Page 23 of Witch Please
“Juvenile? Overtly sexual? Have you no concept of Shakespeare? Every single one of his plays is infused with his sexual obsessions. His plays were so perverse and borderline taboo that Queen Victoria had them sanitized. Even still—codified suggestions are rampant—some that the world’s best scholars still have yet to be able to unlock.”
It was too late to rein in my indignation, so I leaned in all the way. “This iteration has taken power and notoriety and examined how society is drawn to it, addicted to it, fetishizes it as if it were sex. Perhaps you simply missed the concepts.”
The second man held up his bottle of water, as if he was used to holding a microphone. “Then isn’t that the failure of the director and playwright? Is that not then a muddled vision and misstep in communication? If the common person can’t connect the intricacies, then the play would be exactly as my colleague described it to be—a cliché example of an academic droning on for three hours trying to impress the masses with his intellectualism.”
I couldn’t let them win. Sebastian had worked too hard for anyone to take anything away from him. His interpretation was none of those things. Bad publicity would hurt not just him but the whole play—ruining the risk of altering the opinions of alumni and eventually leadership.
“I’m the Shakespeare expert.” I told them, “If you are going to take issue with our adherence to the tenets of the play or its characters that is on me. I wholeheartedly disagree however, that this play is anything but accessible. It brings a point in history where they spoke in ways we didn’t understand, translates it, and applies it to concepts more in line with current trends and themes. It takes something that is typically associated with intellectualism and creates a beautiful marriage of Shakespeare’s themes: money, power, the lengths we go for such power—and a delivery that is modern and easily understood. If you missed that connection—that is not the fault of the writer or director.”
Thankfully Patrick and Tabitha arrived just at that moment to pull me away before my mouth really got me into trouble.
“Excuse me, but I need to congratulate the star of the show.” Patrick pulled me into a side hug, beaming at me as we turned away from the pair. “Rough crowd, eh?”
“Imogen, you were simply stunning up there!” Tabitha effused. “I was drawn in with your first line and you kept me in the palm of your hand all the way through the end. And don’t listen to those two…” She rolled her eyes and quirked her head in their direction. “I thought the whole play was so smart—and no one around us appeared confused at all. They laughed where they should have laughed, some cried in moments, and all were as equally enraptured by your performance as we were!”
“Have either of you seen Sebastian?”
“He’s on his way back. Just as you all took your final bows, there was a bit of a follow up show in the audience. Your friend from last night—the pregnant one? Apparently, her babies were similarly moved by your performance. So much so they decided it was the perfect time to make an entrance into the world.” Patrick laughed, running his fingers through his beard. “And she was riled up too. Kept saying the whole trip was a bust and now she had to have her babies in front of a stranger.”
We walked the festival grounds hoping to cross paths with Sebastian as we approached the entrance. Based on the feedback we heard from passerby, I couldn’t be more certain our production would be considered a success. Everyone from current students to well-known alumni approached us to tell us how much they enjoyed it, and couldn’t wait to see what Sebastian had up his sleeve for the spring production.
“Imogen, you are a goddess in every definition of the word.”
Sebastian kissed the top of my head before taking a seat at the lovely bistro tables the student union had set up around a popup coffee shop. Tabitha passed him a cup of coffee, which we’d each purchased to ward off the chill. Given I still was decked out in my nothing to the imagination dress, I tried valiantly to keep from shivering.
“You’re going to catch a chill, love.” Sebastian pulled off his sweater, revealing a long-sleeved Henley beneath, “I shouldn’t have asked you to mingle with patrons in that dress. There’s not anywhere near enough fabric to keep you warm once outside of the heat of the stage lights.”
Patrick looked at me over his cup, his eyebrows practically touching his hairline. I saw Tabitha try to subtly elbow him in the side. Obviously, Sebastian’s pet name wasn’t lost on either of them.
Patrick: Oh, we’ve upgraded to love then? ??
He had the subtlety of a jackhammer. I read the text and rolled my eyes directly at him, knowing he saw my reaction. I refused to respond to him while we all sat at a table in one another’s company.
“We should celebrate!” Sebastian slapped his thighs before standing, “I see the Provost and Deans over there, so I have to go glad hand. Imogen, why not go put some warmer clothes on and meet us back here. Then we’ll hit the town. You need something warm and definitely some dinner since you haven’t eaten all day. And we all need more time together before you two fly back home tomorrow.”
“Imogen, we’ll be your escorts on the way to the dressing room. I can be your muscle to keep back all the adoring fans.” Patrick flexed his non-existent bicep, drawing a slap against the arm and a groan from Tabitha and a snicker from me.
I knew why he wanted to escort me and it had zero to do with protecting me from anything.
Chapter 18
Icouldn’t have had a more perfect weekend if I’d orchestrated it myself. The festival by all accounts appeared to be well received. The alumnus seemed pleased with our efforts, which of course meant our leaders should be thrilled as well. Having Patrick here for the weekend meant more to me than I could ever put into words. I’d walked through life assuming that I had friends but notfriends—the kind that showed up without you having to tell them something was important or that you desperately wanted their support but didn’t know how to ask for it. He’d flown in just to see the play and support me (well, and Imogen of course).
The rain we’d been so worried about ruining our production managed to hold off until late Sunday night into early Monday morning. The tail end of the storm slowly rumbling its way out of Hanover and on to its next target. Though, every so often you could still hear a rumble of thunder in the distance. Which was totally counter to my present ebullient mood.
“I bought every single paper that even made mention of the festival.” Franklin shuffled into my office with an armload of newspapers, and unceremoniously dropped them on my desk. “I think we can officially declare this production a success.”
Granted they were all local papers, but reading all of that validation, the sense of pride was overwhelming. I couldn’t wait for Imogen to be finished with her morning class so I could share in all the praise. Reviewer after reviewer fawned over her performance, many remarking on how she had gracefully balanced between the complex nature of Shakespeare’s works and the modernism I’d brought to the work. We made an amazing team.
Patrick: I just happened to be sitting at my desk, enjoying a cup of coffee and lo and behold what landed in my inbox, butThe Dartmouth. You even managed to impress the snooty wannabe journalists at the college paper. Well done ace.
“Professor Doyle, I’m glad I caught you before your first class.” Our college president, Dr. Roland, joined Franklin and I in my office. Franklin immediately panicked, intimidated by the sudden appearance of our college president, and hightailed it out of my office, stammering about his need to make sure we had all of our inventory counts back from the festival.
“Fantastic festival. Truly one for the ages. This is a new era for Dartmouth Literary Society. A new era! With your directorial genius, and Imogen’s subject expertise, I know we can look forward to many more of these accessible productions. You really do make a fantastic pair. Wise choice in having her write your scripts for you. There isn’t anyone with more knowhow than she when it comes to the intricacies of The Bard.”
“I’m sorry,” every hair on my body rose with a sickening fear, “Imogen is without a doubt a knowledgeable scholar, and her performance simply stunning—but I’m confused as to why you think she wrote my scripts?”
Roland tilted his head, confusion furrowing his already wrinkled forehead even further. His spotted forehead, nearly covering his eyes altogether.