Cover Page

Scarlett Fever

Maureen Johnson

Dedication

For Agnetha Fältskog, Benny Andersson, Björn Ulvaeus, and Her Serene Highness Anni Frid, Princess Reuss von Plauen.

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Dedication

Act I

Safety For The Stupid

Rue Is For Remembrance

Lunch Is For Suckers

A Plague Of Actors

Bad Omens

Dinner Is Also For Suckers

The Price Of Failure

Act II

The Flower Boy

The Secret Weapon

Lies Everyone Knows

The Fever

Success Comes Calling

That Special Something

The Terrible Secret Of Spencer

Act III

The Love Of The Masses

Deceptions

Eine Kleine Schadenfreude

The Door That’s Always Open

The Visitor

Temptation

Strange Games

Lola Makes A Joke

Act IV

The Worst Of Times

The Dotted Line

Outrageous Fortune

The Violent Impulse

Party At Point Manhattan

Danse Macabre

Act V

Dawn Of The Desperate

More Surprises

The Offensive

The Death Of Spencer Martin

Acknowledgments

Also By Maureen Johnson

Copyright

ACT I

Gothammag.com

“Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t”: Hamlet at the Hopewell Hotel

So let’s set the scene, shall we? Hamlet. In a hotel. But not one of the grand palaces or tourist farms—a much rarer breed. A tiny, privately owned hotel. It would be fair, and possibly even generous, to call the place distressed. The floors squeak, a fine layer of dust covers everything, and most of the furniture in the lobby has an astonishing lean to it, so much so that I actually found myself cocking my head to the side at points.

But what is equally obvious is the true style under the decay. It’s there, like good bone structure. The place is an absolute Deco masterpiece: cherry wood, silver lightning-bolt motifs where you least expect them, poison-purple and tiger lily–orange tinted light from the colored lamps. You pass from the lobby into a modest dining room, now converted into a theater. Like everything else, the chandelier is lopsided, but deliberately so, pulled by a wire draped with silver gauze. The walls are bare but alive with the shadows of a hundred small, guttering candles. The room is in decadent disarray, as if a seedy royal wedding has taken place soon before.

Which, of course, it has. Welcome to the world of Hamlet.

Full disclosure: I wanted to dismiss this production as a gimmick, a cheap bag of tricks. Hamlet in a hotel…and next, Othello in an office. Macbeth in a McDonald’s. I’ve seen shows staged in every possible location, but the fact that this one seemed so tied to the establishment—with backstage access to guests—I assumed it was a new step downward in the ever-devolving state of the art.