“Well, you’re not wrong,” Filippa said, looking away, toward the door, at nothing in particular. “At any rate, I’ll be surprised if they don’t cast James as Edmund.”
I didn’t set much stock by her prediction (the more fool I). Our conversation changed course, and two hours passed without incident before Meredith came in from outside, bringing a little whirl of snow in with her. “The list is up and you’ll never believe it,” she said, slapping the paper down on the table. I didn’t have time to ask where everyone else was.
Filippa and I nearly cracked heads trying to see the list at the same time; she choked and spluttered cider across the booth. “Frederick is going to play Lear?”
“Camilo is Albany?” I said. “What the hell?”
“That’s not all,” Meredith said, struggling to unwind her scarf. “Read the whole thing, it’s utterly insane.”
We bent our heads again, more cautiously. Frederick and Camilo were listed first, followed by the fourth-years, below that the third-years, and finally the second-years.
The cast for King Lear is as follows:
KING LEAR
— Frederick Teasdale
ALBANY
— Camilo Varela
CORDELIA
— Wren Stirling
REGAN
— Filippa Kosta
GONERIL
— Meredith Dardenne
EDMUND
— James Farrow
EDGAR
— Oliver Marks
FOOL
— Alexander Vass
CORNWALL
— Colin Hyland
I stopped reading after Colin’s name and gaped up at Meredith. “What on earth have they done?”
“Fuck knows,” she said, still fiddling with the scarf, which was tangled in her hair. I instinctively lifted my hand to reach over and help, but my wrist smacked against the underside of the table and I thought better of it. “It’s like they mixed all the boys around and then decided that moving the girls was too much effort.”
Filippa: “Alexander’s going to be thrilled.”
Me: “For what it’s worth, I’m thrilled.”
Meredith: “Honestly, Oliver, you act like they’ve done you a favor. It’s not as if you haven’t earned it.”
Her face disappeared as she gave up on untangling the scarf and pulled it off over her head. Filippa looked at me and raised her eyebrows. I could have blamed the cider for the warm, melting sensation in my stomach, but my mug had long been empty.
Meredith resurfaced and tossed the offending scarf on top of Filippa’s things. “Is it just you two?” she said.
“It was just me for a while,” I said. “Where is everyone?”
“Wren went back to the Castle after her audition and went straight to bed,” Meredith said. “Don’t think she wants to risk another ‘episode.’” This was what we had taken to calling Wren’s fainting spell during her Lady Anne speech. What exactly was wrong with her, nobody seemed to be able to say. “Emotional exhaustion” was how the Broadwater doctor described it, but Alexander’s diagnosis of “guilt complex” seemed more likely.
“What about James?” Filippa asked.
“He sat through my audition, but he was in an absolute state the whole time,” Meredith said. “Moody. You know.” (This directed at me, though I did not, in fact, know anything of the sort.) “I asked if he was coming to the bar and he said no, he wanted to go for a walk.”
Filippa’s eyebrows climbed higher—so high they nearly disappeared into her hair. “In this weather?”
“That’s what I said. And he said he wanted to clear his head and that he didn’t much care what the cast list said; it would say the same thing in the morning.”
I glanced from Meredith to Filippa and said, slowly, “Okay. Where does that leave Alexander?”
Filippa: “Probably he’s with Colin.”
Me: “But—how did you know?”
Meredith: “It’s not like it’s a secret.”
Me: “He said it was!”
Filippa: “Please. The only person who thinks it’s a secret is Colin.”
I shook my head, glanced around the crowded barroom.
Me: “Why do we even pretend anything is private around here?”
Meredith: “Welcome to art school. It’s like Gwendolyn always says: ‘When you enter the theatre, there are three things you must leave at the door: dignity, modesty, and personal space.’”
Filippa: “I thought it was dignity, modesty, and personal pride.”
Me: “She told me dignity, modesty, and self-doubt.”
All three of us were silent for a moment before Filippa said, “Well, this explains a lot.”
“Do you suppose she has three different things for every student she talks to?” I asked.
“Probably,” Meredith said. “I’m just surprised she thought personal space was my biggest issue.”
“Maybe she wanted to prepare you to get ogled and groped and borderline sexually assaulted in every play we put on,” Filippa said.
“Ha ha, I’m an object, very funny.” Meredith rolled her eyes. “I swear, I should have just been a stripper.”
Filippa smirked into her mug and said, “Everyone needs a backup plan.”
“Yeah,” Meredith said. “You could always get a sex change, become a boy on a permanent basis and start calling yourself ‘Philip.’”
They scowled at each other, and in an effort to lighten the mood I said, “I guess my other option is an existential crisis.”