daughter.
Barnardo: You failed Hamlet and your father.
Ophelia: That is so—
Barnardo: What?
Ophelia: If I tell you to screw yourself, will you arrest me?
Barnardo: Yes.
Ophelia: Then never mind.
14
Zara shows a picture of Ophelia in her school uniform sitting close to Sebastian. “Who’s this?”
Ophelia shifts in her seat, her face stony. “A friend from school.”
“Just a friend?” Zara asks, her voice full of untold information.
Ophelia looks at her hard. “Yeah.”
“Mm-hm.” Zara flips her hair as another photo comes up of two college guys in Wittenberg T-shirts standing in front of Hamlet’s fraternity house. “Who are these guys?”
Ophelia shrugs. “Friends of Hamlet’s, I guess.”
A new picture comes up of Ophelia standing with the same guys while holding a cup of coffee.
“Clearly you talked to them,” Zara presses her.
Ophelia shrugs again and looks like she might yawn. “People talk to me a lot. Doesn’t mean I know them.”
Zara crosses her arms, looks at her producer, and then turns to the audience with a dazzling smile. “Well, ladies, they sure make ’em cute at Wittenberg, huh?”
The audience applauds.
I couldn’t sleep at all that night, tossing and turning and regretting what I’d done. How could I live without him? But how could I stay with him? I was damned no matter what I did. I missed him. It had been only half a day and I genuinely missed him.
I watched the hours tick by. There was a part of me that thought Hamlet might sneak into my room as he had for weeks, and that we would embrace and maybe cry and definitely say we were both sorry for being stupid. At least I would. And he should. He should have been sorry for dragging me out of bed to the conservatory only to yell at me. He should have been sorry for bringing a gun to my room and acting like it was no big deal. He should have been sorry for throwing my magazines and telling me that obeying my father was wrong.
My fury swelled, and I tossed angrily in bed until I started thinking about him wandering the castle all night with no one to trust and no one to talk to, surrounded by people who would all profit from his downfall. I even sat up once and started to put on my shoes, ready to go find him. But then I thought again of that gun and slipped back under my sheets, watching the minutes pass and the sky grow light.
After the sun rose, I went to the coffee shop across the street from the castle, intending to order whatever they had that was sweet and strong. Like I like my men, I joked to myself, but even thinking that put me in a snit.
“Ophelia,” a voice said behind me.
I spun around and saw two guys around my age whose faces I didn’t know. I turned back and paid for my coffee, planning to walk away from the counter as quickly as possible.
“Damn, that’s rude,” said the taller one to his friend, or me, or both of us.
“Do I know you?”
“Billy Rosencrantz.”
“Dave Guildenstern.”
When I showed no sign of recognition, they went on. “We met at Wittenberg. You probably heard us called by our last names.”
“I don’t go to Wittenberg,” I said, even more irritated, used to confused posers but not in the mood to humor one just then.
Guildenstern sneered. “I know. You were visiting. You were pretty drunk, so…”
All of a sudden I remembered them. “I wasn’t that drunk,” I said. “I remember now. You had on beanies.”
“Yeah,” Rosencrantz said, frowning and pulling at his baseball cap.
“So why are you here?” I asked.
“Oh, the queen invited us personally,” Guildenstern said, exchanging a smile with Rosencrantz.
“Really,” I said. I couldn’t think of one occasion when Gertrude had invited anyone to the castle on behalf of Hamlet. Even his birthday parties had been arranged by a social secretary.
Guildenstern said, “Wanted us to cheer him up. Hamlet, that is.”
“Hamlet?” I asked, trying not to lose it at the mention of his name. “Why you?”
Rosencrantz leaned casually on the counter holding the sugar and cream canisters and explained, “We’re friends with him.”
“You are?”
“From school,” Guildenstern said slowly, as if I were a stupid child.
The coffee was burning my hands, and as much as I wanted to throw it at them or just get away, I wanted to know what was happening more. “I’ve never heard him talk about you.”
Rosencrantz answered, “Maybe he doesn’t tell you everything.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t,” Guildenstern said, looking at Rosencrantz, and they snickered.
I