“I’m FALLING!” Fanny tried furiously to keep panic from her voice, quickly changing her words into a song, “… in love with you/oo-oo-oo/oo-oo-oo,” ending in a semblance of a piteous sob.
Far below her boudoir balcony, Romeo (being played more than adequately by Joachim Wendt for this 'special' matinee performance) used his most formidable acting skills to keep his romantic stage persona intact, despite Fanny’s unexpected departure from the monotonously familiar script (and we won't even discuss the gross over-acting of the two star-crossed lovers in THIS particular production!). Despite the magnificent and historic words of the great bard that Joachim was meant to deliver in his best, most romantic Romeo fashion, the erstwhile actor found great difficulty in keeping his mind from straying. Thankfully he had some of his shortest (and most easily committed to memory) lines to deliver, here at the famous balcony scene. Joachim hid a slightly disgusted sniff behind a lace-edged handkerchief he produced from one of his copious satin sleeves. That stupid little girl actually believes I truly mean all the fluff I'm feeding to her. I mean, REALLY!
Joachim shook his head. Had she forgotten her lines, AGAIN?!? Was that the explanation for her departure from their well-rehearsed words? He didn't really think so. No. Something had definitely gone wrong—but what? He looked up at the castle set looming above. It looked normal, didn’t it? Surely it was his imagination that it appeared to move? He blinked hard several times, trying to remove the sensation it WAS moving forward… ever so slowly collapsing onto…
* * * * * * * *
“I CAN play Juliet,” Fanny said with what appeared the calmest conviction. I’m not an actress for nothing. I’ll show him. He’ll never have the satisfaction of knowing how my heart is roaring its thunderous beat in my ears, or how a trickle of sweat is running down my spine - and my blooming cleavage, too. “It’s been my mission in life since I was a child — 'twas the first play I ever saw when I was but a young lass. I made up my mind then and there, it would one day be mine, and I won’t lose my chance now.” Fanny lifted her small chin and tilted her head prettily, knowing she looked a perfect picture with the great pale blue satin bow, and the lace and bluebell trimmed brim of her hat framing the cascade of her golden curls.
Henry twirled his oiled moustache with long, perfectly manicured fingers. The cynical twist of his mouth betrayed his encouraging words. “Yes, yes my dear. AFTER I’ve heard a brief audition—” with a meaningful glance at his fob-watch, “and IF you pass muster, we’ll give you a try-out at this afternoon’s matinee.” He flicked away a speck of dust from the knee of his trousers. “Of course, you do understand, this is all only possible due to the uhrrm blandishments of your — shall I say — well-heeled father? Not to mention your dear mother (who provided a few rather enticing blandishments of her own—but shh! We won't go there!) She is indeed the unknown heroine of the show, being the one who will be right behind you — well-hidden, of course — reading all your speeches, word for word. You will have only to repeat them and ACT the part accordingly.” Henry paused and adjusted his monocle so it sat more tightly between his slightly raised eyebrow (also well- oiled) and high cheekbones with long sideboards sweeping in a dramatic curl down his face, pausing on his chin. "You WILL be able remember that much, surely my dear young lady? To listen to your dearest Mother, as all dutiful daughters should?"
Fanny’s head bobbed up and down like a clockwork clown-head in a penny arcade. She would agree to anything to get THIS - her BIG chance. Already she could see her name in lights on Broadway. Every dream was about to come true; she just knew it. With her mother well-hidden close behind herself and the ornate balcony set, Fanny was supremely confident that her weak memory skills for her lines wouldn’t matter or be noticed even tinily, by the eager and appreciative audience, hungry for the latest production by the famous bard.
* * * * * * * *
Now, at long last, her moment in the sun (or on the stage, in actuality) had arrived. She lifted her chin and her ample bosom and held herself taller, secure in the knowledge the audience were too far removed to hear her mother’s whispered prompts. Next, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the balcony's ornate balustrade. After first brushing her veil back with a casual, sweeping flow of arm and hand, she cupped her dainty chin in tiny dimpled fingers, knowing how her gestures sweetened her words. Despite her apparent ease, Fanny was painfully aware how everything to follow depended on this, her opening line,she took another deep breath. “Oh my!” she said, sweetly and somewhat plaintively, but with a strength of projection that even surprised herself.
Her voice was clear and pure and carried through the hushed audience, all the way to the back row. Well, that went alright, she thought. And none could hear the soft sigh of satisfaction that escaped as her Romeo began his next speech. All too quickly it was Juliet’s turn again. Fanny had no problem starting the familiar lines — ‘Oh Romeo, Romeo. Why do you have to be Romeo?’— mainly due to the fact that luckily, her mother was perched precariously on a ladder immediately to one side, behind the heavy draped curtain of the mock window and balcony, reading every word of Juliet’s speeches, as planned. Fanny paused most prettily (and often) and then repeated every line. She had developed great skill at performing in this way, leaving the audience totally unaware of what was actually transpiring — behind the scenes...
Fanny began to relax into a different kind of acting than that imagined by owners and onlookers alike, and Henry, the Stage Manager breathed a huge sigh of relief. congratulating himself on his superior ability to nose out a new star, as she continued, ‘Forget about your father and change your name. Or else, if you won’t change your name, just swear— ‘
Unfortunately, the bitter truth must be told — the mother was, unfortunately, more than somewhat of a heavyweight, although that, in itself, need not have led to the drama about to unfold… off stage. However, when combined with a ladder that was not only way past the 'flower of its youth', but in actuality, was also way past its acceptable use bydate; a disaster waiting to happen in the wings. And it didn’t have long to wait. With a barely audible groan, it collapsed.
Did it have the good grace to fall backwards? Unfortunately NOT. Despite the outward opulence of the scene (mimicking one of the grand mansions of Verona), behind the ornate fake wrought-iron balustrading of the balcony, the staging was rickety (to say the least), and the collapsing ladder caused it to fall against the set piece currently masking all from the unsuspecting audience.
Similarly to the famous nursery rhyme, down came Juliet (alias Fanny), mother, balcony and all. And the hapless and helpless Romeo (alias Joachim) was sadly and painfully on the bottom of the pile. Word is that by the time he was rescued from the wreckage, he would earn questionable fame by becoming known as the MOST mournful lover in the history of the play. It should also be noted that tragically, Fanny and her hapless mother never managed to achieved fame and fortune on the stage, striving instead to make ends meet as the local washerwoman and her daughter, the ironess.
Ahh… but though the playwright was heard to say, 'Good night, good night, parting is such a sweet sorrow', we really don't believe this was quite the parting he had in mind. Nonetheless, this WAS a tragedy of unforeseen proportions.
'Such is Life!' breathed another scribe, with enormous feeling.
* * * * * * * *
Christine Larsen is a writer, farmer, wife, mother, grandmother and rescuer extraordinaire of children (human and the knitted toy variety), plus countless animals, for more than seven decades. Always a creator, her passion for some years has been copious amounts of writing of genres including memoir, flash fiction/non-fiction and short-shorts, children's stories—and now her butterfly brain flutters around poetic fields, affording much pleasure as well as the regular blood, sweat and tears the hard taskmaster (the writing muse) demands of her chosen.
Christine’s website is: ceedee moodling at http://www.cdcraftee.com/