Falling for Hamlet (12 page)

“Probably all three.”

“That’s what I think.”

That afternoon when I went to meet with Gertrude and the dressmaker, she was perturbed. “Ophelia, would you like to know why I asked you to be my bridesmaid?”

I was taken aback, totally unsure if she had already been told what I said or if she was just in a snit because of my hesitant reaction when she asked the day before and felt she needed to explain. In either case, I vowed to myself that I would use my cell phone and watch what I e-mailed, too, from that point on. As far as I knew, my cell phone was still safe.

“I asked you because I thought you would be honored. I thought we had a good relationship. Sort of like a mother-daughter thing.” I felt a chill. She was nothing like my mother, and I did not need adopting.

I had found out about my mother’s death after going to the movies with Hamlet. We were in the middle of a very silly comedy, and despite the constant pratfalls and bodily fluids that kept spewing, I spent much of the movie thinking about what my mom said before we both went out for the night. I had asked what she thought of my dating Hamlet. It had only been in the last few months that we had gone from friends to boyfriend/girlfriend, and she had been very quiet on the subject.

“He’s a smart boy with quite a future ahead of him. But being with him won’t be easy,” she warned as she put on her lipstick.

“I know,” I said, hopping onto the marble counter next to her bathroom sink.

She looked at my reflection. “I don’t think you do. Sweetheart, think about what we go through with your father. Even that sort of a public position is hard enough. We are never alone. We rarely do precisely what we want.”

I picked up one of her discarded necklaces and jangled it. “But I really like Hamlet.”

She smiled a little sadly but added, “Then be with him. Your father is against it, but I say you cannot stop love.”

I hesitated, blushing. “I don’t know that I love—”

“I know. Maybe that will come. Maybe not. But let me assure you that you will sacrifice a lot to be with him. If it’s worth it, make the sacrifice. If it stops being worth it, let go. You’re young. Go have fun.” She smiled. She studied herself once more in the mirror, then turned and added, “And make sure he drives carefully. And don’t get pregnant!”

“Mom!” I gasped.

“Kidding. Sort of,” she said as she chucked my chin and kissed me. She looked like she had more to say, but my father hated when she was late, so she grabbed her shawl and beaded bag, then left for the opening of a gallery.

I’d been trying to put my mind back on the movie when the theater lights flicked on suddenly and guards came swarming at us. They surrounded our seats, and two grabbed each of us by the arm and pulled us out of the theater. Hamlet was shoved into one car and I was thrown into another. I could see guards pushing Hamlet’s head below the seat as they sped off.

“Assassination attempt on the king,” the guard driving me explained. “We’ll meet up at the castle.”

We pulled into the garage under the castle, where the king, Gertrude, and Hamlet, whose car had arrived ahead of mine, were waiting.

Gertrude stepped forward and said, “Your mother… There was a shooting.” She stopped and looked at Hamlet’s father, who nodded his encouragement. Wringing her hands, Gertrude continued, “She’s… she died.”

The power of the last word knocked me to my knees, and everyone rushed forward. The king put his hand on my shoulder, as did Hamlet. I looked around frantically, hoping to find a direction in which to run. But I couldn’t think clearly and the garage was dim and cement walls surrounded us. I sobbed uncontrollably, grabbing and squeezing Hamlet so hard, my arms hurt. I was sure if I let go, I would faint or die myself. My cries echoed off the walls and made me weep all the more for hearing my own anguish.

My parents had been riding in the limo that an assassin believed the king would be riding in. Misinformation from someone inside the castle. The informant didn’t know that my mom would be on time for once, and that she and my father, not the king and queen, would be the first to leave for the event. If my mother had stayed to chat with me for just a few minutes longer, all of our lives might have been different. But she hadn’t.

We never found out much about the assassin. As far as we ever knew, he worked alone and was a former soldier who had become convinced that the only way to save the kingdom was for Claudius to be king. “Long live King Claudius!” were his final words before his execution. Maybe that was why I always dreaded Claudius. Or maybe it was because he was a jerk who hated kids.

“Gertrude,” I said wearily, “I’m happy to be your bridesmaid, okay? What color is the dress?” And with that, the dressmaker brought out an assortment of fabrics, most the color of babies’ bedrooms.

I spent the morning of the wedding in Gertrude’s private rooms as a team dressed and made up both of us, all while Gertrude stressed. “Hamlet’s not here yet?” she asked, tapping her fingertips together.

A servant standing at the door answered, “No, ma’am, not yet.”

She turned to me, messing up the work her hairdresser had just begun. “Ophelia, is he coming?”

I answered, “I have no idea.”

“He didn’t say anything?”

I put down my coffee and thought of how to tell her again not to expect him. I didn’t want to say what he had actually said, that he would rather be thrust onto a thousand spikes than watch his mother betray his father’s memory with this display of incest. “When we first discussed it… he implied that he wouldn’t be here.”

“Oh. Lately?”

“He won’t talk to me, so I don’t know.” Once he found out that I intended to be in her wedding party, he had hung up on me and wouldn’t pick up when I called back. I had texted and e-mailed but got no reply. I’d considered driving to talk to him, but Gertrude had kept me too busy with wedding plans. And my keys had disappeared. I suspected my father, but I couldn’t be sure. During my frequent calls to Horatio, he had reassured me that Hamlet would calm down eventually. It had been three very long days.

“Heavens,” she said, checking that her pearl necklace was in place for, like, the hundredth time. Her face was lined with worry and showed more vulnerability than I could remember seeing. I didn’t like the idea of this wedding, but it had to suck to have your son be so pissed that he wouldn’t even show up or talk to you, and to know that much of the kingdom was judging the whole thing. I kind of felt sorry for her.

News stations from around the world covered the wedding. Funerals brought out reporters for the macabre spectacle, vultures hoping to catch a breakdown or at least a tear. On the other hand, weddings brought out the cheerful, envious public, thousands who were seemingly unconcerned about the scandal and were just hoping to see something pretty and to dream of what it would be like to ride to a wedding in a carriage.

A horse-drawn carriage might seem romantic, but it’s really slow, which did not suit my mood. I guess the slow pace is the point if you’re a queen who wants to be noticed in all of her matrimonial glory. At least Gertrude had the good taste not to wear a big white gown. I had honestly thought she would skip the whole thing, get it done privately, but neither she nor Claudius would hear of it.

“The public likes its shows. And after the sadness that has befallen us lately, it would seem we owe it to them,” he declared.

I was also amazed at how quickly such a large event could be put on. Every party planner and caterer had been mobilized, and the results were fairly spectacular, though I found the scale of this dubious second wedding vulgar nevertheless.

The carriage door opened, and a footman with gold fringe jangling from his shoulder pads and cuffs held his hand out for me. I stepped carefully down the petite stairs, holding the full silk skirt with my free hand to keep from tripping. The crowd squealed in anticipation, and a thousand flashbulbs went off. I hadn’t had a choice in the style of shoes, nor had I had a chance to break them in, so my peach-colored heels pinched with each step. I hoped my grimace appeared to be more of a smile.

I stepped forward, and Stormy Somerville, wearing a tight pink suit, thrust a microphone in front of my face. “Isn’t this thrilling?” she gushed.

Hoping Hamlet wasn’t watching, I gave the answer I’d been ordered to give. “What a wonderful day for us all.” I moved forward and winced as the skin of one heel peeled away.

Gertrude stepped down next, holding the train of her demure cream gown. She raised her head and one hand in a practiced gesture of welcome to her subjects. I had seen it so many times, as had the crowd, but they shouted as if it were the first time. I’m fairly certain I rolled my eyes.

We trudged up the steps and, upon reaching the top, I gaped at the aisle that ran the length of the cathedral. We had practiced walking it the night before, but it suddenly looked much, much longer.

To distract myself, I fantasized about the wedding I might have with Hamlet. I tried to picture walking down this very aisle in a flowing white gown, my father holding my arm. Hamlet would be waiting for me, his blond hair sparkling in the glow from the stained-glass windows. Horatio would be standing next to him, smiling broadly, and maybe Lauren, if she didn’t get sick of my disappearing acts, would be a bridesmaid. I would never make her wear peach. Or pinchy shoes. But the crowd would be there and that bummed me out. If only we could do it quietly, do it somewhere else.

I don’t want a public life.
The thought came suddenly and filled me with horror. My legs went weak and I wasn’t sure I could make it to the end of the aisle.
I don’t want this. I just want Hamlet.
I tried to breathe while keeping my face neutral. The skin on my other heel ripped.

Horatio smiled at me as I passed. I couldn’t return the smile, and his faded.

I walked up the few steps of the altar and turned to the crowd. I started to calculate. There must have been fifty rows of pews with about ten people per pew, but that was just one side, so…

My mind was so preoccupied that I missed the opening words of the minister, the Dearly Beloved part. I caught up at “Marriage is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly—but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, and solemnly.” I could give Claudius the solemn part, and he and Gertrude could apparently be discreet (which wasn’t the same as “using discretion”). As for the “advisedly” part? Not so much. This wedding seemed ill-advised at best.

The drone continued, and my attention waxed and waned. I perked up for “If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together—let them speak now or forever hold their peace.” In movies someone always steps forward right around this part. In real life, they never do. Even when they should. It would have been awesome if Hamlet had come bursting into the sanctuary just then, or if some random earl had stood and pointed out how wrong it all was. I knew I didn’t have the courage to do it, but I momentarily hoped someone, anyone would. Sadly, no. The wedding carried on.

By the time Claudius and Gertrude were told to kiss, I was nearly crying from the pain in my feet and from my keen desire to be anywhere else. I decided not to think about the whole marrying Hamlet thing. We had a long way to go before that happened. And maybe I would change my mind about crowds and public scrutiny.

We recessed, and I winked at Horatio on the way out. I knew he wouldn’t be reassured until I actually spoke to him, but it would help. I decided to keep the actual reason for my distress to myself. It sounded bizarre, and I didn’t want to admit how far my imagination regarding my future had run.

Gertrude and Claudius took their damned time getting into their carriage, which meant we all had to stand on the steps of the church smiling and pretending it was all so fantastic. I stood next to my father and stared at the crowd like it was a growling dog, telling myself I wasn’t afraid of it.

We were driven to the formal, original part of the castle, where the reception was being held. A servant brought me bandages and sneakers, which I put on immediately after I was excused from the receiving line. Guests filled the room, and once a critical mass was reached, I was able to fade away.

Horatio and I stood on the side of the ballroom waiting for Hamlet, who Horatio assured me planned to show up at some point. We watched Claudius and Gertrude greet hundreds of people as hors d’oeuvres were passed.

Marcellus came up behind us. His gun holster peeked out from beneath his tuxedo jacket as he gestured with his long arms, and his badge glinted in the lights from the dance floor. “Lord Hamlet is here,” he announced.

“Thanks, Marcellus,” Horatio said.

Horatio and I went running out of the ballroom and found Hamlet coming up the spiral staircase.

“Hamlet!” we shouted.

He kept trudging up but did not answer.

Horatio met him at the end of the landing, and they shook hands. Then Hamlet walked past me without any acknowledgment.

“Hamlet?” I called after him, my stomach sinking. I knew he’d be pissed, but there was a part of me hoping that once he saw me, he’d be happy enough to let it go. Wishful thinking.

He heaved his book bag and it skidded across the lobby, then he reached for the door.

“Don’t go in there angry,” I begged.

He spun around and yelled, “But I am angry. I’m angry at my mother. I’m angry at those people for pretending this is all perfectly normal. Most of all, I’m angry at you.”

“Hamlet, what else could I have done?”

When Gertrude had asked, I hadn’t felt like I’d had a choice. I really hadn’t. And yet seeing Hamlet’s fury completely melted away all my rationalizations. His anger was justified, and I was an idiot.

“You could have said no. How could you walk down the aisle with her, stand next to her as she married my
uncle
?” He rushed back toward me and grabbed my shoulders, almost shaking me as he added, “You say you’re on my side, but your actions just told the world that what my mother is doing is right!”

Horatio came between us and moved Hamlet away. Hamlet shook him off and went toward the windows overlooking the city. “How could you?” he asked as he slammed his hands on the oversize pane.