The Juliet Club (16 page)

Entr'acte

Sarah and Annie bent over the computer. They read Kate's latest e-mail. Then they looked at each other and, in unison, screamed.

“I can't believe it!” Sarah said.

“I'm going to
kill
her!” Annie muttered.

They turned again to the screen and read the words displayed there with disbelief.

“Oh, Giacomo just came in, hold on . . . we're going to get gelato, trying to make everyone believe we're in love, ha ha, I'll let you know how it goes,
ciao
, Kate.”

“No punishment,” Annie pronounced solemnly, “is bad enough for our Kate.”

Act II
Scene IX

“You villainous knave!”

“You putrefied, lily-livered lout!”

“You loathsome, vile, motley-minded milksop! Have at you!” Laughing, Tom leaped at Benno, whirling his sword around his head. Then he lunged.

Benno parried with a clang of steel (or, at least, a lightweight aluminum alloy). But then he tried a cutting thrust of his own. Tom dodged it easily, and Benno only succeeded in knocking over a chair.

The crash made Lucy jump. “Are you sure,” she asked Dan, “this isn't dangerous?”

The director was standing at the side of the room, his arms folded, watching the action closely. “Not as long as they follow the choreography,” he said absently.

He had spent the morning teaching all of them the basics of stage fighting, then had led them through the moves of a simple fight, with each move flowing logically from the previous one. Once they had learned that, he had paired them up and had them all repeat the pattern several times to get the feel of it.

“On the stage, the fight should look real,” he had said, “but in reality, the fight should always be under complete control.”

For most of the morning, they had all dutifully fought controlled fights. Then he had asked everyone to sit down and let Benno and Tom—his Mercutio and Tybalt—take the stage.

Now Dan winced as Benno swung wide with his sword. He raised his voice. “Perhaps that movement could be a
little
smaller!” Benno tried again, and a vase crashed to the ground.

“Let's take a quick break,” Dan called out hastily.

As he pulled Benno and Tom aside for a private discussion, Lucy said, “I swear, this sword fighting is making me nervous as a June bug.” She cast an accusing look around the seminar table, which had been pushed against the wall to allow room for fighting. “I don't see how y'all can just sit there writing letters when Benno and Tom are killing each other!”

Giacomo was perched on a corner of the table, one leg propped up on a chair, the other swinging lazily. “They're using stage swords, not real ones,” he pointed out. “They won't get hurt.”

Kate added prudently, “God willing.”

“Duels are
supposed
to be dangerous,” Silvia said. “They're supposed to end in
death
.”

Lucy looked even more distressed at this thought, so Kate said hastily, “It's already eleven o'clock and we haven't answered any letters yet. Here, I'll pick one this time.” She reached into the pile of letters, pulled one out, and read it aloud:

Dear Juliet,

I am so unhappy. The guy that I've known for five years is going away to college. I have always liked him, but I didn't know I loved him until a year ago. I love him so much and I can't bear to see him leave. The other night we were at the swimming pool and he was being so sweet to me, and I felt happy because I was with him, but I also felt like my heart was about to break. Every time I see him, I fall more madly in love with him. Then he goes home and I get so depressed because I think pretty soon he'll go away forever and I'll never see him again. This hurts so much that I almost wish I had never fallen in love at all. What do you think, Juliet? Would it have been better for you in the long run if you had never met Romeo? I know he was the love of your life, but if you'd never met him, you wouldn't know what you were missing and you wouldn't have suffered all that tragedy. You probably would have married Paris and had a pretty okay life. I would like to know what you think because I am really thinking right now that falling in love is not worth it.

Rose K.

“This is a tough one,” Kate said. “I mean, she makes a good point.”

“What?” Lucy was shocked. “Romeo and Juliet were meant to be together!”

“They did end up dying,” Kate felt compelled to say.

“And immortal,” Giacomo pointed out.

“Yes, as
characters
in a
play
!” Kate said. “But we're talking about real life! Why set yourself up to get your heart broken if you can avoid it?”

“Everyone's heart gets broken,” Silvia said darkly, even as she kept her attention on the sword fight, which had started up again. “It is unavoidable.”

“But you don't have to invite heartbreak in,” Kate argued. “And this girl, Rose, she seems to be setting herself up for unhappiness.”

“But don't you see?” Lucy asked. “That's the whole reason people are still writing to Juliet! Because everyone who falls in love ends up living her story.”

They all looked at her in surprise, and Lucy looked embarrassed.

“How so?” Giacomo asked, interested.

“Well, it's just an idea of mine,” she said. “I mean, after we read the play in my English class, I started thinking about my uncle Dub and aunt Zinnia. They fell in love in seventh grade and got married right after high school and stayed married for seventy years! Then Aunt Zinnia died, and even though they'd been married for such a long time, it was just like Juliet dying for Uncle Dub. So I was kind of thinking about that, and I realized that Romeo and Juliet meet and fall in love and get married and die in three days, which is like a super-condensed version of what happens to most people over their whole life. One way or the other, you end up losing the person, but you still are happy that you loved them. I mean, Uncle Dub wouldn't have wished that he had never met Aunt Zinnia, just because he knew that one day she wouldn't be in his life anymore.”

There was a brief silence, then Kate said, with some surprise, “That's good.”

“Really?” Lucy asked. “I mean, it's just a crazy idea I had.”

“It's very good.” Kate nodded at her. “You should write that down.”

Lucy blushed. “I did, actually. That was my contest essay. I was kind of surprised that I won, even though Uncle Dub said he really liked it—”

She was interrupted by a yell from Benno. “You deceitful dog-hearted dolt!”

He lunged at Tom, who backed away. Benno, sensing victory, decided to try a thrust to the heart, missed, overbalanced and crashed to the floor.

“Ha!” Tom moved quickly to press his advantage. Benno managed to scramble to his feet and get out of the way, but not before crashing into a standing lamp. Then Tom was right on top of him again, so Benno spun out of the way, ducked under a sword thrust, and ended up by the window when—

“Gentle Mercutio,” Dan called out, moving forward to the center of the room, “put thy rapier up.”

“What?” Benno was trying to unwind the window-shade cord from around his head. “I can keep going! Don't worry about me!”

“I'm not, believe me,” Dan said. “The furnishings, however—” He gestured to the rumpled rug, the vase lying on the floor, the chair tipped over on its side, the shade hanging askew. “Let's start again tomorrow.”

“Oh. Sure.” Panting, Benno walked over to the table and grinned at Giacomo, Kate, Lucy, and Silvia. “Hey, were you watching us fight? I think I looked pretty good!”

Act III
Scene I

“Oh!” breathed Lucy, her eyes wide with astonishment. She had taken two steps into the costume shop before stopping dead in the middle of the floor. “
Oh!
”

“Wow,” Kate said, gazing around her.

Beside her, Silvia made a curious little sound in her throat. It sounded almost as if she were purring with delight.

“Doesn't this all look just simply . . . scrumptious?” Lucy asked.

Although Kate didn't consider herself susceptible to swooning over clothes—Sarah had often complained about her unwillingness to accompany her to the mall—she had to agree with Lucy. When they first stepped into the shop, the contrast between the bright sunshine outside and the dim, cool interior made them blink. Then their eyes adjusted, and they beheld an Aladdin's cave of colors—scarlet, gold, midnight blue, sea green, ivory, silver, purplish black, rose. Billowing silk and taffeta dresses hung on the walls as if they were works of art in a museum. Mannequins were posed around the room wearing satin waistcoats and velvet doublets; scarves, gloves, ties, belts spilled out of drawers; jewelry was scattered inside glass cases; and the walls were lined with shoes tied with ribbon laces and high, cuffed leather boots.

“Scrumptious? What does that mean?” Silvia asked absently. Her eyes were gleaming as they took in the room, and her voice was, if not friendly, at least not scathing.

“This,”
Lucy said, picking up a long cloak made of dark brown velvet, “is scrumptious.”

As definitions went, this was a long way from being complete or useful, Kate thought. But even as she thought that, she found herself drawn to a pair of high-heeled gold shoes. She picked one up and held it near the window. The buckles were encrusted with crystals that caught the light and cast rainbows on the whitewashed walls.

Lucy was right. This was just . . . scrumptious.

Silvia reached out to stroke the cloak, which Lucy had put down on a counter. Her touch was slow and careful, almost as if the cloak were a wild animal that she was trying to calm.
“Bellissimo,”
she murmured, sounding completely unlike the Silvia who had presented herself at the villa each morning. She moved to touch a satin dress hanging on the wall. It was the color of rubies, with an embroidered bodice edged in gold lace, a long, billowing skirt, and full sleeves.
“Molto bellissimo,”
she said again, sounding almost as if she were in a dream.

For a few moments, the three of them moved slowly around the room, pulling out dresses with languid gestures, speaking in hushed voices, completely and utterly entranced.

Then the door burst open and Professoressa Marchese strode inside, followed more slowly by Benno, Tom, and Giacomo.

“Ah, excellent, you are here already!” she cried. “Forgive me for being so extremely late, I had many urgent items to attend to at the villa, not to mention taking on a class for Signora Napoli, who woke up this morning with a bad head cold, and then the caterer called to say he foresees some sort of problem with the ice sculptures for the ball . . . But enough! We are all here now, ready to be made dazzling for the big night, yes?”

Lucy and Silvia were already rifling through the dresses that hung on racks in glittering rows, and Kate was inspecting a display of costume jewelry on the counter. Benno and Tom seemed less sure. They exchanged uneasy glances and didn't move into the room. Giacomo strolled over to a mannequin, lifted the black hat from its head, and placed it on his own. He instantly looked piratical and dashing, despite the wrinkled linen shorts and faded shirt he was wearing.

“What do you think?” He smiled at Lucy, who was staring at him, then glanced in a nearby mirror. “Does it suit me?”

“It makes you look like a black-hearted scoundrel, so yes.” Silvia sounded as if she was trying to be cross, but her heart wasn't in it. She had already moved on to a rack of dresses against the far wall and was going through them one by one. She held up a silk dress, blue shot through with threads of silver, and turned it this way and that, watching appreciatively as the silver picked up the light.

“Kate,” Professoressa Marchese said, “has anything caught your eye?” She noticed Benno and Tom, still huddled by the door. “Come, come, boys, you must pick out something as well! You mustn't let the girls steal the show. You know, men were quite the dandies in Elizabethan times. Yes, I assure you, they were peacocks! Velvet coats, silk doublets, plumed hats—”

“But no tights,” Tom reminded Professoressa Marchese. “Remember, I asked you, did we have to wear tights, and you said no, we did
not
have to wear tights, and I remember it perfectly because there is
no way
I am ever going to wear tights.”

“Of course, of course! Not to worry, Tommaso. You will wear breeches and you will look quite gallant, I assure you.”

Tom wasn't sure he wanted to look gallant. It sounded beyond him, somehow. “What,” he asked suspiciously, “are breeches?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, just pants,” she said. “More or less.”

Tom frowned and opened his mouth as if he wanted to question her more closely on this point, but Professoressa Marchese's attention had been caught by something she saw through the window. A small smile curved her mouth, then she turned back to them and clapped her hands.

“Excellent! Well, I will leave you to it, while I go and deal with the florist,” Professoressa Marchese said briskly. “When Signora Ceraso returns, simply tell her to put everything on my bill and send the costumes to the villa by tomorrow morning.
Ciao!
”

She whirled around and went out the door, leaving only a faint trace of her perfume in the air. Lucy and Silvia barely noticed her exit; they were too deeply entranced by the dresses they were pulling off the racks.

“Well.” Giacomo looked at Benno and Tom. “You'd better find something to wear, or my mother will pick out costumes for you.”

Benno and Tom shot each other expressive glances and edged a little farther into the store.

“I just don't want to look like an idiot,” Tom muttered. “It's bad enough we have to dance.”

“And we need something we can fight in,” Benno pointed out. He flicked a dismissive finger at a man's costume displayed on a mannequin. Knee-high cuffed boots, a dazzling ivory waistcoat with gold embroidery, a silk shirt with ruffles, and a large hat topped with an ostrich feather. “Pah! Anyone who tried to draw their sword wearing that would be dead within seconds!”

Silvia gave a catlike smile. “I could fight wearing that,” she said loftily. “And I would win.”

“Yes, Silvia, but then you could fight if you were wearing a ball gown and high heels,” Giacomo said.

“Hmmph,” Silvia muttered, but she had a blank look on her face that meant that she was extraordinarily pleased.

Giacomo picked up a shirt from a stack on the counter and held it in front of him. “This might work.” It was snowy white; in the dim light of the shop, it seemed to glow. It was simply cut, open at the throat, with long, full sleeves and floppy cuffs.

“Mercutio could fight wearing that,” Benno said grudgingly.

“He'll still die, though,” Tom reminded him. He grinned, feeling more secure on this familiar ground. “Stab, stab, stab, die, die, die.”

Benno punched him in the shoulder. Tom punched him back. As Benno pulled back his arm, Kate hastily grabbed another item off the shelf. “Here, Tom, if you're going to start a brawl, you can at least test these out while you're hitting each other.”

He stopped in midscuffle to look at what she was holding out to him. “What's that?”

“I think,” Kate said, “they're breeches.”

An hour later, Tom, Benno, and Giacomo had picked out their costumes. Actually, Tom had selected his clothes in fifteen minutes flat, and he could have done it in ten if he hadn't had to sit around and wait for Benno to be done in the fitting room.

All things considered, Tom was pleased with the way he looked. As it turned out, breeches were pants. A little close-fitting, maybe, considering he always wore baggy shorts or jeans, but at least they weren't tights. And even Tom had to admit, once he added the boots, shirt, and sword, that he wasn't going to be totally embarrassed on the night of the party.

In fact, he thought he looked rather dashing.

Not that he would admit that to anyone, even under threat of torture.

Benno, on the other hand, had gone over to the dark side. He was standing in front of a full-length mirror, turning this way and that, checking out his reflection, and asking for the hundredth time if he should go with the burgundy coat instead of the chestnut.

“Benno,” Tom finally said. “Stop it.”

Benno looked at him, eyes wide. “Stop what?”

“You're—you're . . . preening!” he finally said in exasperation. He had no idea where that word had come from, but he felt a little glow inside that he had come up with it.

Then he heard something. It sounded like a small, raspy chuckle—the kind of laugh that an ancient, wizened crow would make, if someone said something that an ancient, wizened crow found amusing. Tom shot a glance at Silvia, but she was intent on examining the lining of a skirt and didn't look up.

Silvia? Laughing at something he said? No. Couldn't be.

“I am not preening, as you say,” Benno answered sulkily. “In Italy, we take fashion and appearance very seriously. It is important to, well . . .
fare bella figura
.”

Tom felt his jaw tighten. This summer was turning into a tutorial on all the things in life he didn't know, starting with Shakespeare and sonnets, continuing right down the line to Renaissance dance and waistcoats, and finishing up with the Italian language. All of Tom's friends back home knew him as the most laid-back guy in the world, but now he had to admit that he was beginning to feel just a little bit fed up.

“Oh, yeah?” he said. “What's that?”

“It's, um, the way you dress, only more than that, it means style and and and . . .” Floundering, Benno gestured toward his reflection. “Everything!”

Tom tilted his head inquisitively to one side and waited.

Benno opened his mouth to go on, thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I can't explain it.”

“It means taking pride in how you look,” Giacomo explained kindly. “A good haircut, nice shoes, the best-quality clothes, even if you're only wearing”—he indicated his own clothes—“shorts and a shirt.”

“Oh.” Tom nodded slowly. He wasn't the kind of guy who looked at clothes. So now he examined what Giacomo was wearing more closely. Just shorts and a white cotton shirt, but the shorts were linen and the shirt had a collar. And buttons.

He glanced down at his faded T-shirt and noticed, for the first time, several old stains and a small tear at the hem. He looked in the mirror. His shorts were old and baggy. And his running shoes were pretty battered. . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by Silvia handing him a dress. “Hold that up,” she snapped. Startled, he did as she said. She shoved another dress at Lucy, the third one at Giacomo, and snapped her fingers. “Now stand over there, all of you! I must see each dress next to the other in order to make this decision.”

Giacomo grinned at Lucy and shrugged one shoulder; she grinned back in a knowing way. Watching, Kate felt an odd sensation in her stomach, but before she could consider what this meant, Silvia was telling Giacomo, Lucy, and Tom to move this way, hold that dress higher, stand closer to the window, twirl around a little to make the skirt flare out. . . .

“No,” Tom said flatly. “No twirling.”

“Oh, very well!” Silvia snapped. She stood in front of them, her arms folded, looking at the three dresses appraisingly. One was a deep, rich red silk; the second was gold satin with elaborate embroidery on the bodice; and the third was coal black velvet with a sprinkle of jet beads around the low neckline.

Dramatic colors, Kate thought. Just like Silvia.

“The red dress is the color of arterial blood,” Kate pointed out astringently. “If that helps.”

“Thank you,” Silvia said. “It does not.” She paced slowly back and forth, tilting her head to one side and the other, until her three assistants finally began to protest.

“I think you should just pick one,” Tom said. “You'll look great no matter what.”

She gave him a scathing look, and he blushed. “Of course I will,” she agreed. “That is not the point.”

“Surely the velvet is too hot for summer?” Giacomo suggested. A faint sheen of sweat had appeared on his face, just from holding the black dress. “Perhaps you can eliminate this option, at least.”

Lucy sighed and shifted from one foot to the other. “Silvia, honey, I know it's hard to decide, but my arms are getting really tired,” she said.

“Mmm.” Silvia didn't seem to hear her. “Just one . . . more . . . minute . . .”

As Silvia turned to examine the dress Tom was holding, Lucy caught Giacomo's eyes and made a comic, despairing face. He leaned over to whisper something in her ear, and she giggled.

Kate felt as if a small ice cube had slithered down into her stomach. She considered the dress she was holding. It was gray satin and relatively simple, with a modest lace edging on the bodice and a small amount of discreet silver embroidery. She seemed to hear Sarah's voice in her mind (“Honestly, Kate, are you
trying
to look like you're Amish?”). She looked back across the room. Silvia had finally listened to reason and eliminated the black velvet, but she was still frowning back and forth between the other two dresses. Giacomo was leaning over Lucy's shoulder and whispering; she glanced up at him and said something that made him laugh.

Kate impatiently thrust the dress back on the rack and began rummaging through the other costumes. No, the apple green gown would make her look as if she had jaundice. No, the lavender would make her look as if she had stomach flu. No, the white would make her look dead.