Read Online In the Shadow of Shakespeare by Ellen Wilson - Free Book Online Page A

out of his neutral zone.  Sonia had something to do
with it.”
    Jim
looked at her.  “You notice it too huh?”
     “Yeah. 
The two of them sleeping together is a real mess for my theatre.”  Alice
laughed, but the sound rang hollow in her ears.  “Sonia has it in her head
that she needs to sing and dance.  She views my theatre as her
personal spring board to bigger and better things.  She wants to start off
Broadway and then work her way up.” 
     “Ambition. 
Politics.  What are we to do?” 
     “I
don’t know, Jim.  I don’t want to haggle with this group any more. 
I’m getting weary.  I don’t know why we have to bow before the business
community.  Art and business don’t mix.  It’s ridiculous and
humiliating.”  Alice examined her nails.  She felt her face turn red;
felt like she was on the verge of losing her temper.
     “Unfortunately,
art and business have to mix.  We get a large portion of our funding due
to the business community.  But business is largely conservative.  It
disturbs them to see the status quo upset; maybe it will upset their profits.”
     “That’s
silly – it brings hordes of people downtown!  My play had the best run of
anything else we have put on here.  And that has to be good for
business – mine and everyone else’s.”
     “Yes,
but these people are selling products.  They have a vested interest in
people not questioning the status quo – not thinking too much.”
     “I
think you give these people way too much credit Jim.”
     “I
think it operates unconsciously, but it’s there.”
     “I
don’t see how All the Queen’s Men has anything to do with buying tools
at a hardware store.”
    Jim
got up from the table and went over to the coffee pot.  Poured himself a
cup of Styrofoam coffee and dumped in a load of Coffee Mate.  He picked up
a plastic spoon and began to stir.
     “Think
of it – people acknowledge how gay people feel oppressed in the work force;
start feeling some empathy for them, and that empathy translates to other
things – worker rights in China, for instance.  How people are making a pittance there for constructing American doo dads.”  He stood sipping his
coffee.
     “That’s
a little far fetched Jim.  I don’t see how any of that is related.”
     “Oh
it is.  All attitudes are related.  One swings into another. 
And besides,” he cupped his hand by his mouth as if doing an aside in a stage
performance, “I used to be one of those radicals in the sixties.”
    “Right.” 
Alice stretched and yawned, “Let’s change the subject,” she too cupped her hand
by her mouth, “I think Marlowe was Shakespeare.”
    He
stiffened, clasped a hand to his forehead, and shook his head. 
“Alice.  Don’t do that.  Don’t become a Marlovian .”
    “Now
who’s the conservative here?”
    “Alright,
I acknowledge that it might not have been William Shakespeare from Stratford
that wrote the plays.  I think any Shakespearean scholar has honestly
entertained that at one time or another in his or her academic life, but I
would need more evidence either way.” 
     “Really?  
What kind of evidence?
    “Good
solid evidence.  Proving beyond a doubt that Marlowe wrote the plays, the
sonnets – the whole shebang.”
     “But
no one in the Shakespeare industry questions that William Shakespeare was the
author of the plays.  And there is very little evidence to support
that.”
    He
frowned.  “Just be happy that we’re doing Othello and The Jew of
Malta .”
    ***
    Alice
returned home to find Mrs. Johnson watering the front lawn.  Alice
smiled.  They lived in an apartment complex and there was no need to water
the front lawn.  There were invisible sprinklers buried in the grass that
went off at night in the summer. 
     “Hello
dear.” 
     “Hi
Mrs. Johnson.  How are you?”  Alice stopped in front of the door.
     “Oh
fine, just fine.  How are your plays coming along?”
     “Good. 
Really