Dress Rehearsal & A Kitchen Scene

Tonight is dress rehearsal for Hello Dolly. I am exhausted, excited, relaxed, tense, sore, sensitive, exhausted, and pretty exhausted. And so damn proud of these students. For real. This experience has made me very very glad to be a theatre educator and director, though it has been an uphill battle to get to really do either thing the way I'd like. I've found little ways to persevere here and there, I have a precious collection of little victories that I will always cherish.

Yesterday I made the choice (yay choice) to do something that was RIGHT even though I couldn't have wanted to do something less. It was good Kharma, it was the nice thing to do, so I took a deep breath, swallowed my own personal agenda, and did it.

Even though he doesn't (and probably never will because I don't want to shock the poor young man) read my blog I'd like to thank Matt C. for being there when I turned to him and said: "Will you come with me?" --to do this thing I didn't want to do-- "I don't think I have the courage to do it by myself", and thank him for coming with me, staying with me, and completely understanding.

What a sweet, sweet young man. He was a student of mine, an assistant director and an actor while in HS, and a co-worker of mine at A1S1, and now he's in his second year of college and returns to help (as all we BHS suckers seem to do... we love BHS... despite...). He's studying to be a music educator and he is fucking fantastic. I tell him all the time how I can't wait to work on shows with him.

Anywho! Some fiction. I had a blast writing this next scene. In my head this is the scene that continues from a scene from way back where it's like: "Jonah Delaney didn't know how to tell his wife that he wanted a divorce..." both of which take place the morning after Viola on the Swingset, the "Viola Delaney had a terrible secret" one? But because I don't have any fucking clue as to how this will really all fit together or be structured, all I can do is tell you that in the actual timeline of events in these people's lives, this scene happens that morning that JonaH is planning on asking for a divorce.

Incidentally, Velvet is fun to write. Not as meaty as some others, but fun in her own way.

Enjoy!

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“What is it?” She kept her tone measured, kind.

Velvet Delaney knew her husband well enough to know he had a secret. She only wished she could guess what it might be.

For several months she had noted his distraction, his preoccupation with thoughts that furrowed his brow and pulled his mouth into a frown. Whenever she’d gently asked what the matter was an expression she couldn’t quite put her finger on crossed his face for the briefest of moments before he’d hitch a smile into place and tell her he was fine. Of course she knew him to be decidedly not ‘fine’, but when she pressed he assured her more vigorously and so she came to the decision to let him tell her in his own time. It looked like that time might finally be this morning.

In truth she had begun to suspect it had something to do with the wedding. If she thought about it, his shift in attitude had begun just a handful of months before the big event, just about when she and the bride had really begun putting their planning into high gear. She thought his anxiety would melt away when their daughter finally walked down the aisle, said her vows and danced her father goodbye at the reception. But the wedding came and went, beautifully, and now, two mornings later, her husband’s mind was still not at ease.

She believed she knew what it must be. As he stood across the kitchen island from her, palms pressed onto the glassy granite surface, she could tell he was bracing himself to finally unload his burden. But words were failing him. She smiled kindly as he shook his head and stared at the half-empty fruit bowl between them.

“I think I know what it is.” She spoke, trying to help him.

His head snapped up so fast she thought he might have just pulled something. Maybe she didn’t know what it was. Sweeping her hair back over her shoulders she took a deep breath and prepared to give her theory. He’d fixed her with a gaze so intense, so full of emotion that she had to clear her throat before continuing.

“I noticed this change in you several months ago,” she began and his face fell. He looked stricken. She had the timeline right at least. “After Avalon and I got back from our trip to the resort-“ she continued. He lifted one hand from the island and removed his glasses. She watched him shakily put the glasses down on the granite and bury his eyes in his hand. He rubbed his temples with thumb and middle finger.

“Yes.” He said when she’d fallen silent. “That’s, that’s right.”

She wanted to go to him, cross the distance between them and take him in her arms but waited patiently. Still.

“I’ve suspected it for months.” She prompted him, gently. She winced a little as his body rocked and she stood tensed, certain that he was going to faint. “Jonah.” She said it sternly, she needed him to pull himself together, she was no good at all in emergencies. “Jonah?”

“I’m, I’m ok.” He assured her and wisely put his hand back on the countertop, helping to steady himself. Then he let out a short, sad mockery of a laugh. “Well, obviously I’m not ok- “ he corrected, “But I’m not going to pass out.”

They shared a look then, and she couldn’t help but smile ruefully. He knew her so well.

But her smile only seemed to cause him more anguish and he looked sharply away, out the kitchen window. She wasn’t sure if he was seeing something or just looking, unseeing, into his own thoughts.

“Oh Jonah, this is ridiculous.” She said at last, a faint tingle of unease starting to creep along her spine. “I love you.”

He turned to her then, slowly, so very slowly, and looked her dead in the eyes. Something dreadful was in his eyes and it sent a chill around her heart.

“You love me?” There was a dubious tone, and something slightly incredulous, and it felt leaden. She nodded, unable to speak in the face of that stared he’d fixed on her. “What exactly,” he spoke slowly, deliberately “do you suspect, is the problem?”

The money, she wanted to say, but something about this behavior suddenly made her think she was very, very far off the mark. He’d insisted on paying for Avalon’s wedding himself, his own money, none of the Calder fortune. This had been a matter of pride for him—he believed a man should pay for his daughter’s wedding—and a matter of great consternation to Avalon and Velvet, who wanted the day to be exquisite. Velvet had felt guilty on many occasions over the past several months, ordering orchids where peonies would have sufficed, choosing a full string quartet instead of a simple harpist, but perhaps the biggest financial strain was choosing to host the event at the resort upstate. That’s when all this had happened, when there’d been a sudden opening in the spring weekend schedule and Velvet and Avalon had rushed up there to see if it would be suitable.

When they’d returned home and told Jonah that the wedding would be held at the resort instead of at Cedarwood Pavillion, he’d looked green around the gills. He’d nodded, of course, and said ‘That’s wonderful’, but she’d never forget how pale and pasty he’d looked. She’d even asked if he was ill.

So she’d been imagining, all these months, that he was concerned about finances. She’d deliberately chosen not to address the matter directly, after their initial brittle discussion, because she knew a man must have his pride and she knew he was prickly on the subject of her millions. Ever since Vaughan Grey had publicly accused Jonah of marrying Velvet for the money—but that was another matter, for another day, Velvet thought, and refocused her attention on her husband.

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything.” She started, finding her voice a little tremulous. “I wanted you to come to me. I wanted you to tell me.” Velvet Delaney didn’t fidget. She was a lady. But she had the strangest urge to bite her fingernails at that moment. She resisted. Instead she ran her index finger along the edge of that morning’s newspaper. The soft, almost feathered edge felt delicate and soothing.

He was giving her the strangest look, as if she had done something wrong. Something very, very wrong. Now she felt guilty and racked her brain trying to think what she possibly could have done to earn a look like that from him.

“Mom? Dad?” The voice from the kitchen doorway startled both of them and they turned, as one, to see their youngest daughter standing there, awkward and tentative.

Velvet cursed herself for feeling relieved at the interruption. She scolded herself silently for using their daughter as a shield against that awful look her husband had given, but she seized on the opportunity nevertheless.

Velvet and Jonah spoke at once, “What are you doing home?” he said while Velvet asked “Are you feeling any better?”. The couple looked at eachother. On a normal morning they’d have laughed. Now Jonah simply looked impatient. “What is she doing home?” He turned his question to Velvet.

“She wasn’t feeling well this morning and asked if she could stay home from school.” Their daughter had been feeling ill a lot lately, but now that the wedding was out of her thoughts Velvet finally had time to notice. Maybe she even felt a little guilty for brushing over Viola so frequently in the mad rush and bustle leading up to the nuptials, and so she’d said ‘yes’ when asked for permission to miss school that day.

Jonah looked stern but he didn’t say anything. Neither did he look at his daughter. Velvet crinkled her brow. Strange. Jonah Delaney was nothing if not a considerate man and a perfect father. Yet now he didn’t even look at Viola to see how she fared. He kept his eyes fixed on the damned fruit bowl, pointedly not looking at Vi.

“I know, I know,” Velvet gushed, “I shouldn’t have let her have champagne and stay until the reception was over, but—“

He swung toward Violet. “You had champagne?” He was furious.

Jonah Delaney was never furious. Velvet swallowed the rest of her sentence and then swallowed again to try and lessen the lump forming in her throat. What the hell was going on?

Viola looked wan. “Only at the toast.” She was just as startled by his sudden shift as Velvet had been.

“Don’t lie to me young lady.” Jonah didn’t move physically but he seemed to take up more space in the kitchen, seemed now to be looming over Viola, who looked genuinely fearful.

“Jonah.” Velvet was firm. Her husband was obviously suffering from stress and perhaps exhaustion, and she didn’t need him taking it out on Viola. “Sweetheart, I told her she could have some champagne at the reception, what’s the harm? She’s not a child-“ Now Jonah spun to face Velvet, he had a maniacal glint in his eye.

And then it was gone. His shoulders slumped and he looked—defeated? “No,” he conceded quietly. “No she isn’t.” Velvet thought she might finally understand. Maybe this hadn’t all been about the money. Slowly, as one moves when trying not to startle a wild animal, Velvet moved around behind the Kitchen Island toward him. His eyes were closed and she gently lay her hand over his where it rested on the counter. He flinched but didn’t pull away.

It wasn’t about the expense of having a wedding; it was about what that wedding had meant. His little girl was all grown up. She was a woman; she was no longer just his daughter, but somebody’s wife. Velvet’s heart melted and she leaned up to place a soft kiss on his cheek. And now his youngest was a teenager and growing up so fast—perhaps he was having some kind of mid-life crisis, feeling old and useless as his girls appeared to no longer need him.

With a long breath he opened his eyes, reached for his glasses and fixed them back onto his nose. A deadly, bleak sort of calm had come over him.

“I’m sure it wasn’t the champagne that made her sick this morning anyhow.” He said at last. And then he turned to Viola, expectant.

The girl expelled a breath she must have been holding for a long time.

“Mom, Dad, I have something I need to tell you.”

Velvet was prepared for almost anything. Viola was their ‘wild child’. She’d been the only one of them expelled from school, the only one to get into a traffic accident, the only one to be brought home in a police cruiser. Fifteen year old Viola was even more of a rebel than Velvet’s play-boy son, whom she always expected to be in some kind of trouble somewhere.

“I’m pregnant.”

A stunned and buzzing silence filled the kitchen. Viola felt exactly as though she’d been slapped, hard, her ears burned and stung.

“Pardon?” Perhaps Viola was playing an ill-conceived and overly cruel prank? She’d been known to be mischievous.

“I’m pregnant.” She repeated, in a rush of outward breath.

Viola looked only at her mother, avoiding her Father’s face altogether. Velvet couldn’t say she blamed her. She didn’t want to look at Jonah’s face either. Talk about not being a little girl anymore.

“Oh Viola.” Velvet’s heart was breaking. What an absolute mess. “How?”

Viola’s eyebrows raised in an expression of incredulity. She reminded Velvet forcibly of Jonah when she made that face. Velvet wondered, but wasn’t courageous enough to find out for herself, if he was wearing that expression right then.

“Um,” A furious blush spread across her daughter’s cheeks and neck and Velvet was almost glad the girl felt some measure of embarrassment, some modicum of shame. “I, um, I had sex?” She finished in an upward inflection as teenagers so often do when explaining the obvious to their idiot parents. Velvet’s eyes flashed but she kept her tongue civil.

“Evidently.” She took a steadying breath before continuing. “What I meant to say was: how could this have happened—you are on birth control.”

Beside her Velvet heard Jonah suck in a sharp breath. Oh dear. That’s right, he hadn’t known that. Of course she discussed everything with her husband, but it didn’t seem right to discuss their daughter’s private matters. It wasn’t as if she’d put the girl on the pill specifically to allow her to engage in sexual activity, she’d done it because of Viola’s strong aversion to blood and the terrible suffering she’d had with cramping—

“You put her on birth control?!”

“I did.” Velvet admitted. She looked at him now and he looked apoplectic. Her calm, even-tempered, ever-in-control husband was a mess. Leave it to Viola. Velvet knew their youngest had always had a special place in Jonah’s heart. She’d hesitate to say ‘favorite’, but it was close.

“When?”

That hardly seemed relevant.

“A few years ago.”

“Jesus Christ.” He leaned very low, extending his arms fully, putting his head lower than the island top. She wondered if he would faint or be sick- neither of which she particularly wanted to witness.

“I stopped taking them.” Viola admitted, distracting Velvet’s attention away from her husband.

“You what?!” Both the girl’s parents spoke in unison.

“I forgot” she rushed, “I didn’t like, do it on purpose or anything” she seemed desperate to be believed and she was looking only at Jonah now. Velvet followed her daughter’s gaze and saw her husband now standing rigid, braced against the refrigerator, his face an unreadable mask.

“Alright.” Velvet said, attempting to diffuse the situation and restore calm to the kitchen. “We need to discuss our options.” Velvet didn’t approve of termination, specifically, but after-all the girl was fifteen—she was still in high school for goodness sake! How could she be a mother? The idea was absurd. And any boy who’d knocked her up would be equally unready for the responsibility. She hoped Viola hadn’t told the boy, what if his family was pro-life?

Viola blanched. “There aren’t really a lot of options.” She mumbled and played with her hands.

Velvet groaned inwardly. How long had Viola been ill in the mornings before school? She cursed herself for being so distracted. She’d thought Viola was trying to get out of school to avoid taking tests or turning in projects or something. She’d even thought, God help her, that their youngest was just jealous of all the attention focused on her eldest sister, just looking for attention. Velvet sorely wished she’d paid better attention.

“How long have you waited to tell us?” Velvet asked carefully. She could kick herself for not noticing the changes in her daughter’s body. She wondered if Jonah had picked up on the subtle changes. The less-fitted clothing, the darker colors. Velvet had believed it to be a phase. She’d learned years ago not to try to impose her own sense of fashion on Viola and so let the girl wear whatever she wanted, providing it was school appropriate. She hadn’t been shopping with her daughter since the girl was in grammar school. Hadn’t been in a changing room to help appraise a wardrobe choice since the middle school dance. If they’d been closer she was sure she would never have missed something as big as this.

“Too long.” Jonah answered for her when Viola failed to respond. He looked tired. No, he looked exhausted.

So she was too far along to pretend this had never happened.

“I believe I need a drink.” Jonah finally announced when none of them had spoken for a few moments.

Of course. Velvet mobilized. “Stay right here, both of you. I’ll be right back.” She gave Viola a warning glance. The last thing she needed was for the foolish girl to go running away in an emotional state and grab a razor blade or a coat hanger or some other such thing. She let her warning look extend to her husband—she didn’t want him getting upset and saying things he’d regret. He wasn’t known to do such things, but then, his teen daughter had never before announced a pregnancy, so, Velvet figured, anything might happen today.

She strode purposefully past Viola and into the parlor where she kept an immaculate sideboard, well stocked and suited to her entertaining needs. She retrieved two tumblers and set them down on the smooth surface of the sideboard. The familiar action and the familiar sound comforted her. For a half a moment she worried her lower lip—it wasn’t even nine AM.

‘To hell with it.’ She decided and fetched some ice from the concealed miniature refrigerator within the sideboard. With three clinks she had ice in her glass and was ready to pour. She knew Jonah would take his neat. She wasn’t sure whether or not to give him the good scotch. It was likely he’d simply down it without tasting it, and perhaps all he was looking for was the burn and the nerve-calming effects. She chose the less-than-nice scotch. She poured gin for herself and splashed a good amount of tonic on top.

The ice in her tumbler tinkled faintly as she approached the kitchen. She could hear Viola speaking in hushed tones but wasn’t able to make out any distinct words or phrases. When she came into the room Viola fell silent. She was standing very close to Jonah, who had his back turned on her. Whatever Viola had been telling him he didn’t seem to want to hear it.

“Your drink.” Velvet said, but Jonah only turned his head slightly in response.

Velvet watched Viola’s face crumble and her shoulders slump. She hoped Jonah hadn’t said anything too hurtful. The girl was an idiot, clearly, and apparently loose, but she didn’t need to hear any of those harsh truths right now, did she? Velvet didn’t see any sense in demoralizing her at present. They needed to rally, needed her to know that she was loved and would be taken care of. But before she could say any of that Velvet needed that drink.

She placed Jonah’s on the kitchen island and slid it toward him. Then she lifted her own to her lips and took a long, slow sip. Goodness, it was too early for a drink.

“Alright.” Velvet began after a second long sip of her gin and tonic. “So who’s the father?”

Viola looked stricken and then glanced at Jonah, who finally reached for his tumbler and in the same motion lifted it to his lips, downed the contents and returned it to the granite countertop with almost too much force.

Velvet got the distinct impression that Jonah intended to kill whoever had done this to his little girl.