Chapter Twenty-Three
Thirteen days till the show
When their all-cast rehearsal wrapped late on Sunday afternoon, Annie hurried out of the theater to go meet Sal for an overdue catch-up. Kat was at the far end of the foyer, taping up a poster.
Annie hesitated. Lola, Vicky, and Dylan had all taken on mentor roles with the teens, helping them learn lines or offer advice. Annie hadn’t.
She had the urge to sneak out—happy hour with Sal was calling—but that seemed spineless. So Annie made her feet walk over, aiming for casual. “Kat.”
Kat glanced up. “Stinky Soupy Annie.”
“Ha!” Annie squirmed. She scanned Kat’s handmade flyer.
Join Us for a Post-Show Political Dialogue
Topic: Decoding Gender, Power, and Capitalism in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead
Hamlet as Late-Stage Capitalism’s Most Exhausted Employee
No Hetero: A Bi-Curious Reading of Act Two
The Role of Clowning in Resisting Neoliberalism
Death as Metaphor for Corporate Burnout
PLUS: Q&A on problematic language in the original 1966 text, with optional zine swap.
“The personal is political. The dramaturgical is political. Honestly, everything’s political.”
—Kat Goldman
“Wow,” Annie said. “That’s…a lot of big ideas.”
“Well, theater has a long history of being a meaningful form of anti-capitalist praxis.” Kat squinted at Annie. “How do you resist?”
Annie blinked. She wasn’t sure Kat would be impressed by voting and composting. “Um. Well, I did once protest a twelve-dollar smoothie.”
Kat looked interested. “You organized a rally?”
“No. I just…never went back.”
“Oh.” Kat zipped up her bag with a soft snort. “Gotta run. Mr. Pickles awaits.”
“Mr. Pickles is your…”
“Pit mix.” Kat held up a hand. “And before you ask, no, he’s not ‘aggressive.’ Pit mixes are actually—”
“One of the most misunderstood breeds!” Annie finished, excited.
Kat paused. “Wait, you like dogs?”
“Dude!” Annie exclaimed, “I own a dog-grooming salon! Dogs are life!”
Kat thumped her forehead. “That’s right! Sorry, I forgot. I love dogs, too. I’m obsessed with that TikTok account where they dress them up like historical figures.”
“Shut up! Have you seen Napoleon? The corgi in a velvet cape?”
“Yes! And the Frida Kahlo Frenchie? I cried actual tears.”
They both cracked up laughing.
“That’s it,” Annie declared. “After I’m back at work, you have to come by the salon to meet my favorite regular. Harvey’s a pit mix who thinks he’s a show dog. You’ll die.”
“I’d love that.” Kat gave her an approving nod. “It’s cool you have your own business. Less mediocre white men at the top, y’know?”
Annie nodded back in agreement. “Absolutely.”
Stepping out into the balmy late afternoon, Annie felt lighter. Self-assured. Proud.
She might not have a manifesto or an anti-capitalist zine collection. But she cared. She showed up. She tried to make a difference.
And after years of wondering if that was enough—if she was enough—she was finally starting to believe she could be.
· · ·
Over a round of happy hour margaritas at the town’s only Mexican joint, The Spicy Cactus, Annie told Sal everything: the Big Lie of the past, the unveiling of said lie last week, and the sexy, simmering tension between her and Lola.
“Maybe it’s not totally over between us.” A bubbly, giddy excitement filled Annie’s chest at the confession. She expected Sal to squeal or beg for more details. Encourage Annie to make a move.
But instead, her best friend’s expression became frighteningly…delicate. “What are you hoping happens?”
“Honestly? I’m hoping she sticks her tongue down my throat.”
Sal didn’t laugh. His concern deepened. “Is that a good idea? From the sounds of it, Lola means a lot to you.”
Annie frowned, licking margarita salt off her fingertip. “Are you saying I should stick my tongue down the throat of someone who means nothing to me?”
“I’m saying you should stick your tongue down the throat of someone you can actually date.”
A flicker of annoyance sparked in Annie’s chest. “With the caveat that it’s ridiculously early to even be talking about this since we haven’t even hooked up yet—”
“Yet?” Sal arched a brow.
“—Lola and I live in the same state,” Annie finished. “New York City’s only a train ride away.”
“But do your lives actually fit together?”
The annoyance sharpened. Annie wasn’t prepared to defend her crush. “They’re fitting pretty well now. We’re together all the time.”
“On summer vacation,” Sal pointed out. “Doing the play. But after that’s over…then what? And technically, she’s fitting into your life, here, where you live. Do you think you can fit into hers? Do you even know what that life is?”
A server checked to see if they wanted another round, but happy hour was over, and Annie couldn’t afford a full-price cocktail.
Not something she wanted to think about when defending her crush on able-to-afford-anything-on-the-menu Lola.
Her response came out sharper than she intended. “Are you saying I’m not good enough for her?”
“I’m saying I don’t want you to get hurt.” Sal’s eyes didn’t leave Annie’s. “It’s obvious you have real feelings for her. Before you take things further, just be sure there’s a world where this works long-term and you have a future. Not a future heartbreak.”
Annie left The Spicy Cactus in an irritated funk.
It sounded like Sal did think Annie wasn’t a match for Lola, and that Annie wasn’t good enough for her.
But striding up Henry Street toward the small business she built, in a town she had real and meaningful roots in, Annie felt a surge of self-confidence.
Why couldn’t she and Lola work? Why wouldn’t Lola pick her?
She sent hilarious handmade birthday cards.
Baked a legendary pumpkin bread for her neighbors every fall.
Was the sort of plus-one who didn’t need to be taken care of at parties—she could handle herself!
She, Annie Elizabeth Lightfoot, was awesome.
What Annie realized last week at the mini-mingle had stuck—questioning things was easier than doing something. She’d spent so much time processing and pondering and debating. It was time to do.
Lola picked up on the fourth ring, sounding close and slightly breathless. “Hi!”
“Do you wanna go on a hike with me?” Annie blurted into the phone. “Short hike—more like a stroll. Nature stroll. To a water hole. Swim optional. Tomorrow, on our day off.”
A pause. Annie held her breath.
Maybe she’d misinterpreted things. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe Lola was suddenly realizing Brett Burns was her celebrity crush, and, given they were both celebrities, why didn’t she just call him right now, invite him on a celebrities-only nature stroll—
“I’d love that,” Lola replied. Then, with certainty, “It’s a date.”
Annie imagined her heart putting a Do Not Disturb sign on each of its four chambers and taking the rest of the night to recover.
Sal didn’t know what he was talking about.
· · ·
The next morning, Annie picked Lola up from Jazz’s at just after eleven.
It was already eighty-five degrees when Lola climbed into the passenger seat of Annie’s yellow Bug.
Her outfit was the most casual Annie had seen all month: blue cutoffs, white tank, and a baseball cap embroidered with Tell Me Your Story.
The smell of lemongrass and sunscreen filled the car.
Lola pulled the door shut and smiled at Annie. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Annie smiled back, bewitched.
They found an oldies station and hummed along to some throwbacks. When “Bennie and the Jets” came on, Annie turned it up. They both belted along—Bennie! Bennie! Bennie and the Jets—as sunlight flickered through the trees.
The drive didn’t take long. Annie parked near a gate, hung with a sign that read The McCormacks: Private Property. “It’s my friends’ land,” she explained, hauling a backpack from the trunk. “And they’re away this week. So we should have it all to ourselves.”
“Perfect.” Lola arched her back, stretching, and Annie tried not to notice the outline of her equally perfect breasts, straining under the white tank top. “Cute sunglasses,” Lola added, nodding at Annie’s heart-shaped ones. “Well—you always look cute.”
It wasn’t spoken in a platonic, girls-complimenting-girls way. There was a sizzle underneath that heated the already sticky August air. “Thanks for noticing,” Annie replied, coquettish, pulling the trunk shut.
“Oh, I’ve noticed.” Lola came closer, then closer still. For a brief, head-spinny moment, Annie thought she was leaning in for a kiss, before Lola scooped up the backpack at Annie’s feet. “I’ll get this.”
“It’s heavy,” Annie protested.
Lola waved her off, swinging it easily onto her back. Her biceps and several other muscles Annie could not name rippled beneath taut golden skin. Lola looked impressively strong.
“If you’re going to insist on packing everything, I’m going to insist on carrying everything,” Lola said, with no room for argument.
“Okay.” Pleased, Annie fished out the gate’s key from under a rock and pushed it open. “You are super ripped right now. Not letting you show it off would be a crime unto itself.”
Lola chuckled. “From Saturn Rising,” she said, following Annie through the open gate.
The scent of pine and earth filled the air as they stepped onto the trail, the gate clinking softly shut behind them.
They set off up a path that snaked alongside a trickling stream.
Lola went on, “And I sort of like…” She flicked her gaze to Annie, looking a little abashed.
“Sort of like what?” Annie asked.
“Is it terribly 1950s of me to admit that I sort of like carrying the heavy bags?” Lola asked. “Although, if you wanted to carry them,” she added, “I have no problem with that.”
Annie’s cheeks warmed. She knew she was smiling more than the moment called for. “Interest in carrying a heavy bag is a zero,” she said. “And, I didn’t know that about you. You like a more masc role?”