by Allen Zadoff
I’m left standing in the living room, wondering what happened.
Mom says, “Are you coming, Adam?”
“Of course,” I say, and I follow them.
“It’s like he’s in a trance,” Mom says.
“He’s drunk on Shakespeare,” Summer says.
Mom says, “I don’t think it’s Shakespeare. I think it’s—”
“Mystery, Mom!” I say.
“All right, all right,” she says.
She and Summer giggle.
LET ME QUIET GO.
Summer and I sit in the back of Mom’s car as she drives through the streets of Montclair. Mom is such a slow driver, it’s hard to tell if she’s going forward or backward.
“Take a left at the corner,” Summer says.
Mom stops at the stop sign and then waits almost twenty seconds before taking the turn.
“We should have you home by morning,” I whisper to Summer.
“Is everyone in your family so careful?” she says.
“There’s a whole story behind it.”
A Dad story, but I don’t want to talk about that.
“Will you tell me sometime?” Summer says.
I nod.
Headlights pass by, briefly lighting up the inside of the car. I see Summer’s face in profile looking out the window. It’s like a snapshot, a second of Summer followed by blackness.
It makes me think about another time I was in the back of the car. A time with Josh.
We were in the backseat arguing about something. Mom turned around to tell us to cut it out. Only she wasn’t driving. She was in the passenger seat.
It seems like such a small moment, barely worth a memory.
When was it?
I looked out the car window. Flowers bloomed on the side of the road, the hills sprinkled like a Monet painting.
When was it?
Now I remember.
It was summertime. Our last trip to New Hampshire.
Dad was driving.
“It’s the yellow house on the right,” Summer says.
She slides all the way over on the seat until she’s pressed up against me.
“Thanks for your help,” she whispers.
She gives me a kiss on the cheek.
It happens so quickly, I don’t have time to react.
I wish I could freeze the moment. I’d like to stay here forever, next to Summer in the back of the car, her warm lips pressed to my face.
But it’s over in a split second.
She slides back to her side of the car as Mom creeps to a stop in front of the yellow house.
“This is it,” Summer says.
“I hope we see you again soon, Summer,” my mom says.
“Me, too,” Summer says. “See you at rehearsal, Ziggy.”
She gets out and shuts the door.
Mom and I wait as she walks towards the house.
“Who’s Ziggy?” Mom says.
“Forget it.”
“But I’m interested.”
“Mom!”
“Sorry,” she says.
Summer disappears into her house. Mom puts the car in drive.
“Do you want to stay in the back?” she says.
“If it’s okay. I like it back here.”
There’s something nice about riding in the back of a car. It makes you feel like a kid again.
Mom pulls away.
She doesn’t say anything for two blocks, and then she says: “Is that the girl you were asking me about the other day?”
“Maybe.”
“Are you two dating?”
“This is not the type of thing you want to discuss with your mother,” I say.
“I’m sorry,” Mom says.
“Stop saying sorry. You’re driving me crazy.”
I hear Mom sniffle.
The engine is whirring softly. Stars are twinkling.
Mom sniffles again.
“I’m sorry I’m the only one here for you to talk to,” she says.
Suddenly the night feels heavy. It’s all around the car, pressing in on me. It’s hard to breathe. I get the empty feeling inside like I do in the dream.
I reach into the back pocket of the car seat and take out one of the glow sticks I store there. I crack it open and shake hard. The back of the car fills with a green glow.
Mom glances in the rearview mirror. She doesn’t say anything. She’s seen me do this before.
I hear a final long sniffle, and Mom blows her nose in a tissue.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I say.
Mom clears her throat.
“I don’t want you to get upset,” she says. “You’ve had enough of that. I want you to be happy.”
“I know you do.”
“If this girl could make you happy—”
“It’s complicated, Mom. I can’t explain.”
“You could try.”
“She’s an actor,” I say.
“Is that bad?”
“It’s just … impossible.”
“It sounds like a high-school thing.”
“It is.”
“Maybe you could call Josh and talk to him about it.”
“Great idea,” I say.
“He’s good with these kinds of problems, isn’t he?”
“Very good,” I say. “I promise I’ll call him.”
“That makes me feel a lot better,” Mom says.
I don’t tell Mom I’ve called Josh half a dozen times in the last few months and he never calls me back.
She’s stopped crying for now. That’s all that matters.
YOU WOULD NOT MAKE ME SUCH AN ARGUMENT.
I’m picking up a replacement lamp from the Cave the next day when I hear Summer’s voice.
“You can’t pretend not to know me anymore,” she says.
She’s standing in the doorway in her costume. Not the fairy costume but Helena’s costume, a short skirt with a black tank top. Summer is taller than Miranda, which makes her legs seem longer beneath the skirt.
She pokes her head through the door.
“Is this the secret lair?” she says.
“I wouldn’t cross that threshold if I were you.”
“What’s going to happen?”
She lifts a foot and holds it in the air like she’s going to step inside the Cave.
“We’ve never had an actor in here before…. Wait a minute. We did have one.”
“You did?” she says.
“He’s buried in the floor over there.”
“You’re funny, Ziggy.”
She steps into the Cave.
“I’m not kidding. You shouldn’t be in here.”
She walks up to me and pinches my arm.
“It’s exciting to break the rules, isn’t it?” she says.
“Bend,” I say. “Remember?”
“Right, right,” she says. “By the way, I think your mom is cool.”
“Are you sure you’re talking about my mom?”
“Did she interrogate you on the way home?”
“A little water boarding. You know. The usual.”
“She cares about you. That’s more than I can say about my parents.”
“Your parents don’t care?” I say.
“They care. It’s just that they’re sort of … self-involved.”
“I know what you mean.”
She says, “I was thinking about a lot of stuff after you dropped me off last night.”
I take a deep breath. I was thinking about a lot of stuff, too.
Romantic stuff.
Is it possible she was feeling the same way? Maybe this is my Josh moment. Summer is going to get nervous, twirl her hair, and declare her love.
“What were you thinking?” I say, getting ready for the big moment.
“What if I work and work for the next two days—and I’m still no good?” Summer says.
I look away from her. I stare at the pictures on the Wall of Fame.
“What if I don’t have
what it takes to be an actor, Ziggy? And I’ve been kidding myself all these years.”
I feel like an idiot. I’m thinking about romance, and she’s thinking about her acting career.
Techies and actors. Maybe we’re supposed to be separate. Maybe it’s better that way.
Maybe Reach is right.
“Do you think that’s possible?” Summer says.
I still can’t look at her.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” I say. “You’re going to be great.”
Summer puts her hand on my upper arm. I turn towards her. Her eyes look green in the darkness of the Cave.
“Do you know what I like about you?” she says. “You totally get me. It’s pretty rare that someone gets you so well.”
“I get him,” Reach says.
His voice is loud in the empty room. He’s standing in the door of the Cave, his face tight and angry.
“I also get that we’re starting tech in five minutes and Mr. Ziegler has work to do. Real, non-acting work. The kind that gets your hands dirty.”
“Sorry,” Summer says. She rolls her eyes at me. “Talk to you later, Ziggy.”
Reach steps aside so she can go out, then blocks the door behind her.
“Who the hell is Ziggy?” he says.
“That’s what she calls me.”
“Pet names? Son of a bitch. You’ve crossed over to the dark side and I had no idea.”
He storms into the room, flipping the black curtain hard across the doorway behind him.
“You promised you’d tell me everything,” he says. “So let’s hear it.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I say.
“You said there was a woman. You said she was in the theater.”
“I also said she didn’t go to this school.”
“Two truths, one lie. I know that game.”
“There’s only one truth,” I say. “She’s interesting, but she’s an actor. End of story.”
“Okay. This is where the malfunction is occurring. We do not find actors interesting, because they are not interesting. They are boring. They are good to look at, yes. I cannot deny that. They have been genetically selected to be good looking. Like a butterfly. A butterfly is a lovely thing, but when it comes time for brain surgery, you do not want a butterfly scrubbing in. You want a doctor. You want skill set.”
“What are you talking about, Reach?”
“It’s the same with a girlfriend.”
“You want a girlfriend who’s good with a scalpel?” I say.
“No. You want a girl with a brain. And there’s nothing wrong with looks. But not an actor. For God’s sake. I can’t believe you would screw us up like that.”
“How could that screw us up?”
“You’ll start a war with the actors.”
“We’re already at war,” I say.
“Right, but it’s a cold war. There’s a difference,” Reach says.
“What about you?” I say. “You bought Grace a slice.”
Reach’s face turns red.
“That’s different,” he says.
“How is it different? You said she was on our Do Not Call List.”
“She’s a fallen techie, not an actor. It’s a different rule.”
“That’s the problem with the rules. They’re your rules. You can change them whenever you want.”
“Places, please,” Ignacio calls as he passes by the door. “Places!”
That’s our cue to get into position.
“Drop it with this actor,” Reach says. “Before it gets out of hand.”
The lights flicker, signaling the run-through is about to begin.
Reach looks into my eyes.
“Promise me,” he says. “For all our sakes.”
“I promise.”
I think about the pact Reach and I made when we were ten. No secrets, no matter what.
We’ve had our ups and downs over the years. I’ve avoided him, changed the subject, made fun of him, even argued with him.
But I never lied to his face. Not until now.
SEEKING SWEET FAVOURS.
I step out of the Cave and Derek gives me the come here gesture with his finger.
The finger gesture makes most people seem like a-holes, but when Derek does it, he makes you feel like you’re lucky to be beckoned.
“I’m kind of in a rush,” I say. “Ignacio called places.”
“There are no places without me,” Derek says. “I am places.”
He relaxes against the wall while techies and actors rush past.
“I know the show is still rough, but I want you to know you’ve exceeded my expectations on spot.”
“Thanks,” I say.
He looks up and down the hall to make sure we’re alone.
“Can I confide something to you? I’ve got one more year here, and I want it to be the biggest year ever. A drama in the fall, a musical in the winter, a comedy in the spring. Who knows, maybe I’ll direct.”
“What about Mr. Apple?” I say.
“He’s a lame duck. I can go over his head if I have to. I’ve got pull.”
“What kind of pull?” I say.
“Major pull. You know about my father, right?”
“I’ve heard of him.”
More than heard of him. Thomas Dunkirk. He’s the kind of guy who can call up the head of Lincoln Center and ask for a favor. Hey, I’m designing your new building. Did I mention my son is interested in theater?
“He’s coming to see the show,” Derek says.
“That’s great,” I say.
“I want to show him what I can do. What we all can do. This may not be LaGuardia Arts, but that’s no reflection on our talent. Do you know what I mean?”
“Absolutely.”
“So everything has to be perfect,” Derek says.
Summer walks by in costume, her pale thighs peeking out from under her skirt. Derek glances at her, then looks back at me.
“I want to be the first student to design and direct on the big stage. Everything. Start to finish. The theatrical equivalent of Quentin Tarantino. Write, produce, shoot, edit.”
“Impressive. If you can pull it off,” I say.
“I can pull it off. Have no doubt. But I need technical know-how behind me. I need a strong board op. Someone who can lead the crew in this area.”
“What about Benno?”
“Mutton Chops? Forget about him. We’re talking about you.”
I imagine being up in the booth, the computer board in front of me, watching dozens of lights go on and off as I press a button. I have to admit it’s exciting. There’s just one problem. The techie code is very clear about something like this.
You don’t betray a fellow techie.
But is it a betrayal if Derek decides to take the board away from Benno and give it to me? Maybe that’s just a promotion.
“You help me do what I want to do,” Derek says, “and next year you write your own ticket. You want to design lights? Design a whole production? I’ll back you.”
Derek stares at me, trying to gauge my reaction.
“I got your attention, didn’t I?” he says.
“You did.”
“I thought so.” Derek puts a hand on my shoulder, just like my father used to do.
I wonder if I was wrong about Derek. Maybe he’s looking out for me, for all of us. Sure, he’s ambitious, but that’s another way of saying he has vision. He’s an artist, like Dad was. And he wants to go places.
Maybe we can go places together.
He gives my shoulder a squeeze. “By the way, I saw you chatting with the new actor. You two aren’t—”
He makes a together gesture with his fingers.
“Not exactly,” I say.
“Let me be more precise,” he says. “Have you gone out with her?”
“No.”
“Have you even asked her out?”
“Not technically, no.”
“Then technically it’s every man for
himself.”
“I guess so. Yes.”
“Good man,” he says. He throws me a two-fingered salute then heads out to the tech table.
I’m so stunned, it takes me a minute to realize what just happened.
I want to run after Derek and start the conversation all over again. When he asks me about Summer, I’ll lie and say, “She’s my girlfriend. We’ve been going out for a month. Stay away from her.”
I’ll say, “You’ve already been with every girl in the theater department. You can’t have her.”
I’ll say, “If you go near her, my brother Josh will kick your ass.”
But I don’t do any of that. I do what I always do.
I climb.
TRAGICAL, MY NOBLE LORD, IT IS.
From the catwalk, I watch as rehearsal goes from bad to worse. It’s like seeing a train derail in slow motion. You know something awful is happening, but you’re powerless to do anything but watch. And if it looks terrible from up here, I can only imagine what it looks like from a theater seat.
Well, I don’t have to imagine. Mr. Apple is making it pretty obvious.
“Goddam it,” he says under his breath over and over again. He’s been huffing and sighing all rehearsal, growing more and more angry in the dark.
At the beginning of Act II, Summer is straddling a tree stump that is supposed to swing out from behind her when she sits. But when she tries, it doesn’t budge.
“It won’t move,” she says.
“Goddam it,” Mr. Apple says again down below.
Grace jumps out onstage wearing a tool belt.
“I’ll get it,” she says.
Derek is up in the audience and running.
“Don’t touch that,” he says.
“It’s no problem,” Grace says, taking a set of pliers from her belt.
“Stop!” Derek shouts.
He leaps from the pit onto the stage where Summer is sitting.
“There’s been enough human error tonight,” he says. “Let a professional take over.”
Grace looks like she’s about to tear him a new one. But instead she steps back, smiles, and holds the pliers out to Derek.
“All yours, Double D,” she says.
Derek scowls and snatches the pliers out of her hands.
“This will be a quick fix,” he says.
He gives Mr. Apple a thumbs-up then bends over behind Summer.