“Okay. Our first priority is finding our Beatrice.”
“What about Tori?”
“Pregnant,” Adri said, smiling. “Nearly six months and due in September, so she can’t do it.”
“Oh my god, really?” Stevie said. “That’s great for her.” Tori was a Black lesbian who’d been with the same woman, Lakshmi, since they were fifteen and baby queers in Arkansas. They’d been trying to get pregnant for years and had gone through a couple miscarriages, so Stevie was delighted to hear this.
Tori was also their best lead actress.
“There’s no one else?” Stevie asked.
Adri shook her head. “No one good enough. Molly hates Shakespeare and Cassandra can’t do comedy to save her life. I’ve already cast Jasper as Hero. We’ve got to find someone new. Someone amazing.”
“Should be easy enough,” Stevie said wryly. Like all directors, Adri was picky, critical, and demanding. Double that when it came to Shakespeare, so finding a brand-new Beatrice with whom Steviehad onstage chemistry and who satisfied Adri’s standard of perfection?
Well. It was going to be a long day.
SEVEN POTENTIAL BEATRICESlater, Stevie was ready to fling herself into the sea.
Too bubbly.
Not enough energy.
No intuition.
They’re trying too hard.
I don’t believe you want to bang them, Stevie.
That last one was a real zinger, as this comment from Adri felt like it was more about Stevie’s acting than the hopeful thespian with whom she was sharing the stage. Still, Stevie didn’t take it personally—acting was the one area in her life where she could take direction and not immediately feel the need to breathe into a paper bag. This was the game, the show, and if you wanted to get better, toshine, you had to be willing to suck every now and then.
Still, Adri was particularly brutal today and Stevie’s exhaustion level was climbing.
“What, my dear Lady Disdain!”Stevie said as Benedick. A terrified-looking white person named Candice stood opposite her, ears full of piercings, short hair dyed lavender, eyes wide as saucers as they looked at the script.
“Are you yet living?”Stevie went on, motioning toward Candice.
“Um, oh, right.” Candice peered at the script before speaking robotically.“Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself—”
“Thank you,” Adri said, forefinger and thumb rubbing at her temples. Then she smiled beatifically. “Wonderful, Candice, we’ll be in touch.”
Candice skulked away, and Stevie collapsed onto the stage, limbs flailing out like a starfish.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Adri said, but she was laughing.
“I thought that was the point,” Stevie said, staring up into the lights and wires.
Adri sighed. “I can’t help it if these people can’t act.”
“You didn’t even let the poor soul finish the line!” Stevie sat up and rubbed her face. “I need a break.”
“Okay, yeah,” Adri said, plopping down into one of the velvet seats. “It’s past lunchtime anyway. Maybe we could get something delivered.”
“No,” Stevie said, getting to her feet. “I’ll go pick something up. I need some air.”
Adri nodded. “Sushi?”
“Sushi,” Stevie said, coming down from stage right and grabbing her bag from the first row. “You want your usual?”
