Falling for Hamlet

8



“So, one minute we’re all mourning the death of the king, the next we’re hearing about a relationship between Gertrude and Claudius. When did you become aware of it?”

Ophelia smiles elusively. “Around the same time as everyone else.”

Watching two people kiss is about the most annoying thing ever, unless it’s in a movie. Somehow if it’s on-screen you can put yourself in the place of those beautiful people, and you can imagine the leading man running his fingers through your own hair, stroking your own face. You are suddenly gorgeous and the object of his desire, not sitting alone in sweatpants with racing stripes that you hope make your legs look thinner. But when a real couple is actually in front of you kissing, all you can think is, I’m right here! Take your big ol’ tongue out of her mouth.

Happening upon two people kissing who don’t want you to see them kissing is not only gross but really, really awkward. Such was the case when I walked into Gertrude’s sitting room and found her lip-locked with Claudius. I’m not sure who was less happy about it. She had asked me to come see her, so the fact was, she was expecting me. Why she wasn’t more careful if she didn’t want to get caught, I just don’t understand. Of course, I haven’t always been as careful in my life as I should be, so maybe it was a mistake. Does it even matter? I froze in my tracks and then left the room as fast as I could, all the while considering Hamlet’s reaction to this stunning turn of events. I couldn’t decide if he’d be more devastated or furious when he found out. I knew I was more disgusted than anything.

Unfortunately, running away wouldn’t do for Gertrude, who chased after me shouting my name.

“I’ll just… come back later!” I called behind me.

“Ophelia, stop!” she commanded, so I did. Her smile fixed, she suggested, “Let’s go shopping.”

“Uh, I’m swamped with work, so…”

“I’ll write you a note or something.”

“I’m already really behind—” I began.

She interrupted my refusal. “Come now. In the weeks since Hamlet went back to school, I don’t think we’ve spent any time together.”

Let me just say that was all her doing, and I doubt she missed the time with me any more than I missed hanging out with her.

“Ophelia, sweetheart, we’ll buy you something fabulous. Ooh, we can even catch high tea at the Crown.”

I forced a smile of my own and replied, “Sounds lovely. Let me just get my jacket.”

“No need to say that this is just between us,” she said, winking at me. I shook my head as she closed the door behind me.

On the way home, Gertrude admired the suede blazer she had purchased for me, the one piece of clothing I actually liked all afternoon. The kiss went unmentioned. Though she thought she had bought my silence, more than anything I was too stunned to take action. I liked the blazer, yeah, but I didn’t stay quiet over designer clothes. I just wasn’t sure what to do. Was I supposed to alert the press? Tell my dad? Call Hamlet? Probably. Maybe I should have gone to Wittenberg and told him in person. But it was so surreal. So gross. So personal. As tempted as I was to tell him immediately, there was a part of me that thought Gertrude ought to do it herself. And if she and Claudius had ended things quickly and quietly, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. Part of me thought—maybe hoped—they would, and that would have spared the three of us—okay, me—having to tell anyone anything. And I never would have stayed quiet if I’d realized how serious things were with Claudius and Gertrude or how quickly they would progress. So I admit it: I took the blazer and I stayed silent. I’m not sure if telling Hamlet right away would have changed anything, but I wouldn’t feel quite so bad about what came next if I had.

And she didn’t write me any blessed note, which didn’t matter anyway, because I would never have handed it to my teachers if she had. I just stayed up later than I wanted and did terrible work, which I had been doing a lot even without her help.

Less than a week later, I was up in Hamlet’s room grabbing a CD he said I could take to download when Gertrude came walking in.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, “I thought you were one of the maids.”

“I was just leaving,” I said, holding up the case.

She gestured broadly to the door, and that’s when I spotted the sparkle of an enormous diamond. On her finger.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing at her hand, my eyes wide.

She looked down and quickly covered her left hand with her right, then said, “Please follow me.” She clip-clopped down the hall to her receiving room. The walk must have given her time to think of what to say. I know it gave me time to think of a lot of questions.

She sat behind her desk and pointed at the chair I was to sit in. “Well, dear, things have developed, and I am truly glad that you found out, well, even before Hamlet.” I knew this could not be good. “Perhaps you can advise me on the best way to tell him that… Claudius and I are engaged.”

My mouth actually dropped open. I searched my mind for the date to be sure I wasn’t crazy for being so surprised. Nope, not crazy. One month. It had been one month since her husband had died of unknown—one might even say mysterious—causes. “Are you kidding?” I asked.

“No,” she said, clutching her hands together, hiding her new ring again. “It only happened this morning, you see.” She blushed and let out a little half laugh. “I’m simply afraid that, well, Hamlet is not going to take this well.”

“I imagine he won’t,” I answered, still in shock.

Gertrude stayed cool and patted her perfect French knot. As she did so, I had the chance to study the ring, and it was, to say the least, lavish. Twice as large as her original (which had been no small diamond) and sparkling dazzlingly. She said in a clipped voice, “The thing is, I’m very, very happy about this, and I am hoping that you can convince Hamlet that it is a good thing.”

I blew out a burst of air and smiled, though not for the reason she probably thought. I was laughing at what an impossible request it was, and how improbable it was that he was going to be anything but livid. “I’ll try.”

When I got back to my apartment, I decided to text Horatio first but didn’t want to make it too specific. Hamlet, I thought, should be the first to know.

Me: Strnge thngs r afoot @ the circle K





Horatio: ?

Me: Go hm. H wl need u.

My phone rang in my hand and I hoped it wasn’t Horatio because then I’d be sorely tempted to explain. It wasn’t. It was Lauren.

“You coming over tonight?” she asked. “Everyone’s watching Denmark Divas at my place. The theme is classic rap. Totally ridiculous idea for a bunch of pop singers, right? I can’t wait to see how vicious the judges get.”

“I can’t. Listen, I gotta go—”

“He’s not even in town,” she said with unadulterated irritation. “I get we’re invisible when he’s around, but—”

“You can berate me later, Lauren, but something just came up.”

“Whatever,” Lauren grumbled.

I sat on my bed, fleetingly considering how much I neglected my friends and how I was once again becoming the lamest kind of girl—the kind whose boyfriend came before all else. And then I thought about what to do… about Hamlet. I would have kicked myself if I weren’t so preoccupied with the Gertrude situation.

I didn’t want to be the one to tell Hamlet, but I certainly didn’t want him to hear it from anyone else, especially his mother. I decided to call rather than send a message. He did not, as you can imagine, take it all that well.

“Hamlet,” I began. My legs were shaking. “Hamlet. Okay. Can you sit down? I need to tell you something that… I don’t think you’re gonna like.”

“You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“What?” I asked, completely distracted. It might have been a funny miscommunication except that I was so dreading telling him the real news. “No. It’s about your mom.”

“Is she okay?” he asked, his voice tight.

“Yeah. I think she might think she’s more than okay. She’s, um… she’s engaged… to your uncle.”

He was silent for a moment. “Is this a joke?”

“No,” I assured him.

“What the hell?” he screamed. He didn’t say anything else. He just started throwing things, including his phone, which is when we lost contact.

After wrecking the room, Horatio was able to get Hamlet to agree to go for a walk down by the river, which would be more private and where he would have fewer objects to throw. That’s where Horatio called me from, and eventually Hamlet got on the phone.

“Hamlet?” I asked.

Without taking a breath, he continued with what he had been saying to Horatio. “Are you kidding me? Not even a month. The shoes she walked in behind my father’s casket aren’t even worn in. Did she want to save money by using the leftover food from the funeral? Maybe the flowers are still alive, so she figured she could save on centerpieces, too. Goddamn it! My uncle? Were they sleeping together while my father was still alive?” He paused as if waiting for an answer, but I had none. “I can’t even… argh! It’s too disgusting to even consider.”

I didn’t say a word, though I agreed with everything he said.

“Any animal would have mourned longer. Marrying my uncle? He’s no more like my father than I am like… like Superman. What could she see in him?”

I sat down to continue listening to him rant.

“My father treated her so well! I swear he would punish the wind for blowing too hard on her face. She hung on his every glance, every word. Was it all just an act? I don’t understand. She can’t love my uncle like she loved my father. That’s not possible, right, Ophelia?”

“Hamlet, I—”

“How soon after my father’s death did she hop into bed with my uncle? Or was it before? I can’t—I can’t—”

I heard Horatio say, “Give me the phone, Hamlet.” Hamlet’s voice faded, though I could still hear him shouting, and Horatio said to me, “I’ll call you back.”

I waited for about fifteen minutes before grabbing my keys. I decided to call my dad from the road. Better to ask forgiveness than permission. I’d driven for over an hour before Horatio called.

“Christ, Ophelia, I don’t know what to do. He just keeps shouting. His security detail blocked the area for now. They want to bring him back to the castle, but I think that’s the worst idea.”

“I agree. Don’t let them do that. Tell Hamlet I’ll be there soon.”

I found them at the river. Hamlet and Horatio were sitting side by side, and Horatio had his arm around Hamlet’s shoulder. When I approached, they both looked up. Hamlet’s eyes were bloodshot, and dirt streaks ran down his cheeks.

Hamlet shook his head slowly. “How could she do this to my dad? My dad. God, I miss him.” He groaned and clutched his stomach.

I knelt down, a lump forming in my throat. “Me too.” I looked at Horatio, who stood and walked a few feet away.

“Why did you tell me about the—engagement? Why not my mother?”

“She thought you’d take it better if you heard it from me.”

He laughed, tucking stray strands of hair behind his ears. “She was afraid of what I would say.”

I nodded. “Probably. Listen, let’s go back to your room and talk, okay? Those guys must need a break,” I said, pointing to the two guards waving students away.

He agreed. Horatio joined us on our quiet walk back to their house. My shoulders were finally starting to relax when Hamlet asked me, “When did you know about all this?”

“This morning.”

“You never saw Claudius and my mom—” He interrupted himself and shuddered.

An icy wave of panic swept through me. My hesitation caused Hamlet to stop walking. Horatio’s mouth popped open and he shook his head subtly. I had to choose between telling the truth and keeping the hard-won calm. But I had never lied to Hamlet, and I didn’t want to start, especially when his mother could so easily expose my complicity.

“Last week I saw them kiss,” I said.

Horatio grimaced, and Hamlet’s face went slack. I reached for Hamlet’s arm, but he pulled out of my grip. A passing student held her camera phone to capture this tense moment, but a guard grabbed the phone out of her hands.

“You know the rules,” he barked as he smashed it under his boot.

I was watching the shards fly across the sidewalk when Hamlet walked away from me. “Hamlet, wait!” I shouted as he bolted into his fraternity house. I started to follow him, and Horatio followed me. I waved Horatio away. I didn’t want to be protected and I didn’t deserve to be.

I ran inside and upstairs. Hamlet’s room was locked. I pounded on the door, and to my surprise, he yanked it open and pulled me inside. After closing and locking the door behind us, he leaned heavily against it.

“You saw them kiss and you didn’t tell me?” he asked.

It occurred to me that he had never suspected anything was between them. He had never noticed anything odd. Not at the family dinners. Not in Claudius and Gertrude’s late-night chats. Not in the way Claudius looked at Hamlet’s mother when she was passing in the hall, like a snake taking its time before it ate a mouse. To go back that far right then would only add to Hamlet’s pain. I decided to take the fall and clarify later. So you know, I didn’t do it for Gertrude. I did it for him.

“She asked me not to,” I said as I perched on the edge of his bed.

He kicked the door with his heel. “Why, Ophelia? Why can’t you just do what you know is right?”

I sat up tall, trying not to show how much that question hurt me. “Because my having access to you depends on my pleasing your mom and my dad.”

He shook his head and looked at me, his eyes narrow. “How do you figure? You honestly think I would let them keep you away from me? Not possible.” He came and sat next to me, his voice urgent. “No matter where they would send you, I’d find you and we’d be together.”

I started to cry from guilt and relief that he still felt that way even after I had kept such a big secret from him. Through my tears I said, “Maybe so, but you have freedoms I don’t have.”

He wiped my face gently. “True. But I have a lot of limitations, too. Look at what just happened. I can’t even freak out without it being a major security concern. You’ve just got to stop worrying about them.”

“Papa Don’t Preach” blared, and Hamlet jerked my phone out of my hands. “Polonius,” he barked, “this isn’t a good time.” He snapped the phone shut. “Boundaries. See? Not hard.”

“Give it back,” I commanded, my palm thrust forward.

“Not if you’re going to call your dad.”

“I’m not. I want to call your mom so she and I can plan a slumber party,” I said sarcastically. Then I leveled my gaze at him. “Give me the phone. Now.”

He slapped it in my palm, but I shoved it in my pocket, deciding to deal with my dad later.

To be mean, but also because it needed to be discussed, I said, “I guess Claudius marrying your mom means you’re not going to be king for a while.”

“That’s not true. My mom said she would reign for now, but then after I graduated… Son of a—!” He leaped up and kicked the door.

There was a knock. “Everything okay in there?” a guard called out. Hamlet answered quickly, knowing that if he didn’t, they’d break down the door to be sure all was well.

Hamlet paced around muttering. “That jerk stole everything! I can’t believe my mother would promise me… unless she wanted Claudius to be king all along. Wait. No. She’s not like that. And she never lies.”

“Everyone lies, Hamlet.”

“Do you?”

I paused. “Not to you.”

He stood still, breathing hard. Then of all things, he asked, “Are you disappointed?”

“About?”

“Not being queen. If we, you know, stay together.”

“I don’t think about that,” I said, twisting my hair between my fingertips.

He raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, I think about the glamorous part sometimes. The parties. Owning all that art. But seriously, you could walk away from Elsinore tomorrow with nothing—no title, no money—and I’d be happy as long as we were together.”

He curled his lips from a smile to a frown and then in between. “Really?”

I nodded.

He sat on the bed, leaning back on the headboard. “And what would you do if we had nothing? Or if we weren’t together? What else do you want in your life?” he asked.

I shrugged and laid my head on his chest.

“Still undecided?”

“Pretty much,” I admitted. It sounded so ridiculous that I came up with something on the spot. “Although… I’ve been thinking lately about being a museum curator.”

“Cool.”

The idea did sound cool. Being surrounded by art all day. Picking pieces for a collection. Deciding where to place them. “Yeah. I was thinking even of handling the collection at the palace.”

He cocked his head. “Don’t you want to get away?”

I shrugged. I really never let my mind wander far. I couldn’t separate visions of my future from a future that involved Hamlet. And I couldn’t imagine leaving my dad. My brother had chosen to go far away from our home, my father, and the empty hole left behind by our mother’s absence. But, as crazy as my dad made me, I couldn’t picture leaving him alone. Even if I moved out, which I would someday, I wanted to be close enough to check in on him. It was important to me, but I didn’t want Hamlet to comment, so I removed myself from his embrace.

I stood and crossed to the window. Horatio was sitting on the curb talking to the second security guard. The sun was hanging low on the horizon, and I knew I had to head home. I reluctantly said, “Sooo, back to the wedding.”

Hamlet snapped his tongue.

“Your mother wants you to come up—”

“I’m not going. I would rather eat glass than be a part of that.”

“Isn’t that a little overdramatic?”

“No, Ophelia, it’s not. Why don’t you try being a little more dramatic? Or critical of the things you see happening around you?”

I put my hands on my hips and said, “I am critical. I’m just smart enough to keep it to myself.”

Hamlet chuckled.

My irritation drained away. “So what should I tell your mother?” I asked.

“Tell her to go to hell.”

I whistled and smiled. “Yeah. I’ll get right on it.” And with that, I hugged him good-bye.

Horatio ran up to me as I came out the front door. “So?” he asked.

“He’s all yours. I wouldn’t bring up Mommie Dearest if I were you.”

He laughed and blew me a kiss as I was escorted to my car.

* * *



I didn’t hear from either of them until late that night. I tried to paint, but it was impossible for me to focus and I was really relieved when Horatio finally called to tell me that Hamlet had passed out in his own room. Horatio had taken him to a bar, where they drank excessively. As they stumbled home, Hamlet swore it would be the last time he had a drink. Incredibly, he stuck to his word and stayed sober through all but one night of the sordid events that were yet to come. Maybe if he had been drunk through the rest, it could have all been excused or dismissed. But how Hamlet changed was all his own doing, his own sober, crushed, depressed doing.

Barnardo: “Strange things are afoot at the Circle K.” What does that text mean?



Ophelia: It’s from an old eighties movie the boys and I loved. Jesus, for being “intelligence,” you seem not to know much.



Barnardo: Watch it.



Francisco: We think it was a code.



Ophelia: Yeah, it was code for: “You’re not going to believe that the queen was (whispers too low to be heard).”



Barnardo: Hey, hey. Have a little respect. You kiss your mother with that mouth?



Francisco: ’Course she doesn’t. She doesn’t have a mother, and all because of the royal family.



Ophelia: I have to go to the bathroom.