Five

Backpack, earbuds, Hamlet. Check, check, check. Laptop. There you are. Coms, just in case. Coat– university pin, secured in place. Notebook, notebook. Oh! The Tempest for Paige. Hello, dear. Phone, wallet, keys. Tap, tap, tap. The ol’ triple tap. And, that’s everything– pants!

The ritual wasn’t perfect. Alison would walk out the bedroom door sans something biweekly. Pants were a new low, however. She sniffed a thrice-worn set of olive green corduroys and sidled into them using her tried and true three-hop method. Alison gave a one-syllable laugh as she threaded a warped, brown leather belt, taking two stairs at a time towards the threshold and considering the burgeoning pattern of threes in her life. Three taps, three hops, three weeks since I did laundry.

On today’s docket: Lyman Hall, at the secret spot, to help Paige pick an audition monologue. Spoiler alert: I already picked one for her. Stagecraft and Method before lunch hour. After lunch, find a way to put off that Hamlet paper.

Court merged into Meeting Street at about the spot where university architecture started popping up among the residential structures. The campus didn’t have hard boundaries. You simply walked through a beautiful, historic neighborhood until you eventually noticed yourself on a beautiful, historic campus. The first sight of campus was West House, one of the many converted residences, just before the ostentatiously baroque steeples of Pembroke Hall met the line of sight. For some reason, West House always compelled Alison to plug in her earbuds and fire up her music.

Something between the cool morning air and the fiery autumn maples told Alison that this was a day for comfort food. Which, for her, meant The Shins. She had a habit of letting her thumb hover over Port of Morrow before succumbing to Wincing the Night Away; the former being the better record, the latter being her first introduction to this gloriously upbeat, honeyed ginger bonbon of a band. Juiced up on nostalgia and fresh air, she felt no shame skipping Sleeping Lessons and hopping right into Australia. A shuddering breath landed on a wide smile as la la’s peppered the opening riff. By the time the pre-chorus arpeggios upped the intensity ante, she was in full Costello Mode, a bounce in her gait and a key to the city in her pocket.

‘Til the day we come in doing cartwheels
We all crawl out by ourselves
And your shape on the dance floor
Will have me thinking such filth I’ll gouge my eyes
You’d be damned to be one of us, girl
Faced with a dodo’s conundrum
I felt like I could just fly
But nothing happened every time I tried

If university buildings were intended to hearken ancient majesty, Lyman Hall definitely got the memo. The base of each structure was laden in mortarless lime brick, exploding into Florentine red above. A portcullis guarded the entrance with a magnificent arch, at which the brick began to wrap elegantly around the cylindrical base of a medieval turret, complete with conical lookout at its peak. It was in the uppermost alcove of this conservatory, in a battlement fit for Rapunzel, that Paige and Alison discovered the secret spot.

“This one made me think of you,” said Alison, digging a worn copy of The Tempest from her bag and tossing it to Paige. “Flip to Act II, Scene II. Trinculo.”

“Here’s neither bush nor shrub, to bear off any weather at all, and another storm brewing; I hear it sing i’ the wind.” Paige’s voice grew as she started to visualize the shipwreck and rolling tide. “Yond same black cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul bombard that would shed his liquor.” She broke off. “Weather exposition? You read weather exposition and you thought of me?”

“Keep reading, pumpkin.”

“What have we here? A man or a fish? Dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fish-like smell.” Paige became wild-eyed as she channeled the words, crouching and making strong, emphatic crosses intermittently. “Oh,” she stopped, making a realization. “Oh! I have to hide under the body! Tuck myself in?”

Alison nodded. “I was thinking we could ask Phil or Parker– one of the bigger guys– to lay downstage left in a pair of tighty-whities. And you could sort of– struggle to make him into a shelter from the storm.”

“Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.” They laughed in unison. Paige was studying the text again. “Well, I’ll start with the words and work my way down. Thanks, Aly. This is a great monologue! What are you thinking of for you?”

“Thisbe.”

Paige froze in thought for a short moment as she tried to place the name. She then lit up, pointing a finger of realization at her dear friend. “From the play within a play? Midsummer Night’s Dream, right? The faux-Juliet?”

“The very same.”

“And it’s– what? A funny death scene?”

Alison had prepared this answer. “Yeah. She finds her lover Pyramus dead and can’t go on living without him. But it’s actually Francis Flute, the bellows mender, playing the role. So he kind of hams it up for his royal audience. I see it as a licence to overact.”

Paige was tentatively onboard. “Okay, yeah. That’s pretty– you.”

Alison was pacing at this point, gesturing heavily to areas of the stage as she described a draft of the blocking. “I was thinking I would blow up two balloons and stuff them in my shirt. And then pop them with a pin taped to a prop dagger for the big death. And farewell friends, thus Thisbe ends. Adieu. Pop! Adieu. Pop! Adieu.”

Paige laughed as Alison fell to the floor in outlandish visage, but her face soon fell into something more skeptical. “You want to do an elaborate practical gag for your audition monologue? For Hamlet?”

“They need to see that Hamlet can be funny.”

“I mean– don’t get me wrong, it’s very bold. But I don’t think that’ll be the takeaway. That’s gonna be your one-way ticket to Rosencrantz. Oh my god, Aly! We need to be Rosencrantz and Gildenstern!”

Alison spaced out for a moment as she processed, missing the end of Paige’s exclamation. “So, no gag, then?”

“No. No gags at all. Just you. You gotta trust yourself, Aly. You’re good at this. Just, let the words carry you.”

Alison was still dead from her dramatic flop. She rolled onto her back and put her hands behind her head. She nodded, but didn’t respond. They shared a contemplative silence for a few moments before Paige erupted with something fresh.

“Oh! Aly! What about Edmund?”

“Edmund of Gloucester?”

“No, Edmund, the pastry chef who dreams of being an underwear designer. Yes, Edmund of Gloucester!”

Alison perked up at this. “Base, base, base?” she asked. Paige nodded. “What’s the angle?”

“No angle, Aly,” Paige responded. “It’s just a strong role. Show them you– in a strong male role. Then, when you’ve already got the part of Hamlet, you can start adding all your funnies.”

“Paige! I love it! Thank you!” They shared a sweet hug as Alison started to laugh maniacally, remembering bits of the speech. “Now Edmund the base shall top the legitimate!”

***

“Wildcard, this is Maverick. Do you read me? Over.”

Alison sighed. “Yes, dear. The coms are operational. Also, I’m walking right next to you, so–”

“Sorry,” Paige chirped through an embarrassed giggle. “I’m just excited. This is it. My first official mission.”

They were heading north on Brook Street, staring down the immense postmodern glass of Prince Lab. This was Elephant Country: the Engineering Research Center attached at its south face, a tangled knot of concrete, glass, and steel with hard edges and clean lines. There was no good reason to loop around the campus in a nautilus pattern. Alison simply had the inclination to approach from the east, as it differed from her typical route. She had become accustomed to trusting her gut on these matters. Good ol’ gut. Metabolizing food and thinking critically since 1999. Also, they were early and wanted to be late. Reed could sweat it out for a hot minute.

Alison put a hand on Paige’s shoulder. “Okay, Paige. If you want to play with the coms, you can check in on Teddy Dalton. See if he’s in position at the upper gallery of Pembroke.”

“Jeeves, this is Maverick. Do you copy?”

Alison removed her hand from Paige’s shoulder and executed an exasperated facepalm maneuver.

Dalton came in through the earpiece. “At the ready, miss.”

“‘Sir’ will be fine, Jeeves.”

“Very good, sir.”

Paige was loving this dynamic. She knew she could count on an actor to follow the first rule of improv: always say yes. “I say, Jeeves. Are you in position?”

“Sir. I have arrived at the upper gallery. I have visual confirmation on operative Baker. By all accounts, he would appear to be alone. I shall ring to inform you of any changes, should they arise.”

“Very good, Jeeves.”

“Very good, sir.”

Paige looked over at Alison to check the temperature on this new rogue element she had just thrown into the discourse. Her arms were folded, but she was smiling. Eye contact sparked a laugh from both of them. Their expressions snapped back to neutral under the gravity of the Pembroke Garden Maze as it entered their field of vision.

This part of campus was particularly lush: an amphitheatre cut into the trim, inclined lawn, lined with wide, semi-circular flower beds and low brick facades that followed the same lines. The grass was bathed in soft shade from nearby juniper and green ash and dotted with black railings and antique lamps. An old, wooden bench stood halfway up the incline, beneath the heavy, twisting boughs of a towering mossy oak. Approaching from behind, Alison could detect the faint outline of a well-manicured, ruby coif.

“Reed Baker,” Alison said confidently as she circled. She landed at six o’ clock, turned to face her rival, and sat cross-legged on the grass, leaving some clearance in case any funny business should arise. Paige stopped short and remained standing, arms folded, in an impatient pose.

“Alison, Paige,” Reed replied, jovially. “Always a pleasure.”

Paige said nothing, but took this opportunity to spit on the ground between them. Apparently, Reed Baker evoked the bad cop in her.

Alison was the first to break the lull left by the shocking gesture. “What have you got for us?”

“Ah,” he returned. “Yes. Straight to brass tacks.”

Paige erupted. “Are you patronizing me?”

“No, no. Just– keeping it light.”

Paige flipped her first two fingers backwards against her opposing palm, cracking a single knuckle loudly. “I’ll handle the mood lighting, bud. You can tell me what you and your Horsey Sauce pals have got cooked up. And it better be all the meats.”

“Copy that.” Reed began to unfold a campus map, smoothing it and placing it in the space between himself and Alison. “Here’s Lyman. Leeds. Sharpe House. All Footman territory. We can have assets posted at Bio-Med, Granoff, and Green.” He removed a handful of smooth, polished pebbles from his pocket, placing them at various positions on the map. We can each have an active operator, split channels if you like. Churchill House has a good lookout.”

“I’d recommend against that,” said Alison. “We lost a good operator on the upper deck of Churchill.”

“Granoff, then. Now, if you’ve got six assets leaving the house at the same time, the Elephants would be wise to enter here, in the gangway between Sharpe and Peter Green. But, if there’s a vantage point with eyes on all four positions, we can close the trap on any of these entrances.”

“Oh!” chimed Paige. “What about the–”

Alison silenced her with a closed-hand gesture. “There is an ideal spot. We’ll run our operator there. You take Granoff. We’ll keep it clean for you.”

“Great. We can afford to run four assets. You’ll have six in play?”

“Four,” said Alison, “when it comes to the fighting. We’ll have all six move on the sortie. Four will loop around here, at Lippitt House, and join you for the fight.”

“What if they have GPS on you?”

“We intend for them to be tracking us. We’ll hand off our phones at Lippitt and have the remaining two assets proceed, with the whole stack, to the secondary objective.”

“Hm,” Reed reflected. “So, you’re going to leak a real mission? Not a false flag?”

“Yes,” said Alison, folding her fingers together. “We’ll act on intelligence provided by you.”

Reed brought his hand to his chin, covering his mouth partially with his first finger. His eyebrows furrowed in a way that simultaneously provoked infatuation and enmity as he thought about the proposition. “I might have something for you.” He produced his phone and started scrolling methodically, returning the trio to a state of silence for a beat.

Paige lost patience first. “Has anybody ever just slapped you out of the blue?”

His eyes remained fixed on his screen. “Not to my knowledge. Why do you ask?”

“You have a very slappable face.”

Reed smiled politely. “I’m going to take that as a compliment. Ah, here we are. Have a look at these doofuses.” He tossed the phone over to Alison. Paige shifted behind her and bent down to look over her shoulder.

“Yikes,” Alison said as she started scrolling through the images. An asset was affixing university pins on two fraternity pledges, a Sigma Alpha Epsilon insignia clearly visible in the background. “What faction is this?”

Reed gave a confident half-smile. “From what we can tell, Chariot. That’s Danny Ross in the pullover.”

Paige jumped in here. “But why post it on Instagram?”

“Hard to say,” Reed replied. “But my guess is bait. They want to lure assets into the SAE house.”

“Okay, Reed. I like this for a multi-asset mission. But we’re not walking into a trap.”

“That’s reasonable. You need more control over the venue. Might I suggest–” He reached out for the phone and Alison returned it to him, at which time he scrolled up a few images on the Sigma House Instagram page. He gave another collected smile and handed the phone off again.

A gaudy cartoon of a chicken, pig, and cow, dancing before a bonfire in Acapulco shirts filled the screen. Paige read the headline over Alison’s shoulder. “Tenth Annual Sigma Alpha Epsilon Three Kinds of Meat Cookout.”

“Hm,” pondered Alison. “Outdoor venue. Big crowd. Multiple exits. Let me see that map.” She traced her finger from the hand-off at Lippitt House to the Sigma Alpha Epsilon Fraternity House on East Angell. “It’s a straight shot. Paige?”

Paige took a few glances back and forth between the phone and the map, then studied Reed’s slappable face for signs of deceit. “I think we can make it work.”

Alison tossed Reed’s phone back to him. He slipped it in his pocket and extended his pale hand to shake. “Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” Alison repeated, shaking his hand and stealing a glance into his warm, hazel eyes. As per usual, they offered her that strange cocktail of butterflies and rage. Paige broke the spell, looping her arm through the crook of Alison’s elbow and helping her to her feet. They were long past the apex of the Pembroke gardens when Reed finished packing his bag.

***

Paige returned to her coms as they rounded the corner of Meeting Street and Brown. “Did you get all that, Jeeves?”

“Quite, sir. Most illuminating.”

“What do you make of it?”

“Well, sir. I must give the young master credit for one thing.”

Paige borrowed a moment of eye contact with her compatriot before continuing. “And what’s that, Jeeves?”

“It would appear he was most capable of delivering all the meats.”