Chapter Four #2
“Good lord, I’m not dying,” Jazz said, with an offended laugh. “I’m as healthy as a horse! Just…an old one. I’m seventy-eight, my loves. And I want to make sure that when I go, the theater stays open.”
“Oh.” Annie let out a breath of relief. “The theater. Of course.”
“We never reopened after Covid started; the Rhodes Players are defunct. But, I have a plan.” Behind her oversize glasses, Jazz’s eyes twinkled.
“Not just for the theater. For the town as a whole. Look, it’s no secret Rhodes isn’t living its best life.
” Jazz addressed Lola. “Young people move elsewhere and we’re not on the tourist beat.
We need a point of difference. A draw. My vision,” Jazz declared, “is to rebrand our town as Upstate’s number one queer destination!
Like Fire Island and P-Town. A safe haven and celebration of the gays! ”
Points for the reveal. Not what Lola was expecting.
“Oh-kay…” Annie said, sounding bemused. “Based on…what?”
Jazz sifted through the collection of books and clippings covering her desk. “Did you know we were the first Upstate town to have a presence at Pride? The first town in the county to pass a nondiscrimination ordinance? That Oscar Wilde once summered nearby?”
“I did not.” Annie sounded surprised.
“It’s mentioned in a biography.” Jazz flicked through a dog-eared hardcover. “He called the lake ‘a divine little mirror’ and scandalized the locals by swimming in ‘indecent’ silk robes.”
Lola chuckled, even as she tried to figure out how she and Annie fit into this plan.
“In the sixties, the old general store was a gay speakeasy, raided at least five times before Stonewall.” Jazz went on, “In the seventies, a collective of lesbian artists bought a gallery on Henry—one of their shows was almost shut down for ‘obscenity’ because of a nude sculpture called Eve Eats the Apple and Likes It. A sculpture I proudly own!”
Annie laughed, a genuine, hearty guffaw. The sound softened something hard buried deep in Lola’s chest.
Jazz leaned forward over her desk. “Rhodes is already legendary—we just need to remind people.”
“How, exactly?” Lola asked.
“A revival!” Jazz’s pale eyes gleamed. “Of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead.” She arced her hand through the air, twinkling her fingers. “A one-night-only fundraiser, last Saturday of August. And you, Lola Wilson, will headline.”
Act. Onstage. Back in Rhodes. Lola couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice. “You mean…the—same cast?”
“Sort of!” Jazz’s face was alive, jumping on what she seemed to perceive as interest. “But this time, you kids will be in the starring roles.”
“I have a prior commitment that week.” Lola was relieved for the excuse. “A big premiere for a film I’m in.”
“We’ll work around it!” Jazz scribbled a note, already moving on. “Annie, you’ll be our lighthearted Rosencrantz.”
“Me?” Annie sounded horrified.
“Of course! We must have a queer local in our queer local revival!” Jazz exclaimed. “And Lola, my dear, given you’re a world-famous A-list actress—”
“I’m absolutely not,” Lola swiftly interjected.
“—and Rhodes’s best-known export,” Jazz went on, “it makes sense you’d be our philosophical Guildenstern. Just like you were the night you were discovered!”
Lola hadn’t reread the play since their run, but she recalled the basic plot.
The play followed two side characters from Hamlet, summoned by King Claudius to unravel their friend Hamlet’s famous malaise.
Most of the action centered on the bewildered duo fumbling through a story they didn’t understand, trapped on the margins of someone else’s tragedy.
Lots of clever wordplay and philosophical monologues about fate, free will, and the meaning of it all.
Waiting for Godot meets The Truman Show with a dash of Fleabag’s fourth-wall flair—artful, imaginative, and darkly hilarious.
But reviving it, now, opposite Annie, in just a few weeks, was impossible.
Jazz went on. “If you’re still interested in directing, Lola, you can help out there, too.”
It’d been twenty years since Lola entertained thoughts of directing. She’d loved it as a teenager, but life as an actor was hard enough. It was so bizarre to have her long-buried passion casually unearthed; Lola felt it like a sock to the stomach. She was speechless.
Jazz checked the time on her wristwatch. “I invited Vicky and Dylan, too, but if they’re not available, we’ll cast the other roles in open auditions.” She examined Annie, then Lola, her gaze heartbreakingly hopeful. “So. What do you think?”
Lola exchanged a dumbstruck look with Annie. The sensation ping-ponged around Lola’s ribs, adding to the chaos. “This summer?” Lola hastily tried to shape a sensitive, graceful pass. “Rehearsing, what, for a month?”
Jazz nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes, and that reminds me—I know you’re in New York, so you can stay with me. Vicky and Dylan, too, if they show—I have plenty of space.”
Jazz owned a rambling five-bedroom Victorian outside town.
The original cast had gone there for dinner one night.
Under a dusky pink sky, they ate around a long table in an overgrown backyard full of flowering plants.
Jazz let each of the quartet have a half glass of wine, which felt unbelievably special and made them all giggly.
Lola remembered leopard print carpet and an enormous photograph of two women kissing with tongue and a black marble statue of a jaguar in the kitchen.
“It’ll be wonderful to have a house guest for a few weeks.
” Jazz clapped her hands, the light from the oil lamp bouncing off her glasses.
“I know it’s a bit of a wild idea. But you two seem like the type who like wild ideas.
” Her voice softened, her gaze a plaintive plea.
“If we don’t act now, everything we built could just vanish.
It’s not just my legacy, it’s the legacy of the town.
Something for the future generations.” She ticked off her fingers.
“We bring back the theater, and that brings back people—tourists, residents, everyone! First for our play, then the next one, and the one after that. They’ll go to the bars, the cafés, the gas station.
” Her eyes were dancing, the vision unfolding in her mind’s eye.
“Visitors will stay the weekend, maybe buy a little vacation home. Locals will stop heading to the neighboring towns for nights out and realize everything they’re looking for is right here! ”
Annie frowned, looking a bit bemused. “One show is going to kick off all that?”
“Sure!” Jazz exclaimed. “We’ve got to start somewhere. This play will be the start of a whole new chapter for Rhodes. That’s how we grow. So, whaddya say? Help an old broad—and an old town—out?”
Lola had to hand it to her—Jazz was still a dreamer.
This was not going to be easy.
“Jazz.” Lola kept her voice as kind as she could. “I admire the enthusiasm and I am so honored to have been asked to do this. I have such fond memories of you, and us, and everything. And honestly, I do think it’s such a fun idea.”
This wasn’t a lie. For a split second, Lola could hear the creak of the floorboards, feel the heat of the spotlight.
It was an excellent play, by one of her favorite writers, and a part of Lola wished she could say yes for those reasons alone.
Deep down, she was a theater kid, simple as that.
But it wasn’t as simple as that. Lola had a Jenga tower of a career to consider.
Saturn Rising to small-town community theater?
Her agent would laugh in her face. But of course the most pressing reason was sitting next to her, studiously avoiding eye contact.
“But I must decline,” Lola went on, “for…personal reasons. I’ll be in the front row, I promise. I want this just as much as you do, Jazz. This place means a lot to me, too. But I can’t be in a revival.”
Jazz looked crushed, letting out a breath of defeat. “Well, what about you?” Lola looked at Annie who shrunk into her seat, color rising in her cheeks.
“Well—it’s just—I work,” she managed. “Full-time. And Dylan and Vicky didn’t even show. I’m not an actor anymore. I won’t be any good.”
“I’ve always had a sixth sense about casting.” Jazz’s reply was sharp. “I know what’ll work.”
“I’d be happy to make a donation,” Lola said, wishing she’d brought a checkbook. “Whatever you need—”
“That’s very generous, Lola,” Jazz said.
“But money alone won’t revive the theater.
The reopening has to come from love, not money, or what’s the point?
Community theater relies on the community.
Our summer show will be a fundraiser, just as I planned.
And if it’s not my four favorite kids up there—” Jazz’s voice cracked.
Her shoulders slumped, dismay quivering her lips.
“Well, that’ll be a shame. I was quite looking forward to it. ”
Sadness, tart as lemon juice, misted up Lola’s throat. She’d passed on a hundred shitty projects and terrible offers. But this was far and away the most painful rejection.
“The show must go on.” Jazz inhaled, resolute. “Goodbye, girls. Thanks for coming.”
She rose to shake their hands, and in that moment, Jazz didn’t appear as the creative giant she’d always been in Lola’s mind.
She looked like a small, old woman who was bitterly disappointed.
Lola took Jazz’s knobbed hand in both of hers, hoping to convey how truly sorry she was.
But Jazz didn’t meet Lola’s gaze, instead blinking back tears as she turned away.
· · ·
Outside, the late-afternoon sun lengthened shadows over the quiet street. The air was warm and smelled like the woods—green and clean and earthy, a world away from the stench of the city in high summer. The only sounds were the twitter of birds and the low rumble of a distant lawn mower.
Annie and Lola stood ten feet apart on the grass in front of the theater.
Over the years, Lola occasionally indulged in a fantasy of reconnecting with Annie, typically in a moment when Lola looked and felt effortlessly cool and composed: browsing a bookstore in Paris, maybe, or realizing they were both admiring the same painting at the Met.
A spark reigniting over a glass of wine.
Their lips meeting under a spray of stars or a waterfall shower.
Only now did Lola realize how ridiculous those fantasies were.
Annie had broken up with her. Annie still wasn’t interested. They were never going to be friends again, let alone lovers.
Lola shifted her weight, the knife points of her stilettos sinking into the earth. “I guess this is goodbye.”
“I guess.” Annie’s voice was strained.
Lola forced a smile. “Good luck to you.” A knot tightened in her throat. “See you in another twenty years.”
“Bye, Lola.” Annie’s voice was soft. “I’m glad everything worked out for you.”
God, there was so much Annie didn’t understand. So much Lola would never get to tell her. Lola made herself swivel in the direction of her ride. She might just make it before bursting into tears.
The sound of a car gunning up Myrtle Street tore through the quiet afternoon.
A shiny black BMW zoomed toward the front of the theater, screeching to a stop.
A woman rocketed out of the driver’s seat.
She wore pleated black slacks and a crisp white button-down.
Her lips were coated in glossy red lipstick and her black cat eyeliner was as precise as the crack of a whip.
Vicky Fang slammed her car door with a decisive bang. She was clutching a bright red envelope. “Guys! I just opened my mail!”