Falling for Hamlet (18 page)

As he clicked on the TV, I heard a reporter, glee in his voice, saying, “That kind of picture makes me wish I were back in college.”

A female reporter replied with mock concern, “That kind of picture makes me hope my daughters don’t want to go at all.” They chuckled, then her tone grew serious as she changed topics.

I stood on shaking legs and made my way back to Hamlet’s room. I put down the paper and the stinky towel and pulled my hair into a ponytail, trying to catch my breath. I was jealous of Hamlet’s sleep and furious that he wasn’t awake to share in this horrible moment. I was about to wake him when a ruckus outside caught my attention. I walked to the window and saw a white news van pulling up. Students passing by were stopping to watch, and one pointed to the window where I was standing. I was glad I had put on my pants. Another news van with an outsize satellite dish on top slowed, its brakes squealing.

I scooted to the side of the window and slid down the wall. “Hamlet. We are so dead.”

Three hours later, Elsinore’s skyline loomed overhead, making me feel as if I were at the bottom of a deep canyon. Horatio had an exam the next day, so he stayed. Hamlet, thinking himself gentlemanly, escorted me home in his limo.

“This was so stupid,” I muttered.

“It may have been stupid, but it sure was fun. I haven’t felt that happy and free in a while,” Hamlet said. He took my hand and I fought the urge to pull it back. Then I squeezed his fingers and tried to relax. What he said was cold comfort, but in a way, I guess I was glad. Despite the consequences, which I knew would be severe, we had accomplished what we had set out to do. We got Hamlet out of his head and we all had a night that wasn’t about our parents.

A text message
bing
ed at me. I pulled out my phone.

Laertes: R u stupid? what did I say?

I couldn’t face Laertes in any form just then, so I turned off the phone and shoved it back in my bag. I stared out the window at the shops I loved to go to. It occurred to me it might be a while before I was comfortable enough to show my face in public again.

The driver pulled into the underground garage, which was wise. Not exactly to our surprise, Gertrude, Claudius, and my father were all waiting by the elevator bank. The fluorescent lights made them look sallow and exaggerated their expressions, which ranged from irritation to dismay. I sank deeper in my seat, and Hamlet followed me down. He turned to me and stroked my cheek gently. “Hey,” he said, “no regrets, okay? I loved what you two did for me, making me go have fun. They’ll forget all about this, but I won’t.”

I knew he was wrong about anyone forgetting.

The car stopped, and my father didn’t even wait for the driver to open the door. He yanked it wide, and I knew I had to go first. I looked back at Hamlet, who winked. Claudius didn’t look at me, but Gertrude studied me as if to figure out what kind of fool had been in her presence for the past however many years. I looked away and followed my father.

No sooner had the elevator doors closed than he began shouting. “What kind of lunatic goes out in public dressed like that with the future king? What kind of person puts herself in a position to be so exposed?” We arrived in our apartment and he marched me into his study, where he continued. “You sell yourself short by becoming his plaything, and you made a fool out of me for trusting you!”

My body felt weak and I tingled from head to foot with nerves. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You can never be sorry enough. I will be lucky if I maintain my post or am allowed to keep you in the castle at this point. If I were the king and queen, I wouldn’t allow it. If I were advising them on anyone
but
you, your removal is precisely what I would suggest.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but he would not let me.

“Do you not understand, Ophelia, that Hamlet, as a young man, and a prince at that, walks with a longer leash than may be given to you? I forbid you to talk to Hamlet until further notice. Are we clear?”

I nodded and kept my tears back until I had turned away and walked out of his office.

When I got to my room, tons of e-mails were waiting for me. Most were from friends, but from the subject lines I knew I couldn’t face what they had to say, even the friends who found the whole thing very funny. I spotted one from Hamlet with the subject line: “Never Surrender.” I wondered if our parents could read our messages if they so desired. There seemed to be precious little privacy in the castle in general. I wanted to open it but was afraid of where it might lead. Then again, my father had said not to “talk” to Hamlet, which didn’t necessarily cover electronic messages, if one were inclined to argue the point. I wasn’t sure just then if I was so inclined. I walked away from my computer.

Later that morning, as expected, I was summoned by Gertrude. She was sitting very still at her tea table, delicately painted cups and saucers laid out perfectly. She did not stand in welcome. After some perfunctory utterances of shock, she took a moment to create a meaningful silence between us. She sipped and held the cup to her lips longer than she needed to. “Given my son’s inexplicable attachment to you, I had begun to think that you and Hamlet might get married someday.” Her lips curled in disgust, and she lowered the cup slowly. “But after this? How could the people honestly accept you as their queen after seeing you like… that?”

“Gertrude, I—”

“There is nothing you can say.”

My anger flared. “The people were shocked by you and Claudius, yet you go on being queen!” I shouted.

Gertrude pursed her lips and crossed her arms, daring me to say another word.

I softened my voice. “The pictures make it look much worse than it really was.”

Gertrude looked at the ceiling. “Hamlet tried to say the same thing. I say it does not matter what the reality was. You look like a whore. I’ve sent him back to school. You are not to go there again. Stay away from my son.” She stood abruptly and clacked away, leaving me in her empty salon feeling like she had kicked me in the chest.

Barnardo:
You dragged him to that party knowing that bad publicity would come out of it.

Ophelia:
No, I didn’t.

Francisco:
Admit it. You and Horatio arranged the whole episode knowing it would further undermine his credibility and unravel their family stability.

Ophelia:
That is not why. We wanted Hamlet to have fun—

Barnardo:
Bull. You knew photographers would be there.

Ophelia:
In four years, no one had ever taken a picture of him at school unless it was official and prearranged.

Francisco:
How convenient. So you knew you could catch him by surprise. Who did you pay to take those pictures?

Ophelia:
Why would I do that? I’m the one who got the most grief for that. A guy can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants. But a girl? Forget it. Everyone had something to say about my skirt, how drunk I was, Christ, even how I kiss!

Barnardo:
Small price to pay. A little humiliation for—

Ophelia:
For what? What do you think I gained from those pictures?

Francisco:
Sympathy from Hamlet.

Barnardo:
A great cover. It got him back to the castle.

Ophelia:
Yeah, that worked out for everyone so well.

Barnardo:
My point exactly.

13

Zara narrows her eyes at Ophelia as she leans back on the cream couch. “The queen could not have been happy about that kind of publicity.”

Ophelia clears her throat and says, “Happy would be an overstatement. But she was pretty understanding. Don’t forget, Gertrude was young once, too.”

“And your father?”

“He was… less understanding.”

One afternoon a couple of weeks later, I was in my room supposedly reading about the painter John Everett Millais but really staring off into space thinking about the fact that I should be reading. I had just looked at my book again when I heard Hamlet calling, “Ophelia?”

I jumped up, a thrill passing through me at the sound of his voice. But as I ran down the hall, Gertrude’s angry face popped into my mind. The image slowed my step, and when I saw Hamlet, as desperate as I was to touch him, I checked myself. Standing at the end of my hall and forcing myself not to go into the entry area, I called to him, “When did you get back?”

“This morning,” he replied, kicking off his shoes next to the elevator.

He was going to stay, and I couldn’t allow it. “Get out of here, Hamlet. I’m not supposed to see you right now.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he said, flopping onto the couch. “We’ve been on the phone and texting since I left. What’s the difference?”

“There’s a big difference. You have to go!”

“Why? Because your dad said so?”

I crossed my arms, not liking his tone, and added, “Yeah, and your mom.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Hamlet, I’m not kidding.”

He peered over the back of the couch at me, cocked his head, and smiled. That charm was why the people of Denmark, myself included, loved him so. Except at that moment I didn’t want to be charmed. I turned to walk away.

He said, “Ophelia, seriously, what are they gonna do about it if we hang out?”

I spun around, even more annoyed by his stupidity. “Oh, well, your mother could fire my dad, for one. I could get thrown out of here, for the other. They both told me as much.”

“I doubt either of those things will happen.”

“I can’t take that chance. I have to put everything I want aside like always. I have to wear this mask and be who everyone else wants me to be all the time.”

“And my girlfriend. Is that part of your act?” he asked.

My heart was racing. How could he even ask that? I wanted to smack him as much as I wanted to kiss him. “No. That’s the only time I get to be myself.”

“So enough phoniness. I can’t take it anymore. Let’s go be ourselves and show the world that we’re meant to be together.”

“No. One time I really cut loose and look what happened.”

“So you’re embarrassed. So what?”

He always got his way, and this time I wanted to win. I leveled my gaze at him and said slowly, “Get out, Hamlet.”

“I can’t believe this,” he said, standing. “How long am I supposed to stay away?”

“I don’t know. Until this all blows over, I guess.”

He smirked and said, “I’ve spent some time studying those pictures, and I can honestly say that if
I
were one of our parents, it’d be a long time till I’d let it blow over.” I nodded, and he sauntered toward me suggestively. “I’m afraid that’s going to be too long.”

Despite myself, I felt my resolve vanishing. “Then go back to school and it won’t seem so long.”

“I’m too depressed to go back to school. I can’t be without you,” he answered, creeping even closer.

My heart started pulsing, and invisible hands pushed me to him. “Yeah, you seem real depressed.”

Standing right in front of me, he winked, and it was over. I gave no resistance. My dad wasn’t there, and there were no cameras in the apartment, so what harm could it do? I stretched up and let my lips brush his. His mouth twitched into a smile and he took a mini step forward; our bodies were close enough to exchange heat, but we didn’t touch.

“Should I go?” he asked.

I shook my head, took his hand in mine, and walked him toward my room.

He stopped in the doorway and kissed me, pressing his whole body against mine.

Something in his sweatshirt pocket jabbed into my ribs. I yelped and stepped back.

“Oh,” he said, frowning. “Sorry.” He stepped away and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a gun and set it on my dresser. Seriously. A gun.

I took a few steps back, my face suddenly numb. “Why do you have that?” I asked, afraid I might know.

“Claudius is trying to have me killed. What am I supposed to do?”

I leaned on the wall, unable to take my eyes off the jet-black handgun, as if watching it closely could keep it from firing on its own. “I’m not a fan of Claudius either, but are you sure you’re not just being paranoid?”

“He canceled my security detail, for starters. That’s how the photographer was able to get into the party. And I got some information from Marcellus that makes me really suspicious about Claudius’s other plans. I’d rather be paranoid than dead.”

The word
dead
hung in the air between us. Hearing it felt no more significant or real than talking about characters from a play. Yet this was his life, our life, so I tried to be sensible. “So you’re not planning to, like, do anything to him first, are you?”

Hamlet grabbed a hat that was hanging on my closet handle and threw it over the gun, which released me from its hypnotizing effect. When I finally looked back at Hamlet, his face was eerily calm given the subject at hand. His blue eyes were soft and his voice soothing as he said, “You’re worrying too much. I knew you were miserable, and I wanted to see you.” Stepping forward and tucking strands of hair behind my ears, he added, “But you didn’t expect me to come back home unprotected, did you?”

I shook my head slowly, hoping he was telling me the truth.

He took my face in his hands and kissed me gently. It almost made me forget about the gun.