Thanks for waiting, everybody! Imjustlikeyou12, Darkslayer18, Phobeea, Recipe for Trouble, endmysoup (lol name!), LaughingAngelsGibberish, I'm An All American Reject, medusa750, and kammy147 (whew!), thank you so much for the comments! They really brighten up my day, thank you.
This is not the last chapter. I thought it would be, but it proved too long to fit into one chapter. So instead of a superlong chapter, we have two long chapters and a bit of suspense. I'm working on getting the last one out as soon as possible.
Two of the most frightening words in the English language are "opening" and "night." When put together, these words can cause any rational human being to become a nervous ball of energy and irritability. In extreme cases, physical illness can occur.
On South Park High School's opening night of Romeo and Juliet, this illness spread like wildfire. Leopold "Butters" Stotch fainted 3 hours before he was due to play the Nurse. Craig Tucker spent the better part of the morning hunched over the toilet and crying like an 8-year-old girl. Bebe Stevens ended up in the fetal position for four straight hours.
It seemed like the only person taking Opening Night in stride was Kyle Broflovski. Though Stan Marsh, Kenny McCormack and even Eric Cartman had come to his house for comfort and cupcakes, Kyle was calm and collected, even excited.
"Five hours until curtain call!" Kyle called from the kitchen. He heard sobs and gags in the living room as his friends (and Cartman) cried out in terror. Kyle walked back into living room with three steaming bowls of chicken soup for the actors and laughed.
Stan was covered in an ornamental rug on the couch, eyes full of horror and tears. Kenny curled up into a tight little ball, hiding his face. Cartman laid on his back, staring at the ceiling, face covered in frosting. Kyle set the soup on the table and turned off the TV.
"What the hell are you doing watching Romeo and Juliet, you guys?"
Stan broke into a fresh sob. "I suck! How am I supposed to compete with Leonardo DiCaprio, huh?"
"And I'm not black!" cried Kenny.
Cartman belched.
Kyle turned on Terrence and Phillip. All three boys sat up and watched, mesmerized.
Babysitting isn't nearly as hard as some people think.
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Four hours later, everything was movement. Big Gay Al and Mr. Slave called out instructions and each crew moved in a delicate ballet around each other to get things done. The set stood magnificent. The sound crew tested and ran through its effects. Lights of all colors and consistencies danced across the stage and seats as actors ran through lines and blocking with each other.
Kyle was on breakdown duty. He carried a plastic bag full of paper lunch bags and lavender scented spray (Big Gay Al had insisted) and walked around to comfort hyperventilating girls and weeping boys. It was interesting.
He had just given a third paper bag to Tweek when Bebe and Kenny walked up to him. Kyle smiled and handed each of them a paper bag. They exchanged glances and handed them back.
"Kyle," Kenny said, "please sit down."
Kyle rolled his eyes and turned back to Tweek. Bebe turned Kyle around to face her.
"You're really gonna wanna sit for this."
Kenny told Tweek to beat it.
Kyle sat on the prop box and faced them. Bebe handed him a paper bag and motioned for him to open it.
"What's this about?" Kyle asked. "I have stuff to do."
"We know," Kenny said.
"Kyle," started Bebe, "do you remember when you made Wendy cry for not coming to rehearsal last week?"
"Kyle suppressed a grin. "Yeah?"
"Well, you didn't do a good enough job."
Silence.
"What?"
"I tried to make her come, I swear I did, but she just won't! I tried everything! I bribed her! I threatened her! I told her I'd buy her a purse! Kyle, I offered to get on my knees and pleasure her and she still won't come!"
"Cramps again?" Kyle yelled. "Fuck it, I'll get her a goddamn truckload of aspirin, just get her here right now!"
"It isn't cramps," Kenny said.
"It's much, much worse," said Bebe.
"It's a bob."
Kyle paused. "…What?"
"She went to the hair stylist's yesterday and the stylist gave her a bob! A BOB, Kyle!"
"WHAT?" Kyle turned a furious shade of red and the makeup crew behind him jumped.
"She refused to be seen like this. Nothing I say will make her come."
Kenny sniggered.
"You two realize we go on in half an hour."
"Yes we do."
Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose and stood up. "Okay, both of you need to get to dressing and makeup. I'll find someone who knows Juliet's part well enough to stand in."
"And the dress!"
"And hopefully fits into the dress. Al and Slave know?"
Kenny looked away. "We told them, but they got loud and frenetic and acted like they couldn't hear us."
"Great."
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Fifteen minutes later Kyle had asked every girl and effeminate boy on every crew to stand in, but they were all either terrified or could not remember any of the lines. He texted Big Gay Al to blacklist Wendy from all future plays and let out an angry sigh. All the actors were in the green room, all the crews were in their stations and the auditorium was slowly filling. Kyle was alone.
Suddenly, a voice filled Kyle's head. "This is the job you took, you took, you took."
Kyle stood up and looked around. The room was dark , so he reached for the light switch.
Tiny Asian face.
Kyle yelped as the costume manager leaned in at him. "Sue, what?" he yelled.
"This is the job you took," she said. "The show must go on."
Kyle let that statement settle in his brain. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. No way."
The makeup director came up behind Sue. "Kyle, we've busted our asses for almost two months. All of us. We need this."
"No way," Kyle said. "I'm not doing it. Not for peace in the fucking Middle East would I even consider that."
"Please," said Sue. "Don't let one selfish little bitch throw away all our hard work. That's just not fair to anyone."
The room had a window to the green room. Kyle glanced in.
Butters was fidgeting with the hem of his dress and turning green. It seemed Bebe and Kenny hadn't told any of the actors because they were all smiling nervously and making little jokes rather than throwing tables and props and people like Kyle wanted to do.
Stan was the only one looking around nervously. He glanced at his watch and ignored Clyde when he showed concern. His foot tapped at a million beats a minute and he fumbled with the ties on his shirt. Suddenly he turned green and grabbed one of Kyle's paper bags just in time to catch his vomit.
He needed a Juliet.
Kyle turned back to the pleading girls and sighed.
"You'd better make me prettier than Wendy."
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The play began the same as it always did during rehearsal. The mousy little freshman named Ben stood at the side of the stage with a spotlight on him and recited the opening lines. He was firm and graceful now that he got the willies out of his system and everything was going smoothly.
The only difference was Kyle wasn't in the wings ready to mouth the lines if the actors needed him. Kyle was backstage being dressed and made up to look like a Juliet. His hair, when ironed, reached past his chin and three girls were struggling to manipulate it into the perfect style. The dress lay heavy across his body and shoulders and a determined makeup director painted his lips and brushed powder across his cheeks, eyelids and neck. When Kyle found himself in the mirror after they were done, he looked like a three-dollar whore.
"Alright!" he barked at the crew. "Try again. Less loop in the hair, less eye shadow, less blush, and someone find a different shade of lipstick before I lose it!
Kyle, of course, ended up doing all the makeup and hair himself, eliciting 'oohs' and 'ahhs' from the crew. He looked at himself in the mirror and felt the strangest mixture of pride and shame. Sure, he'd done a great job, but now he looked like a woman. A beautiful woman, but a woman.
Kyle ran to the wings to wait for Juliet's entrance and suddenly had a lot more respect for all the women he knew that wore heels.
Bebe and Butters were in their places. Bebe looked antsy and said her line with hesitation.
"Nurse, where's my daughter? Call her forth to me."
Butters, who didn't seem to know that Wendy had gone AWOL, responded beautifully, almost cheerily.
"Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old,
I bade her come. What, lamb! what, ladybird!
God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet!"
Kyle walked onto stage shakily. "How now? Who calls?"
Butters turned to Kyle and his mouth dropped open. Bebe caught a gasp in her throat and covered her mouth.
"Y-your mother," Butters stammered.
"Madam, I am here," Kyle winked at Bebe. "What is your will?"
"Uh," Bebe began. "This is the matter:-Nurse, give leave awhile,
We must talk in secret."
Butters glanced back at Kyle.
"Nurse, come back again," Bebe continued.
"I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel.
Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age."
"I-I can tell her age, um, up till the hour…" Butters was beginning to lose control, and the audience was beginning to pick up that something wasn't right. Mutters ran through the crowd like a steady ripple and Kyle began to panic.
"She's not fourteen," said Bebe.
Butters was sweating. "I'll lay… I'll lay…" Sensing disaster, Kyle reached for Butters' arm and gave him a confidant, brilliant smile that told Butters that everything was under control. Without saying a word, Kyle told him that everything was fine, and Butters wouldn't have to change a thing, just keep on doing what he had been doing for the past two months. Kyle exuded a calm that he hoped was contagious to both Bebe and Butters.
"Oh, Jesus," Butters murmured.
"Mother," put in Kyle, "how long is it now to Lammas-tide?"
Butters perked up and looked at Kyle.
"A fortnight and odd days," said Bebe.
Butters took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut for his monologue.
"Even or odd, of all days in the year,
Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen.
Susan and she-God rest all Christian souls!-
Were of an age: well, Susan is with God;
She was too good for me: but, as I said,
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;
That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was wean'd,-I never shall forget it,-
Of all the days of the year, upon that day:
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall;
My lord and you were then at Mantua:-
Nay, I do bear a brain:-but, as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,
To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug!
Shake quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow,
To bid me trudge:
And since that time it is eleven years;
For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,
She could have run and waddled all about;
For even the day before, she broke her brow:
And then my husband-God be with his soul!
A' was a merry man-took up the child:
'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame,
The pretty wretch left crying and said 'Ay.'
To see, now, how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he;
And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay."
Butters opened his eyes and breathed a deep gulp of air. A few pockets of the audience giggled lightly at his nervousness. Bebe and Kyle breathed a sigh of relief and finished their scene.
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Backstage, Bebe caught up with Kyle before costume change.
"What the hell is going on?" she whispered.
"No one else knows the part. The show must go on. Long story."
"No," said Bebe, "I mean what the hell is going on with your hair?"
Kyle blinked.
"Meet me in the dressing room," Bebe rolled her eyes. "I'll fix you up."
Kyle started to run.
"Kyle?"
He looked back at Bebe.
"Thank you."
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Due to chronology, blocking and useless stuff like that, Kyle had narrowly missed seeing Stan so far. But Juliet's next scene was the party, and in the ten minutes until then Kyle's heart beat so hard against his breastbone, he could swear Bebe, her fingers full of Kyle's red locks, could hear it. But if she could, she gave no sign, sweeping Kyle's hair into a magnificent updo, just loose enough to make Kyle's face look feminine.
"Wow." Kyle was stunned at the how dramatic the change was.
"I know," said Bebe. She hugged Kyle from behind and grinned. "We owe you big time."
Kyle watched her skip off to costume change and listened for a little bit. From the little makeup room backstage, he could still hear the scene onstage. Kenny's monologue about dreams and fairies was captivating, and Kyle smiled and hurried into the white and cream ball gown Juliet wore for the party. He ran to the wings and awaited his entrance.
Capulet was played by a bashful sophomore named Zach, and it was on his arm that Kyle was now perched. He had been surprised at first, but after a hurried explanation, he thanked Kyle profusely. He walked onstage now with purpose and dignity, both of which were lacking in rehearsals. Kyle smiled at him as Zach started into his lines and let a bored look cross his face as Juliet was supposed to do.
Kyle lost himself in the next interactions until a full, beautiful voice filled the stage.
"What lady is that," asked Stan, "which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?"
Kyle fought the urge to turn and see the look on Stan's face. Juliet wasn't supposed to hear Romeo. But the blushing was impossible to suppress.
"O," sighed Stan. "She doth teach the torches to burn bright!
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."
Though Kyle knew the lines were prepared for someone 400 years ago, he couldn't help but shudder with pleasure at hearing them directed at him.
Cartman broke in. "This, by his voice, must be a Montague!"
At the ensuing argument between Capulet and Tybalt, Kyle moved across the stage to pretend to speak with an extra. He fought himself to keep his eyes in front of him so hard, that he jumped with surprise at the next words that were directed at him.
Just so we're clear, the next line was not "If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this" as it was meant to be. Part of the reason Kyle Broflovski jumped is that the next words directed to him were, "Hey, beautiful."
Kyle turned slowly around to face Stan. Stan was grinning wildly, his eyes filled with mischief and a certain familiar mystery. Kyle stared blankly at him. "Huh?"
Stan held out his hand, deviating from the blocking as well as the script. "You are God's gift to the world. Please, you beautiful creature, let me hold your hand. Or," at this, Stan winked, "let me kiss it."
Kyle looked around him for help. The other actors on stage were stunned. The lights made the audience practically invisible. The crews stuffed the wings, but they all seemed to be enjoying themselves. Kyle screamed in his head. Shouldn't there be something like a stage manager for these kinds of emergencies?
Oh yeah.
Kyle looked at Stan's open hand and took a deep breath. "Good pilgrim," he said and held Stan's hand with both of his own. "You do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss." Kyle placed his palm against Stan's, like a slow high five.
Stan smiled at Kyle and entwined their fingers. "Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"
"Ay, Pilgrim," Kyle laughed as Stan closed his eyes and prepared a ridiculous kissy-face.
"Lips they must use in prayer."
With his other arm, Stan grabbed Kyle by the waist and pulled him in tight. "O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair."
Still smiling in what he hoped was a flirtatious manner, Kyle turned his head. "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake."
"Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take." Stan's forehead rested against Kyle's and he continued in a stage whisper: "Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged."
Kyle felt almost queasy as Stan's lips gently landed on his own. A surge of electricity ran up his spine and his shoulders shuddered. It was a soft kiss, almost like an accidental brush, but Kyle still felt anxiety make his heart beat fast.
Stan pulled away from Kyle. They opened their eyes at the same time. Kyle's eyes fell to the floor and he stammered his line: "Then have my lips the sin I have took."
"Sin from thy lips?" Stan faked a gasp. "Oh, trespass, sweetly urged! Give me my sin again!"
Stan held Kyle's face and poised for a dramatic, sweep-her-off-her-feet kiss, quick and theatrically powerful. What happened, though, was the result of poor aim. Their noses smashed together in an eye-watering crunch. Both yelled out in pain and pushed away from each other to let out separate strings of curses. Both held their noses in their hands. Kyle saw a little blood trickle between Stan's fingers and he took out the handkerchief Sue had insisted on stuffing down his sleeve. He turned to Stan with the handkerchief and pulled Stan's hands away to hold the little white cloth against his nose. "You kiss by the book," Kyle laughed.
The audience chuckled as Butters came out. "M-madam, your mother craves a word with you."
Kyle crossed the stage, eyes still watery. He pretended to talk with an actor, who could hardly suppress her giggles as Kyle rubbed his nose, and waited for Butters to come over. He stole a glance back at Stan. His nose had nearly soaked the handkerchief, but his eyes showed an unbridled glee. He looked back at Kyle and they smiled at each other.
The stage emptied. "Come hither, Nurse," called Kyle.
Butters twiddled his thumbs nervously and walked up.
"What is yond gentleman?" asked Kyle.
"Th-the son and heir of old Tiberio."
"What's he that's now going out the door?"
"M-m-marry, that, I think, be young P-Petrucio."
"What's he that follows there, that would not dance?" Kyle tried not to look too interested in Stan, but then he remembered Juliet was supposed to be interested in Stan. His face did a confusing ballet of emotions.
Butters looked up and away and touched the back of his neck. "I-I know not."
"Go ask his name," Kyle said. "If he be married, my grave is like to be my wedding bed."
"Romeo!" Butters burst. "He is Romeo and a Montague! The only son of your greatest enemy!"
Kyle paused for effect. "My only love, sprung from my only hate.
Too early seen unknown, and known too late.
Prodigious birth of love, it seems to me,
That I must love a loathed enemy."
"Er," said Butters, "what's that?"
Kyle smiled sadly. "I just made it up."
Bebe called from the wings and the stage went dark.
Now seems like a good time to put in a little intermission. I didn't realize how long this would be, so I guess there's at least one more chapter. Tell me what you think, I'm dying to know!