Penelope (35 page)

“Well, kind of,” said Penelope. “Emma, Gustav, and that girl and I were supposed to go to the arboretum together.”

“Oh, weird,” said Ted.

“But then, when I woke up to go, Emma was already gone and I have been texting her and stuff and she has not answered me. They probably went without me.” With this realization, an enervating depression settled in the middle of Penelope’s chest. Nobody wanted her to go to the arboretum, really, anyway. She was kind of forcing herself on them.

“That’s really whack,” said Ted. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK,” said Penelope.

“Did Gustav text you?”

“No,” said Penelope.

“What a dick. But that dude Gustav is so weird, so it doesn’t surprise me.”

“No, he isn’t,” said Penelope.

“Yes, he is, Penelope. God, he is terrible. Like, what the fuck is that accent? And what the fuck are those clothes? It also seems like his grandparents were Nazis, from everything you have told me.”

“No, it doesn’t!” said Penelope hotly.

“And honestly, I don’t think he treats you very well. Like, why didn’t you ever see him during the day? Why the fuck was he always making you go to his room at two in the morning? His room? He never comes here! That’s weird.”

“Well, he lives alone,” said Penelope. She was trembling a little. “He hasn’t been vaccinated.”

“Another really weird thing!” said Ted. He was getting agitated now.

“I think it’s sort of nice. I wish my mother did it to me,” said Penelope.

“No, you don’t, Penelope,” said Ted, almost yelling.

“Yes, I do,” said Penelope.

“You really don’t get anything,” said Ted in a despairing way. He looked like he was going to say something else, but then his phone beeped. He looked at it.

“It’s Catherine,” said Ted. “She’s in my room and she wants to know where I am.”

“Well, I guess you should go there,” said Penelope, “and tell her where you are.”

“OK,” said Ted. He sighed. “Have fun at your show tonight.”

“I will. Bye,” said Penelope. Ted walked out the door.

As soon as Ted was gone, Lan emerged from the bathroom. On the way to her room, she turned around and looked at Penelope. Then she said:

“Why would you want to go to an arboretum? They sound terrible.”

“I don’t know,” said Penelope forlornly.

“What douche bags,” said Lan. “And I mean that about everyone.” Then she walked into her bedroom and shut the door.

Penelope spent the rest of the day napping on the futon. She was not generally a day sleeper, but
Caligula
had made her narcolepsy come back. When she woke up, it was six p.m., just about in time for her call. She rushed to the theater without brushing her teeth.

When she got to the theater basement, everyone was putting on makeup. Emma was helping Bitty apply kohl to her eyelids. They were both wearing dirty Wellington boots, the type of boots that prepared, outdoorsy people would wear to an arboretum, to add insult to what Penelope was gradually feeling was a grievous injury.

Penelope slid next to Catherine at the makeup table. She had to add dirt to her face for her first scene as a guard.

“Hey, Penelope,” said Catherine. She was already half done with her dirt makeup.

“Hey, Catherine. Good job on your makeup,” said Penelope.

“Thanks,” said Catherine, dolloping dirt (brown eye shadow) on her forehead. Dirt symbolized the collective guilt implied in Caligula’s crime. “I am so nervous.”

“Oh, really?” said Penelope. “What are you nervous about?”

“The play!”

“Oh, right,” said Penelope. “I am also nervous.”

“There are so many people here. I just went up to check like five minutes ago. I think I saw your mom in the audience. Or someone who looks like you. Is it possible that she could be with a priest?”

“Yes,” said Penelope.

“Oh, also,” said Catherine, “they found a replacement for Craig finally.”

“Really?” said Penelope.

“Yeah,” said Catherine. “It’s that kid over there.” Catherine pointed to a boy sitting in the corner of the basement. He looked like Henry Wills-Mather if Henry Wills-Mather were nine years old and in the Vienna Boys’ Choir. It seemed as if he had recently been crying.

“Why is he so young?” asked Penelope.

“It’s Henry Wills-Mather’s nephew,” said Catherine. “He goes to school around here. Henry thinks it will be ironic if the Old Senator is actually played by someone young. Because it is an absurdist play.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Penelope. “Good idea.”

“I think he is worried it’s going to be embarrassing,” said Catherine matter-of-factly. “That’s why he keeps crying. But he’s a little too young to find things embarrassing, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” said Penelope, looking at Bitty and Emma, who were laughing hysterically at something.

About ten minutes before the show, Henry Wills-Mather came down to the basement. He was wearing his usual turtleneck and jeans combination, with the addition of a black blazer for the occasion’s sake.

“Gather ’round, everyone,” he said. Everyone gathered dutifully in a circle.

“To sit in solemn silence in a dull, dark dock, / In a pestilential prison, with a life-long lock, / Awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp shock, / From a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block!” said Henry Wills-Mather. “Repeat after me!”

Everyone repeated that several times.

“I think you all are ready to have a fantastic show,” said Henry Wills-Mather. “We have an entirely full house.”

The cast cheered.

“Places in two,” said Henry Wills-Mather. Then he tramped up the stairs.

Penelope went back to her corner and gathered up her props
(a gun, a spear, the Algerian flag) to bring upstairs. This was when Emma tapped her on the shoulder.

“Penelope!” said Emma.

“Oh, hi, Emma,” said Penelope.

“I was looking all over for you!” said Emma. “Where were you?”

“In the bathroom,” said Penelope.

“I can’t believe it. I just got your texts now! There is something really wrong with my phone, I think.”

“OK,” said Penelope. “Did you go to the arboretum?”

“Yeah,” said Emma. She looked at Penelope defiantly.

“Cool,” said Penelope. “When did you go?”

“This morning,” said Emma. “I figured you would text me if you wanted to go. And then I didn’t even see these until just now!”

“It’s OK,” said Penelope. Emma let out a relieved sigh and then smiled in a pitying way.

“It was really fun, actually. The arboretum itself was beautiful, and Gustav was so hilarious. He is dating this Swedish princess and he told us all stories about her. Apparently, she’s really dumb but can cross-country ski or something?” She let out a deafening laugh.

“Wow,” said Penelope.

“It was just so funny.”

“That is,” said Penelope.

Emma wiped tears from her eyes.

“Gustav is actually here tonight, which is the funniest thing. Bitty and I made him come. He literally didn’t even want to and we were like, ‘Gustav, you have to,’ because, honestly, Penelope, you would have died to hear these stories. He is just hilarious. He’s like an old-fashioned playboy. The man must be dating like eight different girls.”

“The playboy of the Western world,” said Penelope, who was beginning to feel a little sick.

“What?” said Emma.

“I have to go to places,” said Penelope.

“Oh, OK,” said Emma. “Have a good show.”

“Thanks,” said Penelope. She climbed the stairs to the stage
and took her place behind the marionette theater. She actually had a good view of the audience from behind the curtain. When she saw them all, gathered there, her heart sank.

The auditorium was packed. Immediately Penelope spotted two kids from her Southern Writers Reconsidered/Revisited class sitting in the front row. Behind them, she saw Ted, who was sitting next to Glasses and Nikil. Ted looked nervous even though he was not in the play. Nikil was trying to talk to him and he was staring at the stage. Glasses was already writing things down on a notepad with a light-up pen. Jared was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Adorno Eric. Who knew they were friends? Her mother was sitting contentedly in the corner next to Father Bennigan. Gustav was sitting in the very back. He was wearing a red cashmere sweater and a green hunting jacket, and his hair was rather long over his eyes.
Very outdoorsy
, thought Penelope. The lights went down then, and Penelope couldn’t see Gustav anymore.

This is it
, thought Penelope.
This is the moment where I run out of the theater
. She didn’t, however.

The play started, as it always did, with a bunch of senators gossiping about Caligula. They talked about how Caligula was murdering people and how he might have been sleeping with his sister. Some had French accents and some did not. Some were pretending to sleep on the floor and some were not. This lasted for about ten minutes. Penelope watched it from backstage.

Eventually, both Caligulas walked onto the stage holding hands, Rattailed Caligula wearing his belt costume and Bitty wearing a very elegant black shift dress. This was Penelope’s cue to enter stage right. It was interesting how fine this was when it actually happened. Onstage, she couldn’t see anyone in the audience because the lights were too bright. She just held her spear impassively, like in rehearsal.

“I want the moon,” Rattailed Caligula said to the senators.

“What for?” said Helicon/Justin after an unaccountable pause. Justin still didn’t know his lines all that well.

“Well … This is one of the things I did not have,” said Bitty.
She stared into the audience, breaking the fourth wall, as she was directed to do. Then she sat on the floor, which she wasn’t supposed to do for another five minutes.

“Do you have it now?” asked Helicon, who looked confused.

“No,” said Rattailed Caligula, “I could not get it. You must think I am crazy. But I’m not crazy. Things as they are do not seem satisfactory. So I need the moon, or happiness, or immortality.”

What a horrible play
, thought Penelope. And it wasn’t even horrible just because the lines didn’t make any sense and the cast had to make up the words to the Algerian songs at the end. It was philosophically horrible. Penelope should have realized that earlier probably, but hindsight is twenty-twenty, as Father Bennigan used to say.

It was Caligula. Caligula was the worst. It was always about him and what he was doing and the things he wanted, like the moon. If anyone wanted to talk about anything else with him, he didn’t care. He certainly never cared if he hurt anyone’s feelings. That’s why he was freely able to kill everyone’s wives in front of them.

If Penelope put on a play, it would have been very different from this. There would have been fewer speeches in it and no dancing and no singing and no marching. It would have been about a plucky young heroine who always spoke her mind. It would start with a German named Hans driving a 1970s BMW up to a brick building that also housed a radio station.

“Come on, Patricia!” Hans would say from the car. Patricia would bound down the stairs of the brick building.

“Why are you driving a vintage car? I think that’s incredibly pretentious! Get a new car,” Patricia would yell. She always spoke her mind.

“It’s your friend Emily’s. I told her not to come because I hate her,” Hans would say laughingly. “You are uniformly charming!” Then they would drive away. That would be the end of the first act.

If Penelope was honest with herself though, she knew that
people liked plays about Caligula. They sympathized with him more. The audience liked him even. People probably invited Caligula to arboretums and lunch. It was beginning to dawn on Penelope that she might never know the secret of how to do that. It was so depressing. She felt like bursting into tears.

What was the secret? How do you have friends? How do you make people want you around? Penelope always thought that if a person just said “Hello!” and “Cool” and “Awesome” that everyone would like that person. But even that didn’t guarantee anything. Maybe you were just the type of person that people liked well enough but not well enough to invite you to an arboretum. Then it was almost as if they didn’t like you at all.

“Come, let us randomly,” said Rattailed Caligula. He and Bitty were just turning toward the door when Lan shone a black spotlight onto the stage. Then the audience spontaneously erupted in applause.