Page 84 of Penalty Shot
Before the show goes to the masses, they get to claim it as theirs. It’s not the best scenario, but the connection between class privilege and performance theater is older than Shakespeare.
If you asked me months ago how I’d feel five minutes before the curtains rise, the word nauseous comes to mind. But that’s not me at all. I’m oddly calm though unbelievably exhausted. CalmbecauseI’m exhausted. Calausted.
Ha, that’s perfect! I amcalausted, but not stressed.
That’s due to a few reasons. The people I worked with are top-notch. Our last rehearsal soared beyond the script. The talent on the stage will not be denied.
Also, and this is the most surprising of all, I seem to be less tense with Randall on my side. It isn’t about the sex, either, although that’s out of this world. It’s everything. His belief in me is so complete, there’s no room for doubt.
Randall and I are officially and publicly dating. I thought it was going to be a shocker for Ma and Sienna when they drove in for the show, but they didn’t seem surprised at all. Happy, but completely unfazed by the news. Ma had that twinkle in her eye like she knew this would happen before even I did.
Then, Lily and Gordon showed up together.
How do two theater nerds end up with hockey players? That’s likely what outsiders are asking. All I know is, this is working.
Randall gives me space when I’m expected to focus on work, yet he’s close when I need him to be. Like right now. We’re sitting together in one of the theater boxes reserved for our group. He’s holding my hand—or, rather, indulging my death grip.
“This is going to be amazing, Elise,” he whispers in my ear. His encouragement is the last thing I hear before the curtains rise.
The play unfolds like a familiar song to me, but one that yields different intonations and depths because it’s live. There’s nothing more thrilling than a live performance. I’m fully immersed in the talented actors.
Intermission comes in a blink. When the lights go up, I’m swallowed by hugs from my little cheering session.
“That was magnificent,” Sienna gushes while wiping her eyes.
Ma simply holds my face in her hands and whispers, “Your talent is a gift you unwrap for the world.” Her eyes are glassy, and she looks too choked up to say more.
Lily is more effusive, of course, explaining to Gordon why certain staging techniques were thematically essential or whatever. She was always better at interpretation.
And then our box is flooded with people who came down from Columbus to support the show. Hailee hands me a glass of wine, great friend that she is. Woody gives a curt wave. He’s had a thing for Lily since our last production, so I’m sure seeing her with Gordon stings.
“Did you tell Elise yet?” Hailee whispers in Lily’s ear.
“Tell me what?”
Randall coughs. “We should sit down, it’s starting soon.”
A snaking suspicion creeps up my spine but there’s no time to linger. The lights flicker to indicate audience members should take their seats.
I don’t notice the difference in the audience until a few minutes before the play ends. It’s the final scene with Joy enmeshed in light, so the first ten or so rows are illuminated.
A mere glance tells me that one-third of the best seats in the theater—the ones owned by Cleveland’s hallowed class—have been evacuated. A heavy weight settles on my chest.
By the time the lights go up, I don’t hear the applause or appreciate the standing ovation. Of course I’m clapping enthusiastically. The cast and crew were terrific. They did everything I asked of them and more. The hollering applause from all corners of the theater is evidence that many agree. And maybe in the big picture, it shouldn’t matter that a dozen or so seats are emptied.
But it matters to me. Most importantly, the artistic director of Imagination Ohio will notice. His patrons were not happy. If this were Elizabethan England, the rejection of those in high places would result in my removal from the royal court.
Randall’s hand on my lower back alerts me to the spotlight that settles on our box. I’m being acknowledged by the cast andcrew and audience. Fighting down the shame of self-doubt, I offer a wave and a smile.
The moment attention leaves our section, Randall is on me.
“What’s wrong? Are you OK? That was an incredible show, Elise. It blew me away. What’s wrong, baby?”
Before I can answer, we’re swarmed by more people. Thank goodness no one else notices my reluctance to celebrate. The accolades wash over me. It’s water and I’m a duck. Nothing sticks.
I am absentmindedly thanking people for praise I barely hear. I pretend that everything is fine. No one needs to see my stress when the cast and crew should be celebrated.
“I’m heading backstage,” I say to whoever is beside me. It’s all a blur.