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This makes my soul tired.

Something I wrote. Read if bored. Very Proud.

The Understudy

SETTING: Chicago, 2004

CHARCTERS

Harold, fifties, The Husband

Joan, forties, The Wife

Piper, frazzled, The Stage Manager

Victoria, twenty-six, Catherine

Terry, late fifties, Robert

Michael, twenty-seven, The Understudy

Willie, thirty-one, Hal

Carolyn, late twenties, The Woman

            Scene I: Lights up on a packed theatre. Attendees are dressed well for the occasion. Harold, large and out of place, sits uncomfortably in his small seat. His wife, Joan, is much more at ease, reading the playbill.

The overcrowded performance center made the air warm and dense. Harold was sweating in his suit jacket and could feel the back of his undershirt becoming wet. He was already pretty soaked from the rain outside when he tried to find a space for the car. He never really liked theatre, but Joan used to do shows in college and she enjoyed going out to watch the plays here. Harold shook out his arm so he could see his watch. Damn. The show was supposed to have started ten minutes ago. He sighed.

            “At this rate we’re going to have to pay the sitter for another hour.” He spoke into his wife’s ear. She put her hand on his arm.

            “Small price to pay for some time by ourselves, right?” Joan kissed him on the cheek and kept her hand on Harold’s arm as she looked forward at the curtain that was still hiding the stage. Harold looked down at the playbill. The lowercase letters that made the word “proof” were set over a black and white picture of a woman with tousled hair looking distraught off into the distance. He opened the page and saw the headshots of the actors. There were only four in this show. There were two young women, a young guy, and a man that seemed pretty close to Harold’s own age. Why would a man his age be wasting his life as an actor? He kept flipping through the playbill. Apparently when this show was on Broadway it won a few awards.

            Finally, the lights dimmed. The crowd began to settle and the roar subsided. After a minute or so, the lights went out. He heard the curtain being raised. He never knew if he was supposed to clap when the curtain was raised. It took them long enough. Harold wanted to look at his watch again, but he remembered the lights were out. He did not clap.

            Before the lights came up, he heard a loud crash come from the stage, everyone in the audience jumped. He heard a scream or two. The lights went up. The scene looked like a porch of a home. A girl and the older man he saw in the playbill were on stage, squinting in the light. Amateurs. Great. They looked confused on stage, as if the show was not in its third week. They focused their eyes downstage to the out of place lump between them and the audience. The girl screamed shrilly when she saw the body, whose face was away from the audience. She looked up as if the body was sent from the sky, her eyes full of fear. The older man was sitting in a chair, not moving, almost stiff. The audience was silent. Harold slumped in his seat and sighed. This is going to be a long night.

            Scene II: The backstage of a theatre. The walls are made of plywood. People in black rush across the stage with their minds on other things. Piper, also in black, with a headset and red hair in a ponytail, is holding a clipboard. Victoria is out of place, dressed normally.

            “Have you seen Michael?” Curtain was supposed to be five minutes ago and nobody had seen their Hal. Willie showed up without his voice that night so they had to call in Michael. Michael showed up on time for call but nobody had seen him for at least half an hour. The stage manager had been running around frantically asking every crew member if they had seen Michael.

            “Sorry Piper but I don’t know more than anyone else.” The frazzled stage manager rolled her eyes in frustration and moved to keep looking for the understudy. This isn’t like him. Victoria had not known him very long, but Michael had been a fantastic understudy; he had the script memorized before anyone else in the cast did. He was one of the best understudies in Chicago, and they were thankful to have him.

            Before a show, Victoria always practiced her facial expressions in the dressing room mirror. She liked the small cast, sharing the room only with Marie. They had grown close during rehearsal and spent most of their nights out with each other. Surprise. Of course Terry was older so he didn’t go out that much, but still they were all close. Anger. The understudies came out too, but Michael was definitely the most involved. Seduction. He was on call for two other roles in the city, but he still found time for drinks on Thursday. Resentment. Passion. Fear. Doubt.

            “Five minutes till curtain, Victoria!” Piper’s voice shouted through the dressing room door.

            “Thank you five! Did we find Michael?”

            “Not yet, but we got to start the show. We have the first half of the first scene to find him,” before Victoria could protest, she heard Piper’s heavy footsteps going down the hall, no doubt to tell the rest of the crew they were starting without a fourth of the cast. Enjoyment.

            Victoria left the room and made her way to the stage. Terry was waiting in the wings for her. They always went on together. The show called for a strong relationship between the two, even though for most of the show he is actually of figment of her imagination.

            “Do they have Michael yet?” Terry whispered as they walked on stage.

            “I don’t think so. Hopefully they’ll find him.” Terry shook as head and took his place behind Victoria on stage. She grabbed the champagne bottle set for her on the table and turned it over in her hands on the dark stage. She could hear the audience quieting as the house lights went down. Victoria closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, filling her chest with air, and slowly releasing her breath through her nose. She kept her eyes closed as she heard the curtain lifting in front of her. She had always loved being in front of people, and she was blessed to even be acting in Chicago. She let her muscles relax. She was Catherine now. Robert was her father. Claire was her sister. Hal was her lover.

            She felt a breeze come from in front of her. Surprise. She heard a whistle through the air. Confusion. She opened her eyes in time to hear an explosion in front of her. Shock. Her face was splashed with something wet. Shock. It was warm and tasted like metal. It was on her lips. Disgust. The lights went up and she saw what had fallen.

            In front of her was a body, with blood underneath it. It was dressed like an academic, but sloppily put together, like it was working late in the office before it fell from the sky. The lifeless face was pointed towards her, with blood dripping from the mouth, rolling down its face. It was Hal. Fear. It was Michael.

            Scene III: A dressing room. Empty accept for a few chairs and clothes. Large mirrors with large lights, but none face the audience. Michael. Onstage alone, getting dressed.

            They had called him in saying that Willie came in with a hoarse voice and could not go on that night. Willie came in an hour and a half before curtain to get ready and prepare for the night. He was putting his costume on in the changing room that he and Terry shared. Ever since proof went on Broadway a few years ago, Michael had been dying to be Hal. Even though he did not get the part, he could handle being the understudy. Whenever a big show was coming to Chicago, it would be very likely for him to get a call about being so-and-so’s understudy. He kind of resented the fact that people preferred him as an understudy than a star. Any work is good work for an actor.

            The costume they had for him tonight was the same as every other night, except they liked to change up the tie every now and again. Tonight’s tie was blue with white diagonal stripes going across. The white shirt was neatly pressed, but then meticulously rumpled to give that after-hours kind of look. Costumers. Michael had started out as a techie, assisting with set design and making sure special effects worked during shows. He picked up a few techniques from the actors he worked with, and that’s how he got his first understudy job. The first of way too many.

            “Forty-five minutes till curtain!” he heard Piper’s timely and meticulous voice.

            “Thank you forty-five!” Michael yelled back. He appreciated her dedication, but sometimes it came across as a little anal. No matter. He finished tying his tie, making sure that it was just untidy enough so that he could fit the role of overworked PhD student. He left the dressing room and went on his pre-show walk.

            When he was a techie, he would go around the entire set, checking to make sure everything was set in place ready for the run, and that if something broke it could be replaced in a minute’s notice. As an actor now, it helped him clear his mind and get into character.

            He was walking backstage as people dressed in all black scurried past him to take care of who knows what before. I probably know. He started thinking about this show and how glad he was to be able to play Hal. He spent a lot of time with Willie, which was uncommon for an understudy, as they together tried to create the Hal they wanted to portray. Michael always thought Hal was an incredibly complex character that could be played many different ways. There were many nights spent at Willie’s apartment talking about who Hal was over the coffee Willie’s wife would bring in. He enjoyed the time he spent at their apartment, especially if it meant he got to see Carolyn. Like something out of a dream.

            Maybe it was because the cast was so small, but he often went out with Marie, Victoria, and Willie after a show or rehearsal. They were a good group and he enjoyed the closeness of the cast. The script definitely called for a special relationship between the actors.

            Michael headed into the stairwell and started climbing. His favorite part of tech was the lighting. This show was pretty simple for tech: no pyrotechnics, no fog machines, no LEDs. Though that would be pretty interesting. Math with fireworks. He spent a lot of time hanging lights before he started acting. He liked the view from the scaffolding. Below he could see the sparse set. It was almost dizzying being up so high, but he had gotten used to it. Below was the porch chair and the champagne bottle Catherine would drink as she slowly realized she was going crazy. The curtain was still down and he could hear the audience like a muffled swarm of bees. He felt his heart pumping a little faster. He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly as he got into character.

            He opened his eyes when he realized the audience was quieting down. Shit. The show was about to start. If he did not hurry he would miss curtain. Shit shit shit. He began walking towards the stairwell as the lights went down and the curtain began to lift. It was pitch dark and he could not see anything. He fumbled in the darkness for the handrails that would guide him to the stairwell. He was almost there.

            Suddenly, a force. It felt supernatural, but maybe because it was too dark to see anything. He was grabbed from behind and thrown sideways. He felt his ribs roll against the handrails as he began to lean over the walkway. And then he felt it. It felt like when you lean back in a chair a little too far, and you know you are going to fall. His heart fluttered as gravity shifted, and the world became strange. In the darkness, he had no idea which way was up. He felt like Alice, falling down the rabbit hole. Only one word hung in his head as he tumbled down to the stage below.

            Why.

            Scene IV: Backstage. Piper with clipboard. Willie with jacket – rain soaked. Darker – visibly.

            He came to the theatre sick that night. To tell the truth, he actually did feel sick. It was not his throat that hurt. He could feel the pain in his chest, like a burning knife shoved between his ribs that put a fire in his gut and made his eyes sting. When Piper told him to go home, he knew they were going to call Michael in. Son of a bitch.

            He pleaded with her to let him stay, but Piper would not have it.

            “Willie, I’m calling Michael. You know how good he is. I think you can take the night off. Drink some tea, get your rest,” Piper turned to take care of whatever was next on her list. Willie, now free for the night, started walking towards the exit. However, instead of leaving through the double doors that led outside, he turned and found the stairwell that led to the scaffolding that held the lights.

             He and Michael had spent a lot of time together making Hal. They had loved the character ever since the play came out. He could tell Michael was a little bitter about not getting the part. Maybe that’s why the bastard did it. Michael had told Willie about his pre-show ritual of walking around before a show, how he got into character. Bunch of amateur bullshit.

              He finally made his way to the scaffolding above the stage. The lights were hung specifically to the lighting designer’s preferences. Each light had a number, and each number was involved in over one-hundred different lighting cues. Willie had been in more involved performances before, but this show was not technical. It focused on the actors’ abilities to portray flawed, normal people. These people made mistakes. They laughed. They loved. They feared. They doubted. That’s what Willie had learned over the course of his time as an actor. You had to dedicate your entire being to the man you were playing, or else the show would not work. That is why understudies did not work. They were not committed like the main actor. They did not devote their lives to their role. Bastard.

               Willie was in a dark spot of the scaffolding when Michael opened the door. He’s probably so disappointed he had to come in. Michael walked over to the middle of the scaffolding and had his back to Willie, facing the curtain that held back the crowd. He was already in costume. My costume.

                In proof, Hal is the former PhD student of Robert, who was a brilliant mathematician who went mad in his old age. After he died, Hal went through his records, with Robert’s daughter, Catherine’s permission. At the post funeral party, he slept with her. He also found a book that contained a new proof that Catherine claimed she wrote. Hal did not believe her. Now the trouble with Hal is deciding whether or not he is manipulative or sincere. That was the question Willie and Michael had spent tossing around in their heads for the past two months. They had spent a lot of time together, at Willie’s apartment. Too much time.

                 Willie was waiting for his moment. Michael had seemed to have dozed off. The house lights dimmed and the audience grew quiet in anticipation. Now. Michael woke up and noticed the lights and the crown falling. Too late. The house went dark, but Willie did not need to see. He moved so that he was right behind Michael. He could smell the nervous sweat on him.

                 Amateur. Willie grabbed Michael and threw him over the scaffolding in a flash. It was easier than he thought it would be. He listened for the artillery crash he knew was to follow as Michael fell to the stage.

Scene V: Night. Rain. Windows. A dress. A phone. Guilt. Incense. Carolyn.

            It was dark in the Chicago apartment, which was how she liked to keep the place when nobody else was home. Carolyn walked through the sparsely furnished den to the bedroom. She was in her comfy bathrobe. She was getting ready for the night. She always had a nervous anticipation before one of Willie’s shows, but not for him. Ever since he got cast in this show, he had been engulfed in the character. He forgot to sleep most nights as he poured over the script week after week, crafting the perfect character. They had been married for five years now, and the bright eyed artist she had married had turned into a reclusive, obsessive actor who only cared about the show. Her mother always went on about how she should not have married an actor. Maybe she was right.

            Carolyn went over to the bed and looked at what she had laid out. Beside the black dress was a black lace brassiere she had bought special for the night. She untied the robe and let it slide off her body down to the floor. She put on her undergarments and inspected herself in the mirror. She could see her hands shaking with nervous excitement in her reflection. It was not very often, but right now she felt beautiful. What was better was that somebody else thought that too.

            She put on her dress and waited in the den for the night to start. The waiting killed her, but she thought it enhanced the senses. Maybe this is how actors feel before a show.

            Carolyn sat in the darkness of the apartment until she saw her phone light up. She grabbed the phone and saw she had seen a text from a number she knew but had never put in her contacts.

            “They called me in tonight. Said Willie was sick? We’ll reschedule.” Carolyn deleted the text as soon as it was read, like she always did. She wondered why they thought her husband was sick.

Curtain.