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I realize as I stare at the photo that I haven’t talked to Owen in a few months. He graduated a little over a year ago, after my sophomore year. He was a tech theater major who did enjoy acting. He didn’t just go for unassuming acting opportunities but much bigger roles, like Petruchio. We were close my first two years of school, and we keep up now as often as we can, given how busy he is.
He moved to Philadelphia for an opportunity after graduation, but I have no idea if he’s still there or, if he is, if he’s working on any shows. Owen had only one interest postgrad: walking through open doors. He’d go for crew gigs but take acting ones if they came along. It seems like a sound strategy, but it’s not one I’ll employ.
At the very least, Owen’s got a temperature on the job market, and if I need to decide between the Red Barn job and lighting design opportunities, he might be just the person to talk to. Maybe a quick phone call wouldn’t hurt . . .
It only rings twice before Owen’s chipper voice fills my ear.
“Hey, Ian! You caught me at a good time. I’m just between shifts at work.”
“Oh, nice. Where do you work again? I can’t remember the last time we talked.”
“Which job do you want to hear about?” he says with a half-chuckle, but there’s no life in it. It’s a little concerning. A yellow flag, but I did catch him between work shifts—he’s probably just tired.
“Are you working on a show? ‘Shifts’ doesn’t sound like a show.”
I walk slowly toward the computer in the student office at the edge of the theater lobby. “Office” is a generous word, as it’s basically a closet with a computer and a printer. It’s mostly used to print flyers, but the screen is big, and the computer has Vectorworks on it—the software I need for my light plot. It’s a quiet space too, suitable for one person, with a door that closes. I close it behind me now and get comfortable in the chair, tucking my phone between my shoulder and my cheek so I can log in to the computer.
“Yeah, I’m on the crew for a show, but I also work as a waiter during the day, and at a twenty-four-hour gym some nights too.” Owen yawns as he finishes his sentence. “Gotta pay the bills.”
“You sound tired, bro.”
“I am,” he says with another half-chuckle. “But I’m living the dream.”
“Really?” I ask. I’m not convinced. “Still in Philadelphia?”
“Yeah, for now. I might be looking at some other cities soon, though . . . Columbus, Austin, Denver. I’ve got some things in the works. Opportunities everywhere.”
“Not very stable, though,” I mumble.
“Stability is overrated,” he says with a chuckle. “Enough about me—how’s MPC? What’s the fall production?”
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream.I’m light designing.”
“That’s awesome. Have you done your acting credit yet?”
“In it now, unfortunately. I’m doing a one-act.” I lower my voice even though the door is closed and it’s not likely anyone is listening from outside.
It’s not unfortunate to be paired with Jade—it’s the fact that I have to act at all that’s unfortunate. For me and everyone who has to deal with me. Especially Jade. I know she isn’t thrilled about working with me. It’s no secret she wishes she had a real acting partner. I know how it feels to get actors on my crewwho don’t give a shit about lights or lighting since they’re just fulfilling a credit.
“That makes sense for you. Although a one-act means more focus on you, no hiding in a small role inOur Town.”
We didOur Townfor our JanTerm show in January, which is usually the time of year when most kids choose to take an easy class for a month or do an educational sailboating trip or something, but not theater kids. Theater kids put on a whole production in one month. It’s madness, and Owen’s senior year, we didOur Town, which he tried to convince me to take a small role in, but I declined.
He makes a good point, and I definitely would have had fewer lines inOur Town. Now I’m mad I didn’t just take his advice. Woulda, coulda, shoulda, I guess.
“Who’s your scene partner for the one-act? Do I know them?” Owen asks.
“You might. She’s a senior, but she’s a theater minor. Does a lot of makeup and costumes for shows. Jade McKinney.”
Owen laughs a loud, startling guffaw. “I do know Jade. Mostly because of her reputation. She made quite the splash in the department her freshman year. I’m surprised you don’t remember.”
The muscles in my jaw tense and I grind my teeth, pressing my lips into a tight line. What is it with guys and Jade’s reputation?
“I don’t know anything about Jade’s reputation. She’s a great scene partner, though,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
It’s not entirely true, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Even as he mentions it, the vaguest memory comes back to me about freshman year and the name “Jade.” Something about a party and getting caught, but the details are fuzzy. It’s hard to escape gossip in a theater department.
“I’ll bet she is,” Owen says, heavy implication in his tone.
