Page 28 of Twelve Days and Twelfth Night

“But the trial performance is on Wednesday.” Panic shimmered in Vi’s voice. “This is our last day to work on Twelfth Night.”

Maggie’s head spun. Tomorrow, only the Little Theater was available, which didn’t have room for the play.

Albert slapped the wall with his long-fingered hand. “We have to cancel.”

“We can’t.” Maggie’s voice trembled. “We need to run through the scenes, rehearse the blocking.”

Prescott’s brow furrowed, but a soothing steadiness rested in his gaze. “Your boss said we could use scripts. That will help.”

Not if her players banged around like bumper cars. “We’ll go somewhere else.”

“Where?” Carol asked. “A park?”

Too distracting, too public. “We’ll go to my grandfather’s house, his backyard.”

Maggie herded the cast out through the lobby, onto Broadway, and down two blocks to Horton Plaza. Before long, a trolley for the No. 7 line arrived in the sage green and cream of the San Diego Electric Railway. Since more people were heading into downtown than out, there was room for all of them.

Prescott handed the driver a dollar and forty cents to cover the crowd, and he sat across the aisle from Maggie. “That was a quick solution. I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be.” She chuckled. “Wait until Grandpa sees all these show people at his door.”

And show people were . . . show people. As the trolley dinged its way up Broadway, Freddie and Ferdy sang “Who Wouldn’t Love You?” with a soft-shoe routine in the aisle.

If the twins weren’t identical, she would have cast them in the two main comedic roles, but with identical costumes, the audience would have been confused. Since they were slender and blond, she’d cast Ferdy as Sebastian, Viola’s twin, and added a green velvet hat to Vi’s and Ferdy’s costumes to further the conceit that they could be mistaken for each other.

Prescott got Maggie’s attention and—with a wry smile—tipped his head toward a middle-aged woman who held her magazine high to block the offense of music on the trolley.

But Maggie tipped her own head to a smiling elderly lady nodding to the beat.

The trolley wended up Park Boulevard, through Balboa Park, and onto University Avenue. When the trolley stopped at 30th Street, Maggie led everyone through the North Park neighborhood and had them wait on the sidewalk outside Grandpa’s house.

“Grandpa?” Maggie stepped inside. “I have a huge favor to ask.”

In his armchair, Grandpa lowered the San Diego Union. “Don’t you have rehearsals?”

“Mrs. Laverne kicked us out. Could we practice in the backyard? No song and dance to scandalize the neighbors. Just Shakespeare.”

“Well . . . sure.” Grandpa laid his paper on the coffee table. “Let me clean up and—”

“No need.” Maggie leaned out the front door. “Come on in.”

Grandpa chuckled and pushed himself to standing with his canes to greet his guests.

Maggie introduced each as they filed through to the yard, with Prescott last in line. “Grandpa, this is—”

“Prescott Duke!” Grandpa pumped his hand heartily. “I’m Bill Curtis. Maggie’s thrilled to have you in her show. We’re both fans. She’s taken me to every one of your pictures.”

Maggie’s smile stiffened. At least Grandpa hadn’t asked for an autographed photo for Maggie to smooch every night.

“I’m honored, Mr. Curtis,” Prescott said. “Thank you for opening your home to us.”

In the yard, the men were scooting flowerpots to mark the corners of the stage. After Maggie dusted off a lawn chair, she sat down with her script.

Act 1, scene 1. Prescott stood stage left, the area designated as Duke Orsino’s palace.

In his opening monologue, Prescott’s wistfulness added poignancy to the duke’s unrequited longing for Olivia. In the second scene, Viola stumbled onstage, shipwrecked, and learned her twin brother, Sebastian, was lost at sea. Vi’s own mourning for Frank made her voice quiver.

A little over three weeks until they would be reunited, a Christmas gift and surprise party all in one. Even Grandpa couldn’t fault Maggie for keeping such a secret.