Chapter Two: In which People are met, and Arrangements made
The next day, Ellen arrived at the theater before Margaret did. She got inside and began preparing for the day ahead. Doors were opened, and materials moved so that Ellen had everything set up just the way she needed it to work properly. She grabbed a bunch of dresses and began working on them. She'd forgotten completely about having an assistant, until there was a knock on the house doors. "Who is it?" Ellen called out. "Margaret Booker, your new assistant," Margaret replied. "Oh!" Ellen muttered to herself, "I'd nearly forgotten about her," then to Margaret, she shouted, "Come in! It's open!" There was a creak as Margaret entered, and the soft sound of feet upon floorboards. "Good morning, Ellen." "Good morning, Margaret. I've gotten dresses for us to work on today." There was another creak, and Henslowe entered. "ELLEN!" he shouted. "Yes, Mr. Henslowe?" Ellen leaned out of the balcony above the stage. "Will's gotten scene one written! I'm having auditions today! You are to take measurements for the actors that come through. Have you got that?" Ellen nodded. "Got it, Mr. Henslowe. I'll be ready for them." Henslowe nodded, waved, and left. "Well, apparently, we've got something else to do today. And thankful I am for it, too. I was getting tired of mending," Ellen said to Margaret. "Is it always that sudden?" she asked. "Is what always suddnen?" "New orders?" "Let me explain something to you, Margaret. I should have told you this yesterday, lord knows why I forgot, but here it is. Everything in theater is sudden. There is no schedule, other than rehearsals and show time. Anything and everything that happens during and in between those times is completely and utterly unexpected. It's something you'll have to get used to." "But I'm used to scheduling!" complained Margaret. "Too bad. Now, let me show you where we keep the tape measures."
Auditions were held in three hours' time. The place was completely swamped with men auditioning for parts in the new play. Shakespeare himself was sitting in the upper gallery with Henslowe, watching and listening to the people that had shown up. Unfortunately, it was a bit monotonous. All of the actors were reading from Faustus, by Kit Marlowe, and always the same part. It's not that Marlowe was a bad man. He wasn't. It wasn't that Marlowe was a bad playwright. In fact he was one of the best out there. It's just that Will had a twinge of jealousy in him for not having written the crowd-stopper of Faustus that was so popular. But, through it all, he remained polite. That was Will for you. Even when he was annoyed or bored out of his wits, he'd be the nicest and most accomadating that he could be. Backstage, Ellen was frantically measuring up the long line of actors that had auditioned. It wouldn't have been so bad but for Margaret getting butterfingers and messing up measurements. "Oh! I'm horrible!" she said at one point. "No, Margaret, you are not horrible. It's just you're first time. You'll get better," Ellen reassured her. But secretly, she was thinking that Margaret wouldn't last a week if it kept on this way. But, finally, all the actors came through and were measured, and Ellen and Margaret were allowed to relax. Margaret sat down daintily on the floor, trying hard not to let her exhaustion show through. Ellen didn't care. She simply collapsed to the floor. There was a sound behind them, and Ellen whirled around to see a young man with a hat on, who looked slightly nervous, walk past. Ellen readied her measuring tape. There was something different about this one, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. The young man stepped onto the stage and began to speak. "May I begin, sir?" asked the boy. "Go ahead," groaned Will. "I would like to read from a writer who commands the heart of every player." Will groaned again. "What light is light, if Sylvia be not by? What joy is joy if Sylvia be not seen?" it was from "Two Gentlemen of Verona", one of Will's own plays. Ellen pricked up her ears. "Stop!" Will shouted from the top of the theater, "Take off your hat!" "My hat?" said the boy. "What's your name?" "Thomas Kent, sir." "Let me see your face! Take off your hat!" The young man did not oblige. Instead, he took off running. Will himself ran down and out of the theater. "Excuse me, sir," Ellen raised her tape measure, but the young man, Thomas Kent, was in and out faster than she could finish her sentence. "Is it always like that?" Margaret asked from her place on the floor. "Not usually," Ellen replied, staring after Kent.
The next day, Ellen arrived at the theater before Margaret did. She got inside and began preparing for the day ahead. Doors were opened, and materials moved so that Ellen had everything set up just the way she needed it to work properly. She grabbed a bunch of dresses and began working on them. She'd forgotten completely about having an assistant, until there was a knock on the house doors. "Who is it?" Ellen called out. "Margaret Booker, your new assistant," Margaret replied. "Oh!" Ellen muttered to herself, "I'd nearly forgotten about her," then to Margaret, she shouted, "Come in! It's open!" There was a creak as Margaret entered, and the soft sound of feet upon floorboards. "Good morning, Ellen." "Good morning, Margaret. I've gotten dresses for us to work on today." There was another creak, and Henslowe entered. "ELLEN!" he shouted. "Yes, Mr. Henslowe?" Ellen leaned out of the balcony above the stage. "Will's gotten scene one written! I'm having auditions today! You are to take measurements for the actors that come through. Have you got that?" Ellen nodded. "Got it, Mr. Henslowe. I'll be ready for them." Henslowe nodded, waved, and left. "Well, apparently, we've got something else to do today. And thankful I am for it, too. I was getting tired of mending," Ellen said to Margaret. "Is it always that sudden?" she asked. "Is what always suddnen?" "New orders?" "Let me explain something to you, Margaret. I should have told you this yesterday, lord knows why I forgot, but here it is. Everything in theater is sudden. There is no schedule, other than rehearsals and show time. Anything and everything that happens during and in between those times is completely and utterly unexpected. It's something you'll have to get used to." "But I'm used to scheduling!" complained Margaret. "Too bad. Now, let me show you where we keep the tape measures."
Auditions were held in three hours' time. The place was completely swamped with men auditioning for parts in the new play. Shakespeare himself was sitting in the upper gallery with Henslowe, watching and listening to the people that had shown up. Unfortunately, it was a bit monotonous. All of the actors were reading from Faustus, by Kit Marlowe, and always the same part. It's not that Marlowe was a bad man. He wasn't. It wasn't that Marlowe was a bad playwright. In fact he was one of the best out there. It's just that Will had a twinge of jealousy in him for not having written the crowd-stopper of Faustus that was so popular. But, through it all, he remained polite. That was Will for you. Even when he was annoyed or bored out of his wits, he'd be the nicest and most accomadating that he could be. Backstage, Ellen was frantically measuring up the long line of actors that had auditioned. It wouldn't have been so bad but for Margaret getting butterfingers and messing up measurements. "Oh! I'm horrible!" she said at one point. "No, Margaret, you are not horrible. It's just you're first time. You'll get better," Ellen reassured her. But secretly, she was thinking that Margaret wouldn't last a week if it kept on this way. But, finally, all the actors came through and were measured, and Ellen and Margaret were allowed to relax. Margaret sat down daintily on the floor, trying hard not to let her exhaustion show through. Ellen didn't care. She simply collapsed to the floor. There was a sound behind them, and Ellen whirled around to see a young man with a hat on, who looked slightly nervous, walk past. Ellen readied her measuring tape. There was something different about this one, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. The young man stepped onto the stage and began to speak. "May I begin, sir?" asked the boy. "Go ahead," groaned Will. "I would like to read from a writer who commands the heart of every player." Will groaned again. "What light is light, if Sylvia be not by? What joy is joy if Sylvia be not seen?" it was from "Two Gentlemen of Verona", one of Will's own plays. Ellen pricked up her ears. "Stop!" Will shouted from the top of the theater, "Take off your hat!" "My hat?" said the boy. "What's your name?" "Thomas Kent, sir." "Let me see your face! Take off your hat!" The young man did not oblige. Instead, he took off running. Will himself ran down and out of the theater. "Excuse me, sir," Ellen raised her tape measure, but the young man, Thomas Kent, was in and out faster than she could finish her sentence. "Is it always like that?" Margaret asked from her place on the floor. "Not usually," Ellen replied, staring after Kent.