CHAPTER 17 #3
The audience laughed. Omar did too.
“Don’t encourage them,” Keisha murmured from next to him. “None of that is in the script.”
“No kidding?” he whispered back.
She nodded in confirmation. He returned his attention to the stage. Omar supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Diego was always the best at improvising when they were pulling pranks as kids.
The play itself was fine. The story didn’t resonate with him much.
He was more interested in the production side.
The actors were an important part, sure, but an entire crew supported them in every imaginable way.
Just like the movies. Omar was tempted to spend more time here, since this was as close as he was ever likely to get to being on set.
Maybe he could film the entire play next time.
He’d need a few cameras to do it right, unless he figured out the best angles for each scene ahead of time. Maybe during rehearsals.
Of course, he’d rather just work on his own stuff, since that was more meaningful to him, despite the recent dry spell. Even the recent footage he’d shot of Silvia wasn’t doing it for him. Watching her talk about her dreams only reminded him of why she was increasingly unavailable.
“I’m a ghost!” Whitney said, approaching him between acts. She was dressed in a white flowing dress and wearing silvery makeup on her face, making her appear otherworldly.
“You look so cool!” Omar said, backing up a few paces to get a better shot.
Her arms were extended to her sides and waving like a breakdancer as she made spooky noises. “I wish it was Halloween,” she said when dropping the act. “Once a year isn’t enough. I have a ton of costume ideas. I’ll be dead before I get to wear them all.”
He laughed. “I wanna go as Tarzan.”
“That would be so hot! Especially with your hair and yummy chest.”
“Hey, thanks!”
“Places everyone,” Keisha said. “This is the final act. You’re all killing it!”
Whitney gasped. “Who was my murderer? I don’t believe the death-in-childbirth story.”
Keisha pinched the bridge of her nose. “Do not improvise a plot twist. I am literally begging you. Please!”
Whitney tittered and began sweeping her arms through the air. She was so rad. He could hardly believe that she’d been his girlfriend. And that he’d broken up with her. Omar felt a pang of regret. Then he thought of Silvia, who was his muse. Usually, anyway.
The third act began. A funeral was held for Whitney’s character.
Diego was part of the procession. Afterwards, he returned to the wings, standing next to Omar while silently watching the play.
The plot was sort of like Scrooged with Bill Murray.
Whitney’s character was taken on a tour of her life, but the point wasn’t to make her be less of a greedy dick.
She only got to revisit one day actually.
Her birthday when she was twelve years old.
That’s the age Diego had been when his father committed suicide.
Had he done so before or after his son’s big day? Man, that was so messed up.
He glanced over at his friend, who was still watching the play with single-minded interest. Diego stepped forward, but not impulsively, as it turned out. He strode across the stage to a grave and slowed when nearing it, as if losing strength. Omar quickly swung the camera around.
Diego fell to his knees with a groan.
“Hey, it’s George!” Whitney said to her spirit guide or whoever.
Diego stretched out on the stage, flat on his belly, and wrapped his arms around the base of the tombstone.
One of the townsfolk tsked and muttered that this behavior was unacceptable.
“Yeah, but just look at him,” Whitney said, sounding as if her heart was breaking.
And no wonder, because Diego was really weeping now, his entire body shaking as he let out another terrible moan.
“People just don’t understand,” Whitney said, kneeling to stroke his hair.
Diego howled, sounding like a wounded animal. Whitney stretched out, draping herself over his massive body. The spotlight shifted to take them in, making her glow, ethereal, like some sort of angel.
The narrator gave a closing speech, which was lost on Omar.
His hand was shaking, no matter how hard he tried to hold it steady.
He felt like lightning was coursing through his veins!
Once the narrator ran out of wind, the only sound in the theater was Diego weeping.
The spotlight narrowed and went out. After a stunned silence, the audience burst into applause.
Which didn’t die down for a very long time.
The other actors took the stage, many of them helping Diego to his feet. He scowled at the cheers, his anger wavering at the very last second. Omar kept the camera on him the entire time.
The curtain finally fell. People began patting each other on the back, relieved that it was all over.
Omar stopped filming and noticed that Cameron was standing next to him. “Holy shit, dude! I had no idea that this play was so emotional!”
“It’s not supposed to be,” Cameron said, sounding frustrated. “I should have done the sets the way I wanted!”
“Go find your boyfriend so he can tell you how awesome you are,” he suggested.
Cameron wandered off. Omar remained where he was, his attention trained on Diego, because there was something special there.
Whatever it was had ignited a fire in his chest. Filming birthday parties at work and cheerleader routines at school didn’t do much for him.
Now he was inspired! A director was nothing without a star… and he’d just found his.