Little Did I Know

by Mitchell Maxwell

  “I’m eating here,” Morris said. “I’m told the food is very good.” Or at least I think that was what he said. “@#%@^&**@ Sammy, %@&*%, hammer, &&#^%, pizza,” he said and headed to the theater to go help out with the strike.

  My father stole his bride from our leading man, took her hand in his, and walked her across the compound. Rene stayed behind at the redwood table talking with her new best friend, a tall blond beauty who hung on every word.

  84

  Every person who worked at PBT was busy inside the building. The mood was festive, but it was not a party. Kasen barked orders and things happened with alacrity and purpose. Scenery flew in from the loft and was rigged and sent away to await its next appearance. James, ASK, and Doobie held positions on top of tall A-frame ladders and turned white-hot Fresnels, Lycos, and beam projectors until each lamp hit the correct spot and Duncan approved their moving on to setting the next instrument. Dr. Rosenstein and Louis Rosenberg reset the orchestra’s amplification and played short riffs from Company so that the new sound levels were ready for tomorrow’s tech run. Racks of costumes left the stage and new inventions rolled in to take their place, a swoosh of color flying across the crowded stage. Jojo spoke to everyone on headset. Feston and Secunda kept the mood light by improvising a play by play of events and accomplishments as late night turned into early morning.

  In the middle of all this Feston says, “Eighty-year-old Jewish guy walks into a confessional at church and says to the priest, ‘Fathder, Fathder, I am shutpping a sixteen-year-old girl.’ ‘That’s disgraceful,’ says the priest. ‘Anyway why are you telling me? You’re a Jew and I’m a priest.’ ‘Why am I telling you?’ the old man asks? ‘I am telling everyone!’”

  Secunda: “A hamburger and a French fry walk into a bar. The bartender says ‘sorry we don’t serve food here.’”

  Feston: “A potato walks into a bar and all eyes were on him.”

  Secunda. “E-flat walks into a bar. Bartender says, ‘We don’t serve minors.’” The good doctor hit a “ba-dump-dum” from the orchestra pit.

  Feston: “Skunk walks into a bar and says, ‘Hey, where did everybody go?’”

  Secunda: “A woman and a duck walk into a bar. The bartender says, ‘Where did you get the pig?’ The woman says, ‘That’s not a pig, that’s a duck.’ The bartender says, ‘I was talking to the duck.’”

  The work continued despite the insanities. They played dueling bad jokes, matching one another twenty, twenty-five times, never missing a beat. Finally to institutional relief, Secunda ended it all with, “Thank you, thank you, ladies and gentlemen. We will be here all week. Two shows on Saturday.”

  Then everyone booed and hissed. There were cries of “get the hook!” Feston stepped forward and did a dead-on imitation of Secunda’s Nixon.

  Hunched over and with his hands in a V he said, “I am not a crook.” The work continued.

  I always thought of the set turnover as a melancholy time. Endings are hard, yet without them beginnings never happen. The energy and the busy worker bees reminded me of the Lilliputians all working together to keep Gulliver tied down, or a group of Santa’s elves chugging along on the way to Christmas. The scenery often dwarfed the workers and the disparity in size was amusing to watch, easy to enjoy. You could sit quietly in the back of the theater and observe as one environment was replaced by a whole new world, all in minutes like real life in flash-forward photography.

  Veronica made her presence known. She was clearly working the room, making sure that at tomorrow’s breakfast she’d be one of the specials. Tall blonde over easy. Every few minutes she would take someone’s elbow and ask them to take a break from their chores, then bring them into the house to say hello to Herb and Phyllis. Rene and Morris were like supporting characters as each scene developed, and before long Act One was finished.

  The hydraulic was a disaster. It simply did not work. Hydraulics are meant to move things fluidly up and down. Ours was inert. Duncan continued to beat on it the way a doctor insists on endless defib paddles to revive a long-dead patient. No one was angry, just freaked out about our limited options. Duncan had designed a truly imaginative set and Kasen had built it correctly under great duress. But it simply didn’t work. And it was essential to the whole design.

  Company took place in the upscale environs of a frantic, breathless New York City. The set had to be fluid, continual effortless motion of the high-tech, chrome, and metal buildings that were the essence of “the Apple.” We were faced with a tech rehearsal scheduled to start at 10 a.m., with fewer than five hours to find a solution. The motors on the hydraulic elevator were as dead as being 0-2 against Seaver in afternoon shadows. We were going down. We drank endless cups of coffee—light, sweet, strong joe laced with Jim Beam. The buzz was nice, but the answers were nowhere in the building. Just as we reached the nadir of our despair, James walked in with a big smile on his face. No doubt he was stoned. He was followed by an equally jolly Doobie and a group of six guys I had never met, huge mountain men whose muscles were topped with muscles and whose necks were the circumference of thirty-gallon trash cans. Two of the behemoths carried large workout benches, and the other four barbells of great size. James sent the fellows down under the stage telling them he’d be with them in a moment.

  James showed me a simple drawing of two weight benches arranged in a manner whereby they connected to the dysfunctional hydraulic elevator. Placed on the benches were sets of four cylinders that each held several hundred pounds of barbells. Poorly sketched, yet clearly part of the equation were six freakishly large muscled men. James had solved the problem! He intended to replace automation with old-fashioned hard labor. More astonishing was the fact that he’d brought the muscle with him at five in the morning and was stoned to boot. I thought of Charlton Heston rowing that war galleon in Ben Hur. If the Romans could rule the world without automation, we at PBT could move scenery the same way. It was genius. It was a miracle. It was why James, even through the haze of marijuana that engulfed him, was the smartest guy I knew.

  With great relief I cheerfully exclaimed, “How long will it take to build this thing?” Then I kissed him on both cheeks, we cranked up Sinatra on the stereo, and he sang “The Good Life.”

  Less than an hour later we found it worked. The elevator rested on a platform attached to the barbells. On cue, the six goons lifted the thing in unison from under the stage and it meshed perfectly with the hole we had cut in the floor. It was smooth and precise, and because of the overwhelming strength of our crew, not a single grunt was heard. Sunday was off to a good start.

  85

  I needed a respite, at least for a little while. I also needed and wanted to see my parents. It was too early to wake them and visit over breakfast, so I decided a short run was the best option.

  Veronica was already up and dressed to kill. Her hair was freshly washed and blown dry with a perfect curl to it. Her makeup was subtle and soft, her blue eyes highlighted by shadow simply dazzled. She wore a lavender halter-top that showed off her soft, tanned shoulders and taut, bare midriff. It was incredibly sexy yet decorous at the same time. Only Veronica could pull that parlay off successfully. Her faded blue-denim skirt was tied with a royal-blue satin sash and it too offered enough modesty along with a spectacular glimpse of thigh. She greeted me with a gorgeous, welcoming smile. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she said. “I ran you a hot bath. It will refresh you and get you ready for the day and this evening.”

  “This evening? What about this evening?”

  “You are having dinner with your parents and Rene and Morris.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes, I called Marty Stanhope at the White Cliffs and preordered the whole thing. You’ll only have about an hour and a half at break and this way we can all have a relaxing visit.”

  “A bath?” I asked. “I haven’t had a bath since I was six. Anyway, I thought I’d meet them for an early breakfast in about an hour.”

  She
put her arms easily around my shoulders and spoke to me as if I wasn’t very bright. “Bad idea, big boy,” she said. “Herb and Phyllis left real late last night and need to sleep in. I told them I’d pick them up at eleven and show them the town, take them to the beach and some of the knickknack shops. We’ll drive by the Barrows estate and I’ll tell the tale of how you jousted with the Black Knight and won.” She kissed me. “Then we’ll meet you at six-thirty for dinner.”

  Herb and Phyllis, Rene and Morris. How long had we been married? “Veronica, my parents don’t do well in second position. I’ll take a quick run, shower, and at least have coffee with them this morning.”

  “Honey, no. I explained to them last night that wouldn’t happen, particularly with the set problems. They’re fine. They really are. Now skip the run and take your bath.”

  “I am not taking a bath. I am not a bath guy. I will take your advice though and not try to fit too much in this morning. I’ll see you at six-thirty.” I kissed her long and sweet. She smelled and tasted delicious. I must have smelled like smoke, dust, and burnt coffee. She didn’t seem to mind. She kissed me again. I realized it didn’t bother me at all that she was stage managing my life and my parents. “See you later, baby. I gotta run.”

  I burst out into the compound and found my second wind as I began a leisurely run toward the beach. The weather was perfect, the sky as blue as Veronica’s eyes, the sun warm, the air crisp and bright without a touch of humidity. It was a gift to my family from the meteorological gods. Postcard vistas, centerfold girlfriend, busy, productive son. A trifecta for my folks. As I ran along the ocean I smiled, thinking that perhaps twenty-one wasn’t so young and that early August in Plymouth, Massachusetts, was a perfect time to embrace the glories of youth.

  It turned out to be a blessing that I had not scheduled breakfast with my parents. Jojo had come down personally to find me by the shore. Despite the hydraulics solution, we had other problems that needed remedy. We had actor problems. In fact, the whole production of Company had careened off its path and was headed down the bumpy road to oblivion. For the first time this summer, there was a sense of doubt in my collaborators’ eyes, and it showed in the carriage and confidence of both Ellie and Elliot.

  Jojo called a production meeting so we could identify the problems and make some plans to find solutions. We only had so many hours to work before Monday’s opening. I decided we’d dry tech the show with stand-ins. This meant the actors would not be part of setting technical cues. We would use kids, locals, or visiting parents to stand in the places that needed to be lit. We’d mark the spots with glow tape and pray the actors found them when we had a chance to run the show.

  We’d do the same thing with sound cues. We chose Secunda to sing all the songs and set all music levels off his voice. Elliot was to rehearse Fitzgerald alone on her number, and she’d sing it with the orchestra for the first time at the dress or first performance if we ran out of time. Finally, Ellie would work in the parking lot—not a great place to stage the Act Two opening—and use a tape as her musical support.

  No one would be allowed to show doubt or concern around the actors. The spin on our circumstances would remain positive and confident. This was part of growing as a performer. It should be fun to learn to swim in deep, shark-infested waters against a riptide that could sweep you out to sea and drown you like a rat in the black, icy ocean.

  I wanted to place a pistol against my temple. This promised to be a train wreck.

  I had one final thought before we began our individual rehearsals. As time allowed, we would rehearse the opening until it was perfect, then the close of Act One until polished and sure. Then we would grab hold of the Act Two opening, and last the finale. If that’s all we could manage, then at least we might fool ’em all with a good start and better finish.

  We broke the huddle and went to work. I felt a bit like the guys at the Alamo, or Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, or even Bonnie and Clyde. None of them had a chance in hell of getting out alive. Unfortunately, neither did we.

  We took no breaks. We had snacks and lunch brought in while we rehearsed. We rehearsed scenes in and out of light as cues were set and reset throughout the day. Actors worked their scenes as the costume department dressed and undressed them, refitted the clothes, and redressed them again. We didn’t have time to stop and do anything with a proper or singular focus. However, as the day wore on, progress was evident.

  Ellie got the opening set for Act Two, polished the first number in the show, and revisited earlier teachings. The actors ran lines and found little bits of business on their own, while the tech aspects of the show swirled around them and slowly coalesced. The company voted against a dinner break and worked straight through. They were wonderful, committed professionals, and we fed off each other’s energy. We talked through scenes because we didn’t have time to run them, and you could see the focus and concentration on all the faces as they locked in their beats, their blocking, and their dance steps.

  When we finally stopped to breathe and send everyone to bed for rest, it was past midnight. I was sure no one would sleep soon; they’d retrace the day and commit it even deeper to memory. Rehearsals were to begin again at eight. Although it was a glorious, inspiring fifteen hours of work, we had yet to run anything in sequence.

  I knew I had missed my dinner with Mom and Dad. I had asked JB to call the White Cliffs and explain. What were my options? A surgeon doesn’t leave the patient on the OR table before finishing and sewing him up. I returned to my room, showered, put on a pair of boxers and climbed into bed. Veronica was nowhere to be found and had left no message for me in the office. I was too tired to figure out where she might be, but was positive she was taking care of her summer-in-laws. I’d find out in the morning. I rested my head on the pillow and thought, God bless the blonde. A heartbeat later I was asleep.

  I awoke at 7 a.m. with Veronica lying next to me in bed. I had been so sound asleep I hadn’t noticed she was home. As I threw on my clothes and washed up, she briefed me on yesterday’s events. The day had gone swimmingly. It was a lovefest with both my father and uncle, who told her if I didn’t marry her, they would. They had stayed at the White Cliffs until early morning dancing, dining, and getting the VIP treatment from everyone who crossed their path.

  They all understood I had to work, but pleaded with her to make sure we could visit tonight before curtain. My dad also wanted me to know that his boss, Bill Hockman, and his wife were driving up from New York to see the show. I found that news both surprising and disconcerting. Hockman was a douche. Veronica couldn’t stress how important she thought it was that I see my parents that evening. She said my uncle was a dear and my dad a gentleman, and that she figured both my mother and aunt had hollow legs, for it was the only place they could have put all that alcohol.

  I kissed her. Thanked her. Told her I missed her face and headed for work.

  86

  Monday was a replica of Sunday. We pecked away at problems, and the musical began to take shape. It found some rhythm, but as of four o’clock we had still not begun a full run-through in costume and makeup, with sound and lights and all our fancy scenery moving in and out. Fitzgerald had still not sung her number for anybody but Elliot in a rehearsal, as each time we got to that moment we said, “And then Kat sings. Now let’s move on.” I gave the company a much needed thirty-minute break. You can only run so fast or so far before you collapse in a heap. They all needed to breathe.

  I sat in the theater. Alone. I had insisted all work stop and even the tech crew step outside and remember there were trees and blue sky in our lives. I waved away anyone who offered to bring me food or drink and I wasn’t interested in discussing options. The break ended promptly at 4:30 p.m. The company waited for instructions.

  “I want the crew out here in the house with me. I want to run the opening all out, and I want the crew to watch. No scene changes and no costumes. Jojo, I don’t want you calling any cues.
Elliot, have the orchestra play like a motherfucker.” I paused and took in everyone’s gaze one set of eyes at a time, then added, “I want everyone to have fun. You guys on the crew don’t get to see the shows from the house often, so enjoy. Christmas in August here at PBT.”

  So they ran the opening. “Again,” I said. “This time have fun.” They ran the opening again. It was fun.

  “Okay, good,” I said. “Jojo, I want to run the number again, this time with just Elliot on the piano. I want the actors and the band in the house, and I want all the scenery to move and the light cues given and the dressers to step out on stage and show us the changes they make throughout. I want you to call the cues on the god mic so everyone can hear them. I want everyone in the house to pay attention. Close attention.”

  They all did what I asked. “Again,” I said.

  They did it all again. However, this time the faces of the actors and musicians creased with a revelation, an epiphany that they were all part of something bigger than what they each did on the show. They realized that if you took any of the cards off the table the whole thing would tumble.

  “Okay, good,” I said. “One last thing. Elliot, could you have the orchestra play the exit music. I would like everyone else to just listen. Doctor, please have your guys play their tits off.”

  They did.

  “Okay,” I said. “Now, Jojo, set places. We are now going to run it for real. All in, see what we have.”

  We did, and what we had was really good. The first eight minutes of our show were fucking great. What followed was the unknown, a potential belly flop into nowhere. Wearing my nerves out loud was not the way to lead. I swallowed the bile building inside my stomach.

  “Okay,” I said. “Zach, will you mind standing center and singing ‘Being Alive,’ and would the rest of the company stand out here with me and listen?”