Usually a walk-through is rough. The actors haven’t worked on the set before, and they have to stop a lot to adjust blocking, their movements onstage. The first time on set, you expect it to go poorly.
But today is more like a disaster. Actors are forgetting their lines, stumbling over one another, breaking character. It looks like the first day of rehearsal rather than the next-to-last.
I see what Mr. Apple was talking about. The show looks bad.
I’m watching it all from the catwalk, where I can adjust lights or change gels as needed. I can also hear Mr. Apple at the tech table below, sighing as we hit one snag after another.
“Take the wash to seventy-five percent,” Derek says. There’s desperation in his voice, an intensity that’s been increasing all afternoon as the rehearsal goes on.
Ignacio calls the adjustment, and the lights get brighter onstage.
Derek turns to Mr. Apple.
“This looks a lot better, doesn’t it?” he says.
“Oh yes,” Mr. Apple says. “Now I can see exactly what I’ve done to the American theater. And why I will never be forgiven.”
Derek laughs like Mr. Apple is joking. Only I don’t think he is.
“Miranda,” Mr. Apple calls out to the stage. “Take a step stage left for me.”
She moves and her face slips into shadow.
“What’s going on over there?” Mr. Apple says to Derek.
Derek grabs a headset. “Take forty-seven to full,” he says to Benno.
The lights in that area go to 100 percent, but there’s still a dead zone, just like I saw on the lighting plot the other day.
“Who’s on the catwalk?” Derek says into the headset.
“Me,” I say.
“Who the hell is me?”
“Z,” I say.
“You didn’t focus stage left,” Derek says.
“Yes, I did,” I say.
“Have you looked at—why am I wasting my time? You can’t climb down a ladder, much less hang a light.”
“I hung everything according to the plot,” I say.
“Of course you did,” Derek says, his accent thickening.
Charming and insulting. His two specialties.
He leans over to Mr. Apple. “Our errant technician has struck again,” he says. “But never fear. I have a solution. It’s a perfect time to try our new spot.”
“Fix it,” Mr. Apple says. “I don’t care how you do it.”
“Mindy!” Derek shouts.
A cute little brunette jumps up from her seat in the back of the theater and runs onstage. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before.
“I want you on spot,” Derek says to her.
“Anywhere you want me,” she says with a big smile. She’s wearing a miniskirt with tights underneath. Not exactly techie apparel. She starts to climb the ladder to the catwalk.
Grace is standing backstage, her eyes flitting back and forth from Mindy to Derek.
I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this.
I hear Mindy’s footsteps, feel the tiny vibrations. She walks along the opposite side from me until she’s out over the audience.
She moves towards the spot, looking at it like it’s a foreign object.
You can tell a techie from a non-techie just by the way they approach a machine. A techie approaches with fascination and curiosity, even if they have no idea how the thing works. A non-techie looks awkward, uncomfortable, out of place.
Just like Mindy.
If she’s not a techie, what is she?
I look back at Grace. She’s staring at Derek, looking hurt.
Mindy must be Derek’s new girlfriend. DNF.
I key the mic on my headset. “Hang on, Mindy,” I say. “I want to check out the spot before you work with it.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Mindy says. Her voice has a husky quality that makes me nervous.
Mindy throws some switches, but nothing happens.
“I’m serious,” I say. “I’d like to give it a once-over.”
Mindy manages to flip the correct switch. The power supply comes on and the fan hums to life.
“I told you I’m fine,” she says. “Derek taught me everything.”
I start towards her on the catwalk.
Below us onstage, Johanna and Miranda continue their scene.
MIRANDA
O, teach me how you look, and with what art
You sway the motion of Demetrius’ heart.
JOHANNA
I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.
“Standby on spot,” Ignacio calls on the headset.
“Standing by,” Mindy says.
“Ignacio’ I want a minute with it before we go,” I say.
“Stay out of it, Z,” Ignacio says. “Derek set this up himself.”
JOHANNA
The more I hate, the more he follows me.
MIRANDA
The more I love, the more he hateth me.
I hate Derek, so why should I care what happens with his spot?
It’s not the spot, I realize. It’s the show.
I care about the show.
“Make sure there’s a gel on it,” Derek says to Ignacio below.
“Derek wants it gelled,” Ignacio repeats on the headset.
“Gel?” Mindy says. “Derek didn’t teach me about that.”
I click the headset mic.
“The color filter,” I say. “Look for the handles on the top.”
I’m a few steps away from her now, pointing with both hands.
Mindy looks frantic, pulling on different levers. She pulls the seventh lever and the entire set of gels pops out the top of the barrel.
“Which color?” she says.
“Spot go,” Ignacio says.
Mindy holds the red button to make the spark, and a burst of white-hot light shoots out the end of the barrel.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Derek says.
I jump for her, trying to get to the spot.
MIRANDA
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind…
I’m too late. The unfiltered light shoots into Miranda’s face, surprising her. Her hands go in front of her to block the light. She struggles to finish her line—
MIRANDA
…and therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind.
—and she goes flying off the front of the stage, falling to the floor with a loud crash.
There’s a gasp, followed by a scream, and then people are in motion, running towards the stage.
“House lights to full!” Ignacio shouts.
A second later I hear Miranda’s voice from the pit in front of the stage:
“My leg!” she says.
“Oh my God,” Mindy says in a tiny voice.
There’s chaos below us, people crowding around Miranda, a first-aid kit open onstage, several people arguing about who called 911 first.
The spot is still on, the beam pointing straight up at the ceiling.
I reach past Mindy and flick off the light.