Page 8 of Iris Kelly Doesn't Date

Stevie looked at Adri.

Adri smiled.

“So,” Stevie said.

Adri waved toward the now-vacant chair. “Sit down, will you?”

“As long as you help me untangle these lights, or I may have to sic Effie on you.”

“God, anything but that,” Adri said, lifting her coffee mug to her lips. The drink had to be cold by now, but Adri never minded cold coffee.

Stevie slid the chair around to the opposite side of the table—no way was she same-siding it with her ex, best friends or not—and plopped the lights onto the table. Adri leaned forward and grabbed a knot, working the wires with her long fingers.

“How’s it going lately?” she asked, eyes on the lights. “Had any auditions?”

Stevie hated this question. The answer was always yes. She was a relentless auditioner, constantly spanning Portland all the way up to Seattle. She’d even driven to Vancouver two months ago. The real question was not whether she’d auditioned, but whether she was landing parts.

Which was a definitive and depressing no. Granted, she didn’t really cast her net very widely. She knew she needed to expand, maybe even get the hell out of the Pacific Northwest, go to LA, New York, Chicago, but the thought of taking those trips alone, much lessmoving, made her stomach feel like it just might take up permanent residence outside of her body.

“Here and there,” she said, keeping her gaze on the colorful bulbs. A perfectly satisfying, if vague, answer.

“So you’re not working a show right now?” Adri asked.

Jesus. Adri always did like to say it plain. Stevie never knew how to say anything plain.

“Um, well, no, not right now. I’m—”

“Oh thank god,” Adri said, blowing out a breath and sort of crumpling onto the tabletop for a second. Then she sat up, posture totally straight. “Sorry. Van’s right. I’m a little desperate here.”

Dread filled Stevie’s gut. Auditions. Roles. She knew where this was going.

“Adri,” she started, but Adri leaned forward and grabbed her hands.

“Please,” she said. “I need you.”

“I told you, I’m done with community theater.”

“I know, I know, and I get it, Stevie. I really do, but the Empress... she’s in trouble.”

Stevie paused. “What?”

Adri pressed her eyes closed. “I’min trouble. Rent has skyrocketed, I can barely pay my staff, and with inflation, people aren’t going out to shows as much anymore. All that on top of our somewhat niche take on things, the Empress is suffering.”

Adri Euler was the only female theater owner in the city, not to mention the only lesbian theater owner. For the last several years, she’d worked hard to get the Empress off the ground, a tiny venue just south of downtown, and had managed to staff a few regular actors while leaving room for community roles in every production. The Empress specialized in queer interpretations of classics—gender-bent, swapped, and inverted, as well as trans, lesbian, gay, bi, pan, ace, and aro character arcs woven into familiar cishet plots.

The Empress was a queer institution in Portland. A safe space, a community. A home for many.

“I had no idea,” Stevie said.

“Because I’ve only told Vanessa,” Adri said.

Stevie nodded, but she couldn’t help feeling a pang of loss. She was no longer Adri’s confidante. And while Vanessa and Adri had always been close, it still stung to hear Stevie was now an outsider when it came to Adri’s emotions.

“Right,” Stevie said.

“But I’ve decided to turn this next production into a fundraiser. We’re doingMuch Ado.”

Stevie tilted her head, smiling. Adri smiled back and, for a second, the last six months hadn’t happened. The last six years, even. Instead, they were best friends who hadn’t yet crossed into romance,sitting in that crappy apartment with the ant problem that the four of them shared senior year. Stevie and Adri were sprawled on the plaid couch they’d found on the street and doused in three bottles of Febreze, reading throughMuch Adoin order to “reimagine” the iconic play for their senior thesis.