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I shrugged. “He’s supposed to be pissed off. Ophelia’s dumping him and conspiring with Polonius and King—”
“Yes, yes, that’s all true. But you’re only pissed off and that’s merely one layer of emotion in the scene. Ophelia’s being forced to leave him and Hamlet knows it. She’s squashed between her love for him and her duty to her father. But the love…” Martin’s eyes were full of the zealous enthusiasm that made him such an extraordinary director. “The love was there first.”
He smiled and put a hand on each of our shoulders. “This play doesn’t work unless we feel that. So on that note, instead of coming to rehearsal this Saturday, I want you to go out together. Grab lunch or something.”
My eyes widened while Willow’s darted to me and back, her lips parted in another little gasp.
“I’m not asking anything outrageous,” Martin said. “I want you two to hang out. Get to know each other. Be friendly. Become real to each other as human beings. I need you to see each other as more than co-actors on a stage.”
Willow and I glanced at each other again and I noticed some of her stiffness had mellowed, her shoulders dropped a little, her frown loosened.
“Do this,” Marty said, and looked to me, “and the next time we run this scene, every cutting word you say to her will cut you back.” He looked at Willow. “Obeying your father, instead of staying true to Hamlet, will be the hardest thing you ever do. You see?”
She nodded.
Martin beamed. “Great. Moving on.” He clapped his hands once and moved off stage. “Act Two, Scene Two. Will someone please wake up Rosencrantz and Guildenstern…?”
He left us alone in the center of the stage.
“Is this a normal thing to do?” she asked, hugging her script to her chest. “Have the actors hang out together, outside of the theater?”
“You don’t have to,” I said. “I’m not going to force you.”
“No one’s forcing me,” she said. “If Mr. Ford thinks it’s a good idea, then…okay.”
“Okay,” I said. “So… What do you want to do?”
Fuck, why was this so hard? Usually I texted one of my hookups a time and a place and that was it.
Willow shrugged. “I don’t know. “Lunch at The Scoop? Or maybe coffee if it’s too…” She ran a toe along a crack in the stage floor.
“Too what?” I knew damn well what: too expensive.
“Too…Harmonious?” she said.
A smile tugged at me. “Something like that. Do you need a ride?”
“No, I can… I’ll meet you here,” she said, hugging her script tighter.
“Okay.”
“One o’clock?”
“Fine.”
“All right. So…see you then?”
“Yep.”
It’s a date, snickered a voice that sounded like Benny.
Still hugging her binder, Willow went down the stage steps. She passed Justin in the front row. He half rose from his seat, but Willow only gave him a fleeting wave before moving toward Lorraine and Len a few rows back.
Justin sat down, glanced up and caught me watching him. He stared. I stared back until he looked away and started gathering up his shit.
It was a stupid, meaningless win. Wi
llow still left with him at the end of rehearsal.
