rot."
Raising his binoculars, John Owen gazed upward beyond the second and third story windows toward the roof. Perhaps there was a quiet place up there to learn lines. Passing binoculars to the student on his left, he pointed to the roof, and our collective gaze traveled up. "A sound roof is the first line of defense against the number one enemy of an old house, which is"--and several of his students moved their lips as he whispered--"water."
"Did water cause the damage around the chimney base?" one of the disciples asked.
John Owen grabbed the binoculars. "Rot can be arrested," he said, looking carefully upward. "Let's go." The group followed John Owen up the fire escape--a symposium field trip. As they climbed, I noticed an orange electric cord hanging outside the building, emerging from a second floor window and entering a window on the third floor, the attic.
Once the posse left, their bodies no longer blocked my view through the wavy glass and I could see the cast rehearsing in the ballroom. They appeared to be on break--or stuck. Magda yelled about rats' asses again. Upon closer inspection, my roommate appeared to be the cause of the fuss.
Bets was still here. She hadn't gone to London.
I wouldn't be able to take her part at the opening.
I would never get my necklace back.
And as I stood there, gazing in the window, Magda approached from the interior side, a furious bunch of nerves, her long finger curling, beckoning me to enter. Why would she invite me in? I walked around to the front, daring to suppose someone had quit and they might offer me the vacated role.
My Jane Austen and I passed each other in the entry; she walked out in a huff as I walked in. The cast slumped on the stage furniture; Nikki lifted her Regency skirt to catch a breeze from the window, all of them waiting for Bets to get something right. Magda pointed to a chair in the audience and I sat. Bets finally got it and they moved on.
∗ ∗ ∗
Fanny Price: Sir Thomas, what can you tell us about the slave trade?
∗ ∗ ∗
Whoa . I sat up straight. That's not in the book. I listened as Sir Thomas provided details he didn't get from Jane Austen concerning the income from his Antigua estate and thenumber of slaves in his employ. Not in the book. Magda must have written the slavery remarks herself, or made Omar write it. No wonder My Jane Austen walked out.
I watched the entire rehearsal. And then watched it again. The other actors were so good they didn't need to be coached, but Magda fed lines to Bets over and over. Whenever Magda interrupted, "Hey!" to stop the action, the actors sagged, the tension immediately drained from their bodies. Starting up again, their bodies sprang into action. They reminded me of professional outfielders between plays in baseball. By the time they finished, I knew everyone's lines.
When Magda finally indicated the reason for my attendance at the rehearsal, darkness had descended outdoors. "Don't let her out of your sight." She handed me another script. "Work on these lines until she has them down cold, all night if necessary."
"What about sleeping?"
"You don't want to know what I think about sleeping. Have her here at eight-thirty, in costume, ready to perform."
"Me?"
"You are here to help with the festival, no?" Magda stared back. "You are her roommate. The festival needs your help."
"The festival is welcome," I mumbled, walking away.
∗ ∗ ∗
Later, in our room, Bets watched a British reality TV show where women in bikinis ate maggots.
"I thought you went to London this morning," I said.
"I never got away." Bets stuffed potato crisps into her mouth. "Magda caught me and made me sit in the Freezer all afternoon, repeating lines." She offered me some crisps.
"No thanks," I said. "Let's work on your lines."
"No thanks," she said.
"For your own good," I said, removing my shoes and setting them inside my closet, where her clothes lay on the floor. "Did you wear this?" I asked, holding up a
Raising his binoculars, John Owen gazed upward beyond the second and third story windows toward the roof. Perhaps there was a quiet place up there to learn lines. Passing binoculars to the student on his left, he pointed to the roof, and our collective gaze traveled up. "A sound roof is the first line of defense against the number one enemy of an old house, which is"--and several of his students moved their lips as he whispered--"water."
"Did water cause the damage around the chimney base?" one of the disciples asked.
John Owen grabbed the binoculars. "Rot can be arrested," he said, looking carefully upward. "Let's go." The group followed John Owen up the fire escape--a symposium field trip. As they climbed, I noticed an orange electric cord hanging outside the building, emerging from a second floor window and entering a window on the third floor, the attic.
Once the posse left, their bodies no longer blocked my view through the wavy glass and I could see the cast rehearsing in the ballroom. They appeared to be on break--or stuck. Magda yelled about rats' asses again. Upon closer inspection, my roommate appeared to be the cause of the fuss.
Bets was still here. She hadn't gone to London.
I wouldn't be able to take her part at the opening.
I would never get my necklace back.
And as I stood there, gazing in the window, Magda approached from the interior side, a furious bunch of nerves, her long finger curling, beckoning me to enter. Why would she invite me in? I walked around to the front, daring to suppose someone had quit and they might offer me the vacated role.
My Jane Austen and I passed each other in the entry; she walked out in a huff as I walked in. The cast slumped on the stage furniture; Nikki lifted her Regency skirt to catch a breeze from the window, all of them waiting for Bets to get something right. Magda pointed to a chair in the audience and I sat. Bets finally got it and they moved on.
∗ ∗ ∗
Fanny Price: Sir Thomas, what can you tell us about the slave trade?
∗ ∗ ∗
Whoa . I sat up straight. That's not in the book. I listened as Sir Thomas provided details he didn't get from Jane Austen concerning the income from his Antigua estate and thenumber of slaves in his employ. Not in the book. Magda must have written the slavery remarks herself, or made Omar write it. No wonder My Jane Austen walked out.
I watched the entire rehearsal. And then watched it again. The other actors were so good they didn't need to be coached, but Magda fed lines to Bets over and over. Whenever Magda interrupted, "Hey!" to stop the action, the actors sagged, the tension immediately drained from their bodies. Starting up again, their bodies sprang into action. They reminded me of professional outfielders between plays in baseball. By the time they finished, I knew everyone's lines.
When Magda finally indicated the reason for my attendance at the rehearsal, darkness had descended outdoors. "Don't let her out of your sight." She handed me another script. "Work on these lines until she has them down cold, all night if necessary."
"What about sleeping?"
"You don't want to know what I think about sleeping. Have her here at eight-thirty, in costume, ready to perform."
"Me?"
"You are here to help with the festival, no?" Magda stared back. "You are her roommate. The festival needs your help."
"The festival is welcome," I mumbled, walking away.
∗ ∗ ∗
Later, in our room, Bets watched a British reality TV show where women in bikinis ate maggots.
"I thought you went to London this morning," I said.
"I never got away." Bets stuffed potato crisps into her mouth. "Magda caught me and made me sit in the Freezer all afternoon, repeating lines." She offered me some crisps.
"No thanks," I said. "Let's work on your lines."
"No thanks," she said.
"For your own good," I said, removing my shoes and setting them inside my closet, where her clothes lay on the floor. "Did you wear this?" I asked, holding up a
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