Illyria (12 page)

"When that I was and a little tiny boy,

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,

A foolish thing was hut a toy,

For the rain it raineth every day."

I stood with everyone else backstage and watched. Our curtain calls were forgotten, the audience was forgotten. Rogan himself was gone. There was only song and light, and the dust swirling around him in a nimbus of gold and black. As though he'd given voice to it; as though he'd given voice to all of us, and we would flicker back into darkness when he fell silent.

"But when I came, alas, to wive,

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,

By swaggering could I never thrive,

For the rain it raineth every day."

I didn't know I was crying, until Malvolio gasped and pulled me to him. Dimly I grew aware of other sounds backstage, muffled sobs and breathing. Someone else put their hands on my shoulders. Not to

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comfort me; more the way a scared child reaches for an adult in the night.

"A great while ago the world begun,

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,

But that's all one, our play is done,

And we'll strive to please you every day."

The followspot wavered as Rogan raised his hands. His eyes closed as the last notes echoed through the house. The spotlight went out; the auditorium plunged into darkness. His voice hung there still. I shut my eyes and felt him beside me, felt his mouth on mine and his breath warm against my cheek.

The lights went up in such a sudden blaze that everyone backstage started, then laughed nervously. I blinked and rubbed my eyes.

"Places for curtain call!"

The auditorium remained silent. Then, as the curtain parted, a roar of clapping and shouting and catcalls swept over us.

We all got our applause. Lovers, Puritan, knights and Captain and soldiers and attendants.

But it was Rogan's show. No one had ever doubted that, not since he'd first stepped onstage. He took one bow, then another; the curtains closed, then opened again, and we all ran back out for more calls. When the curtain closed for the last time, the drunken jocks chanted Rogan's name until he stepped out alone, front and center, his costume furred with dust and his golden hair wild around his white face.

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He stared at the audience, elated, until someone put the house lights on. People shaded their eyes and looked around in confused delight. At last, they began to leave.

Onstage actors ran around breathlessly, kissing and embracing. Sir Andrew and Sebastian clashed swords as Maria and Olivia fell into each other's arms, laughing as they wept.

"You were so good!"

"No,
you
were so good!"

I went out front to receive congratulations from my parents. "Very nice, very nice," my father said. He kissed me absently on the forehead. "Do you need a ride home?"

"No, there's a party, I'll get a ride later."

"You did very well, Maddy," said my mother, and she hugged me. "We're very proud of you."

I looked around for Rogan's parents. They stood stiffly with their son a few feet away, none of them talking, though it looked like I might have just missed something, an argument or maybe Rogan's announcement that he'd be at the after party.

"Maddy?"

I turned. Mr. Sullivan grinned at me, Aunt Kate at his side. "You were wonderful--you and Rogan both. Just super."

"Thanks."

"You did a lovely job, darling." Aunt Kate hugged me tightly, then kissed both of my cheeks. "And you--"

She reached out to take Rogan by the hand and pulled him to us. I had a glimpse of my uncle's face, gray and unflinching, before he turned and walked out of the auditorium. Mr. Sullivan grasped Rogan's shoulder.

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"You were amazing, Rogan. Just incredible." Mr. Sullivan threw his head back and laughed. "That voice!"

Aunt Kate's nose wrinkled as she stared at the unlit cigarette in Rogan's hand. "That voice isn't going to last very long if Rogan doesn't take care of it."

She smiled; but there was no warmth in the way she gazed at Rogan, even as she ruffled his hair and added, "You gave a hundred percent out there tonight, darling."

His mouth twisted in a smile. "Two hundred percent."

Aunt Kate looked at him as though this were part of some other conversation. "Just make sure you save something for tomorrow, sweetheart," she said lightly. "And Sunday. You have two more performances."

Rogan shrugged. "Hey, I might not be here tomorrow. None of us might." He looked sideways at me and smiled. "You getting a ride with Dune?"

I nodded.

"Come on, then." He bent to kiss Aunt Kate's cheek, then saluted Mr. Sullivan. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. S."

"No cigarettes!" Aunt Kate called after us. "Get a good night's sleep!"

The party was like Christmas, an anticlimax. Still, we all stayed till 3 a.m ., getting high and passing around a gallon bottle of Almaden wine. Duncan Moss drove Rogan and me home, dropping us off at the top of Fairview's driveway.

"Fare well, my metal of India," Duncan said, and gave me a sloppy

kiss.

"If he has an accident, you'll have to play Viola
and
Sebastian," said Rogan as we watched him drive off.

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"Might be an improvement."

Rogan shook his head. "Nothing could be an improvement."

We stood with our arms wrapped around each other, swaying slightly while a moon just past full hung above the Hudson. Our breath formed a white cloud around us; underfoot a brittle layer of ice buckled and cracked.

"This is perfect," whispered Rogan. He buried his face in my hair and kissed my neck. "This, now--tonight--"

"Shhh," I said.

I knew what he was going to say next, knew it as though it were my own name. I kissed his mouth and silenced him, silenced everything except for the steady knocking of our chests, heart to heart, breath to breath, and the January wind blowing cold across Arden Terrace.

***

THE AUDITORIUM HAD ONLY BEEN THREE-QUARTERS

full on opening night. Saturday it was packed. The performance was even better than it had been the night before: word of mouth and repeat attendance by the jocks meant that Rogan's every entrance was met with cheers and whistles. He never lost his composure, though the other actors began to improvise, doing funny riffs and playing off the audience as though there were no fourth wall between us.

When the last act ended, Rogan received a standing ovation. He accepted it gracefully, beckoning the rest of us to join him onstage

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and saluting Mr. Sullivan where he sat, fifth row center, with Aunt Kate at his side. Afterward there was another party, a more formal affair thrown by Olivia's parents. Rogan didn't bother to change, but I wore my blue velvet cape. My father picked up Rogan and me before midnight.

"How did it go?" he asked as we climbed into the backseat.

"It went great," I said. Neither my parents nor Rogan's had come to the second performance. As far as I knew, they wouldn't attend the final one, either. "I'm tired, though."

"I'm not surprised." My father glanced at me in the rearview mirror. I thought he was going to say something, but he remained silent until after we dropped off Rogan.

"Aunt Kate came over this afternoon." He pulled the car into the garage and turned the ignition off, so we sat in darkness. "She wanted to talk to your mother and me about something."

He used the tone I'd always imagined a parent might use to announce a divorce or death.

"What?" My heart began to race. Had Aunt Kate blown the whistle on Rogan and me sleeping together? Did she even know? "Did something happen? Is it--"

"We'll talk about it tomorrow."

My father got out of the car. I stared after him, incredulous that he could drop this bomb but not watch it go off. "What do you mean, tomorrow? What happened? Is everyone okay?"

"Everyone's fine. Your mother and I will discuss it with you in the morning, I'm going to bed."

I spent an anxious night, finally resorted to taking a Valium Rogan

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had gotten from God knows where. Toward morning I fell asleep.

It was noon before I woke. That alone would have signaled that something was afoot--I had never been permitted to sleep that late, even when I was sick with chicken pox.

"Maddy?" I looked up blearily and saw my mother at the foot of my bed. "Aunt Kate's here. Why don't you get up and get dressed."

I took my time, showering and gathering everything I needed for the last show, a four o'clock matinee. If I'd even be allowed to perform in it. I wondered if Rogan had already had his meeting; if he was in my house right now, with Aunt Pat and Uncle Richard and my parents and Aunt Kate, all of them waiting to confront us.

But when I finally went downstairs, my parents and Aunt Kate were sitting cheerfully at the dining table, surrounded by coffee cups and half-finished plates of leftover turkey sandwiches.

"Good morning, Maddy," said Aunt Kate. "Did you get enough sleep?"

I looked at her uneasily. "I think so."

"Sit here, darling."

Aunt Kate pulled out the chair beside her. I sat, picked up a slice of pickle, and ate it.

"I came over yesterday to talk to your parents about something I've been working on for the last few months." Aunt Kate reached for the coffeepot and refilled her cup, held it in both hands so that the steam curled in gray wisps around her face. "I think it's time for you to go to London to study."

To hide my confusion, I took a sip of tepid coffee from someone else's cup. "Study what?"

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"Acting. I've arranged for you to have an audition at the National Youth Theatre--they're still on their Christmas break. They rarely see potential students this time of year but I pulled some strings and they've agreed to meet with you. We'll have to get your passport photos immediately, but once that's taken care of we can go down to the city and just stand in line to have it processed. The main thing is that you need two audition pieces, one classical and one contemporary. You'll have to learn the contemporary one quickly. I think Lizzie in
The Rainmaker.
There's a good speech there; you'd do a super job with it."

I was still stuck back on that one word,
London.
"You mean England?"

"Yes." Aunt Kate exchanged a quick look with my parents.

"We'll leave you to discuss this," said my mother. She and my father stood, neither of them smiling, and left the room.

I stared at Aunt Kate, bewildered. She might as well have told me we were going to visit Middle-Earth or Mars.

"I don't get it," I said.

For a minute Aunt Kate sat and ran a finger across the face of her emerald ring.

"This is something I've given a great deal of thought to," she said at last. "And for a very long time. You're young, but your great-grandmother was younger than you when she first performed professionally. We can always dance around the age issue a bit if we have to--with the right makeup and clothes you could pass for seventeen. If you do well at the National Youth Theatre--and you will--we can decide whether you should attend RADA or Central--Central School

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of Speech and Drama. But you'll be working well before then."

"I still don't--this is an acting school? In England?"

Aunt Kate nodded. "In London. I have old friends there. Some of them owe me a favor--not that you wouldn't be accepted on your own merits, but it never hurts to call in a favor."

I gaped at her in disbelief. "My parents--my parents know about this?"

Again she nodded. "I've already told them. I'll make all the arrangements, including tuition payment. And I'll stay with you, for the first few months anyway. I have a friend in Hampstead; we can use his flat while he's in Greece for the winter. After that we'll see what we can do. I have other friends. Highgate, maybe, or Belgravia."

"But." I stared at the table in front of me, the white cups and saucers and half-eaten sandwiches, then looked at my aunt. "Rogan."

Aunt Kate hesitated. "I can only afford tuition for one child."

"But Rogan." My mouth tasted bitter, as though I was going to be sick. "I mean--can't you take both of us?"

"No. Even if I wanted to, I can't afford it. And the school wouldn't look kindly on my taking advantage of them, asking to audition two students."

"But that's crazy." I shook my head so hard it hurt. "Rogan is-- he's so much better. You know that, right? It's not just me who thinks so. Everyone does. Even Mr. Sullivan. Everyone!"

My voice rose. I began to cry. "You can't. It's not fair--you know it's not fair--"

"This has nothing to do with fair." Aunt Kate's tone was icy. She turned to avoid my gaze. "Rogan's a loose cannon. What he did in