I haven’t eaten, the champagne is punishing me, and my parents left. “I thought they would see me onstage and be so proud that they would accept me,” I confess, and realize how irrational it sounds.
“I wish it was that easy.”
“I disgust them,” I say, my stomach in knots.
Aunt Lil grunts. “They disgust me.”
“They never want to see me again.”
“Good,” she says. “They don’t deserve to see you again.”
Then it hits me. As much as it hurts that they left, this is the best outcome. They aren’t going to take me back to West Grove. No more Mom using my deadname. No more Randy being Randy. I can stay here and go to school. I can play any role I want. “Actually, I’m glad they are gone. I’m free!”
“You’re not upset?” Aunt Lil asks, surprised.
Before I can answer, my phone vibrates. Is that Mom? I pull out the phone, nervous. “Unknown number,” I say, showing Aunt Lil.
“Could it be your mom?”
“Maybe I won’t answer.”
“Up to you.”
I accept the call—for better or worse. “Hello,” I say.
“August Greene?”
“Yes?”
“Hi, I’m Rosalyn. Sorry to bother you on a Saturday. Are you busy?”
“Who is it?” Aunt Lil whispers.
“I’m not busy,” I say into the phone.
“Wonderful. I’m the casting agent from Conversion, the show doing a workshop at your school,” she says. My heart beats so hard I feel it in my ears. “I’ll get right to the point; there’s a role that needs to be filled quickly. We heard about you and went to see Grease last night. And you, my friend, really stood out. Your Rizzo was fantastic.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Would you be available to audition for the role of Ajax? The director couldn’t attend last night, but we’ve told him about you. I know this is short notice, but we’re working on a tight timeline. Could you come to the school today for an audition?”
I look at my aunt, stunned. “I’m actually close. I could be there soon.”
“That’d be great. I guess this was meant to be. Thirty minutes?”
“Or less. Or thirty if that’s better for you.” Oh god, I need to get off this phone.
“Great. We’re in Theater Two. No monologue, we’ll have sides for you. See you soon. Thanks, babe,” she says, then hangs up.
“August,” Aunt Lil says. “Can you please explain what the hell is happening?”
“On the way there?” I ask, heading to the parking garage.
Twenty-five minutes later, I’m sitting outside Theater Two. Trying to get out of abandoned-by-parents mode and into audition mode. On the phone, Rosalyn said it was meant to be, and maybe she’s right. My parents wouldn’t have allowed me to be in this play, and now they’re gone. The door opens, and a lady comes out. She’s wearing black tights and an oversized sweater. “August?”
“That’s me,” I say, getting up from the bench.
“Hi, sweetie. I’m Rosalyn. Thanks for making it so quick. Do you live near here?”
Probably not a great idea to tell her what I was just doing. “I was having breakfast with my aunt,” I lie.
“Sounds nice,” she says. “Here’s the sides. I’ll come get you in a few.”
She leaves me with two pages and a bunch of nerves. I scan the words, trying to figure out the character. The scene is a back-and-forth with a counselor during a group therapy session. My reading is interrupted by footsteps coming down the hall. A man approaches with a scruffy beard and a man bun on top of his head. Bulky sweater and big boots. Like a big, stylish bear. He looks at me as he nears, chewing on a toothpick. He says nothing as he enters the theater. That must be Joshua Downs.
Shortly after that, Rosalyn peeks her head out the door. “You ready, babe?”
I get on my feet. “As I’ll ever be,” I say, following her to the stage. I find center and let the limelight warm me.
“Everyone, this is August Greene,” Rosalyn announces as she takes her seat in the audience among a row of five serious-looking faces.
“Hello, August. I’m Joshua Downs. The director of this show.” A toothpick rests at the edge of his mouth.
“We saw August in Grease last night,” Rosalyn says. “He was a spectacular Rizzo.”
“Rizzo?” Joshua asks. “Why Rizzo?”
“Because she’s a great character,” I say, my voice shaky.
“But you’re a guy? Why play a girl part?”
Is this an audition or an interrogation? I steady myself. “That’s the role I wanted. I can play both genders.”
Joshua looks at the older man to his right. “This guy can play Rizzo, but Caesar can’t play Ajax? This world makes no sense anymore.” He leans back with his arms crossed.
“All right, August,” Rosalyn says, “I’ll be reading the part of Cheryl, the counselor. We know you haven’t read the script and don’t know much about Ajax, but show us what you got.”
I look down at the pages and collect myself. I am Ajax, a trans guy forced into conversion therapy by his parents. I’m too tough to show emotion. My edges are rough and I’m ready to fight. More than anything, I don’t want to be in conversion therapy.
“Ajax,” Rosalyn says, beginning the scene. “You’ve been quiet today. Care to share?”
I look away. Snarl my lip. Let hate and pain well up in my chest. “Not really in the mood to talk, I guess.”
“The point of this group is to share your feelings,” she says.
I look at Rosalyn with untrusting eyes. “The point of the group is to brainwash.”
She sits up in her chair, meeting my energy. “You know that’s not true.”
“You don’t know shit about me, lady,” I yell, pointing at her. “My family didn’t put me in here to get better—they put me in here to die.”
“Your family loves you.”
“Loves me?” I spit, my face reeling from the offense. I spread out my arms, the script gripped tightly in my hand. “Is this what love looks like?”
“This is what real love looks like,” Rosalyn says. “We will help you find the right way to live as God intended.”
“You’re wrong, ma’am,” I say as a tear—just one tear—falls from my eye and runs down my cheek. I pause and let the theater get quiet. My eyes search the room. “I’m going to die in here.”
The silence lingers for what feels like forever. “Well done,” the man beside Joshua says.
Rosalyn smiles. “Yes, we do appreciate you coming in today, babe.”
“August,” Joshua says. We lock eyes and he smiles. “Why should we give this role to you?”
I straighten up. “Because I can do it,” I say.
He tilts his head. “How do you know that? How are you even qualified?”
Rosalyn cuts in, “August, you don’t need to answer. My apologies, but Joshua is still a little upset about having to replace Caesar.”
“A little?” he asks with a laugh.
“No, its fine,” I say. “I’m qualified because I’m attending the School of Performing Arts. And I’m qualified because I’m transgender. And that’s who should be playing the part.”
A woman says, “We agree with you.”
“And,” I say to Joshua directly, “I watched a bootleg of your production of Othello in Central Park two years ago. It was the best Shakespeare I’ve seen. It would be an honor to work with you.”
Joshua nods and grumbles, “That’s one of my favorite shows, too.”
“Have a good day, August,” Rosalyn says, meaning get out of here while I’m ahead.
Act Three: Conversion
Nineteen
Monday, October 21
11:45 A.M.
My friends look at me like I’m famous. Or an alien.
Other people in the lunchroom are looking, too. News travels fast.
“Then what did you say?” Anna asks, her complete focus on me. I love my lunch crew,
and I really love being the center of attention.
“I told him I was qualified because I’m a student here, and transgender.” I take a bite of my sandwich. Really hold the suspense. “And that he would regret not hiring me for the part,” I say, embellishing the story for dramatics. They laugh. The table is eating up this story.
“What did you think of Joshua Downs?” Anna asks. “Total egomaniac?”
I can’t tell them the truth. I like the way they are looking at me. Today, I feel seen by everyone. I don’t want to lose that by revealing how mean the famous director was to me. “He’s not happy about losing Caesar.”
“No shit,” Anna cuts in. “He’s been pretty public about his feelings online.”
“Digital hate crimes,” Jack adds.
“How did they offer you the part?” Meena asks.
I got the call yesterday—too early, but I acted awake. Rosalyn made the offer and told me to call her back with my decision by the end of the day. Aunt Lil and I had a long talk about taking the part. She was concerned about the character. I convinced her I would be fine. No way in the world I would turn down this opportunity. This is my path. Getting the part of Ajax is my star turn. When I walk into a room, people will point and mention it. I called Rosalyn back and accepted the offer.
“The casting director, her name is Rosalyn—”
“Rosalyn Perez?” Anna asks, always knowing someone in the industry. “Did she call you babe?”
“Yes, she did, babe,” I say, then everyone laughs. It wasn’t even that funny. “She called yesterday morning and offered me the part on a probationary contract. I don’t really understand it, but they are finding me an agent to handle it.”
“Hell yes, August,” Meena says. “They are going to find you an agent. When does that ever happen?”
I shrug, knowing it’s cool, but playing it off.
“Someone found me an agent,” Elijah says casually.
“Who? Your mom?” Anna asks.
“Yes, but still,” he says. Elijah usually eats lunch with seniors, but I guess he wanted to hear about my audition.
“Did you celebrate the offer yesterday?” Meena asks.
“You could say that.” I keep it vague because I spent the entire day in bed. I needed a day to decompress after my parents’ visit, the audition, and closing Grease. I’m no stranger to the post-show blues. There’s no avoiding the sadness after your show closes. So much energy and time put into something, so many ups and downs, bonding with the cast, and memories. I did find enough energy to post my Grease montage of pictures, from first rehearsal to closing party, with a gushy too-long caption to my three thousand followers. Lots of likes and hearts.
Jack puts their arm around me. “You’re living the dream.”
“Just think,” Anna muses, “two months ago you were a big nobody in Whatever, Pennsylvania, and now you’ve landed a role in a major workshop that might go to Broadway.”
“I’m still wrapping my head around it,” I say. “And the first show is in eight days.”
“Oh my god, I’d be freaking out,” Meena says, always thinking—and freaking out—like a stage manager.
“I don’t have many lines.”
“You read the script?” Elijah asks.
“A messenger delivered a copy to my house last night,” I say.
“That’s fancy,” Anna says. “Is it good?”
“I honestly don’t know. It’s a drama about a conversion therapy camp in Florida. There’s a love story between two cis gay guys, and at the end, the patients take over the facility and leave together. I’m only in a few scenes, but my monologue ends the first act.”
“And then what?” Anna asks.
“My character dies by suicide.”
Their faces all register shock. “That’s so sad,” Jack moans.
“I know,” I say. “It’s a dark scene.”
“No, that you’re only in the first act,” they say.
“August,” Juliet says. “You sure you want to play this part?”
“I don’t want to play the part,” I admit. “Where are the happy endings for trans characters? I feel like transgender characters onstage are broken, mentally ill, or suicidal. Never superheroes, love interests, or the lead. Where are those parts?”
“Wasn’t your super-objective to not play transgender characters?” Anna asks.
I look at her, surprised. “How did you know?”
“Busted,” Jack says.
“I kind of read everyone’s paper,” Anna mumbles, head down.
“Anna,” Meena says, disapproving.
She waves it off. “Dad left them out. Whatever, they were all basically the same. Except for Augustus, of course.”
“My super-objective is to play the great roles of Broadway like Evan Hansen, or be in Once, or Be More Chill. Basically, any role on Broadway. And those are mostly all cisgender characters.”
“You’ll play those roles, August,” Anna assures me. “Ajax isn’t the perfect role, but it will lead to more perfect roles.”
“It’ll be worth the pain,” Jack says.
“I bet the rehearsals are going to be a bitch,” Meena says, probably longing for her clipboard and headset. “When is call time?”
I check my phone and panic. “Ten minutes. I’m excused from drama classes the next two weeks to go to rehearsals.”
“I’m going to miss you,” Anna says.
I dig through my bag. “Shoot, I forgot a highlighter.”
Meena, Jack, and Anna offer me theirs at the same time, talking over each other. They laugh and Juliet says, “Guys, he’s not famous.”
“Yet,” Anna says.
“Better change your handle to the Famous August Greene,” Jack suggests.
My mind swirls at the thought. Could it be happening? No way. But maybe? If I can handle the role and Joshua Downs, I could be famous.
After lunch, Juliet walks me to the basement.
“I didn’t want to ask at the table—how did it go with your parents?”
I stop at the bottom of the stairs. “It was a total flop.”
“Oh no,” Juliet says, covering her mouth in shock.
“They found out. Then my aunt came out to them. And then they left town.”
“Left town?”
“Without saying goodbye.”
“Oh, August, I wish you would have called me yesterday. Are you okay?” she asks.
“Actually, I’m good. My parents did me a favor by leaving. Now I can take roles like Ajax in Conversion.”
“Does this role hit too close to home? Your fairy trans-sis is worried about you.”
“It’s just acting,” I reassure her. “I don’t use my own feelings or experience. I step into the character. And how could I turn down possibly going to Broadway?”
“That director sounds like a major asshole,” she says, probably sensing I’m not going to change my mind.
“I can handle assholes. I’ll be the bidet of the theater world!”
She laughs, gives me a hug. “Break a leg on your first day. Just make sure the director doesn’t break it first.”
“Thanks, fairy trans-sis!”
“And I’m serious, August. You’re dealing with a lot. Call me if you need me?”
“Of course,” I say, smiling. I know she’s worried about me, but I’m not worried. This was meant to be.
I get to Theater One—where Grease was greasing three days ago—and stop at the doors. This moment feels important. I’m about to walk into my first professional show. And if everything goes well, the Famous August Greene will go to Broadway.
I push the doors open, and organized chaos surrounds me. Way more people here than Grease. Actors on the stage, crew running around wearing headsets that would make Meena jealous, people making the sets, hanging the lights—it’s a small army.
“August?”
“Yes,” I say, spinning on my heels.
“Brady Finley,” the owner of the voice says, shaking my hand.
His red hair is tangled around his stage manager headset. He seems less stressed than Meena. “I’m the assistant SM.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
“Can you come with me?” he asks, then turns before I answer. I follow behind him into the audience. He points at a seat. “Sit here.”
“Until when?” I ask.
“Until Joshua tells you otherwise,” he says, then walks off, talking into his headset.
I set my backpack down and sit in my assigned seat, feeling like I’m in time-out.
6:35 P.M.
Things start weird and stay weird. And I have sat here, in this seat, the entire time. Before rehearsal started, Brady introduced me to the cast, and everyone politely said hello. The energy was loose and fun until Joshua Downs entered the room. Then everyone got serious and quieted down. Joshua has enough personality to fill the entire theater. Most of the time, he paces around the aisles, sometimes the stage, talking loudly and yelling notes at the two assistant directors, who scribble them down.
Honestly, I want to be onstage always, but I’m relieved to sit here and get my bearings for the rehearsals. The difference between the productions of Grease and Conversion is undeniable. There’s so much talent at this school, but nothing on the level of this cast. I googled them all while sitting in my time-out chair. These actors have been on Broadway, the West End, toured the world, and one has been in a Judd Apatow movie. Their talent is real, raw, and intense—even in rehearsal. If my life were a video game, I’d have warped to a level I’m not ready to play. Compared to these actors, I feel small and inexperienced.
I can’t take my eyes off the two leads, Andy and Ben. During breaks and in between scenes, they are easygoing and funny. Always joking with the cast and crew. But once the scene begins, they turn it on like I’ve never seen. Another standout is Betty Lauderdale, a trans woman, whose character is trying to “do right by Jesus” by living as a man. She’s in the scene with Ajax before he dies by suicide, then finds him after.
There are eight cast members onstage with two understudies in the front row writing notes in their scripts, and me on the sidelines. It’s clear they’ve bonded from the way they talk and work together. Do they like Joshua? Are they mad about Caesar? Will they like me? Are they going to think I’m inexperienced? Instead of memorizing lines, I wrap myself in endless unanswerable questions.
Act Cool Page 20
