The Rise and Fall of a Theater Geek

by Seth Rudetsky

I guess he’d been coming for a while if she felt comfortable enough to scream at him. Then I rethought my conclusion because she screams at everybody.

  “So,” I said as Devon passed me the salad dressing, “I guess you went to my website today?”

  “Yeah,” he said, looking embarrassed. “I got hooked on your daily updates and I wanted to know what happened on your first day in New York.”

  I smiled.

  “I didn’t see anything about Chase, though,” he continued. “Was he glad to see you?”

  I stopped smiling.

  “Uh…,” I began, “today was not my official start day.” He looked confused. “You know, the theater is usually ‘dark’ on Mondays,” I added.

  That is technically true. Most Broadway shows start their performance week on Tuesday and end with the Sunday matinee. If there is no show, the theater is “dark” for that day. Of course, Chase’s show is in rehearsal today, so the theater is anything but dark, but Devon didn’t need to know that.

  “I know it’s usually dark, but I looked on Playbill.com and it said that there are Monday night shows for the first month of Thousand-Watt Smile performances, so that usually means there are also rehearsals on Mondays.”

  I was a combo of mortified and impressed. He definitely had my investigative skills, or what Spencer calls my relentless obsession with snooping.

  “Are you into theater?” I asked, sidestepping the conversation.

  “He’s just like you,” Grandma Sally said, with her mouth full of cucumbers. “What do you call it? A Broadway loser? A theater freak?”

  “Theater geek,” I clarified.

  “Yeah, that’s me!” he said. “I pretty much spend all my free time trolling the Internet for message boards and videos about Broadway.”

  Wow! Was this my (much better-looking) twin talking? I had hoped I’d meet someone like this at some point during my internship. And I’m meeting him the first day! I thought maybe we could hang out after dinner watching fun YouTube videos and then go out for a little dessert.

  “I’d love to show you this obscure Tony Awards clip that—” I started to say.

  “Do it on your own dime!” Grandma Sally said. “We’re playing Scrabble.” She then stared me down. “Privately.”

  “Of course,” I said, forcing myself to smile at her. Then I looked at Devon with a real smile. “But maybe after—”

  “Af-ter,” she said, “Devon’s heading straight home. Scrabble wears me out and I can’t have any chattering between you two that’ll keep me up.”

  “Oh, but—”

  “Justin, bring the plates to the kitchen. Devon, pick your tiles.”

  I wanted to argue but couldn’t bear to be cut off again in front of him.

  “Have a great night,” I said instead, as I carried the plates away.

  “Nice meeting you!” Devon yelled as I heard Grandma Sally spill out the Scrabble tiles.

  Now what? What the hell was I supposed to do while they played? I figured I’d call Becky from my room for some privacy. Then I remembered that Becky was two blocks away, and the good news was for two whole weeks I wasn’t living with my parents, who wouldn’t let me go out on a school night! I already told Grandma Sally I needed my own set of keys because I’d have to do some interning at night. How would she know that my interning was actually a vanilla latte with extra whipped cream? I quickly texted Becky after I put the plates in the sink.

  ME: Had an interesting first day. You?

  BECKY: Don’t even!!!!

  ME: Wanna meet?

  BECKY: Starbucks near your grandma’s?

  ME: If you say so. Ten minutes.

  BECKY: Order me a latte. Double shot.

  Starbucks? Double shot? Becky had proudly given up coffee over the summer because she felt she was getting addicted to it and was sick of spending ten dollars a day on various caffeinated drinks. What had happened today that made her go back to what she called “the devil’s beverage”?

  I was about to find out!

  I went to the really nice Starbucks on Eighty-Sixth and Columbus Avenue. Some of New York’s Starbucks are so small you can’t ever get a seat, or if you do, it’s at one of the long bars by the window where you never know who’s going to be sitting next to you. It’s one thing to be in an elevator next to someone I’ve never met and be forced to stare straight ahead for several floors, but I don’t want to be one inch away from a stranger when I’m slowly licking whipped cream off the sides of my mug. Anyhoo, I got a great table and waited for Becky. I looked down Columbus Avenue and saw her red-gold hair flying in the cold breeze. I waved her over as soon as she walked in and I pulled the cover off her latte.

  “Thanks, Justin,” she said, and took a lo-o-o-ong sip.

  She put it down and I noticed there was barely any latte left in her cup. “Whoa,” I said. “You are off the wagon!”

  “Justin, GlitZ is a nightmare!” she said right away.

  Uh-oh.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, nervously trying to figure out a way to deny I ever saw any postings online forewarning me.

  “It’s not an internship. It’s…it’s…”

  I said the first thing that came to mind. “Slave labor?”

  She cocked her head. “How did you know?”

  Uh-oh.

  “Just a wild guess,” I said with a laugh. “Just an out-of-the-blue thought.” I couldn’t stop babbling. “It could have been way off base because it was totally based on conjecture”—I was losing track of what I was saying—“and not, you know…based on previous knowledge. Because I didn’t have any”—what did I call it?—“previous knowledge.” Phew. I finally faded out. Luckily she looked like she had also faded out on what I was saying because she was too involved drinking the last third of her latte.

  She wiped her mouth. “I thought I’d be hanging out with models, or at least that’s what you told me….” She then reached across the table and took my coffee. Did she want to smell it? Surely she didn’t want a sip. She just drank an entire venti ten seconds ago. And I only ordered a grande. And every drop is delicious!

  Gasp! She gulped the whole thing down!

  “I don’t get it,” I said, trying to avoid focusing on the fact that she not only finished my delicious drink, but she also got all the sugar that accumulates on the bottom of my coffee. Argh! My favorite part!

  How could she not have spent the day hanging out with models? This totally threw off the timeline I had planned for her. I was hoping by now she’d have three prospective boyfriends.

  Hmm…I suspected it might have been good old-fashioned shyness. “Becky! All you have to do is say hello. Then the invitations will start pouring in.”

  “Say hello to who, Justin?”

  Huh? “You know,” I said, “to all those cute models!”

  “Justin,” she said, sounding exasperated, “there’s no one to say hello to!”

  What?

  “I don’t see anybody! I’m on a special floor where none of the models go.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s where they keep all their records,” she said, putting her finger in the empty cup, scooping out what was left of the granules of sugar and licking them off each individual finger.

  “The penthouse?” I asked, hoping for the best.

  “The basement!” she yelled.

  I kind of predicted she’d say that.

  I needed clarification. “What exactly do you do?”

  She rubbed her eyes. “It’s so tedious. GlitZ started so long ago that they have tons of photos from before anything was digital.”

  “So?” I asked.

  “So…my amazing internship is to take all the old photos and scan them one by one so they can be put into their database.” She leaned forward. “And, Justin, there are thousands!” She was getting loud. “Thousands!”

  Well, that’s all it took for a barista to send a severe glare in our direction. I looked back at him with a face that was half apology and half as
king for waiter service. Becky drank my latte and I desperately wanted another one. The face I got back told me I should get my own drink. And that my apology wasn’t accepted.

  I focused back on Becky. “That part sounds awful. What else do you have to do?”

  “That’s all I’m allowed to do! From now on, I don’t even enter the main GlitZ office. I’m supposed to go directly to the basement and stay there all day.”

  “Well, are you at least working with fun people?”

  “No. It’s just me in a creepy basement with tons of file cabinets.” She looked at her iPhone, which was sitting on the table. “I don’t even get cell service.”

  It sounded much worse than my day on Staten Island.

  “Becky, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but why don’t you quit?”

  She looked at me like I was crazy. “How? Where would I go? Pamela Austin took my internship at the theater. There’s no way I’d be able to find another one this late. And don’t say I should just not intern at all because then I wouldn’t get any credit for all of JobSkill, my parents would ground me, and I wouldn’t be able to do the spring musical!” She put her face in her hands, but I could still hear her. “I’m stuck. Stuck! Stuck!!”

  I looked up at that moment and then I wanted to put my face in my hands. Spencer was in line and waving at me! I couldn’t believe Becky invited him. Ugh! Why did I say I wanted to remain friends with him? Couldn’t he see through my lie? Was I that believable? Sometimes being an amazingly talented actor backfires.

  “Spencer’s here,” I said, and Becky lifted her head.

  “Good, I’m glad he came,” Becky said. She looked at him with pity. “He had it just as bad as I did.”

  I hoped my smile wasn’t obvious.

  Spencer walked over holding a cup with a tea bag string coming out of it. Decaf, no doubt. And organic. Hmph. Even holding a drink, he can make you feel shallow.

  “Hi, Spencer! How are you?” I said with a broad smile. I decided to start big. Why be awkward? Especially when I’m already planning on getting Devon’s number from my grandmother’s easily accessible address book.

  “Good, Justin, how are you?”

  “Fine.”

  Silence.

  I was able to start big but I wasn’t able to continue it. It was too weird. I mean, I was just at his house two nights ago eating dinner as part of a couple and now we’re broken up. I didn’t expect it to hurt, but it did. Yes, I wanted to break(ish) up but I didn’t expect it all to end completely.

  OK. I decided to focus on Devon. His cute face, his tiny waist, his…Wait, what color were his eyes again? Argh! I don’t know him well enough to distract me from my feelings of rejection.

  Becky was too into her own devastation to pick up on the awkwardness. “Spencer, what did we get ourselves into?” She reached across the table and took a sip of his tea. Wow. She was now a liquid kleptomaniac.

  “Did Becky tell you about our day?” Spencer asked me.

  No! And I don’t care!

  I didn’t say that. I took a breath and decided not to hold on to my anger. For now. Spencer and I were friends for years before we became a couple, so I at least owed him the courtesy of listening to his problems. Even if I was secretly overjoyed he was having them.

  I gave him a caring look. “Becky told me about hers, but she didn’t tell me about yours.”

  He shook his head. “Just as bad.”

  “Why?” I asked. “I thought you liked accounting.”

  I decided to leave out “for some reason.”

  “I do like accounting,” he said, and put his usual one pack of sweetener into his tea. Yes, I mean sweetener, not sugar. He would never use actual sugar or what he calls “poison in a pink packet” (Sweet’N Low). His choice, as usual, was all-natural Stevia. Of course, he never worries about whether the restaurant he’s in will have it. Why? Because he carries it around with him. Does that show you the kind of person he is? He’s a Goody Two-shoes who goes two steps further. His goody two shoes are also vegan and made of all-natural recycled rubber.

  “The problem is,” he continued, “I’m not accounting.”

  “I thought you’re in the accounting department.”

  “Justin,” he said with a sigh, “I thought so, too.”

  What did that mean? “Thought?” I asked.

  He explained with some anger. “I’m on the same floor as the accounting department, but I’m not doing anything and I mean anything”—he brandished his tea for effect—“with numbers.” He started listing off his expectations while tearing open the Stevia packets and putting them in his tea. “I thought I’d be dealing with numbers all day.” Two packets. “I thought I’d be double-checking computer equations nonstop.” Three packets. “Multiplying, subtracting, dividing.” Four packets. “Formulating equations, solving problems…” Five packets. “I’m doing none of that!” Wow! Three more packets at the same time!

  I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but this was Spencer completely out of control. Essentially, his version of binge drinking is an overdose of all-natural sweetener.

  “What are you doing instead of all that?” I dared to ask while hoping it wouldn’t trigger him to add seven more packets and put him in a non-GMO diabetic coma.

  “I’m a…receptionist!” he said with disgust.

  “What does that mean?”

  “What do you think it means, Justin? I answer the phone!”

  “And?” I asked.

  “That’s all! Period!”

  It didn’t sound that bad.

  He must have read my facial expression.

  “Do you know what kind of torture that is?” he asked. “I can hear them doing math right in the next room. Calling out numbers, yelling sequential integers, asking each other for help with complex numerical systems and”—his face registered pain—“I can’t join in!”

  He put his head down. It was the same head-in-hands position Becky had just been in. “I thought I’d be doing math,” he said with his face to the table.

  Even though I didn’t understand, I realize that he loves math like I love theater. He kept talking to the table. “I even thought I could somehow use my math to help the world.”

  At a modeling agency? That’s just like Spencer. He can’t simply enjoy something. It always has to be for the greater good. I knew I should say something to cheer them up, but what? I wasn’t loving my internship so far either, but I had hopes it was going to improve. The two of them seemed set that theirs was a dead end.

  I decided to put the ball in their court. “What can you do to make it more fun?”

  Becky turned so fast that her hair whipped like a tornado. “What can we do?” she asked, dripping with anger. “We can’t do anything.”

  “Yes, Justin, we’re stuck,” Spencer said, and gave a quick look to Becky.

  Huh?

  “What’s that look about?” I asked him, a little too loudly. I lowered my voice. “Why are you both acting like it’s my fault? I don’t run GlitZ.”

  They looked at each other.

  “Well?” I raised my voice again.

  “It pretty much is your fault, Justin,” said Becky. Spencer nodded as he drank his tea.

  “What is ‘pretty much my fault’?” I said, imitating Becky’s slight Long Island accent.

  “The horrible time we have in store for us,” Becky shot back at me.

  That was so unfair. “What did I do? I’ve never even been to the GlitZ offices.”

  “So? It didn’t stop you from getting me an internship there without even asking me if I wanted it!”

  “Exactly,” Spencer added. “And now I’m stuck there, too.”

  Wow. Within one minute they had completely ganged up on me. Becky is always emotional, but I didn’t expect this from Spencer. I looked him straight in the eye. “Spencer, I didn’t make you go to GlitZ.”

  He looked right back at me. “I took the internship, Justin,” he said in a measured tone, “because I wa
nted to be in New York with you.” He did? “After I accepted the Greenpeace internship, I thought about what you said and decided it would be nice if we were together for JobSkill.”

  That was sweet.

  He threw his head back. “Ha!”

  That wasn’t! “Why the laugh?”

  “I thought it would help our relationship.” He shook his head. “That was before I realized I needed to end it.”

  How dare he say that he broke up with me? Even though it’s true!

  I refused to let him see I was hurt. “Well”—I shrugged—“I see you’ve bounced back pretty quickly and I’m sure you’ll make an excellent assistant.” Spencer’s eyes widened. “Sorry, secretary.” He looked stricken. “Oops,” I said, then slowly stated, “receptionist.”

  Becky gasped. “Justin!”

  “What?” I asked. “I’m trying to be supportive,” I lied. “Which is pretty amazing of me since you’re both acting as if I ruined JobSkill for you.”

  “You pretty much did!” Becky said with her eyes ablaze.

  “How? All I did was get the offer from GlitZ. There was no commitment. You didn’t have to say yes!”

  Becky laughed. “Please. You would have found some way to trick me into going.”

  “That’s not true! I accepted that you had to turn down GlitZ and were going to do JobSkill on Long Island. You completely surprised me on New Year’s Eve, if you can remember all the way back to Saturday night.”

  She snorted. “Oh, really, Justin? We all know you’ll pretty much do anything to get what you want.” What did that mean? “I’m sure you had some plan up your sleeve to call my parents and ask them to drive me back and forth to the GlitZ offices. Or ask the theater to let me do mornings at GlitZ and afternoons on Long Island? Or—”

  I let her prattle on. Of course she was right. I was planning on getting in good with Chase right away and then, after a few hours, asking him to let Becky stay in one of his extra rooms at the Dakota so she could quit the Starlight Theater on her first day and start interning at GlitZ by tomorrow.

  I waited until she took a breath and then defended myself. “Even if I was planning on helping you figure out a way to do GlitZ, it’s because you wanted to intern there.”