Chapter 3 Joan's facades

(Disclaimer: if the THREEPENNY OPERA is still under copyright, I reiterate that I am writing for fun and deriving no profit from this story)

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: The ring tone for Joan's cell phone is the opening line of the show's theme song, "What if God was one of us?")

Thursday Adam went to the theatre ahead of Joan, to talk about props. On approaching the theatre he stopped to contemplate its bizarre shape, which had won it the nickname of the Glob Theatre. The architect had explained that the work was avant-garde; the joke around campus was that the "garde" had turned and fled in terror at the site of it. But the interior functioned well enough to put on plays.

Helen Girardi had taught Adam long ago to keep samples of his work, to show prospective patrons. The work of which he was proudest, the Judgement of Paris, was now hanging in the house of a Baltimore millionaire, but Adam had been careful to keep photographs of it, and he included it his file of samples that he brought to the Glob.

Chen seemed fascinated by the picture; after all she had an interest in interpreting mythology. She pointed at the nude representation of Aphrodite in the center, the one posed for first by Elizabeth and then by Joan. "That's your wife, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Um, the face is hers, but I got the body from the Internet." Joan had insisted that he tell that fib; she wasn't thrilled about everybody knowing how she looked naked. Unfortunately Adam seldom sounded convincing.

"Unless something better comes along, and I doubt it will, I'll give you the task of making the statue. We'll talk about the details later."

The participants started to wander in. Joan, to Adam's surprise, was wearing a long dress instead of the usual jeans.

"OK, we'll audition the women first," said Chen. "This is how we'll do it. The auditioner shall identify her piece, explain the dramatic background, and then act it out. I'll make the preliminary judgment after hearing from all the women, but I'll put it to a vote. OK?"

Everybody nodded.

"All right. Elizabeth Grozman?"

Elizabeth got up on the stage. "I'm giving Viola's speech from Shakespeare's TWELFTH NIGHT. Viola is secretly in love, but she describes her situation as if it had happened to a sister."

"Good choice," said Chen.

Elizabeth adopted a pensive air, as if trying to conceal a strong emotion. "What's her history? A blank, my lord. She never told her love, but let concealment, like a worm in the bud, feed on her damask cheek. She pined in thought, and with a green-and-yellow melancholy, she sat, like "Patience" on a monument, smiling at grief. Was this not love indeed?"

The audience applauded. "Very good, Elizabeth. Joan Girardi-Rove?"

Joan got up on the stage. "Another Shakespeare excerpt. I'm going to give Beatrice's speech from Shakespeare's MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, persuading her cousin not to let her parents marry her off."

"Proceed."

Joan straightened up and adopted a fake British accent and elegant tone. Adam was amazed at the transformation of his Jane, he had never seen her as an actress – in the high school musical her part had consisted of singing. But when he thought about it, she had put on an act for two years, hiding the most important relationship in her life from all her family and friends.

"With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in his purse, such a man would win any woman in the world – if 'e could get HER good will. Yea, faith, it is my cousin's duty to make curtsy and say "Father, as it please you"." Joan dropped a deep curtsy herself, looked down at the floor, and adopted a high-pitched tone to represent the submissive girl. Now Adam understood why she was wearing the long dress. "But yet for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make another curtsy and say, "Father—" She dropped another curtsy, but on the last four words she raised her head to glare at the audience, and adopted a firm tone that said she wasn't going to take any crap: "—AS IT PLEASE ME."

The drama team laughed and applauded. Only Adam knew that there was a subtext to the speech: that Joan knew she was being watched by a "heavenly Father" who put demands on her, and she was reminding Him that she had free will to decide if she wanted to obey or not, "as it please me".

"Agnes Mertz?"

Agnes got up. "Pirate Jenny, from Bertholt Brecht's THE THREEPENNY OPERA. A servant girl's daydream about a pirate story turns into a revenge fantasy against her oppressors."

"Isn't that a song?"

"Yeah. But I'll just say the words."

With that Agnes threw herself into the tirade, frighteningly. The brigands definitely weren't Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean. "--When they ask me, "Well, who is going to die ?" you'll hear me whispering, oh, so sweetly, "Kill them all!" Then the ship with the black sails and the fifty-five cannons, vanishes with me.".

Wow, this girl could give Grace lessons in foul moods. But it wasn't clear how the violence related to the Pygmalion story.

Two other girls gave auditions, and Adam couldn't remember much about them afterwards, though of course he was biased.

"All right, here's my preliminary verdict," said Chen. "Elizabeth, you were great at contrasting emotion and rigidity; I think you should be the statue Galatea. Joan, you did very well as a strong-willed articulate woman; I think you should play Gail. Aphrodite I'm still not sure about. Is that OK with you?" she said this towards the group of girls that had auditioned.

The girls. winniers and losers alike, nodded, except for Agnes.

"All in favor?"

A lot of AYEs.

"Opposed?"

"Nay!" shouted Agnes.

"Ayes have it. Ok, now we'll audition the men for the Pygmalion role, the same way. Then discuss the subplot, for others to play in--".

Joan's cell phone went off. A B C – E – E F G. Joan reached for her pants pocket, remembered that she wasn't wearing pants, and fished the phone out of her purse. "Hello -- WHAT?" A long pause. "Yes, yes, we're coming." She shut off the phone, looking very rattled. "Excuse me – gotta go. Sounds like an emergency."

"See you later, then. Hope it turns out well, Joan."

Adam knew better than to question Joan in front of everybody else. Too much of her life was secret. He simply followed his wife until they were out in the night air. "What is it?"

"Mom's here."

"In Baconia?!"

"Yeah. Parked in front of our apartment house, using her cell. She sounds real upset."

"Did she say why?"

"No. Says we need to talk face-to-face." Joan started running, tugging up her dress to avoid tripping on it. Adam followed, trying to imagine what was wrong. Unfortunately there were a lot of possibilities. Will Girardi could have gotten shot doing his duty as a policeman. Kevin Girardi or Adam's own father, both in poor health, could have had a turn for the worse. Lily, who was pregnant, may have had a miscarriage. But in all those cases, why didn't somebody call up, instead of Helen driving two hours to Baconia?

They reached the front of their house and saw Helen get out of the familiar car.

"Mom – what is it?" gasped Joan, out of breath.

"We'll talk inside. This is private."

"Do you want me to stay out?" asked Adam.

"No, you're involved."

They went into the apartment house, and Adam let them into the flat while the flustered Joan kept patting her dress looking for her pants pocket with the keys. The younger couple sat down and pointed out a seat for the older woman, but Helen stood there and glared at her daughter.

"JOAN GIRARDI ROVE, YOU'VE BEEN LYING TO US FOR THREE YEARS!"

"A—about what?" stammered Joan, bewildered as to what her mother might know.

"God!"

TBC