Waking Rose: A Fairy Tale Retold (19 page)

Fish groaned. “Well, let’s hope the administration is making a good judgment call. But I want you to be on your guard. People like her can get vindictive when they’ve been shot down. Have you told anyone what happened?”

“Not really. It’s sort of embarrassing, you know? Especially since Donna still goes here, and I don’t want to make everyone hate her. And the dean and president asked me to keep the situation quiet, but they said I should stay in touch with them and tell them if anything else happens.”

Fish could easily imagine something else happening. “Well, I disagree with their reasoning on keeping the situation a secret. I think you should tell your roommate—she seems like a level-headed girl. And what about those knights of yours?”

“I haven’t told them,” Rose confessed.

“Well, why not?”

“I’m afraid it will come off as me wanting too much attention,” she said. And added, after a pause, “I’m afraid some of them like me, and this might give them the wrong idea.”

“Oh.” Fish digested this. “Well, don’t let that be a hang-up for you if you really need their assistance. And if anything freaks you out again, take it as a sign from God and be more cautious and get help. Okay?”

“All right.”

“And don’t leave the rehearsals at night alone. Get Kateri or one of your friends to come and pick you up from late rehearsals.”

“All right. I guess that would make me feel safer.”

“Yes. And hopefully you’ll
be
safer. That’s the idea.”

There was a pause.

She asked, “Fish, how are
you
doing?”

“I’m fine,” he said guardedly. “Why?”

“I’ve just been thinking about you a lot. About our conversation in the car.”

“Ah.”

The silence lingered between them, and he grew impatient. He added, “I am planning on coming up for your first performance, you know.”

“Are you?”

“Of course I am. I told you I wanted to see some good Shakespeare.”
There. Would that satisfy her?

“Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you then.”

“Rose,” he said, “if you’re afraid, for any reason, call me, okay?”

“I will.” 

“Okay then. I’ll talk to you soon.”

After he hung up the phone, he stared at it, perplexed and wary.

He still wasn’t sure why he had told her so much. Even his lawyer didn’t know the whole story, because Fish was afraid that if Charles had known, he would have insisted on adding it to the prosecution. Keeping it a secret had made it slightly easier to forget it had all happened.

But if Rose was going to keep bringing it up, pretty soon he was going to regret he had told her. He didn’t want to keep dwelling on it. The main reason he had told her was to explain why he was so distant, and why he needed that space. 
Those kinds of scars don’t heal naturally, any more than the scars on my face would ever disappear.

And yet Rose still wanted to be friends with him. But then again, he had always suspected that she would find it interesting to be friends with the oddest creatures. He could plausibly see her befriending griffins, chimera, hippogriffs, and all sorts of monstrous creations.
I would fit right in with that kind of menagerie,
he told himself cynically, and turned back to his books.

Hers

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners

now and at the hour of our death, Amen.

Rose prayed the familiar words in an audible murmur, and tried not to shiver in the November winds. She was among a group of students and other people who were standing on the section of sidewalk just across from Robert Graves Memorial Hospital, where court order had allowed that civil protests could still be held.

It was cold that Saturday morning, and Rose stomped her feet to keep the blood circulating. She had been feeling the need to do something more, lately, something expiational. For Fish. So today, she was out here for the unborn children, but she was offering up her discomfort for her friend.

Rose was suddenly distracted as a woman crossed the street furtively and began to make her way towards the group. Kateri didn’t seem to see her, but Rose looked up and met the woman’s eyes. She was a black woman, and she looked scared. Rose smiled at her reassuringly.

“What was that you said about women needing options?” the woman sidled up to Rose and asked in a low voice.

“There’s a crisis pregnancy center near here that helps anyone who needs it,” Rose said.

“What services do they offer?” the woman asked.

Kateri had seen her, and came over, having heard the woman’s last words. “Here’s a brochure listing their services and other information,” she said, and gave the woman a pamphlet describing a baby’s growth in the womb. In a moment, she had drawn the woman aside and the two of them were talking in low voices.

A man from their group picked up leading the rosary, and the group continued to pray, obscuring the voices of Kateri and the woman further. Rose rubbed her hands together and focused more deeply on the prayer.
Holy Mary...

Just then a car pulled over at the curb on the other side of the street, and a woman got out, a tall hefty woman with brown curly hair and a scowl on her face. Rose noticed that her eyes were fixed on Kateri’s figure. If Kateri was aware of the woman glowering at her, she ignored her.

The woman pulled out a cell phone, punched some numbers, and spoke into the phone. A few minutes later, a security guard came out of the hospital.

The burly man walked slowly across the street, pausing for traffic, and planted himself in front of Kateri and the woman. Kateri finished what she was saying and looked up calmly.

The guard spoke to the black woman, and Rose caught the words, “Are you trying to get to the hospital? Are these people detaining you?”

“No—not at all—I just asked for some information,” the woman said, crumpling the brochure into her pocket.

“Did they approach you?”

“No,” the woman said. “I—came over here.”

“We just wanted to make sure.”

Kateri said nothing, but she smiled at the guard and said, “Have a nice day,” as he crossed back over the street.

The guard conferred with the woman in the car, whose expression grew darker. She glared at the group of students and met Rose’s eyes for a brief instant. For an instant, Rose thought she saw a look of fear on the woman’s face. Abruptly, she got back into her car and drove into the hospital parking garage without stopping to take a ticket. Rose felt an urge to move behind the others in the crowd and hide somehow.

Kateri finished her conversation with the black woman, who walked away, still scared but seeming a little more confident. Then Kateri picked up her bullhorn and resumed the rosary. Rose’s heart swelled with admiration for her roommate, and she picked up her part of the prayer.

Wonder if Dad ever came down here to pray the rosary? I should ask Mom,
she mused as she offered up the tail end of another Hail Mary. Some of the older people from the local parish looked as though they had been coming here for a long time. They seemed happy to have a young person like Kateri leading. Again, she felt the urge to go back to the old barn and dig more into her family history, spend more time learning about her dad.
As soon as I find the time…

H
IS

During the first performance of King Lear, Fish was remarkably surprised by Rose’s acting. She was quite good. The director had encouraged her to play a light-hearted Cordelia, and her delivery of the line, “Neither more nor less,” with a characteristic shrug of her shoulders, made the audience laugh.

It was clear her acting was determined by her usual personality, and Fish mused as to whether good acting involved putting on a new, artificial personality, or merely using your own personality to show off a certain character. It was hard to tell what Rose was doing—if she played a good Cordelia because she was like Cordelia, or if she was using Cordelia to show the audience new parts of herself.

Whichever it was, she was doing a fine job. And the costume she wore, white and sky blue, with a net of pearls and gold wire over her hair, suited her.

During intermission, he went backstage to see her, as she had asked him to. Backstage was a flurry of actors, wardrobe people, and stagehands in black readying for makeup, scenery, and costume changes. He looked around a bit apprehensively, hoping he wouldn’t stumble onto anyone changing clothes in an odd corner.

Dr. Morris, hurrying past, recognized him and gave a quick smile. “Rose is upstairs,” he pointed to a room up a short flight of steps whose door said “Makeup.” “How’s the play?” he asked.

“Great. Really enjoyable,” he said, and the director looked relieved, nodded, and was gone. Fish climbed up the stairs, avoiding those hurrying downstairs on one errand or another. He almost bumped into one girl in black and apologized, “Sorry.”  Looking up, he found himself staring up into Donna’s blue eyes.

Startled, she halted. Her face became self-protective.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded quietly.

“I’m working on the costumes,” she said defensively, lifting her small chin. “The director said I could. Are you satisfied?”

“Actions satisfy me, not words,” he said coolly. “Excuse me.”

She hurried out of his way, her face red. He shot a distrustful look after her, and continued up the steps.

A bit uneasy, he looked for Rose, and was relieved to see her in the dressing room Dr. Morris had indicated. She was sitting in front of the mirror in her blue and white dress. When she saw him in the mirror, she turned her head, smiling. “Hello. How did I do?”

To his surprise, her face was different, her features a bit softer and more expressive. He realized he wasn’t used to seeing Rose wearing makeup. “Hi. Great job.”

“Would you like to sit down and chat? We’ve got ten minutes.”

“Do you have to change?”

“Oh, eventually. I like this costume so much I usually wait. The other gown has a stiff stomacher on it, and it’s not as comfortable.”  She indicated a stool, and he sat down, his eyes still drawn to her face in the mirror. Rose lowered her chin and began to pull bobby pins out of her hairpiece.

“I just saw Donna,” he said, so that he wasn’t just staring at her.

“Yes, she’s working on the wardrobe.” He observed that the makeup heightened Rose’s features, her lips, her long lashes. She looked more like a woman than a sprite of a girl. Had he ever seen her done up like this before? He wasn’t sure.

“How is she?” he asked, after another pause.

“Fine. She avoids me. We’ve been civil to each other. She’s making an effort to be helpful to everyone. No more tantrums, the way she was when she was a lead actor.” She tilted her head to one side thoughtfully, and started to loosen the pearly hairnet. Suddenly, her red hair came tumbling down her white neck in a rich cascade that slid and tumbled down her shoulders. The motion caught him by surprise, and a line from Keats came shimmering up from his subconscious:

Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees...

Hers

She studied her eye makeup in the mirror and decided she didn’t need to touch it up after all. With a toss of her head, she pushed her hair over her shoulders, picked up a brush, and began to sweep it through her hair. Actually, it had bothered her that Donna was still working on the production, but she hadn’t really told anyone.
Goodness, I’ve been enough of a nuisance to the director already,
she said to herself.

Fish had fallen silent. She glanced over at him. He was looking at her.

“Fish?”

He started, and dropped his eyes, then abruptly rubbed his face as though he were tired. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“Oh,” she paused. Was he tired? Feeling ill?

He stood up at once and looked around the room, as though he had dropped something. Then he said, “I guess I’ll come back and see you after the performance. How many shows do you have this weekend?”  He glanced up at the ceiling, then back down at the floor.

What was wrong with him?
“A matinee tomorrow, then a show tomorrow night, and then Sunday night. The same thing next weekend.”

He paused, picked up a piece of string from the floor and deposited it in the trashcan. “Well, I should be able to make the night shows. I’ll have to miss the matinees, though. I have to work.”

Realizing what he had just said, she was incredulous. “You’re not going to come to
all
of the shows, are you? You don’t have to do that.”

He looked at her and shrugged. “Why not? It’s a good play.”

This was very strange. “You’ll have it memorized by the time the run is over,” she said doubtfully, picking up the golden net of pearls and running her fingers over it.

He smiled. “Tis but a courtesy, mademoiselle,” he said formally, bowing.

He hadn’t said he was doing it out of a duty to protect her. Maybe he was actually enjoying her company. Maybe he was seeing himself as more than the family bodyguard. She should at least encourage this. She brightened. “Well, Blanche and Bear are coming up next weekend. For my birthday. We could all go out afterwards. That would be fun.”

“It’s your birthday next week? How old will you be?”

“Twenty.”

“Oh.” He was looking at her again, almost bewildered. “Are you really just a year younger than me?”

She laughed outright. “I’ve
always
been a year younger than you! Not five, or ten!”

“Of course,” he seemed to recollect himself. “I guess I assumed you’d perpetually be a teenager. Time flies. Well, keep up the great work, and I’ll see you after the show,” he said. He set a hand lightly on her shoulder, and then turned away and left.