Laugh if you want. But I know a secret.
Jo
Oh? A secret. Do share.
Harriet looks out at the audience.
Harriet
We’ve visitors. This town expands ever more, and with the rush comes riches. A Lord Kenneth will arrive shortly. After the death of his father, he returns to his roots with the man’s wealth in tow. How charming is the caress of death for the sons of the wealthy?
Jo
Ah, I see. You intend to write us into the will?
Harriet
Grief and celebration are a nasty combination. Before he’s managed his house warming, I’ll have what we need to take flight.
Ruckus starts in the streets; authorities enter, searching for pickpockets. Harriet and Jo gather their things.
Exit.
The whole of the play always comes back to freedom. From status. From hardship. From the roles we’ve been given or that we’ve fallen into.
To fly on wings once broken is to prove they’ve been fully healed.
I hate to agree with Agatha, but I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted to play a part more either. Whether that’s because I resonate so strongly with Kenneth—an opulent lord dealing with his late father’s expectations and the weight of his inherited role—or because I’m thoroughly exhausted by worn-out classics is anyone’s guess. I know I love newness. I practically gravitate toward anything shiny.
I guess, in that way, I’m kind of like a magpie myself.
~*~
“We’ve visitors.” Calypso—no—Harriet stares directly out at me while I sit sideways in the front row, my legs slung over the armrest and taking up the chair beside me. Her smile stretches, and without looking away, she tosses the prop knife she’s holding in the air, catches it in a single motion, and sheathes it. “This town expands ever more, and with the rush comes riches. A Lord Kenneth will arrive shortly. After the death of his father, he returns to his roots with the man’s wealth in tow.” Something lethal translates, even all the way down here. Then her gaze is tossing back toward Jo, casual and mundane, all at once softer. She purrs, “How charming is the caress of death for the sons of the wealthy?”
It takes Jo saying her lines for me to catch my breath. The life and depth Calypso gives to her character is outstanding. I chuckle.
“I know.” Agatha interrupts my reverie, coming up to me with a huff. “It’s a joke, isn’t it?”
I look up at her pinched face and folded arms, and I don’t want any part in the hissy fit she has been throwing for severalweeks now. She gets plenty of pitying words from her little friends in Acting Styles and the sound booth. Now that I think about it, her friends have a single common trait—none of them are particularly exceptional. In Acting Styles, they are the ones in the background, and here, they are the ones who don’t even want to perform.
Judging by the way Agatha treats people, it’s not a coincidence. How boring do you have to be to surround yourself with people who might make you look less common?
“She makes Harriet look like some kind of murderer or something.”
Harriet is bitter. Calypso pulls off the viciousness in that bitterness almost too well. The fact the hatred in her tone melts away in the instant she gives Jo her attention says a lot about how deeply she’s looked into her character. Harriet may be angry at the world, but Jo is everything to her. Just making eye contact softens her whole expression.
The way Kenneth changes that dynamic and the physical way Jo feels it is a masterful display.
“Harriet’s a lot softer than this.” Agatha scoffs, continuing on despite my lack of response. “Ifwewere Harriet and Kenneth, I know we could do a thousand times better.”
“Hm…?” I hum, absently, sending my gaze back up to the stage in the moment the authorities come.
Harriet’s expression hardens, and she’s on her feet well before Jo. Snatching Jo’s hand, Calypso yanks Rebecca up and pulls her away. In that moment, there’s no room for Jo to be left behind. And almost like it’s on cue, Jo grins, her whole detached character brightening behind Calypso’s back. To her, this life is the thrill she needs, and Harriet is her sister in adventure.
Blocking Agatha out, I notice that when the scene ends this time, Harriet’s expression doesn’t melt immediately into Calypso’s. Her eyes lighten, and she looks at Rebecca beforesaying something I can’t make out. Calypso finds me, then Agatha, and her brows knit before she hooks a finger in my direction.
The single, simple motion tugs on my every nerve. I kick my legs down off the armrests and stand. “’Scuse me. Harriet’s calling.”
