Most of rehearsal is spent working second-act scenes. Joshua obsesses over every detail. He questions their choices. Pushes them emotionally. Tells them what to do. The process is slow. In five hours, they have only made it through three scenes. Joshua can be harsh and direct. It’s unsettling. An actress left the stage crying.
“Let’s wrap this up early tonight, gang,” Joshua yells from the back of the theater. Everyone starts clapping and circling up onstage. Even the crew joins. Joshua heads down the steps, clapping the loudest. This seems like a group activity that I should be participating in. But I don’t want to make assumptions. I don’t want to just insert myself into their things.
The clapping dies down. Everyone holds hands in a big circle onstage, with Joshua in the middle. He looks my way, for the first time today, and smiles. “Aren’t you going to join us?”
Not wanting to make anyone wait, I take the stairs as fast as Joshua did, hopping onstage as the circle opens and lets me in. I’m holding hands with Ben and someone from backstage. I look around—there must be thirty people—as most of them look at me. “I trust you have all met August,” Joshua says, “I don’t know your last name.”
“Greene,” I say, my voice cracking a little.
“August Greene will be stepping into the role of Ajax. Chris Caesar would have been an amazing Ajax, but now we have August. Everyone welcome August.”
I smile at everyone, but I don’t know if they can see me, I’m so small from that introduction. “Great to be here,” I say, feeling the need to say something. People say hello.
“All right,” Joshua says, yanking back the attention. “Solid rehearsal today, gang. The second act is coming together, more of that tomorrow. We are eight days out. I need you all to step it up. Now, are we ready?” A few heads nod, then everyone closes their eyes. “A moment of silence for all the people who are in, have been in, or will be in conversion therapy. We do this show to bring awareness to this problem, and we’re thinking of you every day as we try to honor your life and struggles.”
I open my eyes and look at Joshua. That was unexpectedly touching. Maybe he’s a nice guy and putting on the big bad director act?
“Have a good night,” he says, then everyone falls out of the circle and heads backstage. I’m almost offstage when I hear Joshua say, “August Greene, can we talk?”
“Of course,” I say, and walk toward him. The theater quickly clears out, and it’s just me and him. He smiles at me, but it doesn’t feel welcoming.
“August, you look scared. Are you scared?”
“No,” I lie.
“I promise I won’t bite,” he says. “We got off to a bumpy start. I know that was partly my fault.”
“I understand. You miss Chris Caesar,” I say, stating the obvious.
“You’re absolutely right. I miss him. I had the perfect vision of this show, and all those protesters took that away from me.” He puts a toothpick in his mouth. “But here we are, and we’re going to make the very best of it,” he says.
“Sounds like a good plan,” I say.
“You’ve read the script?”
“I have.”
“Your monologue at the end of act one, that’s the moment that drives the second act. The suicide of Ajax is what inspires the characters to fight against the therapy. I know this puts pressure on you, but the show’s fate rests on your shoulders. And that means my fate rests on your shoulders. I’m going to get what I need out of you for this performance. Even if it means pushing you beyond what you are capable of. You understand?”
“Yes,” I say, overwhelmed.
“Right. Glad we are on the same page,” he says, chewing on his toothpick.
I should speak up. Talk back. Run away? Instead, I stand frozen with fear.
“We’ll be doing a put-in rehearsal for you on Friday. Sound good?”
“I won’t be onstage until Friday?”
“Correct. We will have the understudy stand in.”
“But why not just have me onstage? I’m going to be here.”
“’Cause we haven’t put you in, son.” He checks his phone, done with this conversation. “Good talk. See you tomorrow?”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
“Don’t call me sir. It makes me feel like your teacher.”
I walk out of the theater and onto the street. I don’t think anyone sees me the whole way home; I’m the smallest thing in the world.
Twenty
Thursday, October 24
8:20 P.M.
I’m having déjà vu. For the second time in a week, I’m in the elevator traveling up forty-five floors to Justin Sudds’s apartment. Well, his famous dad’s apartment. Elijah texted me during Conversion rehearsal and invited me over. I told him I was too tired, so he demanded it. I’m worried I’ll be ambushed. Maybe this is an acting intervention?
If anyone knew what the Conversion rehearsals were like, they truly might stage an intervention. Physically, it’s been an easy week. I go to my morning classes, take a nap during lunch, then sit and watch a rehearsal for six hours. Mentally, I’m exhausted from putting up with Joshua Downs and his mind games. But tomorrow is my put-in rehearsal. For better or worse, I’ll be onstage rehearsing. I don’t know if I’m ready. Joshua has filled me with doubt. I don’t trust myself to play the part—not completely.
Meanwhile at school, I’m playing the part of Famous August Greene. There’s no denying the energy shift. Before Grease, I was a nobody from nowhere. After Grease, people were interested. And now with Conversion, I have their attention. Even my friends are more excited about being around me. They talk to me differently. They listen to me differently. They think I’m great, and I think I’m crap.
So, I act how they want me to act. Everyone thinks I’m the big shot, so I play the big shot. Everyone thinks I’m onstage rehearsing with Broadway actors, so I let them think that. I don’t know if this is considered “making it” because I’m still completely faking it.
And tonight, they want to hang with the Famous August Greene. So, here I am. The elevator doors open, revealing the entire cast of Grease. They yell a loud, “Surprise!”
“What’s this?” I ask, pretending to be confused. “Is this a party for me?”
Elijah hops over to me. “We wanted to congratulate you for landing the role in Conversion, and that amazing article!”
Playbill ran an article today about Conversion hiring me to replace Chris Caesar. They posted a picture of Chris, looking like a model, beside a selfie of me from Instagram. When the article went live, I ignored most of US History reading and rereading it. A small part of me wanted to send it to Mom. I wish she could be proud of me. But we haven’t talked, and it would only upset her.
“Thank you, guys,” I say with the biggest and most humble smile. Then I notice everyone is wearing over-the-top costumes. Elijah has on a black corset with stockings and makeup, Tess and Kelsey are wearing nurse outfits, Justin is in a loose-fitting black suit with a back hump, Meena is a scientist (lab coat and clipboard), and Yazmin is in a leopard-print jumpsuit. But Anna takes the cake—she’s wearing a glittery corset with a matching jacket, plus a red wig and top hat.
“Holy shit, Anna,” I say.
She does a spin. “Don’t threaten me with a costume party.”
“What kind of costume party is this exactly?” I ask, feeling underdressed in my jeans.
Elijah throws his arm around me. “Only one of my most favorite movies ever, Rocky Horror Picture Show!”
Now the costumes make sense.
He continues, “Tonight, in your honor, we’ll be doing the Time Warp in Justin’s very luxurious screening room.”
I know there’s a cult following of devoted fans and midnight showings, but Rocky Horror wasn’t on my radar at West Grove. Too edgy for my old school. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen it,” I admit.
Elijah raises his arms above his head. “We have a virgin!” he announces to the crowd, which is met with cheers and whistles. “B
uckle up, baby. You aren’t watching it—you’ll be experiencing it!”
Justin leads the way to his screening room. I walk with Elijah, who still hasn’t perfected walking in heels. “Where’s Jamaal?” I ask.
“Oh, he had a date,” Elijah says, wobbling on a step. I’m happy that Jamaal is seeing someone—his showmance with Yaz never materialized—but I’m sad the intense cast bond is already loosening.
“Right this way,” Justin says, opening huge double doors, revealing a mini movie theater with ten or so seats. There are bags of popcorn and random props spread around. “Show will begin in ten minutes,” he announces.
The drink table is soda and water, no alcohol. “No drinking?” I ask Justin.
He flashes a mischievous grin. “Tonight, we’re getting higher.”
Kelsey passes by with a tray of brownies. “Special brownie?”
“Hell yes,” I say. If my aunt Lil can eat them, I can, too.
“We should hang out soon,” Justin says to me. “We could go out on my dad’s yacht.”
The son of 007 wants to hang out with me. On a boat. “Sure,” I say, as coolly as possible. “I’d be down.”
“There’s the celebrity,” Anna says, putting her arm around me.
I take off her top hat and put it on my head. “That’s meeee,” I sing.
“If someone told you back in Pennsylvania that you’d be at James Bond’s penthouse celebrating your role in a show that might go to Broadway, would you have believed them?”
I think of who I was back there. No way in hell I could have dreamed this big. “Of course I did. I’m actually wondering why it took so long,” I say.
She rolls her eyes and takes back her top hat. “I have some good news, too. I’ve been selected to direct a one-act play for the SPA Winter Showcase!”
“Cool,” I say.
“Cool?” she repeats. “I know it’s not Conversion, but this is a big deal for me.”
“Yeah, it sounds great,” I say. “If I don’t have a show that night, I’ll come see it!”
“Wow, what an honor,” Anna says, and heads over to the drink table.
Elijah comes up behind me. “Let’s grab a seat,” he says.
I follow him while eating the brownie. I’ve never had edibles, but I’m guessing Justin has the good stuff. “Front row?” I ask, my mouth full.
“You’ll be drier here.”
“Drier?”
“Oh boy, you’re in for it, my friend,” he says, throwing himself into the plush recliner and popping up the footrest. “This movie was pivotal to my development as an actor and a homosexual.”
“How so?” I ask, curious as to why so many theater people swear by this movie. The musical didn’t last long on Broadway.
He tosses a piece of popcorn in his mouth. “Before I was out, I felt like a weirdo. I thought I was too weird even for New York.”
“Not possible,” I say. I’ve seen some very weird things.
“Don’t deny me my feelings,” he jokes. “I was in ninth grade, and Brad Newsome—my secret crush—invited me over to watch Rocky Horror. I wasn’t ready for this movie. It was so wrong, it was right. The actors were weird, the singing and dancing were weird, it allowed me to be weird. Rocky Horror Picture Show gave me permission to be me.”
“Then you came out?” I asked.
He shrugs. “Not for another couple months, but I did kiss Brad Newsome that night. Right after the movie ended, I channeled Dr. Frank-N.-Furter and leaned in.”
“Where’s Brad now?”
“Dead to me, obviously; there’s only one guy and his name is Duncan.”
I check over my shoulder to see if Anna is nearby. She’s at the drink table, out of earshot. “How’s that going?” I ask, annoyed that it’s still going.
“Well, I have a plan, and that plan involves inviting him here tonight and making him choose publicly. And I think it’s a great plan.”
“That’s the dumbest plan ever,” I say.
“Too late, he’s showing up later. Let’s see if he can resist all this,” Elijah says, displaying his stocking-clad legs.
I laugh. “You’re weird in the best way.”
“Anyone sitting here?” Yazmin asks, already in the seat beside me. Eating popcorn.
I sit up a little. “Guess you are.”
Elijah gets up. “I’m headed to the bathroom,” he says, leaving us alone.
I smile at Yaz. “Who are you?” I ask, referring to her costume, not a deeper intellectual question.
She shrugs. “I haven’t seen this movie, but I figured I couldn’t go wrong with leopard-print everything. I know who you are.”
“Oh, I didn’t dress up.”
“You’re a big star.”
I blush. “Hardly,” I manage to say.
“Um, did you see all the coverage online about you? Broadway.com, Playbill, TheaterMania.”
“I didn’t read them,” I lie. I read all the articles, all the comments, and watched my follower count explode. I gained four hundred followers today. Acting feels like a drug, but so does social media. And I’m getting higher every day.
“August,” Yaz says, “I’m so proud of you.”
“Enough about me, how are you?” I ask. We haven’t talked since the cast party.
Yaz exhales loudly. “I’m fine. I have an audition for a short film this weekend. But I’m thinking of breaking up with my boyfriend. It’s always something with him.”
I nod, thinking back to the balcony where we kissed. Everything was so bright and new. Everyone was so cool and accomplished. But now I’m feeling like I’ve moved beyond it all.
“I’m back,” Elijah announces loudly. “Got us some candy.”
“Ready for the show?” Justin yells from the back of the room. The lights go down and everyone finds a recliner. There’s popcorn flying around the room and lots of excitement. Red lips sing the first song as the opening credits roll. Everyone knows the words but me and Yaz. Elijah is belting every word, and when I look over, there are tears in his eyes.
The movie starts with a wedding between Janet, played by Susan Sarandon, and an actor I’m not familiar with. Confetti flies around the room, like I’m in a snow globe. “What’s happening?” I ask Elijah, brushing confetti out of my hair.
“We’re just getting started,” he says, full of glee, as everyone sings “Dammit, Janet” along with the movie.
When Susan Sarandon puts a newspaper over her head to block the rain, everyone in the room does the same. Anna puts a newspaper over my head, then water comes from everywhere. I turn around to a full-on water-gun fight. “Don’t you dare ruin my makeup,” Elijah yells, covering his face. More water guns point toward him until he screams and ducks in his chair.
Things get out of control when “Time Warp” begins. Everyone’s dancing and scream-singing the words. “Get on your feet, August,” Anna yells. I hop on a recliner, balance myself, then go wild. The Famous August Greene knows how to shine during a group number.
I understand why Elijah loves this movie—the way Tim Curry plays Dr. Frank. No apologies. No inhibition. All sexuality. It’s inspiring to see a queer character fully owning his identity. I wish I weren’t playing a tragic character with the opposite of a happy ending. Ajax is the exact role I didn’t want to play. I’ve been having trouble stepping into the character when I rehearse at home. I feel so much pressure to show up to rehearsal tomorrow and blow them away. It makes this party feel like a waste of my time.
Can you die from an edible? Maybe I’ll google it.
Elijah’s eyes get big. “August, Duncan is here. Come with me?”
“I don’t know,” I say, not wanting to involve myself.
“I threw a whole party for you—would you do this for me?”
“Fine,” I say, then follow him. “Why do I need to come with you?”
Elijah stops, and I run into him. “I need you to run a distraction for me.”
“A what?”
“I need yo
u to distract Anna so I can talk to Duncan. Then I’m going to kiss him.”
“In front of everyone?”
“In front of Anna. Once she sees our heat, she will stay away.”
I grab his arm. “Hey, I’m serious. If Duncan isn’t out about being pansexual, you shouldn’t do this right now.”
“This is a very accepting crowd. It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid,” Elijah says, and continues up the stairs to his target. I follow behind him, my heart beating fast. Anna and Duncan watch us walk toward them.
“Hello, handsome,” Elijah says to Duncan, and gives him a hug.
I try to read Anna’s face, but she seems unfazed. Elijah gives me the nod to run the distraction. “Hey, Anna,” I say. “Look over there?”
“August, are you okay? Too many brownies?”
I don’t think I like Duncan. But if Elijah goes through with this, Anna will never forgive him. I need to stop this before anything happens. “Duncan is dating both of you,” I say.
All three of them look at me, shook. Then look at each other.
“August,” Elijah hisses at me.
“I did you a favor,” I say.
Anna gasps. “Do you think you’re better than us now, Augustus?”
I shake my head. “I’m just over it,” I say, then take off without saying goodbye. I am the Famous August Greene—I say what I think. When I turn the corner, I run into Tess.
“Hi, August,” she says.
“Hi, Tess,” I return as I walk past.
“I wanted to say congrats for getting that role.”
I stop and turn around. “Do you hate me? Or all trans people?” I ask, emboldened by the endorphins and edibles.
Her jaw drops. I’m on a roll tonight. So, I continue, “I bet you’re happy I’m finally staying in my lane. I bet you wish I were in conversion therapy.”
“August,” Tess says, but I’m already walking past her. I find my way out of the apartment, down the elevator, and call a car. Stars never stay until the end of events anyway.
Twenty-One
Friday, October 25
Act Cool Page 21
