Indigo gave everyone a ticket for the play and the eight women entered the theater.
Red looked about her. "What? No concession stand?"
"They sell snacks and drinks during intermission," said Irene.
Red's head snapped back toward Irene. "Seriously? They serve drinks here."
Irene shook her head. "I still don't understand how you can imbibe alcohol. I always thought the stuff tasted horrible, and with your accelerated metabolism, you can't get drunk. I thought the whole point of alcohol was for the buzz."
"Shows how much you know, miss smarty pants," said Red in a haughty tone. "Alcohol is an acquired taste. I consider myself a connoisseur of fermented vegetable matter."
Golden giggled while the other wore faces of various states of amusement.
"Are we going to see this thing or not?" said Violet rather impatiently.
"I thought you didn't want to come," said Irene.
"Well, since you practically dragged me all the way here, I might as well see thing thing through," groused Violet. "What are we looking at, anyhow?"
"Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare," said Sky. "It's a comedy in the truest sense of the word."
"Well let's get a move on," said Red. "I don't want to be the one who has to get flashlighted to her seat during the show by some dork in a red uniform."
Irene chuckled. "Alright, miss connoisseur."
The women showed their tickets to the usher and were quickly seated in the theater. As the show began, Irene breathed a sigh of relief. She had hoped that this would be a time for the girls to get to know each other's personalities better. However, the task was proving more difficult than she thought. She hoped dinner after the show would go better. Irene recently received a raise at the architecture firm where she worked as an apprentice draftswoman. She had gotten the job through the city's vocational rehabilitation program back when she was still suffering from multiple personality disorder. Before she created the others, Irene was in danger of losing that job. Now, things seemed to going well for for her. That is except for dealing with seven different flavors of herself.
Irene looked about her. The others seemed to be interested in what was going on on-stage. Even Violet had let her paranoia go enough to enjoy the play. Red seemed particularly entranced by the goings on despite the difficult language. The acting was well done and the actions quite clear. A Cheshire cat smile had crept across Red's face.
The time seemed to speed along. It wasn't long before the second act had ended and intermission was called. Red popped up out of her seat like a jack-in-the-box. She raised her arms over her head, interlocking her fingers with her palms facing outward. Then, she commenced to stretching and arching her back. Irene could hear the faint popping in Red's spine. Red gave out a sigh of relief. After putting her hands down, she noticed the disapproving glare of patrons behind her. With a reverently sketched bow, she said in exaggerated Elizabethan dialect, "Pray thee, do forgive me. I am as yet unaccustomed to being still for so long a time."
Red turned to Irene. "I'm hitting the concessions. You want anything?"
"This isn't a movie theater, Red," said Irene. "You can't bring snacks in here. You have to eat and drink in the lobby."
"More's the pity," said Red sadly. "Ah well, I'm off."
Red shuffled her way to the aisle and headed back to the lobby. Irene glanced about her and notice that everyone of her troupe except Violet and Indigo had likewise left their seats.
"You girls not interested in anything to eat?" asked Irene.
Indigo shook her head. "I'm fine, thank you." Violet merely grunted.
Irene couldn't comprehend why Violet was always so difficult to get close to. Did it mean that Irene distrusted herself? The intermission was only fifteen minutes, but everyone had managed to scarf down whatever it was they had purchased and made it back to their seats in time for the beginning of act three. There was a friendly battle of witticisms going on between Viola disguised as a man named Cesario and Feste, a clown in the service of the Countess Olivia. Red couldn't help but laugh out loud a few times. Some of those seated nearby were annoyed, but Red paid them no mind.
Really, thought Irene, it's a comedy for crying out loud. It's supposed to be funny. What a bunch of stiff shirts.
The actors certainly appreciated Red's outbursts. Their pacing became livelier and their words more jaunty. It wasn't long before other patrons began tittering and giggling here and there. Irene settled back to enjoy the rest of the play.
* * *
"So, what did you ladies think of the play?" asked Irene as they strolled down the street in the cool evening.
"That was one wild story," said Red. "Who knew such an ancient play could be so hip?"
"It's not exactly ancient," said Indigo with a smile.
"If it's before 1950, it's ancient," said Red.
"If you ask me, I think Red saved the show," said Tangerine. "It was really starting out to be a real snorefest."
Red seemed genuinely surprised. "Me? What'd I do?"
"You laughed," said Irene.
"Well, it was funny," said Red.
"Indeed," said Indigo. "The actors heard you laughing at their jokes, and it spurred them on. I believe they were beginning to think no one liked their acting until you laughed."
"Really?" said Red. "Well, whaddya know about that."