Falling for Hamlet

14



Zara shows a picture of Ophelia in her school uniform sitting close to Sebastian. “Who’s this?”

Ophelia shifts in her seat, her face stony. “A friend from school.”

“Just a friend?” Zara asks, her voice full of untold information.

Ophelia looks at her hard. “Yeah.”

“Mm-hm.” Zara flips her hair as another photo comes up of two college guys in Wittenberg T-shirts standing in front of Hamlet’s fraternity house. “Who are these guys?”

Ophelia shrugs. “Friends of Hamlet’s, I guess.”

A new picture comes up of Ophelia standing with the same guys while holding a cup of coffee.

“Clearly you talked to them,” Zara presses her.

Ophelia shrugs again and looks like she might yawn. “People talk to me a lot. Doesn’t mean I know them.”

Zara crosses her arms, looks at her producer, and then turns to the audience with a dazzling smile. “Well, ladies, they sure make ’em cute at Wittenberg, huh?”

The audience applauds.

I couldn’t sleep at all that night, tossing and turning and regretting what I’d done. How could I live without him? But how could I stay with him? I was damned no matter what I did. I missed him. It had been only half a day and I genuinely missed him.

I watched the hours tick by. There was a part of me that thought Hamlet might sneak into my room as he had for weeks, and that we would embrace and maybe cry and definitely say we were both sorry for being stupid. At least I would. And he should. He should have been sorry for dragging me out of bed to the conservatory only to yell at me. He should have been sorry for bringing a gun to my room and acting like it was no big deal. He should have been sorry for throwing my magazines and telling me that obeying my father was wrong.

My fury swelled, and I tossed angrily in bed until I started thinking about him wandering the castle all night with no one to trust and no one to talk to, surrounded by people who would all profit from his downfall. I even sat up once and started to put on my shoes, ready to go find him. But then I thought again of that gun and slipped back under my sheets, watching the minutes pass and the sky grow light.

After the sun rose, I went to the coffee shop across the street from the castle, intending to order whatever they had that was sweet and strong. Like I like my men, I joked to myself, but even thinking that put me in a snit.

“Ophelia,” a voice said behind me.

I spun around and saw two guys around my age whose faces I didn’t know. I turned back and paid for my coffee, planning to walk away from the counter as quickly as possible.

“Damn, that’s rude,” said the taller one to his friend, or me, or both of us.

“Do I know you?”

“Billy Rosencrantz.”

“Dave Guildenstern.”

When I showed no sign of recognition, they went on. “We met at Wittenberg. You probably heard us called by our last names.”

“I don’t go to Wittenberg,” I said, even more irritated, used to confused posers but not in the mood to humor one just then.

Guildenstern sneered. “I know. You were visiting. You were pretty drunk, so…”

All of a sudden I remembered them. “I wasn’t that drunk,” I said. “I remember now. You had on beanies.”

“Yeah,” Rosencrantz said, frowning and pulling at his baseball cap.

“So why are you here?” I asked.

“Oh, the queen invited us personally,” Guildenstern said, exchanging a smile with Rosencrantz.

“Really,” I said. I couldn’t think of one occasion when Gertrude had invited anyone to the castle on behalf of Hamlet. Even his birthday parties had been arranged by a social secretary.

Guildenstern said, “Wanted us to cheer him up. Hamlet, that is.”

“Hamlet?” I asked, trying not to lose it at the mention of his name. “Why you?”

Rosencrantz leaned casually on the counter holding the sugar and cream canisters and explained, “We’re friends with him.”

“You are?”

“From school,” Guildenstern said slowly, as if I were a stupid child.

The coffee was burning my hands, and as much as I wanted to throw it at them or just get away, I wanted to know what was happening more. “I’ve never heard him talk about you.”

Rosencrantz answered, “Maybe he doesn’t tell you everything.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” Guildenstern said, looking at Rosencrantz, and they snickered.

I felt really peevish and exposed, and was tempted to ask what they meant, but then thought better of it. Did I even want to know? “How would the queen know to ask for you two?” I prodded, steering the conversation away from my possible humiliation and toward theirs, if I was lucky.

Guildenstern answered, “Our dads have been working for Claudius on a PR project. Claudius wants a profile done of himself. A soft news piece, you know. Make him look good as the new king. While they were meeting, my dad asked Claudius how Hamlet was doing, said that I hadn’t seen him in a while and was worried.” Guildenstern puffed himself up.

Rosencrantz smiled. “And when he and the queen learned that we had been friends at school, they asked us to come and try to cheer up Hamlet.”

“And did you?” I asked.

“Cheer him up? I think so,” he answered.

I thought of how angry Hamlet had been the day before and could not imagine what could have turned his mood around so quickly.

Rosencrantz went on to explain. “We had met up with Wittenberg’s improv comedy troupe at a rest stop off the highway. They were coming to Elsinore, too, which was totally random. When we got here, we told Hamlet about them, and he was really excited and ran off to work with them on something or other.”

It struck me as weird, given how upset we’d both been the night before, that he was excited about anything, let alone a comedy troupe. But I needed to keep my focus on these guys and why they’d come to Elsinore. I asked, “So what’s in it for you… being here?”

“Seeing Hamlet,” replied Rosencrantz. He glanced at Guildenstern, who looked like he wanted to get away as soon as possible. Their little intrusion on my peace hadn’t quite turned out as they had hoped.

“And?”

“That’s not enough?” asked Rosencrantz.

I sighed, feigning boredom.

He looked at Guildenstern, who nodded some kind of permission, so he continued, “Claudius said if we could get Hamlet to forget his troubles a bit, we would get internships here next summer.”

“What kind of internship?”

Guildenstern shrugged. “Dunno. Politics. Or PR. Or communications. Whatever.”

“You’ll be perfect at it,” I said, before walking with my cup of coffee out the door and back across the street.

The crowd of tourists that were huddled around the front entrance of the castle started pointing and pulling out their cameras. All I had wanted to do was find Hamlet before having to drag myself to school, but instead I was having an impromptu photo shoot. My hair was a rat’s nest and my uniform blouse wasn’t tucked in. I figured that when she saw the pictures posted on the Internet later that day, my headmistress would be pissed. She was a stickler about proper uniform etiquette and notorious for lecturing students on how we all represented Elsinore Academy both on campus and off. I knew my father wouldn’t be pleased either that I was dumb enough to get caught looking like a freak, which just made the morning that much more craptacular.

When I finally made it past the tourists and into the castle lobby, Marcellus was at the security desk chatting. When I approached, he gestured to the other guard to step aside so we could have some privacy.

“Have you seen Hamlet?” I asked.

“He was in the theater last time I checked.”

I looked in the direction of the old castle as if I would miraculously sprout X-ray vision and detect him on its upper floors.

He looped his thumbs through his gun belt. “Aren’t you late for class?”

I looked at my watch. “Damn,” I mumbled. Mr. Norquest, my first-period teacher, was gonna freak out. Again.

“Been happening a lot lately.”

I squinted at Marcellus. “You keeping tabs on me?”

“Someone should. Your dad know what’s going on with you at school?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, forcing my face into a mask of innocence.

He leaned back against the security desk and crossed his arms extra slowly. “Well, you don’t stay for practice anymore, you’re late all the time, and I know you’ve skipped school completely at least three times a month in as many months.” He widened his dark eyes, as if daring me to pretend that he was mistaken.

I tapped my fingers on the polished black counter, unable to dispute it but totally stunned that he’d noticed. “I thought you were in charge of Hamlet.”

He cocked his head. “You’re important to him, so you’re important to me.”

“Well then, I guess your job with me is done.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Trouble in hell.” I felt a pressure in my eyes and took a sip of coffee to swallow the lump in my throat. “I actually need to talk to him, though. There were these guys at the coffee shop—forget it. I’m just gonna run up to the theater and—”

Marcellus shook his head. “Go to school, Ophelia. He’ll still be here when you come back.”

I started to argue but changed my mind. Every second that passed would make the reprimands I got from the school secretary and Mr. Norquest last that much longer.

That afternoon, I ran from the parking garage directly to the theater, climbing three flights of stairs while trying not to spill the cappuccino I’d picked up on the way home. When I reached the landing, I saw that Hamlet was standing alone by the large windows in the theater’s lobby. His clothes—the same ones he had been wearing the day before—were wrinkled, and I wondered where he had slept after I told him to leave my place. My heart hammered, and I wanted nothing more than to run to him and take back what I had said about breaking up. But then I reminded myself that this was what needed to be.

“Hamlet?”

He spun around to face me. His face was so weary, so pained.

“You okay?” I asked, more sure that my next words should be an apology.

He shook his head but didn’t say anything.

I opened my mouth to speak but hesitated. I wanted to put my arms around him, to ease his pain, but if we were going to be apart, I had to train myself to keep my distance. I’d also have to stop seeking him out. But I was already there, so I kept my voice clipped and my sympathy in check. “I heard you were up here with a group of improv guys.”

“Yeah, the Wit Burgers. They’re working on an idea I had for a show.”

“A show? When have you ever cared about theater, Hamlet?”

Ignoring my question, he said, “It’ll be next week.” His eyes brightened for a moment, but then a veil of anger dropped over them. “I thought we weren’t talking.”

“I’m not sure what we’re doing. I said we shouldn’t hang out until—”

He slammed his palm on the window and growled, “I swear to God, Ophelia, if you say anything about your father I’ll flippin’ lose it.”

My fury flashed, and I considered walking away. But I wanted to discuss those college guys more than I wanted to make him stop being a jerk about my father.

My eyes were mere slits as I returned his glare, and I said slowly, “I came to ask about your friends from school.”

“Who?” he asked.

“Two guys. Long last names.”

He hit the window again, this time with two hands. “Those bastards were wearing wires.”

“Wires?”

He put his forehead on the glass and closed his eyes. “To record our conversations. To get information from me.”

I stepped closer and asked, “Get information for who?”

“Claudius and my mother.”

“Why would they—”

He turned to look me straight in the eyes. “They want to find out why I’m running around the castle at crazy hours and why I’m angry all the time. As if my mother doesn’t know. I’m starting to wonder if she was in on killing my… No, I can’t even think of that. Claudius must have acted alone. He must have. Uch, I don’t know!”

“Hamlet, do you really think that—”

He banged the side of his head on the window a couple of times and looked up at the ornately carved ceiling. “I don’t know what to think anymore. I got rid of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern for now, but I’ll deal with them when I go back to school. They won’t get away with this. No one’s getting away with any of this.”

The night before, my father’s happiness had seemed more important than anything. But standing there with Hamlet, watching him deal with being betrayed by his friends and family, the thought of appeasing my dad suddenly didn’t matter. So even though there was a voice in my head warning me that this was all too serious and I should stop trying to heroically save Hamlet by myself, I couldn’t help it. You can’t just turn off loving someone, and he was my best friend, not just some boyfriend. What other choice did I really have?

I walked closer and put my hand on Hamlet’s arm. My touch seemed to quiet him. I said, “I can help you through this.”

He closed his eyes and whispered, “No, you can’t.”

“Let me try.”

Gently placing his hand on mine, he said, “I think you were right last night. I think you should listen to your father. It’s not safe for you to be with me right now. Everyone has a price, and who knows what’s coming next?”

“I can take care of myself. You need someone, Hamlet. Put your trust in me.”

Then, stroking my face, he added, his voice urgent, “They’ll get to you. It’s only a matter of time before my mother and Claudius find a way to get to you, I’m sure of it. I don’t want you any more wrapped up in my family’s mess than you have to be. Walk away, Ophelia. Get out while you can.”

I took a step back, and his hand dropped. I’m not gonna lie: Wondering what his mother and uncle would do next scared me, but the thought of facing the danger without Hamlet was even scarier. I said quietly, “I don’t want to walk away. I’m here for you. I love you.”

Suddenly he was angry again. “Don’t. Don’t love me.” When I didn’t move, his voice got loud enough that it echoed off the lobby walls. “And I can’t rely on you. You’ve already proven that. One embarrassing photo spread and you were willing to throw what we have away.”

“That is not fair,” I protested, my chin trembling.

“Maybe not. But it’s true. Walk away, Ophelia.”

I couldn’t. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t even manage that. He shook his head, turned his back to me, and disappeared into the theater. After the door whispered shut, I stood waiting for him to come out again. Minutes passed, but the only thing that came out of the theater door was the sound of laughter. Eventually, I threw my coffee in the trash and went home to watercolor my worries away.

Francisco: How well did you know Rosencrantz and Guildenstern?



Ophelia: I didn’t.



Francisco: Liar.



Ophelia: I met them a couple of times, but we weren’t friends.



Barnardo: Here’s a photo of you three together just before things got really crazy. Seems like this meeting was a catalyst.



Ophelia: Big word. I’m impressed.



Barnardo: Tell us what you talked about.



Ophelia: The show Hamlet was planning.



Barnardo: And.



Ophelia: And nothing. (pause) Fine. They were brought to Elsinore to spy on Hamlet.



Barnardo: For you?



Ophelia: No. For Claudius.



Francisco: Interesting. We found a document in Claudius’s files that says you asked the boys to come.



Ophelia: It’s not true.



Barnardo: Your word against theirs. Which one of them should we ask?