Lush, recalls Coral. Elegant and chic, the opening night of our high school play, the winter of '72. Coral's troupe formed part of a more extensive cast. We waited backstage, ready to perform in A Midsummer Night's Dream.
Ruby auditioned to be Titania. However, the producer pinned her role perfectly. Her destined character became the 'short' Hermia. The brunette relished her fictional persona. Coral wished to be Helena and secured the part.
The golden girl nagged Josh into participating. She convinced the drama teacher to create a role for her boyfriend—a stage part without lines to learn—a part suited to his good looks, the changeling boy, a stage extra. Josh was too clean-cut and popular not to grace the stage. He enjoyed participating without the pressure of fluffing lines or overacting.
I performed as Tom Snout 'The Wall' through which fated lovers whispered. I experienced no reluctance in speaking Shakespearean verses on stage. My shyness lay in, exposing my true lines, guarded in my mind.
Coral's favourite line in rehearsals was directed at Ruby, not Hermia.
She liked to ruffle her girlfriend; though she be but little, she is fierce.
The brunette would roll her eyes, followed by fluttering her lashes.
During breaks, she ushered Coral aside and told her girlfriend quiet jokes. I often saw Coral cover her mouth in a shocked expression! The pair entered a confidential only us place. They cosied backstage between scene rehearsals.
Josh left them to girl talk. He passed backstage in a collective of mates dissecting various current sporting events. I rested on props holding a script; I dog-eared the pages, pretending to practice my lines. I knew them off by heart, leaning against a painted backdrop of a forest at night.
Above the script, my eyes regularly sought Coral. She shared herself with Josh, Ruby, and the cast. I craved an unfair share.
On several occasions, the golden girl offered, "Luke, let's practise your lines."
My favourite minutes at rehearsals were time spent in Coral's company.
The girls wore flowing chitons on opening night—a soft, flimsy, and twentieth-century pseudo-classical style. The girls embraced their costumes, perfectly tied at their waists by rope-braided belts. Like the other boys in the cast, Josh and I fussed, uncomfortable in the shorter male chitons, thankful for modern underwear.
Ruby's hair received heaps of compliments; her braids were stunning. She, though, gushed direct praise at Coral's scrumptious bunned locks.
"Stylish, sweetie. It reveals your elegant nape."
Ruby praised as she slid a finger across Coral's neck.
Next, going up and down on her tippy-toes, she continued, "Your hair tonight reminds me of a fresco in Naples."
The brunette and her parents travelled to Campania, Italy, to visit her grandparents earlier in the year. Typical Ruby remained cagey when divulging holiday snippets. Coral shared standard scenic postcards sent by her girlfriend, Naples and Capri. Scrawled on each card: quick, bland messages.
Nice weather. Having Fun. Good food.
No insights into the inner Ruby.
In contrast, the brunette buzzed hyper-animated backstage before the opening night curtain.
"The fresco was from Pompeii, in a museum. Gosh, girl, I saw the lithe form and thought of you!"
The brunette wanted to run her fingers through Coral's hair. Her fingers twitched.
"Oh, lucky me. But not enough to send me a reproduction postcard," as Coral checked herself in one of the mirrors off-stage.
We heard the ten-minute curtain call.
"Listen, Missy," Ruby responded friskily, "I'm complimenting you. You look like Flora."
"Minus the basket and flowers, honey."
I realised Coral knew the artwork.
"Well, art boy, for once in your life, do not stay mute," Ruby, exasperated, directed her rising voice at me.
I stood next to Coral through their exchange.
Suddenly, an unusual Ruby agitation, "I am correct. Support me!"
I stayed silent.
When it could have counted with the minx, I didn't know the artwork and struggled to frame an image when she spoke to me directly.
Later, I sourced the fresco,[ La Primavera ] and understood their conversation. I remained surprised; I approved of Ruby's taste in art. Coral, as Flora, became the enduring art image associated with my bestie.
The brunette ignored me when she realised my unfamiliarity with the fresco.
She perked, typical Ruby, and gave her full attention back to Coral, "Let me finish. It's your hair now. Her hair then, it's a frickin' uncanny style match."
"Mmm, maybe not, Rubes! My mum said she had a classic style in mind and would save it for tonight."
Coral half turned to enjoy her hair in the mirror.
"Yeah, I can see what you mean."
"Finally!" exclaimed Ruby, "and because you cannot see all Flora's face, I thought, you instantly. It gave me goosebumps."
"Seriously?"
Coral, surprised, pinched her fingers.
"This is a first for my hair in this style."
"Yes, I know," agreed Ruby fast, "still, the fresco, I flashed seeing it, and I connected to you."
She flexed her toes, bending her pretty sandals.
"It was the hair colour. And the light step. Exactly you!"
She scuffed her feet, very skittish.
"Careful," cautioned her girlfriend, "don't rub and damage those gorgeous Grecian sandals."
"Oh," a surprised Ruby, and she consciously tried to stop.
She looked at her sandals, "Yeah, you are Flora, not the bare feet, I realised, examining the fresco."
The brunette's voice bubbled.
Coral cooed, "No, never bare feet," glancing at her new gladiator leather sandals.
The golden girl revelled in her fancy footwear.
Ruby chirped, "Anyway, in front of the fresco, I thought I would give you a makeover and put flowers in your hair one day."
"Geez, pet, be careful; the hidden romantic in you will escape."
Coral let her index finger trace over Ruby's classy braids.
The brunette's shoulders spread, and her eyes sparkled.
"Hold on, angel face. I considered flowers. I decided it wouldn't work on stage."
Ruby's cheeks dimpled. She cocked her head and took Coral's earlobe between her fingers. My bestie, baffled, put her hands out.
Ruby, standing back, finger-framed her girlfriend, "Nah, you don't need them. They would distract from you."
Coral's composure returned as the brunette framed her fingers.
"Oh, no romance," jested the golden girl, completed by a twitter.
"Some fun," the brunette said, her blue orbs darting, "Maybe outdoors, in the spring!"
As Ruby encouraged, she entered her girlfriend's personal space. She slid her finger across Coral's nape. Feathery soft, like blowing dandelion pappus onto the barest of breezes.
My bestie's eyes indicated her weakness for indulgent, private attention.
The cast heard the loud two-minute curtain call. My best friend's lips trembled. She rubbed her hands together.
"Can I do this?" she yelped, terrified.
Her stage fright of the moment took everyone by surprise.
"Sure," Ruby reassured her.
The brunette's hand raised to Coral's shoulder failed to stop her swift breaths.
I glanced for Josh, and I hurried to nab him straight away. Josh back-slapped a cast member following a rugby joke. His dark hair appeared slicker under the stage lights. My mate exuded cool as he excelled in guy talk. Girl-talk and Coral's moods presented another world.
If I approached him stating, 'Coral's stage-struck,' God knows where he would have run.
I interrupted, using a nudge and suggested, "Go tell Coral to break a leg; it will help her performance. And show you care."
"Oh, I should; time got away, sport and the lads."
He paced with a specific purpose in mind, and I shuffled behind.
"Break a leg," he started, nearing his girlfriend.
"Oh Christ, help me, Josh!"
Overwhelmed by a dry-voiced Coral, her wide-eyed boyfriend huskily, "How?"
Coral dragged Josh's face into hers.
Every actor and the backstage crew were bystanders to deep French kissing. Coral and Josh mushed their mouths and faces ignoring any audience. A joint 'slaver and slobber', combining the odd 'suck' and 'puck' sounds.
Their kiss was stopped by the president of the student council, Puck, in the play. He tapped them both on the shoulder. He politely warned them; the backstage manager cruised close. Coral bounced, ready for the stage, her face blooming. Josh stepped away and returned to his mates.
Ruby applauded, "Didn't know you had it in you. Girl, I liked it!"
Her fingers formed the OK gesture.
"Yes, sweet pea, I've been doing it a while now."
Coral clenched her fist, and Ruby copied. The girlfriends shared a soft fist bump.
"You sneak, share the classified, and it suits you. Your warm face will fill the stage in a minute," the brunette expressed as smooth as melted chocolate.
Coral surprised everyone on stage. She owned the performance. Ruby purred later, praising her girlfriend's supple body positioning. Coral's mum, Sandy, offered her daughter's dazzling eyes. Josh swore her lips; his current fixation carried the show. The director praised her assured voice.
I fancied the stage lights flirting with her freckles. Much later, I twigged to my best friend's hand's subtle movements. Coral unfurled, stretched, tugged and weaved her fingers. Her hands supported her lines and enhanced transitions in Helena's emotions.
One unfolding hand sigh remained particularly memorable, simulating butterfly wings.