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“Oh no,” said Delores.
We had all just been handed scripts for the play we were about to perform in. We were dressed as barmaids, our hair braided in tight pigtails, wooden clogs on our feet, and polka music blaring in the background to get us in the mood. We were waiting next to the stage that looked like an Irish pub.
“This is confusing,” said Vanessa. “It says here that we’re in an Irish pub, yet they‘re serving lager. Wouldn’t they be serving ale? And these pigtails seem German to me as well. And the music! That’s not Irish! Are we Germans on vacation? What century is it? Why are we speaking English? Furthermore, what’s up with these wooden clogs? None of this makes any sense. I’d like to speak to the director.”
“Don’t you all look fun,” said Bellamy, appearing before us in Lederhosen and a long red wig.
I smiled at him before looking back down at my script. My line was “Take this corned beef with you down the road, why dontcha? And keep your paws off me!” I was pretty sure I could handle it. I scanned my surroundings for a loose cellphone. I was getting desperate to talk to Pete. I had to explain that it would be a few more days. I was sure he would understand, if I could just talk to him for a minute.
“Okay!” yelled the director. “Are you all ready to make your acting debuts?”
We all stood up and gathered around him. None of us, even Shyla who’d had acting lessons, looked very confident.
“I want each of you to commit to your roles. Got that?” asked the director. “Commitment is the key to success when it comes to acting.”
We nodded. Most of us were still trying to memorize our lines.
“Just like commitment is the key to success in a relationship,” he continued. “Right, ladies?”
We nodded again as a collective group. The wooden shoes were killing me and barely staying on my feet, but I tried to keep a neutral look on my face.
“Just like you came into this committed to Bellony Wintergreen, you are going to be committed to this scene. Right?”
We all looked at one another in confusion.
“Okay, ladies! Commit to your character and take your places!”
We lined up, with Cashmere first in line. Bellamy took his place at a table on the stage. I noticed a small crowd of onlookers gathering to watch us and I felt myself start to break out in itchy hives.
“Ready? Action!” yelled the director.
“Oh how I love the Mother Land,” Bellamy said stiffly in what he imagined to be an Irish accent.
Caj stomped up on the stage and set a big mug of beer down on the table. “Here is the pint you asked for, m’lord. Will you be having a bite to eat?”
“I’ll have a spot of tea, if you don’t mind,” said Bellamy.
“Well then, alas, I shall be on my way,” said Caj, stomping off as Deb from Duluth stomped on stage.
“I reckon you have spun a yarn or two to many a young lassie, but ye shan’t spin a yarn at me,” said Deb. She set a plate with a baked potato down in front of him. Then she curtseyed and was on her way.
“Nice touch,” whispered Shyla, who was next in line.
“Potatoes? Potatoes?” roared Bellamy. “I have seen enough potatoes to last me all my days! Come feast or famine, I shall dance me a jig and eat no more potatoes ever!” The director nodded emphatically at Bellamy’s delivery.
Shyla stomped up on stage, losing her shoe on the way. She hesitated, unsure if she should go back and get it or continue on. She turned, went back to retrieve it, and burst into tears. I froze, panicking on her behalf. Crying was definitely not part of the scene.
“I’ve seen your likes around these parts,” she sniffled to Bellamy, “and you have no right to demand my father’s land.” She forgot to set the plastic slab of ham she was carrying down on the table. As soon as she got off stage she remembered she still had it, and she slid it across the floor, where it skidded into the table leg by Bellamy’s foot. He bent down, picked it up, and smacked it down on the table. It was almost like it was supposed to have happened that way. It was a pretty nice save on his part, but the diversion made him forget his next line.
For a long moment, there was silence. The onlookers fanned themselves nervously. In the far distance there were traffic sounds and the faint squabble of a fire truck. I wondered if I should barge on up to the stage. It might be better than all this silence. But then, before I had to decide, he remembered his line and delivered it with gusto: “I will take your father’s land, and I will take your father’s daughters. Hear my cry, wenches. Hear my battle cry.” He looked up at the heavens and pounded his fist on the table.
It was my turn. Miraculously, I made my way up the steps and onto the stage without losing my shoes. I took a deep breath, setting the platter of corned beef in front of him. “Take this corned beef with you down the road, why dontcha? And keep your paws off me!” I yelled. Then I stomped my foot indignantly and left in a huff with my hands on my hips. As I exited, I heard a sprinkling of applause from the audience. I joined Shyla offstage. She was still crying, her heavy stage makeup streaked from where she’d tried to wipe away the tears. She had already unbraided her hair and kicked her shoes to the side.
“Are you okay?” I asked her.
“You were great,” she whispered. “I am so going home.”
“You weren’t that bad,” I whispered. “Even under pressure you still remembered your line.”
