“Well,” Alexander said, “I wouldn’t count on him remaining at home.”
The servant entered again, clearly terrified to even be on the same stage with the two of them.
Richard: “What say the augurers?”
Servant: “They would not have you stir forth today.
Plucking the entrails of an offering forth,
They could not find a heart within the beast.”
Richard rounded on Meredith.
Richard: “The gods do this in shame of cowardice:
Caesar should be a beast without a heart,
If he should stay at home today for fear!
No, Caesar shall not.”
He seized her shoulders and she twisted in his grip.
“Is that the blocking?” I asked. Neither James nor Alexander answered.
Richard: “Danger knows full well
That Caesar is more dangerous than he:
We are two lions litter’d in one day,
And I the elder and more terrible—”
Meredith squirmed and let out a cry of pain. Filippa caught my eye from the opposite wing and shook her head, just barely.
“And Caesar,” Richard bellowed, “shall go forth!” He thrust Meredith away from him so roughly that she lost her balance and fell backward onto the stairs. She threw her arms out to catch herself and there was a sharp crack as her elbow hit the wood. That same vindictive reflex I’d felt on Halloween made me lurch forward—to do what, I had no idea—but Alexander grabbed my shoulder and whispered, “Easy, tiger.”
Meredith pushed her hair out of her face and looked up at Richard with wide, angry eyes. The auditorium was silent except for the soft buzz of the lights for a split second before she said, “I’m sorry, what the fuck just happened?”
“Hold!” Gwendolyn yelled, from the back of the house, her voice shrill and distant.
Meredith climbed to her feet and whacked Richard’s chest with the back of her hand. “What was that?”
“What was what?” He, for some unfathomable reason, looked even angrier than she did.
“That wasn’t the blocking!”
“Look, it’s a big moment, I got caught up in it—”
“And you decided to throw me on the fucking stairs?”
Gwendolyn was running down the center aisle, shouting, “Stop! Stop this!”
Richard grabbed Meredith’s arm and yanked her so close he could have kissed her. “Are you really going to make a scene right now?” he said. “I wouldn’t.”
I bit back a curse word, knocked Alexander’s hand off my shoulder, and ran out onto the stage with James right behind me. But Camilo got there first, jumping up out of the front row. “Whoa,” he said. “Break it up. C’mon, calm down.” He wedged an arm between them and pried Meredith away from Richard.
“What’s going on here?” Gwendolyn said, when she reached the edge of the stage.
“Well, Dick decided to improvise some blocking,” Meredith said, pushing Camilo away. She winced when his hand brushed her arm and her eyes flicked down; a drop of blood snaked out of her sleeve. My own vicarious outrage—overlapping and confused, half for James, half for Meredith—roared up in my chest and I ground my teeth together, fighting a suicidal urge to tackle Richard into the orchestra pit.
“I’m bleeding,” Meredith said, staring at the spots of red on her fingertips. “You son of a bitch.” She turned and flung the tab curtains back, ignoring Gwendolyn as she called, “Meredith, wait!”
Richard’s anger flickered off like a bad lightbulb and left him looking uneasy.
“Everyone take ten,” Gwendolyn told the rest of us. “Hell, take fifteen. We’re having intermission now. Go.”
The second-and third-years were first to move, leaving the auditorium two by two, whispering to one another. I felt Alexander hovering behind me and took a bracing breath in.
“Camilo, would you make sure she’s all right?” Gwendolyn asked. He nodded and exited upstage. She turned to Richard. “Go and apologize to that girl,” she ordered, “and so help me God, don’t pull anything else like that or I’ll have Oliver learn your lines and you can watch from the front row on opening night.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me,” she said, but her ire was already fading to exasperation.
Richard nodded—almost humbly—and watched her make the slow walk back to the top of the house. Not until he turned around did he seem to realize that the other five of us were standing there, glaring at him. “Oh, relax,” he said. “I didn’t really hurt her. She’s just angry.”
Beside me, James had clenched his fists so hard his arms were quivering. I shifted my feet, too agitated to stand still. Alexander leaned forward, like he was ready to throw himself between the two of us and Richard if he had to.
“For God’s sake,” Richard said, when nobody replied. “You all know what a drama queen she is.”
“Richard!” Wren said.
He looked guilty, but only for a moment. “Really,” he said, “do I have to apologize to all of you, too?”
“No, of course not,” Filippa said, in a calm, even voice that distracted me from the sound of my own pulse in my ears. “Why would you? You’ve only interrupted our run, fucked up Gwendolyn’s blocking, forced Milo to break up a fight, possibly ruined a costume, maybe damaged the set, and injured one of our friends—not for the first time either. Now Oliver might have to learn all your lines and play your part and save the show when you inevitably fuck up again. And you have the balls to blame it on Meredith being a drama queen?” Her blue eyes were cold as frostbite. “You know, Rick, people aren’t going to put up with your bullshit for much longer.”
She turned her back on him before he had time to respond and disappeared between the tabs. She’d said what we all wanted to say, and, ever so slightly, the tension eased. I exhaled; James unclenched his fists.
“Just don’t, Richard,” Wren said, when he opened his mouth again. She shook her head, with a tight, pinched expression not unlike disgust. “Just don’t.” And she followed Filippa.