Chapter 21
Let It Go
Rehearsals moved into the theatre, and with that, a bigger audience.
That safe rehearsal room that so often felt like just ours was no more.
Neil was around more, though after that wine-fueled ride in Verne’s Chevy Spark, he felt more like us and less like them, to me at least. Producers, including Patrick Russell Miles, sat in, and the design team was around more as well.
The play, though, now felt so broken-in, so known, that it still felt like a safe space to be in, to run through each day with the team who’d become so much of my entire life in the last weeks.
Tech was coming soon, with its unique set of challenges, but for now I was enjoying exactly where we were.
I was scheduled for another donor dinner, this time off-site at LA Cha Cha Chá in the nearby Arts District.
Erica had again insisted on my styling team, but I managed to negotiate down to hair and makeup only, which I shared with Rebecca and Stephanie (Neil declined).
My outfit had been selected by Rebecca from my closet earlier in the week, a black dress from Rixo with heeled Prada boots and a Chloé glossy black leather jacket I rarely got a chance to wear.
My team would have never let me wear all-black—not my brand—but I felt like a badass and did not care.
Rebecca and I were seated across from each other again, but this time we were old pros.
She volunteered to help with photos (older donors were typically not the most skilled or nimble selfie-takers), and I set her up to talk about her career without anyone first breathing the phrase female director.
I did my standard talk-show fare about filming the Vindicators series and Rebecca told a story about a set piece mishap during previews for Arcadia, which left even the most sedate donors chuckling mildly.
There was no pile of sponsored wine afterward so in range of Neil and Stephanie I loudly offered to give Rebecca a ride home and then of course took her back to my house where I demanded she keep her suit on to fuck me.
I knew the clock was counting down but why dwell on it when life was currently so exquisite?
Why spend time thinking about anything that wasn’t my feet on the stage of the Jaffe, Rebecca’s arm resting on my hip as we fell asleep in my bed?
I’d spent years denying so many things. I was fantastic at it.
Ashlee and Kevin organized a karaoke night out, and I got to say yes because karaoke in Little Tokyo was in private rooms, not up onstage in front of the public.
The entire cast came—though Kathleen repeatedly told us she would not under any circumstances sing—as well as Kevin and Hannah, who started singing “I Want It That Way” before we’d all even gotten a chance to crowd onto one of the pleather couches and browse selections.
“I think I’m too old for this,” Kathleen said.
“You’ve been here for all of ninety seconds,” I said, laughing. “At least wait until you hear whatever Michael sings.”
Michael turned to glare at me. “I’ll have you know that I was voted most beautiful voice in high school.”
“Michael, what the fuck kind of superlatives did your yearbook have?” Kathleen asked, and I could tell we were laughing too hard for Kevin and Hannah’s taste as the song crescendoed and they practically screamed their harmonies into each other’s mouths.
It reminded me of being young, cramming into private rooms in Koreatown NYC, feeling our lives in front of us but also that maybe we were in the prime of our lives exactly then and there.
I didn’t think my best was still in front of me, but I did think there was a possibility I was in it exactly now.
Well, not exactly now—Michael was passionately singing Radiohead’s “Creep” while Ashlee silently shook with laughter onto my shoulder—but I knew Tess Gardner’s Hometown era would be her finest. How often were you lucky enough to feel it when it happened?
I was in the middle of “Anti-Hero” when the door opened, and—instead of an employee bringing us more shōchū—in walked Rebecca.
She waved to everyone and squeezed in next to Kevin, who was flipping through one of the binders of available songs and also pausing to periodically cheer me on—Kevin was the drunkest one in the room.
I was the least drunk, i.e., not at all, which meant there was no buffer for how it felt to be belting out a song I normally sang alone in my car while the woman I was secretly in love with watched me.
She cheered harder than anyone else when I finished—well, except for Kevin, who was living in his own shōchū reality—and then waved to everyone else.
“Kevin texted that he knew I could walk over here easily and that I should do it,” she said in an apologetic tone, and laughed. “Now that I see the state of Kevin, I wonder if I should have checked in with someone else first. I’m not here to ruin anyone’s vibe.”
“No, you have to sing,” Kevin said, dragging her to the front, where I was still standing and holding a mic. “Rebecca has a great voice, everyone.”
“Don’t overhype me,” she said to him, but sweetly. “Gardner, you’ll sing with me?”
“It sounds like I have to,” I said, my heart thudding that this was happening in front of everyone and also it felt like the kind of romantic fantasy I would have written in my diary in middle school, even if I wouldn’t have called it romantic then.
I’d spent a lot of time thinking about the cool things I’d do with other girls one-on-one when I was an adult, the most G-rated gay stuff a kid could dream up.
The instrumental track blared on, and everyone laughed when we realized Kevin had punched in the code for “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” Kevin, while sloppy drunk, had been right about Rebecca’s voice.
I was impressed that I was able to make it through instead of dropping my mic and staring at this person in wonder.
Everything about Rebecca Frisch was a little magical.
Afterward, as some of us drifted out—it felt like Kevin, Ashlee, and Hannah were in for the long haul—I loudly asked Rebecca if she needed a ride back to her loft.
“I know it’s close,” I said, having perfected this line by now, “but it is dark now and you don’t know the city that well.”
“I’m embarrassed that it’s only several blocks,” she said, her old acting training coming through strong, “and that your car is so low. But if you really don’t mind.”
In the car we laughed at our routine, and I tried to keep my eyes on the road instead of on her.
A difficult task, as she’d changed from her rehearsal outfit to a faded blue sweatshirt over jeans, the neckline notched out from wear or fashion or perhaps both and slipping down to reveal a black bra strap and her bare shoulder.
“I wish I could take you out,” I said.
“No, Gardner, don’t, look at me,” she said, as if she thought she was actually a mess and not sexy-soft-casual. “Where would you take me if you could, though? Or where would you be going if I wasn’t here?”
It would have been so different if I were out, or if I weren’t famous. I was grateful that Rebecca never seemed to blame me for that.
“I do this thing where—” I cut myself off. “Sorry, no. It’s dumb. I’m still trying to maintain some level of cool in front of you.”
“You’re very cool,” she said in her smooth tone where I couldn’t tell if she was teasing me or not. “Tell me.”
“I go home and pick up Rosie, and then I jump back on the 5 and drive up to where it gets a little twisty,” I said.
“If I haven’t been able to get the car out much and really let it do what it does best—which is not sitting in downtown traffic every morning in rush hour.
And then we get In-N-Out and we go home. ”
“Oh my god, I haven’t had In-N-Out yet!” Rebecca said, a note of delight in her words. “I have to get a photo with one of those palm trees cups.”
I drove home so we could pick up Rosie, and once she was safely strapped into the back we took off again.
I loved the freeway at night, when I could match the curves of the road with the wheels of my car, when I could push my speed just a little and feel the pull of gravity and inertia.
Rebecca’s head was on my shoulder, and I could feel how present she was, her gaze slipping back and forth between the road in front of us and my hand on the stick shift.
“Do you know I still don’t know how to drive?” she asked.
“I can’t imagine,” I said. “Obviously, I understand, DC to college to New York, when even would you.”
“No, it was weird not to drive in DC,” she said with a laugh. “My friends gave me constant shit. I was just so set on this future in New York. I didn’t want to bother.”
Something tugged at my gut, thinking about Rebecca and New York and the ticking clock of whatever we were doing, but I pushed it aside. “Driving is one of the only things I can do to feel like myself, no matter what else is going on.”
“Thanks for pretending that wasn’t just an enormous turn-off,” she said, and I laughed. “Look, I know that we’re both beyond devoted to professionalism, but tonight I feel like I have to say something.”
“Oh?” I asked in what I knew was not my most casual voice.
“When Michael sang ‘Let It Go,’” she said, “for a split second I thought I might actually die.”
“Oh my god,” I said. “His face when he hit that note.”
We laughed so hard that Rosie barked from the back seat.
I got off at the next exit, swung around, and picked the easiest In-N-Out off the freeway on the way back down.
Even late at night, the drive-thru line snaked long through the parking lot, but their system was efficient and we moved through quickly.
Instead of getting back on the road, like usual, I parked in the most remote corner of the lot, and we got out of the car so Rebecca could get her photo and it would be easier to split my fries with Rosie.