Eyes bleary, vision blurry from dried out lenses and exhaustion, I drive, I dial, sure of my welcome even though it's after eleven.
"Hi, sweetie! Knew it was you. Spence asked if my boyfriend was calling. I told him almost."
Yeah. No. I'm not her boyfriend. But it's nice to have someone I can call at midnight and it's okay.
I spend time in a bar with writer friends d. and j., who are a little overwhelmed by my theater gang, and look it. My writer friends being only mildly quirky, and the theater posse....moreso. One of them, who has turned out to be less competant than had been hoped, pushes the wrong buttons, perhaps signing his own death warrent.
d. shares delightful tidbits of harmless but entertaining gossip, which I find fascinating. Not usually the gossipy type, d., though I'm not sure what type he is. The collection of ex-wives type? The mystical mountain retreat type? The blushing at risque remarks type? Yes.
I enter the venue, and am shocked by a casino on the top floor, steps away from where we'll be playing. Or maybe it's an adult arcade, I'm not sure. There are gambling machines in a room, what do you call that? Instantly, I think of someone I've been trying to avoid thinking about all day. It's no use, I guess, trying to run from my own mind.
I watch S. flitting around in the Fairy Dress, one I created for an event two years? three? ago, and have only worn once since, though I love it. I was hopeful, but shortly after I put it on, S., in green velvet, too tight since she'd finished half a sandwich and gained four ounces, says, "My character should wear that."
So I pull it off, and watch her in it all evening.
The show, despite edits for theme mere hours beforehand, having gotten wildly offtrack during (we recovered), and to say underrehearsed would be understating, was well recieved by an amazingly un-drunk audience (NOT the norm), and all went away happy, including us.
I blow into town with twenty minutes to spare at double the posted speed, one hand on the wheel, one on the radio dial. I've listened to snippets of everything all the way down, because I couldn't settle. Will I manage to settle? I pull in next to a red Firebird and dance beside the car as I unload.
The way down, something redhot and green skids by me. I floor it to chase her down, see how fast. Upwards of eighty, this bra-wearing historic-tagged green Porsche. She drops to a sedate sixty after having flown off the ramp. Her driver has craggy English looks. Nice.
For the first time, the musical ran all the way through during rehearsal. And we had a complete cast. For the first time.
We might have something here. It's good. Really good.
Less than a week now....
I received a complaint that I'm not writing enough. I don't know what that means. My frequency, at once a day, is not to be faulted. I do in-depth coverage as permitted by time and necessitated by subject matter. But do my readers want more of me? Longer essays instead of short quips? Short quips more often?
I am open to comments, requests and suggestions. Talk to me.
Oh, and...do you like the new title?