Chapter 6
“Greg, sorry I’m late,” Derek said, slightly out of breath. After driving around the same three blocks multiple times, he’d
dropped his car at the valet.
His mentor and Prestige Rep’s artistic director grinned and gave him a firm handshake. To say the man had opened doors for
Derek was not enough. Gregory A. Powers had changed the trajectory of Derek’s career. They’d met when Greg guest directed
an off-Broadway production. He’d cast Derek in a small role, which eventually turned into an assistant directing position.
“Derek, you made it! Have a seat.” The fiftysomething white man spoke quickly and forcefully, like someone who knew without
hesitation that people always listened to what he had to say.
For the five years that Derek had known Greg, the man was inundated with offers to direct shows. The man was practically an
icon in the industry. Everyone knew the story of how he’d sold his car in order to finance his first production in some small
midwestern town. After he’d moved on to bigger stages, his first board of directors named his first theater after him: the
Gregory A. Powers Performing Arts Center.
“Let’s get you a drink. What’ll it be?” Greg flagged down a nearby waitress.
“Uh—” Derek scanned the menu that Greg slid across the white tablecloth. He could buy an entire bottle of decent bourbon for the price of a cocktail here. “Just iced tea, unsweetened.”
“Are you sure? Dinner’s on me. Actually, it’s on Prestige.” He winked and turned to the waitress. “I’ll take another G and
T.”
“Maybe another time.” Derek nodded a thank-you to the waitress, who left to get their drinks.
“Do you like the apartment we put you in? I told production to put you in the best one.”
“I only dropped off my bags before driving to Falls Church to see an old friend. And got a little lost,” Derek admitted. He
stifled a yawn, regretting not taking a nap on the train down.
“Try to pace yourself while you’re in DC.” Greg tapped at the menu. “I took the liberty of ordering some appetizers for us.”
“Greg, I’m so grateful that you’re taking on my T ? m Cám musical.”
Derek had pitched it to several theaters, but most would agree only to a staged reading. He’d worked too hard and too long
on it for that. He needed to gather a design team and the actors and the dancers so they could breathe life into the show
together.
This musical was his love letter to his Vietnamese community, and it deserved the full treatment.
“How could I say no to one of my favorite up-and-coming directors?” Greg finished off his gin and tonic.
“Honestly? I wasn’t sure a big theater like yours would want to produce an all-Asian musical production.” The other theaters
that he’d approached had turned him down, citing how risky it was to take on such a new production the way Derek envisioned
it.
Greg had been at the helm of DC’s oldest theater for fifteen years and counting. As the largest one in the metro area, Prestige
Rep contained multiple performance spaces and a gorgeous building in Southwest. It was a dream come true to launch his project
there.
“I’ll be honest with you then. It took some time to convince the board to invest in a brand-new musical from an unknown.” Greg swirled the ice in his highball before setting it down.
“But—”
“Yes, I know you’re making waves in New York, but these board members—they wouldn’t know art if it smacked them in the face.”
“Oh.”
“They’re old and out of touch. Fuddy-duddies.” Greg winked. “Not young and innovative like us.”
“Yeah.” He wondered if the board members were as old as Greg implied.
“You and I both know that this will be groundbreaking. It’s the first of its kind. I’ll be known—I mean, Prestige Rep will
be on the map for supporting marginalized artists.”
“And I appreciate that.” Derek’s chest tightened; he was worried about where the conversation was headed.
“That’s why we’re premiering in May for Asian History Month.”
Derek bit his lip at how Greg bastardized Asian Pacific Islander Heritage Month.
“My favorite month,” joked Derek to hide how anxious the deadline made him. Six weeks until previews and another week and
a half after that for opening night. It sounded like a lot of time on paper, but he and his cowriter still had to finish writing
a couple of songs.
“I also told them they’d regret not producing your T ? m Cám because it has Broadway potential.” Greg pronounced T ? m as in Tammy and Cám in camera .
Derek had tried numerous times to teach him the Vietnamese pronunciation but had given up. In his native tongue, the names
were softer, more lyrical. The T in T ? m was similar to the English th sound, while the ?m sounded closer to um in umbrella. But he had to pick his battles and today wasn’t the time.
“I hope so,” Derek said cautiously. What theater director wouldn’t want a show on Broadway? The possibility only put more pressure on him, so he tried not to think about it too much.
“I know so. And in the end the board understood that taking a show to Broadway means we get a cut of the profits. Which we
can reinvest back into the theater.”
“So it’s all about the money.” Derek’s shoulders relaxed slightly. Producers’ monetary motivations were predictable, which
meant he could find ways to keep them happy.
“For the board, yes. Me? Your musical is art in the making. How lucky are we that I’m here to nurture your career?” The artistic
director flashed him a smile.
“Greg, I appreciate all you’ve done for me over the years.” Derek meant it, even though he didn’t always enjoy socializing
with Greg. He continued to meet the man for drinks whenever asked because Derek didn’t want to burn his bridges.
The waitress brought their drinks and the appetizers that Greg had ordered.
“Damn, that looks amazing. Have you ever had bone marrow before?”
“Not like this.” Derek shook his head. He’d slurped the beef bones that his mom simmered in her ph? broth, but this looked
entirely different. A long beef bone had been cut lengthwise to reveal the rich marrow inside.
“You probably can’t afford this in New York on your budget.”
“I prefer more casual restaurants.” Derek ignored the dig. “The best food comes from hole-in-the-wall places, you know.”
“You have to taste it at least. You scrape this unctuous fat out with the spoon and spread it on the toast like this. Add
some of these herbs and a squeeze of lemon to balance out the richness.” Greg demonstrated with glee, as if he savored the
opportunity to show off his knowledge about upscale cuisine. He popped the toast in his mouth and groaned.
Derek shifted in his seat. He’d never seen his mentor lose his mind over food before. He resisted the urge to give Greg some privacy with his bone marrow.
“Try it,” Greg said in between bites.
“Maybe in a little. I’m still full from the boba I had on the way here.”
“Is that the funny-looking drink you have to chew?” Greg closed his eyes as he ate his toast.
“I don’t think it’s funny-looking, but yes, you chew the tapioca in it. It’s a refreshing dessert in a cup.” He’d been surprised
how good the drink was considering the café’s trendy decor.
But not as unexpected as running into the very woman he’d spent two hours searching for. He’d wanted to look her up for the
past six years but hadn’t been able to come up with a reason to visit Zoe. Until now. Until this musical.
“I know we talked about this before, but I want to be completely sure. I have full autonomy over who’s on my creative team
and in my cast?” Derek asked.
“Of course! As long as they’re good at what they do, I don’t care who they are.”
“Thanks.” Derek hid his relief behind his glass. Several people on his creative team were not as credentialed as Prestige
Rep’s past designers, but not for lack of trying. In this world, you had to know people to get the bigger gigs.
“Look, I have to tell you something. Just between you and me,” Greg announced in a low, quieter voice. He wiped his mouth
with his white linen napkin. His expression had gone from light to serious.
“Sure.” Derek swallowed some tea to calm his nerves. The cold liquid sliding down his throat only spread his anxiety. Maybe
Greg would tell him this was all a joke and the board had changed their minds about the musical.
“The board wants us to produce more shows by people of color. I agree with them.”
“You’ve had only one show with a majority POC cast during the past three seasons. And zero POC directors.” Derek had researched all the possible theaters before pitching his show. Prestige Rep was the only one that had said yes.
“Exactly! I tried to tell them that they can’t support a majority POC show and expect to make a ton of money. But we do it because it’s the right thing to do.”
Derek opened his mouth to protest the self-fulfilling prophecy, but Greg put out his hand.
“The market’s not ready for it. For you. But I’ve seen your work. I know that you’ve worked on enough productions at enough
places across the country that you understand how important your musical is.”
“I do. It’s going to give Asian actors more jobs in roles that are written for them. Not jammed into a role that’s been turned
into a diverse one.”
“Exactly. So if this musical fails, the board is less likely to invest in more productions with directors of color.”
“Oh.” Derek sat back in his seat. A lump formed in his stomach. “That’s a lot of responsibility.”
“It’s a lot to take in, Derek, but I know one thing—mind if I finish this off?” He gestured at the plate.
“Go for it.” Derek’s appetite had disappeared.
Greg dug into the second piece of bone marrow.
“I know this”—Greg waved his spoon as he continued—“if anyone can do it, it’s my mentee. I’ve trained you and taught you almost
everything I know. You’re going to knock it out of the park.”
“I appreciate your confidence in me,” Derek replied more brightly than he felt. Mounting a brand-new production would be hard
enough. Now he had to worry about the fate of guest directors who would come after him.