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Unhelpful as fuck.
If I have met him, he’s entirely forgettable.
And now I’m early to the first rehearsal, sitting in the black box theater before even the director has arrived. I’d hoped Ian would turn up early too, but no such luck.
“Jade! Dahhling!” Anastasia—a blonde, pale senior theater major and the director of this one-act—floats in from upstairs and over to me, leaning across a row of seats to awkwardly hug me.
Anastasia is one of those theater kids non-theater people meet and say, “You must be a theater kid.” In addition to randomly breaking out in song or Shakespearen monologues, she often puts on an accent as the mood suits her. Tonight’s choice is British, as showcased by the way she said “dahling” instead of “darling” just now. I’ve also heard her do Russian, Jamaican, and most European accents.
As with any audition process, I was cast in this one-act at the mercy of the directors, and although I probably wouldn’t have chosen Anastasia as my director, she’s harmless. Not being with Dallas is the true disappointment. Though, if my investigations into Ian Davidson are true and he is a tech theater major, to say I won’t be a happy camper would be an understatement.
Trailing Anastasia is a short Black girl, clutching a huge binder as if her life depends on it. She stops and holds out her hand to me.
“Madison,” she says.
“Our fearless stage manager,” I say, and take her hand.
“You must be Jade,” Madison says with an eager smile.
“Well, I’m definitely not Ian.”
“Jade, you are an absolute riot,” Anastasia says as she rearranges four chairs on the stage. She’s obviously committing to the British accent, and now I have to commit to not killing her tonight.
How long is Ian going to keep us waiting?
“Am I late?”
A male voice has all three of us turning our heads in the direction from which it came.
A green bean of a man stands on the edge of the stage, a backpack hiked so far up on his shoulders you can tell he’s never tried to appear cool or casual a day in his life. His dirty blond hair, which is short in the back and longer in the front, hangs in his face in soft wisps, like one of those men who have suchnaturally soft hair that even when they gel it, it won’t hold all day. He’s wearing all black, which is a little on the nose for a tech theater kid, down to his Doc Marten boots.
He’s cute, and it turns out I have seen him around the department—in tech meetings and with other crew on shows—I’ve just never really paid attention to him.
“Ian!Daahhling,” Anastasia croons.
I clench my jaw so hard I’m afraid I’ll crack a tooth, inhaling sharply and exhaling slowly to control myself. No way am I going to make it through two months of this.
“Come sit. Jade, come, come.” She waves all of us over to the chairs, and I follow directions, if for no other reason than to make her stop talking.
No such luck, though, because that’s all she does for the next half-hour as she explains to us her passion for this project and why she chose this particular play. In all my years in theater, I’ve never heard a director talk so much and bore me to death at the same time.
I love theater. I’d be a theater major if I weren’t depending on someone else’s money for college, and if said person didn’t expect me to get a degree in an “acceptable” field of study. My father didn’t object to a theater minor, so I settled on that with a business major. Besides, I participate just as much as the students who are majoring. This place is my second home; these people are my family.
I take the opportunity to study Ian. He doesn’t look entirely miserable, but he does look out of his element. He keeps shifting, crossing his arms and then uncrossing them. He does the same with his legs. He runs his hands through his hair and then tosses his head a little, like a pony. I hold in a snort of laughter at the thought and casually scratch my nose to cover my smile.
He seems so nervous that I’m surprised he showed up tonight. Does this kid have any confidence? That’s a quality Ifind more attractive than a set of curious brown eyes and a sharp jawline. Just because everyone is physically my type doesn’t mean I’d sleep with everyone.
But the real question isn’t whether I’d sleep with Ian. It’s . . . is he secretly an acting pro, or will he be terrible once we get started? If we ever get started. Anastasia is still droning on, and even Madison looks a little bored. I’m starting to consider interrupting when, miraculously, someone else does.
“Sorry to interrupt . . . Did I miss something? I didn’t get a script. Did you email it out?” Ian asks. His brow is furrowed as if asking that series of questions brought him physical pain. He’s gripping his black jeans, knuckles white, and there’s a sheen of sweat over his forehead.
Poor guy.
“Oh goodness, I’m sorry. I get so carried away. Madison, please?”
Madison stands and hands each of us a stack of papers stapled together. The top sheet displays the title of our one-act in bold letters:The Mercy Seatby Neil LaBute.
As the stage manager for the one-act, Madison acts as the master organizer for the show. She’ll figure out what props we need and gather those, set the stage for us before rehearsals, do the light and sound cues the night of the show, and just generally help to make Anastasia’s vision come to life.
