I took a bite of my bialy and swallowed it quickly. “And?” I asked impatiently.
“Slow down!” She pointed again. “Eating fast gives you pimples.” Since when? Besides having cataracts that only disappear when she sees a flaw, she also loves to give people helpful hints that aren’t really helpful but, yet again, make you feel horrible about yourself. “Well, when I moved by him to put my key in the lock, he somehow got in my way and dropped what he was holding.”
Translation: She pushed her way past him and knocked everything out of his hands. “I looked down and saw the envelope with your name on it, so I picked it up. I told him I’d give it to you and he left.”
I was chewing, so I made a motion with my hands that said, “That’s it?”
She started to point again, but before she could tell me that miming causes zits, I swallowed and spoke. “Grandma Sally…what did he look like?”
She looked at me like I was crazy. “How the hell would I know?”
How do I answer that? “By looking at him.”
“I don’t know,” she said vaguely while putting brown sugar on her oatmeal. “He looked like a person.”
“What does that mean?” I asked. Surely she had some information. “Old? Young?”
“Don’t know.” She started eating her oatmeal.
“Black? White? Asian?”
“Don’t know.”
“Dark hair? Light hair? Bald?”
“Don’t know.”
It was maddening.
“Tall? Short?”
She put her spoon down.
“That I can tell you. Normal height for a guy.”
“Why is that all you can tell me? Do you not remember anything else?”
“Oh,” she said with a smile. “I still have my memory.” Then she added, “Just like I bet you still have your fear of spiders.”
She had to bring that up.
“I just couldn’t see any features,” she added.
“Was it foggy?” I asked.
“Do we live in a seaside community?” she asked with disdain. “No! It wasn’t foggy.”
“Well, then why—”
“It was freezing last night. He was wearing a long coat and gloves, and he had on one of those winter hats that cover your whole face…except for those little holes for your eyes and nose.”
Creepy. A winter hat that looked like a mask. Wow. He was like the Phantom without the opera.
“What did the note say?” she asked.
Uh-oh. I didn’t want to get her involved. What if she told my parents that someone was leaving me cryptic notes and they made me come home before I made my Broadway debut? And yes, even though I have to go home Sunday night, I’m still somehow hoping to be on a Broadway stage.
Thankfully, before I could answer, I got a text. “Sorry,” I said, leaving the table, “gotta take this.”
Of course, “gotta take this” makes no sense because it’s not a phone call, but anyone over sixty usually doesn’t understand the way texts/tweets/cell phones work, so I knew she’d buy it. I grabbed my coat, headed outside, and read it on the street. It was from Hubert.
Meet today at noon. At the theater.
Huh?
I wrote back. What about friend’s apartment I’m supposed to be at?
He wrote back right away. You were sent the wrong text. Come at noon to theater to watch rehearsal.
I reread it three times. He was asking me to come to the theater! And apparently enter it! And stay there! Ah! I couldn’t believe it! I was finally going to witness a real live Broadway rehearsal.
I’m sure Hubert is somehow benefiting from the change of plans, but it doesn’t matter because, after almost two weeks, I’m getting what I hoped for! I don’t even mind that Spencer is probably spending the morning planning another date with his boyfriend. Speaking of which, I still need to solidify Devon as my boyfriend. We haven’t even had our first kiss yet and my time in New York is almost over. I need to move things along, especially since Spencer is trying to trump me in the new boyfriend department by nabbing someone famous. I sent Devon a good morning text, and he wrote back asking if I wanted to meet for breakfast! Yay! I had already eaten but, of course, I was already hungry. It wasn’t until I sat down at the diner above Fairway that I realized Devon should have been at school. I’m so used to running around the city all day for this internship that I’ve forgotten other kids my age don’t have that kind of freedom.
Devon was already sitting at a table when I got there. We were seated near the window and his blue eyes sparkled every time the sun hit them. Dry hair or not, he was cute!
“Are you home from school today?” I asked him as the waiter served us coffee.
“No, I’ll just go into school late,” he said as the waiter put down the skim milk I requested.
“Won’t you get into trouble?” I asked as I sadly poured the skim milk into my coffee. I didn’t want Devon to know I used tons of half-and-half with every cup I drank because I’m trying out a theory that if I eat like a skinny person in front of him, he’ll think I actually am a skinny person. The only problem with my theory is that skinny people eat food that’s disgusting. I stared at my coffee, which had barely gotten any lighter from the skim milk I had poured in, and continued my assault on decent eating by adding two packs of Splenda.
Sigh. That cup of coffee was going to remain untouched.
Devon didn’t even notice what I was putting in my coffee because he was answering my question the whole time. “I can come late because my mom wrote an excuse note for me months ago when I went to the doctor’s really early in the morning in case my appointment went long, which it didn’t.” He picked up the small container of half-and-half. “I saved the note, which thankfully doesn’t have a date, and I’ll use it today.”
“Better be careful you’re not caught,” I said. Huh? Since when did I warn people to be careful? I faked a laugh to show Devon I wasn’t serious, but he didn’t seem to care either way because he was busy pouring half-and-half into his coffee. He then added two big tablespoons of sugar. So unfair! He doesn’t have to pretend to eat skinny in front of me because he is skinny. He dropped his napkin, and when he ducked under the table to get it, I used that moment to quickly reach across the table and drink from his cup. Mmm. Stolen deliciousness. I put the cup back in the saucer and put on a blank face.
While he drank (what was left of) his coffee, I thought about how saving an excuse note for later use was very similar to a stunt I would pull. Of course, Spencer would warn me that I was taking a big risk and ask me what I would do if the school called my parents before I showed up with the fake note. I’d tell him he was uptight, but then would wind up changing my plans and coming back to school an hour earlier than I intended in case he was right. Well, now Scotty would have to deal with Spencer’s nonstop warnings and admonishments.
When our meals came, Devon went on a tirade about the Tony Awards only being three hours on TV. He felt they should be held over two days to really give Broadway its due. It was just the kind of unrealistic thing I’d rage about with Spencer, who’d then tell me that television shows depend on ratings and if the Tony Awards already get low ratings for one night, there’s no way a network would add a second night. I told Devon that very thing.
Oy! When did I become such a downer?
Of course, Devon did just what I would do and waved me away, saying, “We’ll see what happens after I start an online petition.”
Wow. It’s amazing how similar we are. The only difference is how cute he is. Great teeth and eyes and a naturally fit body. I decided to stop placing myself in the role of schoolmarm and to take a picture of us instead, which I would then immediately upload to my website. Nothing makes someone (Spencer) more jealous than photographic evidence. The waiter came to refill our coffee cups (really just Devon’s since mine remained untouched), and I asked if he’d take our picture. I handed the waiter my phone and ran to Devon’s side of the table. I decided to boldly p
ut my arm around him and it paid off because he then put his head on my shoulder.
It was such a boyfriend pose. Excellent!
This was sure to send Spencer into jealousy overdrive. Devon and I split the check and as we were leaving the café, I began to think of how to ask him out tonight so I could finally get a kiss and solidify our dating status. For all I knew, Spencer had a make-out session after dinner last night and was meeting Scotty for lunch today. I couldn’t let him beat me in terms of getting a new boyfriend. Devon and I walked to the street and he turned and told me he had to get to school. Oh no! I knew I’d be stressed out all day if we didn’t have a definite date scheduled. I had to ask him right then.
“Devon,” I began, but never finished my sentence.
How could I when I couldn’t talk?
That’s right…Devon kissed me! Right there on the corner of Seventy-Fourth Street and Broadway.
The kiss lasted ten seconds and I don’t know what was going through his head, but I know what was going through mine.
Wait till Spencer hears about this!
Well, the last day of my internship was off to an amazing start! Not only did I have a picture of me and Devon on my website looking like we were boyfriends, but I actually received a real boyfriend-style kiss from him that solidified it. I just needed to spend some focused time figuring out the best way to get the news to Spencer without him knowing I spent some focused time figuring out the best way to get the news to him.
I decided to wait until after rehearsal to think it through and hopped on the subway to Forty-Second Street. It was the express train, so I got there in five minutes and followed the crowd exiting the train. We went up the stairs, through the turnstile, and up another flight of stairs until we were in Times Square. As soon as I started walking up Broadway to the theater, I mentally prepared myself for Hubert pulling a fast one and blocking me from walking down the street, but when I got to the stage door, he was waiting for me outside. Well, not waiting for me specifically; he was actually waiting for Chase, whose car arrived as I walked up.
“Hi, Justin!” Chase said, stepping out of the backseat of a black Lincoln Continental. There was a driver in a gray suit who was holding open the car door. So fancy! Hubert and the driver went to the trunk and started getting some of Chase’s stuff out. I knew I should probably offer to help, but I suddenly went into a trance because I had turned away from the street for a moment and saw the stage door.
I’ve been to many Broadway theaters, but I’ve only entered through the doors that the audience member goes through. The stage door, however, is the entrance that all of the actors use. And not just the actors, but also the stage managers, orchestra members, dressers…anyone involved in the show. If you walk through the stage door, you’re no longer just a random audience member. You’re on the inside.
Hmm…I better clarify because I guess either door will lead you inside the theater. When I say “you’re on the inside,” I mean you’re an insider, not simply standing inside the building. And I want to be an insider!
I stared at it. It actually had a sign that said STAGE DOOR.
Was today the day? Or would Hubert think of some last-minute errand I had to do in southern New Jersey? I watched him pick up Chase’s backpack and leather messenger bag from the trunk and then he and Chase came toward the theater. Hubert walked by without giving me an order to hop on a subway. So far, so good. Because Chase wasn’t carrying anything, he opened the stage door and gave Hubert space to walk by him. I stood on the sidewalk among the last vestiges of snow on the ground and looked inside the doorway. It was dark, but I knew that a Broadway stage lay just a few feet away from it. I guess I could have made a mad dash through the door, but simply entering through the door wouldn’t make me an insider. I was like a vampire outside a victim’s house; I knew I had to be invited in.
“What’s the holdup?” Chase said with a smile as he held the door open. “You want everyone in the theater to freeze?”
Could it be? Is this it? It wasn’t an official invitation, but it was close, wasn’t it?
“Justin!” I heard Hubert yell from inside the theater. “Get in here ASAP!”
Yes! No one ever said a rude invitation didn’t count. This was it!
I started walking toward the door and thought to myself, I am sixteen years old and crossing the threshold from outsider to elite.
As I approached, Chase opened the door a little wider and I walked through.
Wow!
I’m not going to say I felt an actual bolt of electricity go through my body, but I’m not going to say I didn’t. Suffice it to say, something went through my body and it was thrilling. The air was magical.
And smelly.
P.U.! When was the last time the inside of this theater was washed? Or how about just an ample spritz of Glade? I breathed through my mouth and took in my surroundings. To the left was a board with papers tacked to it. It must be the call-board! There was one sheet of paper up that had all the cast members’ names on it and a check mark next to each one. That must be the sign-in sheet. Cool!
I turned to my immediate right and saw an old guy in a Yankees sweatshirt sitting inside a little tiny room, watching a football game on TV. The stage doorman! Just like in movies. Then I saw him spit something out into an old, broken-down garbage can. Whatever it was looked wet and brown. I sniffed again and then put two and two together—chewing tobacco. Gross! He was chewing and spitting tobacco into the garbage can. That’s why it smelled like I walked into a pack of cigarettes that had been stored in somebody’s old sneakers.
Yet a part of me liked the horrible stench. It made me feel like I was in a real old-time Broadway theater with tons of history. Which I was! As well as a real old-time Broadway theater with tons of disgusting smell molecules in the air.
Speaking of disgusting things, Hubert walked into my line of vision. He was more orange than usual. I guess he had extra time for tanning since I was doing all of his work.
“Justin,” he said in his version of a friendly tone, “I’m about to leave, but I’m glad you were finally available to come to the theater.”
Finally available? More like finally invited.
He did a small bow. “I want to thank you for helping Chase today.”
“Sure,” I said slowly. I knew his appreciation wasn’t real, and I was wondering what he was leading to.
Then Hubert wagged a finger at me with a big, fake smile. “And make sure you don’t bother Chase with a lot of chattering. You know that old Chinese saying, don’t you?” He leaned in and spoke very distinctly. “Too much talking brings out grandmother truth.”
He was using a fake Chinese proverb as a threat?
I couldn’t call him on it. I simply nodded and said, “I understand.”
“What does that mean?” asked Chase with a confused look.
Hubert was silent.
Great. Now I had to cover for him. “It means that…asking a lot of questions…can sometimes make people tell old wives’ tales.”
“Exactly!” Hubert said as he buttoned his coat. “Chase, I’ll call you from the airport.”
Airport?
Before I could ask where he was going, he opened the stage door and left.
“Hank, this is Justin,” Chase said to the chewing tobacco guy. “He’s going to help out today.”
“Hi, Hank,” I said. I also said it with as little air expelled as I could manage so I could stave off having to inhale as long as possible.
“What about Hubert?” Hank asked without lowering the volume of the TV or taking his eyes away from it.
“He needs to take off the next week, so Justin’s going to be my right-hand man.”
Wow. I was an insider.
Ahhhhh. I let out a deep, satisfied sigh.
Uh-oh.
I never should have sighed! I needed oxygen. But I didn’t want to inhale the stench that was mixed with the oxygen. Mustn’t. Breathe. In.
“Let me show you my d
ressing room,” Chase said, and I nodded with my eyes bulging.
“You’ll get used to the smell,” Chase said quietly as he walked ahead of me.
I followed Chase as we walked farther into the theater and finally inhaled. I was excited to breathe again and because I was about to see a real Broadway dressing room! I was most excited, however, to see his bathroom. After all, I was the one who picked out all his towels, soap dispensers, and the shower curtain! Well, not really picked them out. Hubert told me exactly which ones to buy, but it would be nice to see some results of my internship.
I knew his would be on the main floor since Chase is the star of the show. I’ve read that a dressing room’s distance away from the stage is in direct proportion to the size of the role. In other words, I’d only be visiting the male chorus members if I could build up the stamina to climb six flights of stairs.
He opened a door that had his name on the outside, just like I’ve seen in books about Broadway. I walked in and it was the classic Broadway dressing room: lights around a big makeup mirror, a vase of roses, a big glass jar of cough drops, and a little couch with various shoes lined up underneath it.
“This is it,” Chase said with a sweep of his hands. “Small but cozy.” It was small, but probably giant compared to the other dressing rooms.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I asked excitedly. I wanted to see the actual fruits of my internship.
Chase pointed to a small door on the left and I entered.
I turned on the light and looked around.
What the—?
The bathroom had two white towels that looked like they were from the five-dollar bin of some cheap department store. They certainly weren’t the luxurious ones I bought. And the shower curtain! It looked like it began its life as white long ago but was now beige. And the whole thing was dotted with mildew stains that probably started forming when Ethel Merman was a young starlet. At least the bath mat was new, but instead of the thick, plush Ralph Lauren one I distinctly remember buying, it was like a cloth version of a Hollywood star in her early twenties (incredibly thin). And underneath the sink was a wastepaper basket that was obviously the same one the theater owner placed in every room because it was the same crappy one the doorman had.
The Rise and Fall of a Theater Geek Page 10
