This Wednesday marks our fourth performance ofTheImmersive Pride and Prejudice Experience.
It also marks the day Mom, Dad, and Doreen are in the audience to see me play Caroline Bingley. That Doreen didn’t cancel due to some last-minute unmissable career-boosting event is a small miracle. And it makes me more nervous than I was before Sunday’s opening night. My stage fright is so bad today that when the show begins, I suddenly can’t remember my lines. The panic when I greet the hosts of the Meryton Assembly makes my heart drop lower than the shallow curtsey Caroline is bobbing.
Luckily my memory hole lasts about thirty seconds, no more.
As we move through the scene, my anxiety melts away. I find myself fully in character. Act 2 passes in a blur as we talk, walk, dance, roll the backdrops out at the end of a scene, wheel in new ones, and then talk, walk, and dance again.
But even with my memory recovered, I avoid making eye contact with my folks. I shun them even during the interactive scenes in which they take part. My excuse is that I’m kept busy enough as it is. Today’s audience is the hungriest and most enthusiastic we’ve had so far. They’re so engaged that it’s as if they were swept away into Jane Austen’s enthralling world body and soul.
During the intermission, I dash to the bathroom for a tampon change. My period is on the downward slope now, but after Monday’s mishap that resulted in embarrassment and a ruined costume, my new life motto is Better Safe Than Sorry.
At the end of the show when the cast, Sandra, Liam, Julia, Tami and the musicians line up for the curtain call, the audience erupts into a thundering ovation. Like that wasn’t cool enough, they give us another one after we’ve bowed. It’s so bloody rewarding that for a moment there I forget to worry about what Doreen will say. I just gawk at the delighted, grateful faces of our spectators and bask in their love.
When it’s really over and everybody exits the Sky Hall, I spot Mom, Dad, and Doreen waiting in the hallway for me.
Mom throws her arms around me. “Bravo! Bravo,ma petiteMargot!”
“That was amazing!” Dad hugs me in his turn. “I’m so proud of you! If only your grandmother could see this!”
Doreen smiles. “Well done, big sis.”
Did I hear that right? Was thatpraise?
Is the end of the world scheduled for tomorrow?Because the last time my younger sister praised or complimented me wasnever.
“Ladies, I’m taking you to a celebratory dinner,” Dad declares.
I make a moue. “Sorry, Dad, but I have to be back in forty-five minutes for the postshow debrief.”
“Are you allowed to eat between now and then?” Mom’s expression is one of genuine concern.
I laugh softly. “Of course! We usually have pizzas delivered, and then we eat them in the kitchen or out in the garden.”
Mom splays her fingers against the breastbone. “In this weather?”
“There’s a glass orangery in the back,” I say. “We can hide there from the drizzle. If we keep our coats on, we’ll be just fine.”
“Very well, but no pizza tonight.” Dad half turns toward the main entrance. “I spotted a nice deli on the corner. Let me get us some wraps and salads. We’ll eat them in your orangery.”
I suggest Mom, Doreen, and I head to the orangery at once to make sure no one else lays claim to it in the meantime.
While we wait for Dad, Peter steps out into the garden, a pizza box in his hands. He looks around, searching for someone. Me, no doubt. I sidle behind Mom, hoping that her rounded figure will conceal me. But my efforts are in vain. Eagle Eye Peter detects me anyway. He flashes a smile and beelines to the orangery.
Introductions made, he apologizes to Mom and Doreen and says, “Since I only have one medium pizza, we can split it—”
“Actually,” I interrupt, “we’re waiting for my dad who went out to fetch some wraps from the deli.”
“Ah…” Peter’s face falls. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Bon appétit!”
He says goodbye to Mom and Doreen, and trudges back to the house. I don’t try to stop him.
“Your new boyfriend?” Doreen asks me as soon as he’s out of earshot.
“We’re just friends,” I say.
She looks skeptical as if she doesn’t believe me before saying, “He’s sweet.”
Matter of fact, he is.
