Testimony. Paula Martinac
making his way to his usual carrel without even registering their presence.
Mark grabbed Fenton’s arm and pulled him further into the stacks, his voice a hush. “The magazines won’t damn anyone but me. I’m talking about my diaries.”
Fenton’s hands went cold. He had forgotten Mark catalogued his love affairs like museum artifacts.
“I used code names. You’re Georgia, for your home state.” Mark reddened. “But—well, I may have written about the time we had the quickie in the men’s dressing room at the theater.”
Fenton’s stomach lurched. He remembered the incident well. He had stayed behind after all the students left a performance of The Importance of Being Earnest. The young actors and actresses were never careful about props, and Fenton liked to keep everything neat. Mark had attended the show and followed him backstage. They fumbled their way to the dressing room, where Mark suggested he wear the top hat that was lying out, casually discarded by the student who played one of the leads.
“God, Mark! You may have? Did you or didn’t you?”
“I’m sorry, Fen. I did.”
“Why would you do that?”
Mark’s mood shifted from contrition to annoyance. “Well, why do you think? It was thrilling. One of my more memorable encounters on campus.”
For Fenton, the dressing room incident was a one-off, and he wondered how many “encounters” Mark had enjoyed in academic buildings. Fenton cleared his throat to cover his frustration that Mark had put the small homosexual community at Baines at such high risk.
“Well, I trust you didn’t write about our encounter at any length.”
Mark’s shrug didn’t reassure. “How was I to know my diaries would land in the Springboro Police Department someday?”
“You’re a homosexual, for God’s sake,” Fenton hissed. “Your private life is up for grabs.”
Fenton’s thoughts drifted to his own personal possessions. He didn’t keep diaries, but he had a stash of books under the bed, as well as an envelope stuffed with sentimental letters from a man who had started as a friend and mentor but metamorphosed into more.
“Are you sure the police can just take your things like that? Is it even legal?”
“That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. I wish I knew the answer. Hopefully, I’ll find a lawyer who does.”
Fenton watched Mark’s hand reach over and come to rest on his jacket sleeve. He’d been a tender lover, 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.