The Jumbee (25 page)

A haven for shiny scouts wanting a paid vacation in the tropics.
With a smile, Esti twitched her foot against the handkerchief again, thinking of Alan’s healing touch in the darkness. “Rodney is making all the local arrangements. I guess we impressed everyone.”

“You mean
you
impressed them.” Aurora’s cool expression didn’t match her words at all. “I’ve been very proud of you lately, thinking that maybe your hard work was finally paying off.”

“All of us, not just me.” Esti studied her mom, trying to figure out what was going on with her today. “Frederick made that very clear.”

“Who’s playing Juliet?”

“We’re doing two shows and taking turns. One night I’ll play Juliet and the other night I’ll do Lady Capulet.”

Aurora took a sip of wine, staring out at Manchineel Cay.

“It’s a good idea, anyway, don’t you think?” Esti uneasily followed her mom’s gaze to Manchineel Cay, wreathed in dark clouds. Maybe it would be a good idea to finally mention the drinking. She wondered if Alan was at home right now, enveloped in the gloomy fog and thinking about her. A sharp edge of white rode the top of each wave, the air heavy with the smell of rain.

Esti glanced at her mom’s wineglass. “Frederick knows what he’s doing,” she said slowly. “He had everyone get onstage for a few minutes before class was over and work on some quick focus exercises, like Dad used to always do.”

“Hopefully he’ll be immune from jumbee curses.” Aurora didn’t smile.

“He’s not superstitious. He’s tons better than Mr. Niles.”

“I’m sure he is.” Aurora finally met Esti’s eyes. “Will you be sneaking off with Alan again this semester?”

Cold shock crept through Esti’s body and into her fingertips. She should have known it was only a matter of time.

“I understand Alan is quite the Shakespeare expert,” Aurora added darkly. “Rafe told me what happened at Carnival. I’m astonished—no Esti, I’m incensed—that you would treat Rafe like that.”

Esti put down her soda bottle, trying not to panic at the condemnation in Aurora’s eyes. “When did you see Rafe?”

“Last night after you told me you were going to Carmen’s. He spent a couple of hours talking to her at the park, then he came over here. You apparently
weren’t
at Carmen’s. How many other lies have you told lately?”

Esti couldn’t make herself look up. “Aurora, I—”

“Were you with this . . . this Alan last night? I’m warning you, Esti: If you lie to me now, I will buy plane tickets and take you back to Ashland tomorrow.”

“Yes.” Esti stared at the table, her temples pounding with guilt. “I was with Alan.”

“I am trying very hard not to lose it,” Aurora continued in a steely voice. “You never lied to me before we came to Cariba, but apparently you’ve been doing it since we got here. Tell me why this is the first time I’ve ever heard of a guy named Alan.”

“Weren’t you married to one?”

The silence instantly grew brittle.

“I’m sorry,” Esti said miserably, “I tried. A couple of months ago, I started telling you about a tutor who works behind the scenes at Manchicay.”

Aurora drew her brows together, then took a sip of wine. “That sounds a bit familiar.”

Esti’s eyes fixed on her mom’s wineglass. “You finished a whole bottle of wine that night before I got home.”

Aurora guiltily looked away.

Esti knew she was using her mom’s problems to climb out of her own mess, but she couldn’t help herself. “You started crying before I could finish, so I ended up not telling you. You’ve been having such a hard time since we got here that I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Thank you, Esti,” Aurora said stiffly, “but if this is a guy I need to worry about, why are you seeing him?”

“You don’t need to worry about him, it’s just that . . .” Esti glanced out at the approaching rain column, taking a deep breath of the rapidly cooling air.

“Just that
what?
” Aurora stared at her wineglass for a moment. “Why have you been lying to me? Is he using you?”

“Using me for what?”

“Don’t be naive,” her mom snapped. “Talent scouts love pretty young things like you.”

“No.” Esti tried not to get angry. “He is not using me.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-five.”

“I’ve never met a major talent scout that young.”

“He’s not a talent scout; he’s an actor. We study Shakespeare together.”

Aurora took a small, deliberate sip of wine. “Are you sleeping with him?”

“Aurora!”

“I do not believe that your breakdown before Christmas was due to a bad study session.” Aurora locked eyes with Esti. “Have you had sex with him?”

“No.”
We’ve held hands. Almost twice.

“What happened, then? What did he do that hurt you?”

“He didn’t hurt me.” Esti cast around for a believable excuse. “He said he didn’t want to tutor me anymore, and I overreacted.”

“I think you’re lying again.” Aurora hesitated, her mouth tightening. “Rafe says you don’t know what Alan looks like.”

“I’m not lying, and Rafe is jealous, that’s all.” Esti dodged the question. “Alan has blue eyes. He’s a little taller than I am.”

“Then he’s not a jumbee, despite what you told the jandam. Alan is your boyfriend.”

“No. He’s just an actor I’ve been studying with.” Esti hesitated, frustrated that she had never been able to shout to the world,
ALAN IS MY BOYFRIEND!
“At Carnival,” she said slowly, “he did finally ask me if I would go out with him.”

It was true. In a way.

“In front of Rafe?” Aurora’s eyes narrowed. “How incredibly tacky of both of you. Did you plan to date Alan, then, without ever telling me?”

“No, but—” Before Esti could finish, rain hit the balcony roof in an explosion of noise. They both jumped in fright, Aurora tipping over her wineglass as she reached out to the table. Esti didn’t even hear the glass shatter as it hit the floor.

For a moment she stared at her mom in the deafening thunder of the downpour, Aurora’s uneasy expression echoing Esti’s rapid heartbeat. Then a gust of wind blew rain into the balcony. Aurora shrieked as they both leaped to their feet and dashed for the door. Before they’d gone two steps, however, the rain stopped as abruptly as it had started. The first tentative frogs were already starting their rain song.

“Well,” Aurora finally said into the silence. She looked like she’d stepped halfway into a shower, her flowing skirt plastered against her right side and her hair flattened over one eye. Red wine had splattered across the floor like drops of spilled blood, surrounded by broken glass.

Esti studied a jagged shard sticking out from the sole of her sneaker beneath the wound Alan had tended. Despite her guilt at deceiving Aurora, she felt strangely lighthearted after practically admitting that she was now Alan’s girlfriend, even if it wasn’t entirely true. As she cautiously reached down to pluck the sparkling dagger free, a hysterical giggle tried to push up from beneath the churning surface of her thoughts.

Frederick was—as Carmen put it that evening—fabulous. He sat everyone in a circle on the stage, discussing body and voice control.

“Stanislavsky said there’s only one way to connect deeply and truthfully with each other, and that’s to bring your own personality with you onstage.” He waved his hand expansively. “The truth of your character has to be believed by your audience. To reach this believable truth, you must let your own emotional memory control your actions. Now, what’s the best way to prepare for a role that involves fear?”

“Remember something frightening,” Greg said.

“Absolutely right, darling.”

Carmen poked Esti, barely able to hold back her laughter.

“Then you can act your part in the emotional space of that fear you already know.” Frederick gave Esti an oblique glance. “Of course, Legard took the notion of control and believability one step further. He said that if
you
believe you’re in control, people will believe you. You can control people’s belief in you, by believing in your control.”

Carmen nudged her again, but this time Esti barely noticed. A familiar sweet scent tickled her nose, just as she saw the white blossom on the stage beside her.

“Our goal is to convince the audience that our characters have an interior life,” Frederick continued, his enthusiasm growing.

Esti casually picked up the flower, trying to pay attention to Frederick as she touched each of the five white petals.
Rosemary was for remembrance,
she knew from Hamlet,
and pansies for thoughts.
She’d also discovered that seashells represented fertility, which had sent her into a fit of giggles . . . how ironically perfect for the surely unsuspecting Rafe.

When she’d looked up the meaning of frangipani, however, she’d found that it stood for a confusing array of things, including devotion, surrender, and protection from evil. Such tangled meaning was perfect for Alan, of course. Briefly lifting the sweet flower to her nose, she tucked it behind her ear, pushing away thoughts of seashells.

“You don’t want a stereotyped villain or heroine,” Frederick said, “but rather a complex human with contradictory feelings and desires.”

Contradictory, Esti thought. That would be me.

“You become that character, and you let that character become you, plumbing the depths of your soul with the hope of going just a little bit deeper each time.”

After rehearsal, Esti could barely stand still as she waited in the darkness on the other side of the courtyard. Aurora had flatly stated that she expected to meet Alan before Esti spent any more time with him, and Esti had promised to come home immediately after rehearsal. Even so, she wouldn’t leave Alan waiting without a quick explanation. Besides, she wanted to thank him for the flower.

Carmen and Lucia glanced around as they walked out together, and Esti wondered if they were looking for her. They didn’t linger, though, and Frederick shortly followed them out. To her surprise, he pulled the theater doors firmly shut behind him, patting his pocket as he walked away. As soon as he was gone, Esti raced back over to try the doors. They were locked.

Of course, she thought. Someone from New York City wouldn’t believe that locals on Cariba never locked their doors. She shook her head in irritation. People here only barred their windows against jumbees.

She hurried to the corner of the building and peered down the hill toward the back door. Frowning, she started down the pitch-black slope, trying not to trip over rocks. She was pretty sure she could find the narrow path through the wild tamarind, but she wished she had a flashlight.

Within a minute of entering the tamarind grove, however, she was lost. She kept turning downhill, and she realized almost immediately she had missed the trail. Whenever she tried to change direction, she was dragged back by tiny hook-tipped branches. She could already feel trickles of blood on her hands. When her shirt ripped as she pulled away from yet another one of the grasping branches, she finally sat down in defeat.

“Damn, damn, damn,” she whispered. “Aurora’s going to kill me.” She would deserve it too, but she
had
to talk to Alan tonight. Were a few short minutes with him too much to ask?

The night air was warm and humid, and very dark. Although she knew the theater sat right in front of her, Esti couldn’t see enough to escape from the tangle of thorns. She imagined the new flurries of gossip when she was found in the morning, exhausted, mosquito-eaten, torn, and bleeding. She would be back in Oregon before she had a chance to open her mouth.

“I’m an idiot,” she muttered.

“Esti?”

“Alan!” She leaped to her feet, ignoring a new slash of pain across her arm.

“What are you doing here?” His voice had never been so welcome.

“Frederick locked me out,” she said stiffly. “I was trying to get in the back door, but I got lost in the dark. Now the thorns are holding me prisoner.”

Alan laughed.

“Don’t laugh at me.” Her cheeks felt like they were on fire. “I’m going to be in so much trouble.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. If you can get yourself loose from the ketch-n-keep, the path is over here.”

He kept talking and she slowly followed his voice, wincing as needle-sharp thorns yanked at her hair and arms, ripping her blouse further. After a few minutes she was able to see his dark shape in front of her. He turned away just before she got close enough to touch him.

“Follow me,” he said, “and I’ll take you back up to the theater.”

When she emerged from the dressing room a few minutes later, hastily cleaned and safety-pinned, she headed for the hidden passage. As soon as she reached the basement, her heart leaped hopefully to her throat. Flickering light played on the floor outside the tiny practice room.

Holding her breath, she stopped just before the doorway and peeked inside. Several candles illuminated the room this time, and she recognized the rough wooden table. But everything else faded to insignificance beside the black-masked figure in the other chair. Esti couldn’t tear her eyes away from him as she walked into the room.