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Summary
Ah, this was the moment Francis had been waiting for; the moment he would know whether this play would be a triumph or his worst nightmare; his maiden love, his Juliet, was—
In dreadful, soulless black Sharpie was written a name.
HENRY WINTER
Francis stared. He blinked. He removed his pince-nez, cleaned the lens, and replaced them, even though they were plain glass, no prescription.
JULIET………HENRY WINTER
That cleaning had not been sufficient.
There were gasps and exclamations from behind him.
Francis raised his eyes to Mr. Jeffries, the cause of his suffering. His self, his soul, was consumed by one question: Why?
No: How?
No: Goddamn you, Mr. Jeffries, you son of a bitch, how could you do this to me?
Mr. Jeffries grinned. “It would be very unfair to mix anyone else up, so I just made the simplest change!”
Francis was going to expire.
Or, Francis Abernathy, Shakespeare snob, is forced to play Romeo opposite Henry Winter, stuck-up classicist, as Juliet.