Chapter 11
Divas and Hags
Erica and Annie Besonen, the Times journalist, were waiting for me when I arrived at the theatre the next morning. As I was no stranger to a feature article, I strode through the lobby like I was playing a character. The story was always already being written.
I’d been up for hours. Erica had won out, and so my stylist, hair stylist, and makeup artist had arrived basically as soon as I was out of the shower.
(Andy had taken Rosie the night before so that she could sleep in, undisturbed.) My look was some version of casual-theatre-rehearsal-chic; nothing was that different from yesterday if anyone merely glanced at me.
But my waves had been lightly diffused into glossy symmetry, my barely-there makeup was actually about an eighth of an inch thick, and my casual jeans-and-a-T outfit had all been custom-tailored so that they hung off of me just so.
Plus I’d been right about the wedge heels.
Annie and I chatted casually, Erica trailing us closely but not overtly so, as I took my usual path up to the rehearsal room.
There was no running into Rebecca today, and even though I was well-aware it was for the best not to have that documented by the press, I felt a streak of disappointment to see that she was already settled in with Kevin and Stephanie.
Erica had cordoned off the lounge for the interview, and Kevin had confirmed earlier via text that the team knew I’d be getting started a little late.
We kept the door open to keep it casual (casual was so important in Hollywood, terrible to be seen as too hardworking or wanting anything too much, especially if you were a woman), which meant I did my best to ignore the cast walking by and looking our way before heading into the rehearsal space.
“I can tell how much you love this world,” Annie said, after I’d gushed about my love of the theatre, in general, for long enough that Erica had given me a very discreet wrap it up gesture. “How’s it been being back onstage? It’s been since college for you, right?”
“Summer stock after college,” I corrected. “But, yeah, it’s been a long time. I’m thrilled to be back, and Hometown is such an incredible opportunity. The whole thing feels like—no pun intended—coming home.”
“I’m obviously going to be watching rehearsals today, but I’d love to hear from you what it’s been like, especially compared to your work in film.”
I nodded. “Not to disparage any of my film work, because I love love love making movies, but it can be really grueling too, to be away from home for months and then on set twenty hours a day where, you know, you’re trying to do something amazing in the forty-five seconds you’re actually acting on camera.
And you never have this luxury of time rehearsing—it’s incredible to me how you end up with these brilliant moments anyway.
But you know, it’s always this idea of catching lightning in a bottle.
Here we’re, you know … spending our time creating better and better lightning, to belabor this already exhausting metaphor.
The time we get to spend just digging into the material, it’s been a joy for me. ”
“I know that when you were cast Hometown was to be directed by Geoffrey Gordan, before allegations came to light. How has it been working with his replacement, Rebecca Frisch?”
I snuck a glance in Erica’s direction. Her phone was out in front of her, but I knew it was a ruse. She was ready to spring if I said anything she didn’t care for.
Despite that Erica guarded my image like a rare jewel, interviews were rarely this high stakes for me.
When a new Vindicators movie came out, people were already excited.
I merely had to show up and cement my image to play America’s favorite pretty blonde superhero.
I’d talk about how thrilled I was to figuratively lace up Princess Platinum’s boots again (there were no laces on Princess Platinum’s boots, and even if there were, I wouldn’t have been allowed to lace them up myself), and got into my personal life a little in a way Erica and I had already discussed (usually talking about cooking or Rosie, though occasionally I was allowed to geek out about whatever stack of lit fic I’d read while on set).
“Obviously, Rebecca Frisch’s reputation precedes her,” I said, shifting just a little so that I couldn’t see Erica out of even the corner of my eye.
“Anyone who follows theatre knows her name. I hadn’t seen any of her work yet, but I was still excited when she joined the creative team for Hometown. ”
Two could play at the shifting game, I realized, because suddenly I could see Erica again, and her gaze was far from the subtle one she typically employed.
“And how’s it been working with her?” Annie asked.
“Honestly, wonderful,” I said, which was honest, though at least only halfway there.
I could have also blurted out confusing to a professional journalist; these days, who knew what I was liable to say and to whom.
“Rebecca’s so collaborative, but you can tell she has a clear idea for the show, so it feels safe to try different line readings, different interpretations of moments.
She creates this environment where it’s apparent that we’re all working on this thing together and support will be there for you.
She’s running the show but it’s like she’s open to finding out what that show’s going to be from all of us and her team, too.
And working on a show about the trauma a woman carries from the place she’s from—well, to have a woman directing that story, I think there’s an innate sense that can come from it that’s special. ”
Erica cleared her throat, though she stayed focused on her phone when Annie and I glanced her way.
Annie quickly looked back to me, so I could tell it had read as a normal moment and not Erica telling me to cool it on the Rebecca Frisch praise.
But this section of the interview was mostly wrapped up, and there was nothing even mildly controversial left to discuss before the photographer met us in the lobby and I did my best to head into the rehearsal room like it was a regular day.
“Gardner, perfect timing,” Rebecca called from her spot near Michael and Henry on the taped-out stage.
“We’ve been working on the moment between John and Steven in act one, page twenty-one.
I’d love to run it again from your exit to your reappearance, see what your energy brings to it now. Do you need a moment to—”
“No,” I said, flipping to the scene and slipping into my spot on the simulated stage. The photographer snapped the whole time. “I’m ready to go.”
“Great, take it from You don’t get to excuse me here,” Rebecca said, taking a step back from us.
“You don’t get to excuse me here,” I said, and exited, stage right.
It wasn’t my favorite moment; on the page it was funny that Casey was so ready to tell off her family, but she had no follow-through at this point in the show.
She excused herself! I hadn’t yet found a way to scoop that feeling off the page and inject it into my performance though.
“Let’s pause for a moment,” Rebecca said. “I wouldn’t mind walking it back a few more lines, actually, that’s on me.”
She crossed the room, got almost right into my space.
“Here’s a thought.” Her voice was softer, making it clear the whole room didn’t need to hear this note.
My body pulled toward hers, just a dumb moth to a brilliant flame, so I took a step back because it was bad enough in front of the cast, I didn’t need a newspaper reporting on some level of coziness between the two of us that didn’t even exist.
“What if you were a little snottier?” Rebecca continued.
“You’re bringing so much maturity to Casey, and I think in general that instinct is right.
But—I don’t know. When I go home to visit my parents, within twenty minutes I’m whining at them like I’m seventeen again.
How about a little of that energy here? Anywhere else that feels right to you, too. ”
I nodded, realized I was gazing deeply into her eyes, that I’d stepped in close to her again, and backed up abruptly, right into Michael.
“Ow,” he said, as Rebecca laughed and—before I could stop her—did her little move, the light touch of her palm to my upper arm to guide me toward my mark.
Her gaze caught mine, and I wondered why I had to shoulder this burden alone, the way my core was ready to melt down at the touch of her hand or a too-long look while she seemed the same as always.
It was honestly rude how attractive she was.
Was this practically tangible thing between us only practically tangible to me?
I couldn’t decide if that was more embarrassing or if it was the chance of that being photographed by the Times that was the most embarrassing aspect.
I tried to hold on to why I was actually there. We ran the scene again, with me starting a few lines earlier, and my newfound snark was way too much, so without even asking I stopped and started over again.
“Let’s just keep going this time,” Rebecca said. “If you don’t find it yet, you’ve got time. I’d actually love to see you all get messier.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean—”
“No apology necessary,” Rebecca said, her tone gentle. “Let’s just keep moving.”
Kathleen gave me a once-over as I walked over to the clump of chairs where she and Ashlee sat.
“The photographer,” I whispered with a shrug.
“Yes,” she said, “I gathered.”
I tried to ignore that the vibes seemed bad and that I was soon probably going to get back in front of everyone and flail again.
Michael and Henry sounded so keyed-in to their characters already, so sure in their words.
No wonder Henry felt like he wasn’t getting much from Rebecca—he didn’t need much.