike pack into my trembling hands and padded away to take her place for her cue.

I watched in silent desperation as Don Pedro gestured to Beatrice, “I think this is your daughter.”

Leonato smiled and inclined his head, “Her mother hath many times told me so.”

I held my breath, a wordless prayer frozen on my tongue.

“Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her?” Dante’s voice rang out clear and strong through the auditorium.

I gasped in relief. Dizzy stars filled my vision, sparkling and vivid. I leaned against the backstage wall, gulping in air until the stars disappeared.

Amanda slipped up next to me, offering a glass of cold water and my headset, which was alive again with a fresh battery. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “So far.” I downed the water in two large swallows. “How’s Isaac?”

“Okay. We moved him to the drama room.”

“Thanks,” I said, slipping my headset on again. “Maybe you should have been assistant director.”

“I should go tell his parents,” Dave stammered, obviously torn between needing to see to Isaac and wanting to see Dante’s unexpected performance. Responsibility won out, and he slipped out the backstage door.

Returning my attention to the action onstage, I watched in amazement as Dante’s Benedick traded verbal barbs with Cassie’s Beatrice. To Cassie’s credit, she played off Dante as easily as she had Isaac. The audience laughed in all the right places, and I started to breathe easier. Somehow we’d managed a complete switch of the main character of the play midscene and no one in the audience seemed to even suspect.

When Dante exited the stage near the end of Scene One, I grabbed his sleeve as soon as I could. I could feel the heat of the stage lights on his clothes and the deeper heat of his body beneath. He fairly crackled with energy.

“I hope you don’t mind my stepping in for Isaac.” He brushed his hair away from his sweaty forehead. A wild and slightly reckless look burned in his eyes.

“No . . . How . . . ?” I stumbled over my words, my thoughts scattered by his intense gaze. I swallowed and tried again. “When did you learn Benedick’s part?”

Dante’s smile sparkled in the shadows. “I’ve been studying.”

I couldn’t help but return his smile. “It shows.”

“I guess I’ll finish the role for Isaac, then?”

“You’re the only one who can,” I said. “Check in with Dave in case he has any instructions for you. Then check with Amanda to see if his costumes will fit you. Quick—you’ll be on again before you know it.”

Dante raised an eyebrow. “Not until Act Two. I’ve got plenty of time.”

“Not that much. Just go already!” I laughed as Dante sauntered away.

Weeks of rehearsal kicked in and the play ran practically on autopilot. Scene flowed into scene and act flowed into act, seamlessly, effortlessly, beautifully. The lights flooding the stage felt dizzying, intoxicating. The energy rose with each scene that passed.

And Dante . . .

Dante commanded the stage whenever he stepped in front of the lights. I could feel the charge in the audience, the almost imperceptible snap of attention from the crowd as Dante delivered his lines. He had declined the use of a microphone, and after his opening performance I hadn’t argued his decision. His voice filled the stage, reaching to the edges of the auditorium. His Italian accent was audible but somehow never interfered with his lines. If anything, it was the last little detail that made us all believe that he
was
Benedick, courting the prickly Beatrice with his quick wit and pointed comments.

And instead of overshadowing the other actors, his performance seemed to elevate everyone else. No one missed a cue, no one missed a mark, no one missed a line.

Finally it was time for the masquerade scene at the end of the play. I could hear an audible gasp from the audience when the lights came up on Amanda’s meticulously sewn costumes. They glittered like jewels spun with gold, like butterflies’ wings fluttering on a summer’s breeze, like prisms split into rainbows. The actors danced and glided through the scene: Hero and Claudio, finally unmasked, proclaimed their love; Benedick and Beatrice were tamed at last by each other’s words.

As with any good Shakespeare comedy, the script called for a kiss to end the play. As the scene marched toward the inevitable moment, I couldn’t help but smile at the memory of my first rehearsal when I’d been in charge. It had been the day of my disastrous first kiss, and the day I’d first met Dante.

From my viewpoint in the wings, I could see Dante’s face clearly as the revelers were unmasked, as Benedick’s feelings were unfolded in a tattered note to Beatrice. Through the entire play, Dante had seemed so confident, so at ease, but now, at this moment of emotional vulnerability—at the crucial moment of the kiss—I saw the hesitation tighten his face, the fear frost the rims of his eyes. His fingers curled against his dark gloves.

The tension in Dante’s voice was clear to me, though I hoped no one else heard the awkwardness of his delivery: “A miracle! Here’s our own hands against our hearts. Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity.”

As the audience laughed, Cassie swished her skirts flirtatiously. “I would not deny you; but, by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion; and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.” Cassie leaned in toward Dante, obviously anticipating the kiss written into the script.

Dante’s gaze flicked past Cassie’s shoulder to meet my eyes directly. I felt a tingle speed down my spine, and time seemed suspended between us, a tenuous, trembling moment that bound the two of us with an unseen, unbreakable connection.

I knew in that moment that I didn’t want to watch Dante kiss Cassie, even in a play. But I also knew Benedick
had
to kiss Beatrice—the play couldn’t end without their kiss—so I swallowed the “Don’t” that threatened to escape my lips, feeling it lodge in my throat, jagged and rough.

Time skipped over my skin like a falling leaf. I saw every moment pass by with crystal clarity.

Dante inhaled, uncurling his long fingers. He turned his head ever so slightly toward the audience, his lips curving upward in order to include the crowd in his plan. But it was a stage smile because I never saw it touch his frosted eyes. As his smile grew into a full-fledged grin, Dante reached up to grasp Beatrice’s feathered mask, which she had pushed up to her forehead.

I couldn’t see Cassie’s face, but in the drawn-out moment of time, I saw her almost take a step back and knew she was trying to cover her confusion at Dante’s unscripted action.

“Peace,” Dante said, lifting the mask and twisting it around Cassie’s head. “I will stop your mouth.” But he didn’t stop it with a kiss like he was supposed to. The scarf that had secured Cassie’s mask now covered her lips, effectively silencing her. She raised a hand, unsure whether to strip the scarf from her face or to slap Dante for his radical departure from the script. Dante caught her hand, bowed low, and pressed his lips to the cuff of her sleeve.

The audience erupted with laughter, cheering and clapping.

Don Pedro was the first to recover, stumbling over his last line, “How dost thou, Benedick, the married man?”

As Dante finished his final speech, I felt time lose its strange elasticity and return to normal. My heart felt like I’d run a race.

Dante held tight to Cassie’s hand and they danced along with the rest of the cast as the play came to a close. Even though I knew the steps were choreographed down to the inch, he managed to make them look natural, spontaneous. When Richard pulled the curtain closed, Sarah hit the final chords of the lively reel with her usual flair.

Backstage, Cassie yanked her hand away from Dante’s grip and pulled the mask from her face. “Don’t you
ever
do that again!” she hissed, turning her back on him.

The applause was deafening. Dave barely gave the cast time to assume their places for the curtain call before Richard pulled them open again. Impossibly, the applause seemed to increase in volume. One after another, the cast stepped forward to take their bows until only the two couples were left. Lily and Ethan smiled and waved to the crowd. Cassie curtseyed low, trailing her feathered mask from her hand. When Dante stepped forward to take his bow, the audience surged to its feet, cheering and whistling. The noise crashed over the stage like a wave.

Dante didn’t seem to hear any of it. He bowed a second time and then, without a backward glance at the rest of the cast, walked offstage.

Richard quickly yanked the curtains closed for the final time. The cast held their emotions in check for all of one second before they too erupted in clapping and cheering. It had been our best performance ever and everyone knew it. I pulled off my headset and joined in the celebration, laughing with relief.

Dante closed his hand around my elbow.

“You were incredible,” I said. “The audience loved you.”

He never broke stride, and, ignoring the rest of the swarming cast, pulled me along with him through the stage doors.

“Hey, Abby, great show!” Jason called from down the hallway where the audience was pouring out of the auditorium.

“Thanks!” I waved.

He and Natalie moved to intercept us, but Dante deftly sidestepped the crowd, maneuvering me toward the outside doors.

Laughing, I called back over my shoulder, “Guess we’re going this way. We’ll talk at the party later, okay?” I stumbled a step or two in my dress as I tried to keep up with Dante’s long legs. “Slow down a little, would ya?”

He did, but only until we had cleared the crowds in front of the school. Once we hit the parking lot, he quickened his step as though he couldn’t wait to leave the building and the crowds behind.

“What’s your rush?” I panted, still breathless with adrenaline. “Don’t you want to bask in the adoration of your fans?”

“No.”

I noted the tightness of his mouth, the tension between his shoulders, and thought better of asking any more questions.

When we reached my car, he flipped down my visor, catching my spare key in his fist. He held it out to me. “Drive.”

I turned the key in the ignition. “A bunch of the cast is heading over to the Dungeon—”