The Backstagers and the Theater of the Ancients (Backstagers #2)

by Andy Mientus

  “Adrienne . . . I am so, so . . .”

  “Sorry?” she asked aloud, while at the same time making a fist and circling it against her chest.

  “Sorry,” Beckett signed back, repeating the gesture.

  “It’s okay,” she said warmly. “Believe me, I’m used to it. This is going to be a challenge, but it’s a challenge you made for yourself by creating an opportunity for me, so it’s a good thing.”

  “What’s the sign for ‘thank you’?” Beckett asked. Adrienne flattened her right hand with her fingers together, touched the tips to her chin, and lowered them with her palm up.

  “Thank you,” Beckett signed.

  “You’re welcome,” Adrienne signed back, and though Beckett hadn’t learned that one yet, he knew what she meant. “So I have a suggestion on how to do this, if you don’t mind me stepping on your toes as director,” she said. Beckett’s shoulders relaxed for the first time in an hour. He was all too happy to have some support.

  “Please!” he said. “Circle up, everybody!” The company formed a circle and Adrienne explained her idea.

  “What if Bailey wasn’t voicing the role from the wings, but was onstage with me as a second Tammy, like her inner monologue personified. The Tammy that lives inside of this shy girl, wanting to break out. That way, she can be my ears onstage.” Bailey’s eyes lit up. She stepped forward.

  “Adrienne, that’s brilliant!” she said. “So at that swell in the music Beckett wants you to find, I’ll make my entrance so you know it’s time.”

  “It’ll be like the inner Tammy inspires the outer Tammy to grow up,” Kevin mused. “We could maybe have Jory costume them the same so the audience understands right away.”

  “Let’s try it!” Beckett practically shouted, so thrilled to have these ideas to play with. The accompanist began the prologue again and this time, when the music swelled, Bailey entered the scene, nodding to the infant Tammy in encouragement. Adrienne then stood up to look at her inner self, and the two gazed at each other as if they were looking in the mirror. It was timed to the music perfectly.

  “YOU GUYS, that was amazing!” Beckett cheered. “Okay, so, next—adult Tammy needs to enter the world. Let’s have the other actors enter here as various people she encounters on the street. Adrienne and Bailey, I’d love for you to walk in a circle, just barely missing the others as they hurry past you, not noticing you. Do you think you can walk on the beat of the music?”

  “How about Bailey walks behind me with her hand on my shoulder, tapping the beat?” Adrienne suggested.

  “Yeah! I’ll be like I’m guiding her, always with her like a guardian angel,” Bailey said.

  “Take it from the mirror moment,” Beckett said. The accompanist and the actors started again from the moment Bailey and Adrienne gazed at each other. On a music shift, the ensemble flooded the stage in a flurry of activity while Bailey led Adrienne in a circle as directed. They were perfectly on the beat. It was incredible staging. When the section ended, the company cheered both aloud and in sign language, raising their hands in the air and quickly twisting their wrists, kind of like a more relaxed version of jazz hands.

  “Great work, everyone! Bring it in!” Beckett said.

  The company circled up once again. Beckett addressed them honestly and as equals. “One thing is very clear: If we’re going to pull this off, it’s going to be a company effort all the way. I’ll do my best to guide us, but if anyone has an idea on how to make it better, I wanna hear it. Especially you, Adrienne—your perspective is what will make this show sing. The walls between director and actor need to come down. We are going to build this together.”

  He looked around at his company and they all nodded affirmatively, incredibly inspired and ready to put in the hard work.

  CHAPTER 6

  The work on Tammy continued fruitfully for the next week. Beckett heard every idea the actors had to offer and pieced them together into cohesive scenes. Bailey commented after rehearsal one day that normally, a director used so little of an actor’s talent. To get a role, an actor had to direct themselves to prepare their audition, but then was expected to leave those instincts behind when they walked into the rehearsal room. She found Beckett’s way of working really refreshing.

  Beckett was thrilled that his new role was not getting in the way of their evolving relationship, but rather was helping them show new sides of themselves to each other. Aziz spoke to Mrs. Matlin, the St. Genesius sign language teacher (who knew Aziz as her newest, most enthusiastic student), and she helped them find a certified interpreter so that Adrienne wouldn’t have to strain to lip-read all the time. Mrs. Matlin also offered to teach special lunchtime classes so that the cast members who weren’t her students could begin to learn the language themselves.

  Despite how exciting and fulfilling the work had been, after a long and productive Friday evening rehearsal, everyone was relieved when Hunter announced that they would end there for the week to allow the last chunk of rehearsal for the design presentation. The design presentation was when the actors gathered around to view the sketches that the scenic and costume designers had prepared. It allowed everyone to picture the full production more clearly as they rehearsed, and it let the Backstagers know what work would need to be done to realize those ideas.

  Aziz gathered up an elaborate model he had been working feverishly on, slightly nervous, but overwhelmingly proud and excited to finally be seen as a creative artist and not just a dude who built stuff.

  “Okay, everyone!” Hunter said as all of the actors and the Backstagers gathered together on the stage. “Thanks so much for a great first week. Really amazing work happening here. You’ve all earned a nice break and our designers are eager to share with you their own amazing work. Aziz, Jory, you ready to show us your stuff?”

  Aziz stepped forward with his set model, but Jory did not. Hunter scanned the group for him, but he was nowhere to be found. He looked to Aziz, who shrugged his shoulders, just as baffled.

  “Aziz, why don’t you get started,” Hunter said. “I’m sure Jory just lost track of time.” Aziz nodded and began talking the eager actors through the miniature world he had created. Hunter slipped into the wings and headed toward the stage door, searching for the absent Jory.

  For Jory, this week had not been nearly as productive or exciting as it had been for Beckett and the cast. It was as if the entire week had been consumed by that pesky voice. It was there when he woke up, telling him that he was ordinary and plain-looking and untalented. It was there during class, telling him that none of this stuff mattered and he was too stupid to really understand it anyway. It was there every time he opened his notebook to work, telling him his designs were terrible and that he was unworthy of possessing the notebook at all.

  It was so persistent that any time Jory tried to get any sketches down, he ended up erasing them in shame, snapping the notebook shut, and taking a nap to quiet the voice. He ended up taking a lot of naps, which messed up his sleep schedule and kept him awake late into the night, covering his ears with a pillow to try to drown out the voice that haunted him. He would then awaken so groggy that he would need another nap later in the day, creating a cycle he couldn’t escape. He put his backstage mapping sessions with Reo on hold until further notice because he was just too tired.

  The one thing that did seem to quiet the voice was his new stardom on Instasnap. In just the last week, his follower count had surged into the tens of thousands and his pictures were regularly earning as many likes. A carefully composed photo of his breakfast was a hit. It took him twenty-five tries to get the timer right to snap a staged photo of him fake meditating, but the likes came flooding in when he posted it, and a popular nature account he followed commented, “Vibes.” A few times he caught himself refreshing his feed again and again for hours as he lay motionless on the couch, but it felt worth it when a lifestyle account with a blue check mark next to its name followed him back. Instasnap became an antidote to the gloom he had inexpl
icably fallen under and another new family for him to be a part of. Unlike the Backstagers, though, this community only saw the best parts of Jory, the ones that he chose to let them see. That was easier in a lot of ways.

  He was taking refuge from the voice by scrolling through his Instasnap feed from the couch in the Club Room when Hunter’s voice reached him.

  “There you are! It’s seven fifteen, we’re getting started upstairs.”

  “What?” Jory croaked blearily.

  Hunter was taken aback at how sunken Jory’s eyes looked, like he was trapped somewhere between awake and asleep. “The design presentation, remember? Aziz is starting with the set; we can do costumes after.”

  Jory felt a cold shiver of dread. He had completely forgotten.

  “Oh, right. Um . . . so is Aziz just, like, talking through concepts, or . . . ?”

  “He built a model, Jory.”

  “Huh. Well, I don’t really have—I mean, I’ve been working on a few sketches but . . .”

  “But?”

  Jory sighed. He figured he’d better come clean.

  “I’m sorry, Hunter, I’m not prepared for today. I don’t have the sketches done.”

  Hunter looked concerned, not angry. He could tell something was seriously going on with Jory.

  “Jory, is everything okay?”

  “Well, actually—” Jory was about to tell Hunter everything about the pit of sadness he’d found himself in, but he was quickly interrupted.

  “DON’T YOU DARE TELL HIM YOU ARE TOO SAD TO WORK. SAD ABOUT WHAT? HE’LL THINK YOU’RE CRAZY. HE’LL NEVER TRUST YOU WITH ANYTHING AGAIN. AND HONESTLY, WHY SHOULD HE?”

  Jory clenched his jaw, took a breath, and said, “I’ve just been really busy.”

  Hunter wasn’t sure what to think. He could tell that Jory wasn’t telling him something, but it was also clear that Jory wasn’t going to elaborate further. He wanted badly in that moment to be the boyfriend, to scoop Jory up into a bear hug and make whatever was wrong with him better, but with a theater full of actors and Backstagers under his watch, he needed to be the stage manager even more.

  As gently as he could, Hunter said, “Well, I’ve noticed how much you’ve been on your phone this week. Maybe if you gave it a rest you could make more time for the sketches.” He didn’t mean for it to sound judgmental, but he could see from the look in Jory’s eye that it did.

  Jory’s voice didn’t like Hunter’s suggestion one bit.

  “YOU KNOW, THERE IS MORE TO LIFE THAN JUST THESE SHOWS, HUNTER.”

  “You know,” Jory repeated, his eyes growing dark, “there is more to life than just these shows, Hunter.”

  “THIS ISN’T BROADWAY. THIS ISN’T A JOB. THESE ARE SCHOOL SHOWS THAT JUST A HANDFUL OF PEOPLE ACTUALLY SEE.”

  “This isn’t Broadway. They’re school shows that no one actually sees.”

  Jory’s words cut through the air straight into Hunter’s heart. Jory knew immediately that he had crossed a line, but he was too tired to feel anything about it. He slumped back into the couch and shut his eyes.

  Hunter felt like he was about to cry. Only his pure shock at Jory’s reaction kept his tears in.

  “We’ll postpone the costume presentation to next week,” Hunter said.

  “Fine,” Jory replied as he started to slip into a nap. Hunter nodded and walked off silently.

  Jory was about to finally grab a few moments of rest before his phone dinged with a notification. It wasn’t the normal alert for a like or a follow, but the much rarer herald of a direct message. Opening the app sleepily, he perked up when he saw it was from someone named Niko with a blue check mark next to his name.

  Hey Jory! I hope this isn’t totally weird, messaging you like this. This is gonna seem random, but hear me out. I work with this awesome social media influencer group called Thiasos and they wanted me to help them gather young influencers from around the world for a summit in Athens next weekend. I know that is very last minute, but we were filling out our roster and just became aware of your account. Amazing sketches, dude! We think an up-and-coming young fashion designer like yourself would be a fantastic addition. It’s all expenses paid, travel, meals, etc., and you can stay with us at our house, plenty of room! We’ll be discussing young perspectives on art and life and taking lots of photos, of course! Could be cool. Feel free to reach out with any questions! Say yes! —Niko

  Jory clicked Niko’s profile and nearly gasped at how impossibly cool he and his life seemed. Niko looked about Jory’s age, but with none of Jory’s inherent adolescent awkwardness. He looked comfortable in his body in each casually flawless photo in his profile. He appeared to be Greek himself, with bronze skin and thick dark hair molded into a perfect sleek quaff crowning his angular face. There were images of him posing with a classic convertible along rocky ocean side cliffs, poised to enjoy lush, colorful salads at chic cafes, and laughing with equally glamorous friends at lantern-lit late-night hangs. This was the kind of guy who’d never be caught backstage—he was a star. He even mistook Jory’s costume designs for fashion designs.

  Fashion designer. It sounded a lot cooler than Backstager. Jory felt a surge of energy unlike anything he’d felt all week as he clicked REPLY.

  CHAPTER 7

  Meanwhile, amidst all this turmoil, Sasha was seriously, ceaselessly, desperately bored. When he was in charge of props, his work on the St. Genesius shows began immediately, as he had to race to get objects into the hands of actors as soon as they needed them in rehearsal. Electrics was quite a different world, as sound and lighting didn’t come into play until a show was in tech, and that was weeks away.

  He’d done what he could to stay occupied. He found the lighting booth to be a particularly uninspiring space, so he gave it a sort of 1970s-era cocktail lounge makeover with old set pieces he found in storage from Genesius’s production of Companions, the swinging musical about how awful it is to get married. Once the place felt appropriately swanked out with shag carpets, leopard-print couches, and solid gold drink carts, he sat satisfied in his new domain . . . but he was still aimless.

  He spent some time down in the Club Room, replaying the library of Gamestation 5 games they had amassed from bargain bins, but having beaten all of them several times before and with the Gamestation 6 dominating every TV commercial break with its improved graphics, he didn’t get the same thrill he used to get from defeating the Spider Queen in Call of Honor. He powered down the console and kind of flopped around on the couch for a while before he spotted the Unsafe door at the corner of the room.

  After everything that had happened in the backstage this year, the guys never went past the Unsafe door alone. Still, the lure of adventure was too great. The backstage was a lot of things, but it was certainly never boring. Sasha padded up to the Unsafe door and pressed his hand against it. You can’t go back there alone, he thought. But then he remembered that he did know someone who lived back there, so if he went to visit him, then he wouldn’t be alone at all. That was safe, right?

  He dug in his pockets for some change and plunked the coins into the vending machine at the opposite end of the Club Room. It dispensed a bag of Fire Red Cheese Puffs, which he snatched up eagerly, then he darted through the Unsafe door into the starry expanse of the tunnels.

  After trying a few different doors to get his bearings, Sasha finally found the door he was looking for. He opened it and stepped into a crystalline cave filled with hulking chunks of all sorts of metals, glittering in the light of miners’ lanterns. It was cool and dark and mostly quiet, save for a grinding sound that echoed from the many dark crevices in the rocky walls of the room.

  Sasha pulled on a chain around his neck, revealing a small whistle at its end. He blew a sharp blast on the whistle, which echoed throughout the cavern. From each of the dark pockets in the walls of the cave came the light of hundreds of glowing orange eyes.

  The owners of those eyes came forth to the edges of the pockets, revealing themselves to be alarming creatures wit
h angular faces, slick purple fur, long turquoise tongues, and rows of razor-sharp teeth. Some of them munched on pieces of metal ore from within the depths of the cave. On closer look, they were not eating the pieces of metal whole, but rather were gnawing at their edges, leaving behind the familiar shapes of hammers, wrenches, drill bits, and the like.

  This was the Tool Room, from whence all the tools of the backstage came, and these were the tool mice who ruled over it, carving implements of theater from raw metal ore with their powerful jaws, creating the grinding sound that hummed through the cavern day and night.

  They watched Sasha intently but calmly until he removed the bag of Fire Red Cheese Puffs from the pouch of his hoodie. That’s when every orange eye turned blood red and each of the hundreds of tool mice charged toward Sasha, steel jaws bared, turquoise tongues lashing. Shockingly, Sasha seemed undaunted by this and blew two more sharp blasts into the whistle. The tool mice immediately ceased their charge and formed a perfect orderly line about ten feet from where Sasha stood.

  He smiled. Training them had taken countless hours, several bandages, and a whole case of cheese puffs, but it was worth it. The tool mice were content to munch on metal ore all day, but something about the color red whipped them into an absolute frenzy. Jory and Hunter had learned this the hard way when they encountered the pack on one of Jory’s first forays into the backstage, but Sasha realized quickly that it was a power that could be harnessed.

  He blew a rhythmic pattern into the whistle and one sole mouse broke rank and bounded toward Sasha. Instead of going straight for the cheese puffs when it reached him, though, it leaped into his arms and licked his rosy round face affectionately.

  “I missed you, too, Friendo!” Sasha exclaimed to Friendo, his personal pet tool mouse. Friendo scurried up his shoulders and found a cozy spot around his neck. He opened the bag of cheese puffs and the rest of the tool mice began to pant hungrily, though they didn’t budge from their spot. He fed a puff to Friendo, who practically inhaled it, it was gone so fast.