although they never fell in love. He knew Mark hadn’t meant him harm, but he could be harmed just the same.
“I wouldn’t worry. I did give you a woman’s name after all.”
“It’s a little late not to worry.”
Mark’s recklessness was the main reason Fenton had ended their affair after a few months. Neither expected or wanted an exclusive relationship, but when Mark had sex with other men, he stayed in town instead of traveling to Richmond or beyond, like Fenton did. No matter how discreet Fenton was, he could be dragged into Mark’s pursuit of thrills.
“What were you thinking?” Fenton continued. “At Big Beau of all places!” A white man having sex with a Negro exacerbated the situation, but he stopped short of pointing out the obvious.
Mark blew out a long breath and skirted the question. “Anyhoo,” Mark said, “I should let you go. I just wanted you to be on your toes, given our history.”
“Right,” Fenton said.
“You’ll probably be fine. Hey, I’m not sure cops can even read.” Mark’s attempted levity fell flat.
Fenton hastened back to his office with a tightness in his chest. He tried to rub it away with his fist but couldn’t. When he passed a couple of students, they greeted him with wide eyes, as if he were beating his breast.
Maybe the police wouldn’t catch on at first; maybe the woman’s name would throw them off. But they might eventually figure out that no one would have access to the locked men’s dressing room but the theater director.
✥ ✥ ✥
On stage, Fenton took his accustomed seat at the head of the long folding table with his script in hand. Now that Charley’s Aunt was cast he’d assembled the players for a table read. His productions were always a mix of talent from Baines and the men’s college, Davis and Lee, which didn’t have its own drama department.
Reading the first pages went as choppily as he expected. He squirmed at their appalling British accents but didn’t correct them. The Shakespeare man in the English Department would volunteer as vocal coach, as he had in past productions.
As Act One progressed, the cast grew more accustomed to their roles and the read fell into an easier rhythm—until Andrew, one of the male leads, stumbled over the part where his character talked about wearing a woman’s costume for a stage role.
“What are you playing?” the student in the role of Jack cued him.
“A lady—an old lady—and I’m going to try on the things before—” Andrew stopped mid-line, his eyes popping.
Fenton tapped his pencil. “What is it, Andrew?”
“I don’t have to wear lady’s clothes onstage, do I?”
He’d worked with Andrew in other comedies, including The Importance of Being Earnest. The young man had got the role of Babbs because he exhibited a strong sense of comic timing and an ability to handle pratfalls with ease.
“Of course you do. It’s a major plot point that Babbs impersonates Charley’s aunt. How could you miss that?”
Andrew blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry, sir. I guess I haven’t read the whole play yet.”
Students around the table chuckled. Fenton hissed for them to be quiet, then turned what he hoped was a calm face toward the young actor. “Andrew, old chap, you won’t actually look like a lady. You’ll look silly. It’s high farce, not Romeo and Juliet. Here, read the stage directions. ‘He still walks, talks and moves like a man, and never attempts to act the woman.’”
“Yes, sir. I just don’t know how I—” Andrew’s voice grew fainter and fainter.
“Cross-dressing on stage enjoys a long tradition, Andrew. And as you know, because we have more male roles than female in this production, we have a girl playing Barrett.” Fenton nodded toward Margaret Sutter, the history major who had surprised Gen and him backstage the first week of classes. She sat directly to his right—a chair students often hesitated to take. “Margaret seems to have no objection to dressing in men’s clothes to be our Barrett.”
The girl’s face colored bright crimson, and her eyes fell to the table. When he heard a few more titters down the row, Fenton regretted singling her out.
“So, Andrew, can we move on now?”
Andrew whispered something to the boy to his left. His friend, cast as Charley, offered an explanation. “A girl dressing up is different, sir. Andy’s worried about playing a … a fruit.”
Fenton’s hands tightened on his armrests. “I won’t tolerate such language, Jim. And how you’ve reached that conclusion about Babbs is beyond me. He’s in love with Ela Delahay. Have you never seen the movie with Jack Benny?”
Blank faces stared back at him, and Fenton felt his age. The movie had been released back in the early ’40’s, when he was in high school and these students were in diapers.
“The part is played for laughs,” Fenton continued. “You’ll do splendidly, Andrew, and get several curtain calls, I’m sure.”
Andrew looked unconvinced. “But Mr. Page, I mean, the mayor and the police are hunting down fr— homosexuals.”
“Babbs is not a h-homosexual!” Fenton tripped over the word, his childhood stutter getting the best of him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever said it aloud like that, in front of so many people.
Slow down, he told himself.
“So you’re too young to have seen the movie version. How about Some Like It Hot? You’ve seen that?” Heads bobbed in recognition, even Andrew’s and Jim’s. “Well, I defy you to tell me that wasn’t a funny movie. If stars like Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis can wear women’s clothing in the service of plot, I’m guessing a student actor can, too.”
A hush engulfed the stage.
“If anyone wants to drop out, I can’t stop you. But if you do—well, those of you with theatrical ambitions? In New York or Hollywood, you won’t have the luxury of turning down parts.” He glared directly at Andrew, whom he knew intended to try his luck at acting after college.
Fenton stood up, buttoning his jacket as if ready to leave and then unbuttoning it. When he dabbed away his sweat with his hanky, his fingers grazed his neck, which was alarmingly hot to the touch. A faint hum echoed in his ears. He needed to sit down again but froze in place.
Margaret’s clear voice pierced the noise in his brain. “Sir, why don’t we take five?” A few students at the table coughed, but she persisted. “I’m sorry, isn’t that what directors say?”
The sensible suggestion made it possible to think, and the hum receded. Margaret would have been a good stage manager, better than the girl he’d chosen.
“Yes. Yes, it is, Margaret, thank you. Actually, we’ll take ten. That means ten minutes. Walk around, stretch, get a cookie from the tray. Decide if you want to remain in the play. If you aren’t sure you’ll return after the break, please leave your
