“Van,” Adri said, folding her arms.
“What does it hurt to try?” Vanessa said.
“Beatrice?” Simon said. “As in . . . the lead?”
“Whoa, what?” Iris asked. She was vaguely familiar with Much Ado About Nothing. She’d read it in high school, seen the movie with Emma Thompson, but she couldn’t really remember anyone’s names.
“We have our Benedick,” Adri said, eyes narrowing on Iris, “as I’m sure you know. We’re still looking to fill the co-lead.”
“You might be a great fit!” Vanessa said.
“Might,” Adri said again.
“Me?” Iris asked, pointing to herself. “But I don’t act.”
“Yes, she does,” Simon said.
“No, I don’t.” Iris elbowed him in the ribs. “Not officially.”
“She’s funny,” Simon said, ticking off on his fingers. “She’s dramatic. She’s got flair, charisma, passion, you name it.”
Adri smirked. “Sounds perfect for Beatrice, actually.”
“Simon Everwood, you are dead to me,” Iris said out of the side of her mouth.
Vanessa laughed, then reached out to tap Iris’s arm. “What can one reading hurt, hmm? Let’s just try it. If it doesn’t work out, no harm done. Adri will send you back to the company audition with Julian and your friend here. Right, Adri?”
Adri sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Fine. I guess it doesn’t hurt to do a reading.”
Iris opened her mouth to protest—no way was she prepared to even think about playing a lead role—but Simon pushed her forward.
“She’ll do it.”
“Simon, goddammit.”
“See?” he said. “Passion.”
“I do see,” Adri said, her eyes sliding up and down Iris yet again.
“All right, fine,” Iris said, because she knew Simon would never let her turn around and come with him to the company audition. Best get this weird-as-hell experience over with.
Vanessa offered to take Simon to Julian, while Adri led Iris into the theater. It was small and brick-walled, with plush purple seats and an antiqued rainbow border framing the front of the modest stage. Lights and wires hung from the ceiling and Iris felt an unexplainable thrill swoop through her belly.
She’d never actually been in a play. Though her mother and siblings had told her more than once that she was dramatic enough to carry her own theater troupe, she’d dropped her high school class after a few weeks on account of Mr. Bristow’s extreme creepiness. Now she had to admit that walking into an empty theater, the stage lit up and waiting, was kind of exciting.
“Okay,” Adri said once they reached the stage, handing Iris a script already open to a scene. “Are you familiar with the story?”
“A bit,” Iris said, suddenly nervous. “Some army arrives home, a dude falls in love with a girl.”
Adri nods. “That’s Claudio and Hero, though in our play, it’s two men, one of them trans.”
Iris smiled. “I love that.”
Adri’s whole face lit up. “I do too. But you’re reading for Beatrice, Hero’s cousin, a very sharp-witted woman who has zero time for foolishness.”
“Sounds like a smart lady.”
“She is,” Adri said. “In this first scene, she insults Benedick, a soldier, as these two have a history of battling wits. He shows up—in our case, she shows up—and the two duke it out verbally. We’ll have a revised script to account for pronouns and other adjustments once we get the cast set.”
Iris nodded, eyes scanning over the lines. Shakespeare wasn’t easy, by any means, but Iris had read enough in high school and college to understand most of it.
“I’ll read the other parts,” Adri said. “You just do Beatrice.”
“Could I have a second to get my bearings?” she asked.
“Of course,” Adri said. “I know you weren’t prepared for Beatrice. Or were you?” She tilted her head, as though waiting for Iris to confess something.
Iris frowned. “No, I definitely wasn’t.”
Adri’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded and waved for Iris to take her second.
Iris turned away, chewing on her thumbnail as she read over the lines. In our last conflict, four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one . . .
Iris couldn’t help but laugh softly. Beatrice was funny. Smart. Undoubtedly sexy. Iris could do this. At least enough to get through the reading without making a total fool of herself. In the end, she’d join Simon in the company, and they’d have a laugh about the odd director who forced her into reading for the lead.
“I think I’m ready,” Iris said, glancing up at Adri. Vanessa had come in while Iris studied, and the two were now staring at her with such interest, Iris actually did check her face for stray crumbs this time.
“Great,” Adri said. “You can head up to the stage.”
Iris did as she was told, lifting her long skirt so she didn’t trip up the short flight of stairs on stage left. Or was it stage right? She could never keep it straight.
“Whenever you’re comfortable,” Adri said, following her up. “Starting at line thirty.” She stood a few feet away from Iris and was all Iris could really see. The stage lights were bright, making everything in the theater seem dreamlike, a gauzy black and white.
Iris rolled her shoulders back. She cleared her throat. Then she very nearly cracked up at what she was doing. Nervous energy propelled her forward, so her first line came out on a bubble of laughter.
“I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the wars or no?”
It seemed to work, though, curling a bit of mirth through the words.
“I know none of that name, lady,” Adri read as the messenger. Then, as Hero, “My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.”
And so it went. Iris quickly warmed up to her character, this woman who was fed up with arrogant bullshit and at the same time clearly wanted to bang Benedick’s brains out. It would be fascinating to see this played out between two queer women.
The idea spurred Iris on even more. Soon, she was moving around on stage, flourishing her hands, scoffing when the line called for it. Though when it came time for Benedick to arrive, she quieted down. Their verbal sparring was fast, vitriolic, but she infused it with . . . well, with lust, if she was being honest. It just felt right, and she remembered hearing this whole play—at least when it came to Beatrice and Benedick—was one giant exercise in foreplay.
“You always end with a jade’s trick,” she said, teeth slightly gritted as she read Beatrice’s last line in scene 1. “I know you of old.”
Silence.
A very long, charged, terrifying beat of silence.
Iris was breathing a bit heavily, and she realized she’d jutted her hand toward Adri, one coral-painted finger pointing at her face while she read Beatrice’s lines.
Iris dropped her hand, cleared her throat. Waited.
Adri just stared, mouth slightly parted.
“So . . .” Iris said, “what now?”
“Wow,” Vanessa said, clapping. “I mean, Adri, right?”