A Tale of Two Centuries

A warm, enthusiastic voice calling my name pulls me from my homesick ruminations.

“Yes, Marilyn, she’s right here.” Mr. Crawford holds out the telephone, eyebrows lifted and smile matching the one splitting my cousin’s face. From their mutual expressions, I decipher that the gatekeeper of my one and only dream calling is a good thing, but I hesitate to take the device from his outstretched hand.

I have never used a phone before—other than to play one of Cat’s magical movies during her time-traveling jaunt, that is. But when Mr. Crawford’s eager smile turns curious over my hesitation, I gather my wits, figuring there is no time better than the present to learn. With a nervous glance in Cat’s direction, I mimic what I have seen her do so many times before and speak into the air, “This is Alessandra.”

As if by magic, Ms. Kent’s voice rings in my ear, saying words I never thought I would hear. “Congratulations, Miss Forlani, you have been selected to play Juliet in this year’s winter workshop!”

If Shakespeare himself had delivered this message, I could not be any more shocked. Or elated.

Only my family’s noticeable absence keeps this from being the best moment of my life.

If only I could share this accomplishment with them. I close my eyes, and it’s as if I can actually hear Cipriano’s booming, euphoric laughter. I can imagine Father’s face glowing with pride. And as I wrap my arms around my middle to hold my warring emotions within, I can almost pretend it’s my mother’s slender arms clutching me in delight.

The rest of the conversation flies by in a blur of dates, requirements, and information. I learn that I am to return to the Playhouse in the morning to retrieve my script and be fit for my costume, and that Reid Roberts, an up-and-coming—whatever that means—teen actor, will be playing opposite me. I hand the phone back to Mr. Crawford in a daze of disbelief, and my cousin grabs me in a bone-crushing tackle hug.

My eyes close as profound gratitude, awe, and happiness overwhelm me.

Chapter Thirteen

The next day, I sit up tall in the soft leather seat that begs me to slump and meet my cousin’s jubilant grin with one of my own. We are on our way to my first official task as an actress, and it is difficult to tell which of us is happier. Cat presses a button to raise the barrier behind the driver for privacy and asks, “You’re sure you don’t want me to stay?” My triumphant grin fades into a grimace at the touch of wishful interest in her voice.

It is not that I don’t want Cat to stay. Along with the support she always gives, I could certainly use her backbone. For all of Kendal’s wicked behavior at school and at the audition Friday, she read her lines flawlessly. There is no doubt in my mind that she earned a part and I will be graced with her presence today. But at least I can count on one friendly face to be there.

Shortly after hanging up with the director, the Crawford phone rang again, this time with the name Michaels appearing on the caller identification box—much to Cat’s and my shared astonishment. For an out of town—and out of time—guest, I certainly felt popular.

After exchanging pleasantries, which consisted of me being pleasant and Austin being, well, Austin, he informed me that Jamie would be playing Ophelia in the workshop (huzzah!), and then declared he would be picking me up for the commencement of our agreed-upon week of adventure directly following today’s meeting.

Cue the butterflies of anxiety—a whole swarm of fretful, restless, dancing butterflies.

I shake my head, willing the remaining insects to shoo, and squeeze my cousin’s hand. “It simply does not make sense for you to wait through all the costume fittings and rehearsal announcements and then return home alone. Go to the mall with Hayley as you planned, and I promise to tell you about everything the moment I return.”

Cat sighs. “Fine, I guess that’ll have to do.” Then she nudges me with her elbow. “I’m teasing. Really, I’m still shocked you’re getting Austin Michaels to bring you to a library, and on a Sunday when the sun’s out and the waves are killer. You must’ve worked some kinda mojo to get him to study on a day like this.” Then she pins me with a worried, maternal look. “But no mojo was exchanged, right? You two just studied yesterday?”

And therein lies the main reason Cat cannot stay today.

She is unaware of my Austin Challenge.

If I were to share this portion of my gypsy adventure with her, I know what would happen. She would say that I don’t know Austin. That it is unsafe to gallivant around town on a whim with a practical stranger, engaging in whatever unsheltered, exciting proposition he may suggest. She would attempt to talk me out of it…but I need this.

Cat is wonderful—a loving force unrivaled—but she treats me as if I am still the younger cousin she left behind and not the equal that I am today. Though truthfully, my overwhelmed behavior since my arrival has not aided my cause.

But Austin does not treat me like a child. Even with his ill manners and boorish behavior, he treats me as an equal. No different from any other person he shows contempt to, and certainly not like someone who requires gentle handling. And I know that I am safe with him. Austin Michaels has many faults, if my own witness and Cat’s testimony are to be believed, but I know instinctively that he would never let anything happen to me.

My mind flashes to the feel of his warm chest beneath my palm and the length of his arms caging me in against the counter. A full-body tingle explodes across my skin.

Our car pulls to a stop outside the theater, and the driver walks around to my door. I turn to Cat with a feeling of seasickness churning in my stomach and force a smile. “Wish me well.”

“Nah,” she says, shaking her head, her lips pursed. “Break a leg.”

Ignoring our sweet driver’s proffered hand, I reach beside me, slam the door he just opened, and ask, “Excuse me?”

Cat laughs and playfully bumps my shoulder. “It’s a showbiz expression, Less. Actors are crazily superstitious creatures, and for some random reason they believe wishing someone good luck will actually bring bad luck. So instead, they wish the opposite.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Such as breaking a leg?”

“Exactly.” Cat pauses. “Now that I think about it, it is pretty barbaric.”

I nod in complete agreement and rap on the window of my door. When our driver opens it again, wearing an expression of exasperation, I shrug and slide out into the cool, January morning air.

“Perhaps I should add break a leg to my yellow tablet of words,” I say, turning back with a grin. “You know, now that I’ve mastered all the others.”

Cat rolls her gaze toward the heavens.

Standing on the sidewalk, I watch as the car drives away, the darkened back window growing smaller and smaller as it travels down the road. It turns a corner, and panic spikes in my blood.

Why have I never asked for a cell phone of my own so I can call them back?

For the first time since those frantic, terrifying moments outside the theater of etched handprints, I am alone again in this foreign, new world…not to mention outside another frightening theater, only this time for an entirely different, yet equally distressing, purpose.

“You look lost, gorgeous.”

Pulled from disturbing visions of me winding up scared and alone in this confusing city, I twist around and stare at a boy who could be from my own.

He smiles, flashing a set of straight white teeth, and bows regally. “By chance I gazed out yonder window and glimpsed your ravishing beauty.” He straightens from the waist and winks. “So I felt I best come out and introduce myself. Reid Roberts,” he says, holding out his hand. “Your love-struck Romeo, Lady Alessandra.”

I look from his outstretched hand to the line of his broad shoulders, clothed in a remarkably accurate dark brown doublet. I dare a glance at his toned legs encased in matching tights, confirming the costume department’s impressive knowledge of historical fashion.

Returning my Romeo’s grin, highly amused at considering myself history, I accept his hand and fall into a curtsy. The excuse to converse in my natural manner is just too tempting to ignore.