Part Four - On With The Show
A busy theatre is a locus of energy. The lights, the colorful props, and fanciful costumes are breathed into life by the players who walk its boards, imparting a sliver of themselves into the performance before an enthralled audience.
Stages have souls patchworked together from countless dramas, comedies and musical spectacles acted out on their polished timbers. Each rise and fall of the curtains adds depth and richness to their stalwart yet intangible presence. Applause flows like blood through invisible veins. Every encore a heartbeat.
An empty theatre is a dormant spirit shrouded in memories and shadows. Dark and silent. It dreams of the warmth and emotion evoked in past attendees and actors alike. A monument at rest, only stirring when the troupe returns to throw wide its doors again.
Or so believed Ms Megan Miller; Madison U's Head of Performance Art curriculum and creative director of St Genesius Drama Society, as she wandered backstage to locate the breaker box.
Why the stage manager had shut off the power at the source, she couldn't fathom. An ill-conceived notion of saving electricity most likely.
That brought little comfort to the middle-aged thespian, who was waving her phone about for illumination and dodging random furnishings that cluttered the space.
"Two days back from sabbatical and I'm already dealing with this dog poop." She grumped, kicking a discarded pith helmet in her stumblings.
Was the previous production Pirates of Penzance?
A year's absence to settle her divorce and take a few cruises marketed to the newly single of a particular age bracket didn't give the University license to peddle such outdated schlock on
her
stage.
The cruises had been inherently sad affairs. Megan split most of her time on the seas between evading overweight sleaze-balls in speedos and attending the complimentary seafood buffet.
Both left her with a queasy stomach.
She didn't consider herself a catch precisely. Her misplaced security in a failing marriage and prioritizing her career above, say, dieting or regular exercise had resulted in excess padding in her mature figure.
But while the flesh had grown soft, the mind behind those broadening hips, flabby thighs, and creeping sag remained keen, even if her wavy chocolate hair had lost volume and luster, which was disappointing.
"Fu--fudge! Where is it?"
The phone's torch eventually landed on a utility cabinet half-hidden behind painted sets. Skirting around the obstructions, Megan wrestled it open and toggled the master switch.
Light sparked to life in the theatre with a buzzing hum. She smiled as a fresh sense of purpose--of direction--infused her. The stage would be reawakened, and her return debut would blow audiences away.
________________
"Attention. Your attention, please!" Ms Miller clapped, looking down at her cast of players from the brightly lit stage. "Thank you all for attending this inaugural meeting of the newly reformed St Genesius Drama Society. I understand my leave of absence and the graduation of our senior members has thinned the ranks but with a bit of community outreach..."
Tammy glanced at the scattered students seated in the first two rows. If they numbered over a dozen, she'd schedule another optometrist appointment. More than half of those would be extras without speaking roles, doubling as general hands for easy credit, lowering the number of aspiring actors to a miserable sum.
Which meant she had a real shot at being cast in a significant part!
The mousy, five-foot-nothing junior was nothing if not an optimist. Fate had to grant Tammy a win eventually, if solely by random chance. A broken watch was right twice a day; perhaps her time had finally arrived.
Acknowledging she lacked the X-factor, stage presence, or the elusive 'It' showbiz types raved about was a truth she'd learned through harsh experience, but a girl could be pragmatic.
Sure, she resembled an underdeveloped waif with stick-like proportions and the sex appeal of a diseased llama, but other than herself, there was only Juliana (a classically beautiful blonde prima donna in the making), the out-of-place Kira (a sporty tomboy with seemingly little interest in the course material), and Drew (the default leading man despite his lack of talent or a chin).
Tammy wouldn't settle for being an understudy, praying for an outbreak of food sickness this year.
Juliana caught her staring and returned a glare as though reading Tammy's thoughts. "Don't get any clever ideas," warned those sapphire eyes.
"...an homage to the day of Celestial Conjunction when the arcane alignment of heavenly bodies reunited the realms of Fae and Earth. Heralding the return of magic and the Fair Folk to our world." Ms Miller paused, cocking her head as sounds of raised voices and a scuffle emanated from the foyer entrance. "Everyone stay put. I'll handle the disturbance."
Concerned faces followed the director when she leaped from the stage and stormed up the center aisle with surprising agility. Tammy fidgeted, more accustomed to avoiding conflict than engaging in confrontation, wondering if she should offer moral backup if nothing else.
Time crawled before Ms Miller reappeared, dragging a scraggy youth by the elbow and ushering him into a center-row seat. Turning to the gawking onlookers, she introduced the sullen teen.
"Everyone, meet Brodie--a late addition to our troupe. Let's give him a warm welcome." The prompted applause was tepid at best. Brodie's slumped posture mirrored the reception. He looked decidedly shifty in a grungy hoodie and jeans. "He has kindly volunteered to stand in for a male role needed in our production. I'm certain we're all glad for his participation. Let's work together and make this show a smash hit!"
Tammy caught a glimmer of gold when Ms Miller tucked something behind her back.
________________
Brodie was in a bind.
Campus Security had a major hard-on for Do-Me Dust, and not in a fun way. Their recent crackdown ignored weed, pills, and back-alley potions to zero in on the golden powder with atypical efficiency.
Given the increasing notoriety and demand for the magical contraband, not to mention the nutso rumors circulating of what the Fae sex drug could do, well... everyone knew about the legendary party at Beta Theta Fi and the resulting fallout.
So when he'd been cornered with a baggy of the primo shit by the two officers riding a golf buggy outside the doors to Madison-U's theatre center, the enterprising freshman had stuffed it through a mail slot to dispose of the evidence.
That had hurt. Brodie was selling the goods on consignment. He'd have to swallow the loss somehow, but better than getting kicked out of college and possibly facing drug charges.
Nobody expected those same doors to open, releasing a pissed-off faculty member into their midst.
She's taken a single glance at the situation before laying into the security goons for harassing a poor student like an angry mother hen. Terms like "fascist pig" and "dictatorial stooges" lashed the two men--completely ignoring their protestations--until the blood drained from their faces under the tirade.
Then the loon dragged Brodie into the building for a quick but frank discussion that could be summarized as "You owe me, boyo. Have you ever considered participating in the fine arts program?"
She'd held onto the gear, though, apparently unaware of the treasure in her clutches. He told her it was pigment powder and she hadn't questioned him further.
Nor did she return it.
Was this bossy bitch unaware of the latest drug epidemic sweeping through the university?
