Chapter 23 Logan
LOGAN
We need to de-haunt the theater,” Hazel declares as she walks down the center aisle.
We got back to the city late last night, but she was up early texting me to meet her at the theater this afternoon. It’s everyone’s day off, so we have the place to ourselves.
Over the weekend, the star drop refused to lower, which means the actors would have to sing against a plain navy background that does not at all evoke romance.
Also, the canoe used during the moonlit float scene isn’t rolling out to center stage.
Not that they could even get into the canoe from the dock, like planned, since one of the dock legs collapsed.
With the show opening next Thursday, we’re almost out of time. At this point, we won’t have a functioning set if there are any more issues.
“So now we’re ghostbusting?” I ask.
“We can’t control much. But we can control our environment.
I’ve hired a feng shui expert,” Hazel informs me.
“I’ve heard stories where they’ve helped eliminate negative spirits in homes and castles.
If they can do that there, they can do it here.
Her name’s An-Ming, and she’s going to get a feel for the energy of the theater.
” At my skeptical expression, she adds, “I know, this feels a tad superstitious, but a lot of people consider feng shui to have positive psychological impacts. We may not have been able to protect our identities, but we can still save your show.”
Ten minutes later, we’re letting An-Ming through the front doors. She’s a petite older woman with her black hair tied back in a low bun. She breezes past me, focusing on the lobby. After assessing the space, she takes a note in her phone.
We introduce ourselves to her with our real names.
If An-Ming knows who we are, she doesn’t show it.
The heightened attention did entice a few scammers to set up social media profiles impersonating us, and I now know the names of more accountants in the city than I’d ever know what to do with.
We don’t have to hide now, though. The amused articles and quizzes about what to dress up as if you win the lottery will blow over in a week or so to make room for the drama about some celebrity couple breaking up.
An-Ming refuses to hear what’s been happening here or have us guide her around. Apparently, it’s necessary that she feels the energy of the theater without any preconceived notions.
I follow An-Ming’s gaze over to the concession stand. “What’s feng shui supposed to do?” I whisper to Hazel.
“It’s a Chinese practice of balancing the qi patterns in our natural environment,” she explains as An-Ming examines the space, typing as she walks.
“There are items and arrangements that bring good luck and good flow. I thought this place could benefit from some harmony.” Hazel shrugs.
“And I reached out to her last week and prepaid, so we might as well try.”
Hazel and I meet An-Ming next to aisle F.
“Mind if I take a look backstage?” she asks.
“Okay. Sure. We’ll just be around,” I say.
“She’s supposed to be one of the best consultants in the city,” Hazel reassures me. “I did extensive research before spending a dime.”
“What happened here?” An-Ming asks. She’s pointing to the corner of the dock resting on the stage. The shattered leg lies next to it.
“The Spirits of Broadway?” I offer unhelpfully.
The lights from the dining room chandeliers flicker on and off after I say this. Hazel steps closer to me as a chill shoots down my spine.
An-Ming squints toward the ceiling. “Interesting.” She makes a note. “And do you actually have the ability to make changes here?”
“I’m responsible for the theater and set here, so yeah,” I say, though I maybe shouldn’t have agreed so willingly. I have no clue what she’s going to propose.
She seems satisfied with my answer and continues her work.
Hazel walks to the edge of the stage, turning around to face the fictional world I’m desperately trying to help bring to life. “Do you like what you do?” she asks me.
That’s a loaded question.
I stand next to her. “Like generally or with this show?”
“As head carpenter,” she clarifies. “You have a crew. You do payroll. You’re a manager now. Do you build anything anymore?”
“Oh.” I consider her questions. “Sometimes, but not as much as I’d like.
I traded my workbench for a desk. When I got into this, I just loved working with my hands and getting out of my head.
Making something from nothing. I love creating worlds.
” I wave toward the sets behind us. “I do miss the actual hands-on part of it.”
“Is this what you’ve been working toward?” she asks.
“Wow. Honestly, I didn’t really know what I was headed toward. Once I got into it, I worked hard. It all fell into place from there.”
She nods to herself. “Do you regret taking the job?”
I breathe in. Another tough one.
If she had asked me this a month ago—or even just two weeks ago—my first instinct would’ve been to immediately say no.
To express how great challenges are and that I’m better off for them.
I haven’t been better off for them, though.
It’s like I’m paralyzed with fear and don’t want to ruin anything else.
It’s made me useless around the theater.
I can’t even give my crew decent answers for simple questions.
“I regret not having a better handle on things,” I admit, toeing blocking tape with my shoe.
Most days, I’ve wondered if it was too much too soon.
The way things are going, this is going to be my first and last show as head carpenter.
Maybe it should be. I can hand off my work to someone who knows what they’re doing—who can’t curse this place with their bad luck.
I make a mental note to figure out how to make that happen.
“What about managing people? Do you like that?” Hazel asks.
“I do, actually,” I say. “I love talking to people, getting to know them. Problem-solving together. Helping them work through their shit. There’s more politics with my new job, though. That part’s been trickier to navigate.”
Hazel nudges me. “You want to keep everyone happy?”
“Something like that,” I say with a shrug of one shoulder. “Have you heard back about the job yet?”
“Team interviews were this morning. So any day now,” she says flatly, crossing her arms low over her stomach. It’s a gesture I’ve noticed she does when she seems to be working through something.
“How are you doing?” I ask, lowering my voice a bit. “Do you want to talk?”
On the drive back, she filled me in on what had happened with her dad and brother, but she was mostly quiet. After everything Hazel has done for them—that she continues to do for them—and this is how they treat her. They don’t deserve her.
“That’s how it always is. How he always is,” she says with a shake of her head.
“I’d pay off his debts, always wipe their slates clean.
In these moments, I always thought I was helping.
But maybe I haven’t actually been. I’ve taken away any potential consequences.
I always caved, and there’d be no lessons learned. ”
“So you’ve been here before.”
“I don’t even think real consequences would make a difference at this point. The addiction’s too strong. They need to get real help.”
I can tell she’s trying to keep her voice steady, trying to numb any bad feelings. Battling the emotions that pop up, keeping them all in a neutral state, it’s got to be exhausting.
“Have you ever talked to them about that?” I ask.
“So many times,” Hazel says. “Those conversations were worse, and you know how the last one went. They just become better at hiding their problems. Became scrappier at figuring out how to borrow money. Got more creative with excuses…” Her voice trails off as she works through it. “But what about the house?”
I angle myself toward her. “You either help your dad and enable him to keep the house that you love, or you don’t help and lose the house that you love. What a shitty situation.”
“At least I don’t have to worry about them finding out about the lottery anymore,” Hazel says in an attempt to spin the situation.
“Now you sound like me.”
Hazel releases a tight breath mixed with a chuckle. “Anyway, I want to focus on this. On helping you.”
An-Ming’s busy capturing dimensions with her tape measure.
“Come with me,” I say to Hazel, taking her by the hand.
I lead her around to the resort’s dance hall set that we shockingly haven’t had any issues with.
It has exposed ceiling beams and large windows overlooking a lake that’s been repainted on a backdrop.
We climb the staircase built along the rear of the set that leads to the roof of the dance hall, where the lead actors sneak up to look out over the lake together just before intermission.
“Another roof?” Hazel asks. “You sure you want to risk it with your last good wrist?”
“For this view?” I say teasingly, gesturing to the rows and rows of empty seats. “Definitely.”
We sit on the slanted roof in the hidden seats built for the actors’ safety. Hazel looks up at the tiered levels, her head tilting all the way back as she studies the intricate detailing of the theater’s decorative molding and the paintings on the walls above us.
“It’s so nice in here,” she says. “You know, I’ve never seen a show? Until I met you, I had never actually been inside a theater.”
“Really?” I hook my elbows around my knees and turn toward her.
“One time we were supposed to. For my tenth birthday. My dad bought tickets to Wicked. He was going to take me and my brother.” Hazel runs her hand along one of the wood shingles.
“It was going to be this big weekend trip to the city. I saved up every last penny from chores I did at my neighbors’.
You know the only thing I wanted as a souvenir was a MetroCard.
” She laughs softly. “Like, what? I was nine.”
I smile. “Freedom.”