In the Shadow of Shakespeare (8 page)

Alice
smiled.  “Bye.”  She closed the door behind her. 

She
slowly walked down the hall and stopped at a bulletin board and pretended to
read it.  Someone had just pulled the rug out from under her feet. 
She felt as though she were floating in space – as if everything she knew or
thought she knew was wrong. 

 ***

Don
Gibbs got up from the heavy oak table and walked deliberately over to the
coffee pot in the corner.  He poured black coffee into a Styrofoam
cup. 

 “Have
to remember to bring my own cup.  These things are disgusting. 
Anyone else want any?”

 
Yeah, you do that, get your own damn cup then. 
Alice wished he
could read her thoughts. 

 “Look,”
she said, “I feel like I’m locked in some sort of jury deliberation.  This
is a board meeting for God’s sake.”  She wished Derrin were here.  He
would lighten things up.  He had that knack.

 “Where’s
your side kick?”  Brad said.

 “What?” 
Alice looked at him quizzically, suddenly realizing who he was talking
about.  Derrin.  She had the oddest feeling he had read her mind.

Brad,
the used car salesman.  Of all people, he probably
could
read her mind. 
He had come to the board meetings for a year now, usually light hearted and
jovial, but lately he seemed to have an agenda.  Alice couldn’t quite
figure him out.  He sat there in his white shirt, tie loosened.  She
noticed he had been keeping up the tan that he got in Tahiti, vacationing with
his wife.  Recently he had sported a little gold hoop in his right
ear. 

 “You
know,
Derrin.
”  He smirked at her when he enunciated the
name. 

Alice
realized that lately he had been trying to compromise Derrin somehow, was
always taking pot shots at him.

 “He
called and said he had a headache.  One of those migraine things.” 

 “I
just saw him on campus less than an hour ago.  He seemed fine to
me.”  Sonia looked down at the cup in her hands, then her eyes moved
towards Brad.  She ook a sip of coffee when their eyes met.  His
expression changed somehow, softened.   

These
two are    having an affair.

Alice
shook her head, incredulous.  It must have just started, she thought, or I
would have noticed it before. 
Or maybe not. 
She began to
wonder what she did, and didn’t know. 

She
over at Jim Schelling.  Of all the people here she at least knew that he
was her friend.  He was an English professor at MSU who specialized in
Shakespeare.  At least he’s on my side, she thought.  He smiled at
her when he caught her looking at him.

 “Yes,
I agree with Alice.  We don’t need to stalemate over it today.  It’s
all new information.   We could have a decision next board
meeting.”  Jim said.

 “But
I would like to start work on production now,”  Alice said.  “There’s
a lot to be done if I get the go ahead to produce the play.”

 “What
is all this “I,” Alice?”  Sonia said.  “What about me?  I’m the
one who has to learn all the lines.  I do not want to do anything
Renaissance.  I want something light.  Something fun.”  Her eyes
moved towards Brad again. 

 “Something
fun?”  Alice drummed her fingers on the table. 
How long was this
going to take?  How long were they going to grill her?
“And what would
that fun thing be Sonia?”

 “Like
I mentioned before,
Guys and Dolls
…something like that.”  She
looked brightly at Alice.  
The innocent little girl look.

 “I’m
with that,” Brad said.  “Why don’t we have something that is a little more

now.
  We had
your serious play.  And need we remind you all the negative press given by
the business end of it around here?”

 “If
we let business guide our art we are in a sorry state.”  Jim said. 
He was soft spoken.  He looked out the window; watched a robin cling to a
branch and gulp down a worm.

 “If
you don’t worry about politics we’ll lose a big portion of our funding.” 
Don stood by the coffee pot.  He still held the Styrofoam cup in his hand.

 “I
agree.”  Larry said. 

Larry
and Don reminded Alice of a couple of book ends.  They both were in their
mid forties, both were small business owners: Larry’s was office supply; Don’s
was a hardware store.  Both had red hair. 

No
one said anything.  They all sat with practiced smiles on their faces and
thought about their next move.  Alice looked out the window.  The
robin had flown away.

 “I
think it is very important to keep the public aware of issues that may be
socially uncomfortable.  That’s one of the purposes of art, to enlighten
and instruct.”  Alice said.

 “What
about entertain?  Isn’t that why people go to the theatre?  The
number one reason is they want to be entertained.”  Sonia nodded, pleased
with herself.

You’re
always pleased with yourself.
 Alice was sorry she had gotten to
know Sonia so well, and found out she didn’t like her.

 “Let
me remind everyone,” Jim said.  “We came up with a list at the beginning
of the season.  And on that list were two plays from the
Renaissance.  We’re at the end of the list, and we need to put these plays
on.  Fair is fair everyone.”

 “We
should be able to get a vote also Jim,” Brad said.  “
Fair is fair.
”

Jim
held up his hand as a conciliatory gesture.  “Okay, let me propose
this:  We do the Renaissance plays, and in the fall
Guys and Dolls
.”

Larry
looked over at Don, who was crumbling the Styrofoam cup over the wastebasket,
and Brad looked over at Sonia, who had a serene smile on her face. 

Alice
felt like punching the four of them.

 ***

When
they had all said their niceties; had shaken hands and filtered out of the
room, Alice came and sat by Jim.  They stared out the window in front of
them.  Another robin, or maybe the same one, landed in the tree. 

 “Robin
Goodfellow.”  Jim said.

 “Robin,
the patron of housewives.”  said Alice.  “Maybe of our plays
also.   So what do you think of all of this.”

 “Hmm. 
I didn’t think the quartet would corner us like this.”  He shook his
head. 

Alice
looked over at him.  His shoulder length hair – steel gray and curly – was
clasped in a pony tail.  She gave the pony tail a tug.  “I like your
hair like this.”

 “Really? 
Moira says I should cut it.  Says I look like a hippie.”

 “So?”

 “So
what?  Looking like a hippie or the quartet?”

 “Don’t
call them that.  It sounds too good for them.”  Alice looked towards
the window again.  The robin was gone.  She wondered why it kept
flying into this particular tree.  “They are four corners of a square -
inharmonious.”  She laughed.

 “Don’t
let it get to you.”

 “How
can I not?  They are trying to take complete control Jim, and you
know
it.”

 “They
definitely have their ideas.”

 “What
I would like to know is when this whole thing started.  Maybe it was when
Brad decided to get out of his neutral zone.  Sonia had something to do
with it.”

Jim
looked at her.  “You notice it too huh?”

 “Yeah. 
The two of them sleeping together is a real mess for my theatre.”  Alice
laughed, but the sound rang hollow in her ears.  “Sonia has it in her head
that she needs to sing and dance.  She views
my
theatre as her
personal spring board to bigger and better things.  She wants to start off
Broadway and then work her way up.” 

 “Ambition. 
Politics.  What are we to do?” 

 “I
don’t know, Jim.  I don’t want to haggle with this group any more. 
I’m getting weary.  I don’t know why we have to bow before the business
community.  Art and business don’t mix.  It’s ridiculous and
humiliating.”  Alice examined her nails.  She felt her face turn red;
felt like she was on the verge of losing her temper.

 “Unfortunately,
art and business have to mix.  We get a large portion of our funding due
to the business community.  But business is largely conservative.  It
disturbs them to see the status quo upset; maybe it will upset their profits.”

 “That’s
silly – it brings hordes of people downtown!  My play had the best run of
anything else we have put on here.  And that
has
to be good for
business – mine and everyone else’s.”

 “Yes,
but these people are selling products.  They have a vested interest in
people not questioning the status quo – not thinking too much.”

 “I
think you give these people
way
too much credit Jim.”

 “I
think it operates unconsciously, but it’s there.”

 “I
don’t see how
All the Queen’s Men
has anything to do with buying tools
at a hardware store.”

Jim
got up from the table and went over to the coffee pot.  Poured himself a
cup of Styrofoam coffee and dumped in a load of Coffee Mate.  He picked up
a plastic spoon and began to stir.

 “Think
of it – people acknowledge how gay people feel oppressed in the work force;
start feeling some empathy for them, and that empathy translates to other
things – worker rights in China, for instance.  How people are making a
pittance
there for constructing American doo dads.”  He stood sipping his
coffee.

 “That’s
a little far fetched Jim.  I don’t see how any of that is related.”

 “Oh
it is.  All attitudes are related.  One swings into another. 
And besides,” he cupped his hand by his mouth as if doing an aside in a stage
performance, “I used to be one of those radicals in the sixties.”

“Right.” 
Alice stretched and yawned, “Let’s change the subject,” she too cupped her hand
by her mouth, “I think Marlowe
was
Shakespeare.”

He
stiffened, clasped a hand to his forehead, and shook his head. 
“Alice.  Don’t do that.  Don’t become a
Marlovian
.”

“Now
who’s the conservative here?”

“Alright,
I acknowledge that it might not have been William Shakespeare from Stratford
that wrote the plays.  I think any Shakespearean scholar has honestly
entertained that at one time or another in his or her academic life, but I
would need more evidence either way.” 

 “Really?  
What kind of evidence?

“Good
solid evidence.  Proving beyond a doubt that Marlowe wrote the plays, the
sonnets – the whole shebang.”

 “But
no one in the Shakespeare industry questions that William Shakespeare was the
author of the plays.  And there is very
little
evidence to support
that.”

He
frowned.  “Just be happy that we’re doing
Othello
and
The Jew of
Malta
.”

***

Alice
returned home to find Mrs. Johnson watering the front lawn.  Alice
smiled.  They lived in an apartment complex and there was no need to water
the front lawn.  There were invisible sprinklers buried in the grass that
went off at night in the summer. 

 “Hello
dear.” 

 “Hi
Mrs. Johnson.  How are you?”  Alice stopped in front of the door.

 “Oh
fine, just fine.  How are your plays coming along?”

 “Good. 
Really good.  We’re working on Shakespeare down at the Lion, and at school
too.”

 “And
how are those teenagers liking it?”

 “I
think I tricked them into…appreciating the bard.” 

 “I
could never seem to get the high school kids interested in those plays.  Oh,
and I tried everything.  I was sort of different that way back
then.”  Mrs. Johnson adjusted the nozzle on the hose, making the water
turn into a soft drizzle.

Alice
jingled the keys in her pocket.  “I guess I’ll go in now.  I’m
awfully tired tonight.” 

 “Oh,
I should think.  You are such a busy woman.  And your husband
too.  Why, just yesterday he flew out of here like a bat out of
hell.” 

 “He
had a conference to go to.  He must have been late.”

Mrs.
Johnson just nodded.

 “I’ll
see you soon.”  Alice walked in the entry way. 

The
apartment seemed unbearable still.  She went in the living room and opened
a window.  Inhaling deeply, she savored the spring air.  She flopped
down in the easy chair, and kicked off her shoes.  The answering machine
light was blinking. She sighed. 
It might be Albert. 
She got
up and pressed the button.

 “Hello. 
This is Jack McGill, I’m a botany professor here at the university.  I
understand you had a chat with my graduate assistant, Anita Bernadino, about a
rose?  I have been examining the specimen, and I would like to discuss it
with you.  I thought –
cough
– because I had a lot of information
to discuss, it would be a good idea for us to meet.  The rose
is
quite
rare.  Please call.  Thank-you.”