Chapter Twenty-Seven Elise
Opening night is usually when the director’s job is good and done.
The play is in the hands of the production cast and crew. No one controls the reception of the audience and the reviewers. Letting go of something that I’ve directed for months is a challenge, but there’s no choice. That’s theater.
But as the playwright, my other duties are in full swing. The local interviews were quick and mostly soundbites. What required extensive time and effort were the schmoozing sessions.
Leading up to tonight, I’ve attended lunches and receptions and “meet and greets” with the theater board of directors and high-class patrons. Rich people, in other words. People who not only buy season tickets, they also coerce their friends to do it as a matter of status. VIP treatment includes access to me and the stars of the show. Nevermind that we should be focusing on the performance, this is when they want a piece of us.
Before the show goes to the masses, they get to claim it as theirs. It’s not the best scenario, but the connection between class privilege and performance theater is older than Shakespeare.
If you asked me months ago how I’d feel five minutes before the curtains rise, the word nauseous comes to mind. But that’s not me at all. I’m oddly calm though unbelievably exhausted. Calm because I’m exhausted. Calausted.
Ha, that’s perfect! I am calausted, but not stressed.
That’s due to a few reasons. The people I worked with are top-notch. Our last rehearsal soared beyond the script. The talent on the stage will not be denied.
Also, and this is the most surprising of all, I seem to be less tense with Randall on my side. It isn’t about the sex, either, although that’s out of this world. It’s everything. His belief in me is so complete, there’s no room for doubt.
Randall and I are officially and publicly dating. I thought it was going to be a shocker for Ma and Sienna when they drove in for the show, but they didn’t seem surprised at all. Happy, but completely unfazed by the news. Ma had that twinkle in her eye like she knew this would happen before even I did.
Then, Lily and Gordon showed up together.
How do two theater nerds end up with hockey players? That’s likely what outsiders are asking. All I know is, this is working.
Randall gives me space when I’m expected to focus on work, yet he’s close when I need him to be. Like right now. We’re sitting together in one of the theater boxes reserved for our group. He’s holding my hand—or, rather, indulging my death grip.
“This is going to be amazing, Elise,” he whispers in my ear. His encouragement is the last thing I hear before the curtains rise.
The play unfolds like a familiar song to me, but one that yields different intonations and depths because it’s live. There’s nothing more thrilling than a live performance. I’m fully immersed in the talented actors.
Intermission comes in a blink. When the lights go up, I’m swallowed by hugs from my little cheering session.
“That was magnificent,” Sienna gushes while wiping her eyes.
Ma simply holds my face in her hands and whispers, “Your talent is a gift you unwrap for the world.” Her eyes are glassy, and she looks too choked up to say more.
Lily is more effusive, of course, explaining to Gordon why certain staging techniques were thematically essential or whatever. She was always better at interpretation.
And then our box is flooded with people who came down from Columbus to support the show. Hailee hands me a glass of wine, great friend that she is. Woody gives a curt wave. He’s had a thing for Lily since our last production, so I’m sure seeing her with Gordon stings.
“Did you tell Elise yet?” Hailee whispers in Lily’s ear.
“Tell me what?”
Randall coughs. “We should sit down, it’s starting soon.”
A snaking suspicion creeps up my spine but there’s no time to linger. The lights flicker to indicate audience members should take their seats.
I don’t notice the difference in the audience until a few minutes before the play ends. It’s the final scene with Joy enmeshed in light, so the first ten or so rows are illuminated.
A mere glance tells me that one-third of the best seats in the theater—the ones owned by Cleveland’s hallowed class—have been evacuated. A heavy weight settles on my chest.
By the time the lights go up, I don’t hear the applause or appreciate the standing ovation. Of course I’m clapping enthusiastically. The cast and crew were terrific. They did everything I asked of them and more. The hollering applause from all corners of the theater is evidence that many agree. And maybe in the big picture, it shouldn’t matter that a dozen or so seats are emptied.
But it matters to me. Most importantly, the artistic director of Imagination Ohio will notice. His patrons were not happy. If this were Elizabethan England, the rejection of those in high places would result in my removal from the royal court.
Randall’s hand on my lower back alerts me to the spotlight that settles on our box. I’m being acknowledged by the cast and crew and audience. Fighting down the shame of self-doubt, I offer a wave and a smile.
The moment attention leaves our section, Randall is on me.
“What’s wrong? Are you OK? That was an incredible show, Elise. It blew me away. What’s wrong, baby?”
Before I can answer, we’re swarmed by more people. Thank goodness no one else notices my reluctance to celebrate. The accolades wash over me. It’s water and I’m a duck. Nothing sticks.
I am absentmindedly thanking people for praise I barely hear. I pretend that everything is fine. No one needs to see my stress when the cast and crew should be celebrated.
“I’m heading backstage,” I say to whoever is beside me. It’s all a blur.
“I’ll go with you,” Randall announces and creates a path for us to exit the crowd. He knows the theater well by now, having spent a good amount of time this past week exploring the space. So, when we end up in a storage closet instead of backstage, I know it’s on purpose.
“What’s wrong? Talk to me, Elise.”
“Did you notice? The first five rows were half-empty.”
“No, they weren’t. Maybe ten old people left, but that’s probably because they have weak bladders. Forget them.”
My initial snicker at his joke turns into a half sob.
“I know I shouldn’t care and the performance was great. It’s the play. They hated the play.”
“Fuck that.”
“Randall, I can’t! I can’t ignore what these people think. It was always going to be a risk to premiere experimental work, especially one that adapts Shakespeare. But if these people don’t back me, the play has no future.”
It was meant to run for three weeks and only the first week was sold out. There remains the possibility of later runs being canceled. If enough people pull out, will Blood Will Have Blood even finish its run?
“It doesn’t matter if a few people left when the rest of the theater loved it. Besides, you can’t know how future audiences will react.”
“Don’t tell me what I know,” I hiss. The words might as well have slapped Randall for how hurt he looks.
“I’m sorry.,” I follow up. “You’re trying to make me feel better, so thank you. Please let me get to the cast and crew so I can congratulate them before I go home.”
“Um, about that. Lily said it would be a good idea, so we sort of, um, arranged a party at the hotel bar where Gordon and she are staying. Just a little gathering to toast and celebrate.”
“That’s really sweet of everyone, though it’s premature to plan celebrations when the reviews haven’t come in,” I state bitterly.
“Reviews don’t determine your success. This is your debut as a playwright and director, Elise. Nothing is going to change how fucking awesome that is. Don’t let a few idiots affect your night,” he declares.
“Are you saying I’m overreacting?”
“No. I’m saying the event is incredible no matter anyone’s reaction, positive or negative, under or over. OK, that doesn’t make sense, but you know what I mean.”
He stares at me with so much compassion and care, I have no choice but to let his encouragement chip away at the walls of self-doubt.
“I do. I know what you mean.”
“How about this? Instead of going backstage now, take a breather on your own and meet everyone at the bar in thirty minutes. I’ll take the long drive over and promise to be quiet so you can gather your thoughts.”
I’ve never had anyone like Randall who lets me show the worst of my imposter syndrome without judgment. He is literally going to let me stew in insecurity so I can get it out of my system before facing the world.
“That sounds perfect, Randall,” I mumble.
We drive around downtown in silence for a few minutes before I realize something.
“I forgot to tell anyone else where I am. Ma might worry.”
“I texted her and Lily before we left the theater. They said take your time and they’ll entertain guests till you’re ready.”
“You know my mom’s number?”
“Well, yeah. We had to plan for this big night, didn’t we?”
I shake my head. “Where did you learn to be such an incredible boyfriend, Randall Haughland? Do they teach that in hockey school or something?”
My mood has lightened considerably, which makes it easy to slip into our affectionate teasing.
“No one else is going to teach me how to take care of you, baby. Learning how to be your man is my privilege.”
Oh, god, that’s hot. And so exactly what I needed to hear to focus on the moment.
“I love you,” I blurt out.
I hadn’t planned on saying the words out loud. He knows I care about him, but am I going too far? How long do people officially date before they say the L word? Surely more than six days.
“Randall, I, um, you don’t have to say it back. I just thought you should know how I feel.” I don’t want to pressure him, but no way am I taking the words back.
I love this man so much, it would be dishonest to both of us if I pretended otherwise.
He doesn’t say anything but eases the car to a stop on a nondescript street.
“I’m gonna park because if I don’t hold you right now I might crash the car.”
With that surprising statement, Randall wraps his arm around my back and pulls me close. We kiss tenderly. His caress speaks volumes before he even says anything.
“Not say it back? Are you kidding me? I’m crazy about you. I love you so much, Elise Chen,” he confirms after we come up for air. “I’ve wanted to tell you for a while, but nothing was more important than the play.”
“How you feel about me is important. You should have said something.”
“I’ll make up for it.”
“How?”
“By saying it every day from now on.”
Swoon virus alert. I am mortally infected.
He kisses me with more urgency. Of its own accord, my body seeks to climb over his lap. The pressure between my legs builds. However, Randall gently squeezes my knee to stop me from straddling him.
“Not yet, baby. We’re going to celebrate your success first and then you’ll get your reward.”
“And what’s that?”
“It’s a surprise,” he says with a stare so hot, I’ll need an icy celebration drink after all.