All You Need Is Love

by Russell J. Sanders

  Mr. Waters said, “I asked Glen to come today as a second set of eyes and ears. I tried to decide on cuts this weekend, but everything just seems so necessary to me. But, as we found out in a not so good way, we have to cut a couple of minutes from the show. So Glen here is going to watch and listen. He’s not as familiar with our cutting as you guys and I are, so I think he’ll be able to find a few cuts that’ll be expendable. So—let’s get started.”

  We ran the show, and Glen sat, watching.

  We finished. Mr. Waters stood. “Great, guys and gals. Glen and I will discuss all this at home; then we’ll implement the cuts tomorrow. ’Kay?”

  As everyone scrambled to leave, I went to Glen. “Thanks for coming. I know Mr. Waters values your opinion. And after our scare on Saturday, we need input, believe me.”

  “No prob, Dewey,” he said.

  Mr. Waters, who’d been switching off the stage lights, came up. “Ready, Glen?”

  “Ready, Rob.” And together, the three of us left the auditorium.

  Next day, we gathered. Glen was back again. He gave us his notes, and we marked our scripts. Then we ran the show, trying to remember the cuts. It was hard because we’d been doing it for so long the original way. We had to start and stop a couple of times for reminders of what had been deleted.

  Finally, with the show running longer than ever, we finished. Mr. Waters stood up. “Well, gang, I know it was rough-going today. But Glen and I think the cuts are going to work. Please, please, please study your scripts tonight. I want to run the new version tomorrow and try to get a timing.”

  From then on, the show ran at thirty-eight minutes every day, like clockwork. Mr. Waters was pleased, the cast was pleased, and Glen was pleased. Yes, Glen continued to come to rehearsals.

  Once I said, wondering out loud, “Doesn’t Glen have a job?”

  Jimmy heard me. He looked at me and whispered, “He’s a waiter. Works at night.”

  Leave it to Jimmy. He knows everything.

  So we coasted into Regionals, the show running perfectly every time we did it. We even took it to a couple of colleges for critiques. We got raves from the grad students who watched us, and we even put in a few changes they suggested.

  Regionals came, and we won again! We were headed to state.

  All during this time, I think I saw Butch only two or three times. He was keeping himself busy with the job, I guess. I know it was getting to him because he showed up for one of his foyer visits one morning a couple of weeks after District.

  “Man, Dewey, I’m whipped. Slaved until eleven last night. And that’s gettin’ to be a regular thing.”

  “Sorry to hear that, Butch. Maybe you should quit if it’s too much for you.”

  “Quit? I can’t. Mama’s finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel without making herself sick, working all the time. I have to keep this job. I only wish it paid better. I really need to find something that won’t kill me. One that’ll make me a ton of money for Mama.”

  “Wish I could help you with that, Butch. Maybe after we graduate, you can find something better. Just hold out another couple of months.”

  I hated I couldn’t offer more encouragement, but I didn’t have a clue as to how he could make more and work less. And I was focused on my goal too. We had to win State. And I had to win Best Actor.

  During all that time, I didn’t see Jeep. I completely vanquished him from my mind. Or at least I tried. Every so often, in the wee hours of the morning or when I was in the shower or when I was on the phone with LuLu or Jo, his face would creep into my mind. And every time, that sad, sad look was on it. It killed me to think of that, so I didn’t.

  We were taking a big yellow school bus to Austin. Our few set pieces fit in the back of the bus, which would be empty, since there were less than twenty of us. Mr. Waters was bringing Glen with us because he had been such a help. The fun part was we’d be staying overnight, in a motel. Mr. Waters posted the room assignments, two to a room.

  When I looked at the assignments, I saw I’d be rooming with Charles. I was clueless as to why Mr. Waters put us together. I suspected he’d just done it randomly, maybe pulling names out of a hat.

  Sadly, though, Jimmy was on a tear when he saw the list. “Watch out for him, Dewey,” he warned. I just shook my head at him.

  Journey day has arrived. Finally. Thought it would never come. We board the bus for the trip. The plan is we’ll get to Austin by lunchtime and eat. Our rehearsal’s scheduled for four this afternoon.

  You’d never guess we were seasoned actors doing an almost-classic play at a state contest. Somebody starts the “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer” song, and it lasts forever. Mr. Waters tries to quiet us, but we’ve got too much nervous energy.

  “Leave ’em be,” Glen says. So Mr. Waters turns around and stuffs his ears with cotton. He came prepared. Guess some of the other teachers had warned him.

  We arrive at the motel, Mr. Waters registers us, and keys are handed out. Charles and I take our gear to our room.

  As rooms go, this one is nice. It’s not a palace, but it’s okay. I’ve never stayed in a motel before, so I didn’t know what to expect. What I didn’t expect was the bed. The bed.

  Charles and I would have to share.

  Jimmy would have a field day with that bit of knowledge.

  “I thought there’d be two beds,” Charles says.

  “Me too.”

  “Is it a problem?”

  What can I say? “No. No problem.”

  We stow our stuff and return to the lobby. When everybody is assembled, the bus driver takes us to a burger place, where we have our lunch. It isn’t even near four o’clock, so Glen volunteers a tour around the UT campus while Mr. Waters goes to the theater to get us signed in.

  Just before four, Glen maneuvers us into the theater. Mr. Waters is waiting for us. He takes us to our dressing area, shows it to us—because we aren’t doing a dress rehearsal, just a run-through today—and we take the stage.

  It makes me feel really good when one of the UT theater stagehands says, after we finish, “Wow. That was fantastic.” He means it too. Not just saying it.

  After dinner, Mr. Waters tells us we’re on our own, but to expect a bed check at ten. We’re not to leave the motel, but we can swim in the pool. So we have a blowout pool party. That nervous energy is still working itself out. Luckily, there isn’t a deep end—it’s only five feet—so nobody drowns. Exhausted finally, we all head to bed.

  “You want the bathroom first, Dewey?” Charles asks as soon as we’re in our room.

  “I’m just slipping into a tee and shorts. I can do that right here while you’re in the bathroom.”

  And that’s what I do.

  Charles comes out after a few minutes, dressed in full pajamas, long sleeves, long pants. “All yours.”

  I grab my toothbrush and toothpaste and go to pee and brush my teeth. When I come back, Charles is already under the covers.

  I’m about to slip into the other side of the bed when there is a knock on the door.

  I go to the peephole. Glen’s standing on the other side. I open the door.

  “You guys okay?” he asks. He sticks his head into the room. “Sorry, but Bobby told me to do a head count.” Bobby? I’d never heard Mr. Waters called that before.

  “Whoa,” Glen says. “Only one bed? Each room is supposed to have two. I’d better tell Bobby to call the desk and get you guys switched.”

  “S’okay,” Charles calls from the bed. “All we’re gonna do is sleep.” Odd thing to say.

  Glen looks at me. “You okay with it?” His eyes are like probes.

  I would have preferred two beds, but it’s late. I’m tired. And all we’re going to do is sleep, like Charles said. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  “No problem, then. Night, guys.” And he leaves. I shut the door and get in bed. Charles says good night as he switches off the light.

  I lie there. Sleep eludes me. I know I need rest before tomorrow. Bu
t tomorrow’s what’s keeping me awake. I sigh.

  “Can’t sleep either, huh?” Charles’s quiet voice fills the inky void.

  “Nah.”

  “Can’t stop thinking about tomorrow.”

  “Me too.”

  “Maybe if we just shoot the breeze a little. Take our minds off it.”

  “Charles, you’re a genius. What shall we talk about?” I don’t know if he’s a genius or even if his plan’ll work, but I’m willing to try it.

  “How do you do it, Dewey?”

  “Do what?”

  “You know. How can you act so normal?”

  What the hell? “I don’t know what you mean, Charles. I’m as normal as anybody else. As normal as you.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I mean. People look at me like I’m a freak sometimes. It’s hard being gay at our school.”

  What the…? He’s just admitted to me he’s that way.

  “But nobody seems to care about you. Everybody likes you.”

  That’s news to me. And what does he mean with that about you crack?

  “Maybe if I was as good an actor as you are, Dewey. Maybe they wouldn’t see it in me. Nobody talks about you. I know. That you’re like me, you know. We have that in us. To know each other. Like Mr. Waters and Glen. They know. I know they do.”

  Know, know, know, know? Does he have any other word in his vocabulary?

  “Dewey, you know as well as I do being gay is hard.”

  There’s that know word again. Shut up, Charles, just shut up. I’m not that way. And Mr. Waters isn’t that way either.

  Wait a minute. When Ben introduced Glen at the LOVE rehearsal, he said he was Mr. Waters’s partner. Oh. My. God. I’d totally blocked that from my memory. Charles is telling the truth. And if he’s right about Mr. Waters and Glen, is he right about…? No.

  “Sorry, Charles, I’m not that way. I’m going to sleep now.”

  I turn over and cover my head with my pillow, as if it could somehow muffle the thoughts bombarding me. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t even muffle the sound. The sound of Charles. Crying quietly.

  Morning comes. The nerves are back. I see them in Charles. I feel them in me. We shower and get dressed without speaking, and then we head to the lobby, carrying our gear so Mr. Waters can check us out from the motel.

  Breakfast is a blur. At the theater, I’m so on edge the other shows don’t register with me. I’m lost, totally lost.

  When it’s time to prepare for our performance, I stop at a water fountain and take three giant gulps of water. When I’m finished with my makeup, I need to pee really bad. I rush to the nearest men’s room. As I stand at the urinal, I hear voices from the stalls.

  “The show to beat is The Lion in Winter. You know, Robert Preston did the lead on Broadway. Somehow, I can’t picture the Music Man, Harold Hill himself, doing Henry II. But this guy today? His Henry’s perfection.” I recognize the voice—the UT guy who had spoken to us yesterday.

  “I know what you mean. Preston was great in Music Man, but Henry? I can’t imagine. The production coming up today? Great show, great performance. I think we have a winner” comes from the other stall.

  I zip up and return to our room, butterfly free. The fog is gone. We are going to win!

  Our performance is magic. Now all we have to do is wait.

  It’s awards time, and things are going well for us. We have sewn up four All-Star Cast members, including Charles’s Richard. It’s time for Best Actress. I clasp Letty’s hand and squeeze for dear life. I’m ready to thrust her out of her seat.

  “Best Actress goes to Karen King, Emily, Our Town.”

  A knife in my heart. Letty deserves the trophy. No way did that other girl do a better job. The knife twists when I realize if Letty can lose, so can I.

  “Best Actor….” Why is he pausing so long? Is he trying to figure out how to pronounce the winner’s name? If so, I’m dead. Dewey is only two syllables. So is Snodgress. So is Henry. I’m cooked.

  “Dewey Snodgress. Henry II. The Lion in Winter.”

  Did I hear right?

  My cast mates roar.

  I did. Hear right.

  I rush up on stage to get my trophy. I won. State. Best Actor. Can it get any better?

  Clutching the trophy to my heart, I return to my seat, just waiting to storm the stage again for Best Play.

  As I sit, I feel the tension all around me. The production awards are next. My heart palpitates.

  “Second Place. The Lion in Winter.”

  Bullet through the heart. Sledgehammer. An entire cast crushed. We are so devastated most of us don’t even listen to who won. Jimmy tells me on the way to the bus it was Our Town.

  We are one heartbroken group as we trudge to the bus. Mr. Waters tries to cheer us up, but his efforts are useless. Not even my trophy is helping me get over it.

  When Mr. Waters finishes his speech, he sits down. Glen puts his arm around Mr. Waters, pulls him closer to him, whispers into his ear. Mr. Waters is as sad as we all are. That speech was just his teachery ways coming out. His way of trying to make us feel better.

  Jimmy sits next to me, and after we are about thirty minutes out of Austin, he speaks. “Did you see Charles’s folks?”

  “No,” I say. A one-word answer, hoping it will shut him up.

  “I overheard them when Charles walked up to them as we were leaving. ‘You’re going in the car with us,’ his dad said.”

  I’d noticed Charles wasn’t on the bus, but I knew his parents were there, so I just figured he decided to ride home with them.

  Jimmy continues. “Charles says, ‘But my stuff’s on the bus. I want to go with everybody else.’

  “‘Not another word. You can get your things Monday. This is abominable. You will spend not another moment with those people.’

  “I don’t know what he meant, Dewey,” Jimmy says, “but he was furious. I wouldn’t want to be Charles right now.”

  I think of Charles and what an unhappy person he seems to be. I’m glad I have my parents, and he has his. Well, actually, I wish Charles had parents like mine.

  My spirits brighten when I get home. Mother and Daddy gush when they see my trophy. I tell them it doesn’t mean much when the show didn’t win.

  “Second place is wonderful, dear.”

  “Yeah, King Cat. Be happy with your win. Second is great, and you are first. In our scorebook, anyway.”

  “By the way, Sweet Pea, this came for you today.” She hands me a letter. From NTSU.

  I rip it open. They are offering me a full scholarship in theater, based on Mr. Marder’s recommendation! Oh my God. I’d applied to the theater school, but I’d never expected this. Mr. Marder must have been really impressed with my performance.

  “What is it, dear?” Mother asks. “Let me see.”

  I hand her the letter. She reads it, lets out a whoop, hands it to Daddy, grabs me, and kisses me.

  It doesn’t take Daddy long to join in. “King Cat, you’re a star! I think this calls for Pancho’s. What say? Hey, King Cat?”

  And Pancho’s it is. We stuff ourselves, and I finally start to think second place is not so bad after all.

  Mr. Waters will take it next year. I know he will. He’s super talented, plus we all love him. Letty, Charles, and I are the only graduates this year, so he’s got a returning pool of talent, and they’d all die for him. Yeah, next year is his year.

  LuLu calls Sunday, bright and early. I don’t know where she got the news from, but she’s praising me to the high heavens for winning Best Actor.

  “Blood, sweat, and tears, LuLu,” I say.

  “I don’t know which teacher you love the most, DewDew, your choir director or Mr. Waters.”

  “Hands down Mr. Waters, LuLu. I couldn’t have done this without him. I grew as an actor when he got me cast in LOVE, and then he guided me through Henry. My trophy really belongs to him.”

  The rest of the day’s filled with people calling to congratulate me. News travels fas
t. Butch calls me on his break. Jo calls me after church. She’s so happy for me. And she has even better news. Aunt Juney had gone to church for the first time since Danny died. That makes me happier than my win the day before.

  The phone rings midafternoon. It’s Jeep.

  “Heard about your win, Dew. Fantastic. ’Course, I knew it would happen all along. Nobody’s a better actor than my Dew.”

  “Thanks, Jeep.”

  “Can we get together for a celebration? I got an early graduation present from my aunt. I’m flush with cash. My treat. Let me spread some love. Huh? Kip’s. Burgers? Hot fudge sundaes?”

  He sounds so eager. He sounds so—in love.

  I can’t. It hurts too much. I just can’t lead him on.

  “Sorry, Jeep, family party tonight,” I lie.

  “Okay.” There’s a tremble in his voice. “Maybe sometime soon, ’kay?”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I say. But I know it won’t happen.

  Monday is a strange day at school. I had expected lots of good wishes for my win. But people seemed to avoid me. Weird. I got through the whole day with no one saying a word to me, almost. Mrs. Haynes had stopped me on my way to the intercom room and offered her congratulations. But she wasn’t overly friendly. Just a simple congrats. The assistant principal had praised the cast for our second place, and he singled out our acting wins, praising me highly, since I’d won State. But after that, nobody, but nobody, said a word to me. It even looked to me like some people were whispering about me when I came into a classroom. Once or twice, I saw people abruptly break apart from a private conversation when they saw me.

  I was concerned, but I knew the love would start flowing freely when I got to the drama room at last period. So when it was time to head there, my spirits started to build.

  I’m almost giddy when I step into the room, ready to rush to Mr. Waters and give him the thank-you I’d been planning all day.

  A strange woman sits at his desk. I look around the room. Mr. Waters is nowhere.

  Jimmy comes up to me. “Weird, huh? To come in this room and not see Mr. Waters?”

  I look at him. I don’t know how to answer that. It is, to me, a rhetorical question. As it would be to all of us, the devotees of Mr. Waters, the best teacher in the world.