Chapter 8
Therestoftheweek flew by in a blur. I tried to get all my major chores out of the way quickly because I knew that once rehearsals started, it would be a mad dash to the finish line. I bumped into Carissra and Kirk a few times in the hallway, but we always rushed in different directions, so we didn’t get a chance to talk. I had dinner with Johnny on Sunday night because he knew his best friend was about to disappear for a while as I dove into the rehearsal process.
October ended, and November arrived. Thankfully, the weather hadn’t gotten too cold yet. I could still pull off a shirt and a light jacket. When I left the building that Monday for the first day of rehearsals, the cold air of the early morning sent my body into shock. I regretted immediately having not pulled up the weather app on my phone that morning. I had thirty minutes to get to the theater where we were rehearsing, so I didn’t have time to run back upstairs and make it on time, because I had to stop by Starbucks and get a venti coffee. At this early hour on a Monday morning, I needed liquid energy.
With my coffee in hand, I pulled up the address for the theater again. I hadn’t stepped foot into the new Maurer Theatre. I didn’t know the Maurer Theatre existed until I got the information from Brice over the weekend about where rehearsals would be located. The block where the theater was being built was off Broadway on 47thStreet. An article I found inThe New York Timeshad given me some of the basic backstory. Real estate mogul Bernie Eldridge had been buying up buildings for about a decade before anyone knew what was happening. Bernie wanted to create a modern performance space that was functional and profitable. He envisioned a large Broadway theater built into a taller building, similar in fashion to the Marriott Marquis. The ground floor would consist of a variety of shops. There would be the theater, and last, there would be business space for various tenants. Bernie had envisioned renting space to pay for the renovated building and keeping the theater alive at the same time. It was a lofty goal, butThe Timesmade it sound like Bernie had a firm grasp on what he wanted. Unfortunately, Bernie had died, and his wife Rebekka Eldridge had taken over as the CEO of the real estate empire, the construction of the building, the construction of the theater, and mounting the first show.
I walked up to the building and found a taped sign on a glass door that read, ‘Actors Enter Here.’ That was it. I opened the door and looked around at the construction mess that was everywhere. About ten feet past the door was a freestanding sign that read ‘Actors’ with an arrow pointing to an escalator. The escalator was in place, but it wasn’t moving. I was glad my ankle was better because this place was clearly not accessible yet.
When I climbed up the escalator, I found a partially finished wall and stacks of theater chairs waiting to be installed. As I exited the escalator, I could feel the squishiness of the plush carpet under my foot, so I knew it was there. Another sign led me down a hallway to a smaller, secondary theater that was in much better shape than the one I’d just seen.So, this place has two theaters?The Maurer Theatre didn’t have the multiplex feel of New World Stages, but I was surprised that they had planned for two different theaters. Right outside the theater were a couple of long tables covered in a white tablecloth. On it were various breakfast items, coffee, tea, and water bottles. A plastic card sat on the table reading, ‘Beyond Tomorrow Cast and Crew Only.’ I picked up a yogurt. I’m not much of a breakfast kind of gal, but that’s probably because I’m not usually awake early enough for breakfast.
With my Starbucks and yogurt in hand, I walked over to the double doors of the theater itself. Emblazoned over the door was its name, ‘The Rose Theatre.’ I pulled open the door and walked inside to find a few people milling around.
“Good morning, ma’am,” a young Black person started, “I’m Aarya McDonald; they, them, theirs. What’s your name?” They then quickly added, “I need to make sure I get you checked off my list.”
“Good morning, Aarya,” I said, extending my hand for a handshake. “I’m Erika Lynsay Saunders; she, her, hers.”
Aarya searched the list on their clipboard before making a checkmark next to it. “Thank you,” they said. “I see you already found the breakfast table, so I don’t need to tell you about that. If you need anything, flag me down and let me know. For now, you can take a seat anywhere in the building. Once it’s 9:30, we have a short presentation from Actors’ Equity, then we’ll dive feet first into the show.”
I walked away and found a corner seat on the other side of the theater. As people entered the theater, I wanted a good view of them, so I took a seat in the corner of the room. I sat down and started eating my yogurt in between sips of coffee. There were a couple of other people in the room, but it was still pretty empty. One person I recognized was Jeremy McCartan, who worked at Actor’s Equity. I assumed he was here representing the union. He placed several stacks of paper on the front of the stage. Through the theater community rumor mill, I’d heard McCartan and Asher had dated after we’d broken up. McCartan caught me staring at him, and I quickly looked away.
“Good morning, Erika,” a chipper voice came from behind me.
I swiveled my head to find Kathrine Kloeten standing behind me. “This will be fun. You’re not my understudy again, are you?” I half joked the comment, half not. Thankfully, Katherine brushed right past my snipe and tried to hug me, which was awkward.
“It’s good to see you again. I’m excited to be working with you.”
“I’m sure you are.”But if you try to give me notes again, I may throw you off a building, I thought to myself.
She lowered her voice and asked, “What do you know about the show?”
“Not much,” I admitted. “My agent basically let me know that I needed to get work or a new agent, so here I am. Not that I’m not thrilled to be here. I don’t know anything about the show.”
“My agent was approached about me auditioning,” Katherine said. “I didn’t want to at first, but my agent said adding more Broadway credits to my resume was a good thing, so here I am. But, I watched the movie on which the show is based.”
“How did you find it?” I asked. “I tried to find it, but neither Amazon nor Netflix had it listed.”
“YouTube.”
“What?”
“Yep, I found the movie on YouTube. After watching the movie, I’m still not sure how any of this will work, but it seems like decent source material.”
Katherine sat down in front of me so we could continue talking and people watching at the same time. Over the next twenty minutes, more and more people arrived in the room. Some faces I knew, and many I didn’t recognize.
As for Katherine, she’d grown into her own since being my understudy. Something about her seemed more polished. Heck, her bubbly personality didn’t even seem forced to me this time. And since we were in the show together, I didn’t have to worry about her shoving me down a flight of stairs to get the role. I decided to let bygones be bygones and get to know this new, and seemingly improved, actor.
At precisely 9:30 a.m., McCartan cleared his voice. “If you do not belong to Actors’ Equity, please leave the room while I talk to the union members. If you are not currently part of Actors’ Equity, but this show is helping you earn your union card, you can stay.” Four people got up and left the room. When the door shut, McCartan said, “On behalf of Actors’ Equity, welcome to the forthcoming brand-new musicalBeyond Tomorrow. Today, I will go over some of the basic rules and requirements. I’ll also walk through the specific factors you may not have caught when you signed your contracts. I also have the paperwork here if you need to change your medical insurance or get on our insurance plan.”
McCartan explained how everything within the union would work as we prepared for the opening. After another twenty minutes, he finally asked if there were questions. One woman asked about the profit-sharing within the contract, and McCartan quickly explained how that would work. Once he was satisfied that everyone knew what was expected of them and what we could expect from both the production company and Actors’ Equity, he asked for any nominations to be the company’s Equity Deputy. Basically, the Equity Deputy serves as the liaison between the union and the performers.
“I nominate Serafina Porcher,” said Kerrie Klark. I only recognized Klark because she’d had her own scandal a couple of years back. Her ex went to prison after hitting a pedestrian one evening. Even though Klark wasn’t in the car when it happened, she’d been dragged into the legal battle when someone thought going after Klark would lead to a bigger payday. The public often woefully overestimates how much we actually make working on Broadway. Sure, we may have decent salaries when working, but we have a ton of time where we’re not working and making little to no money between gigs. Ultimately, the judge ruled Klark couldn’t be held financially accountable for her ex since they were not legally married in the State of New York.
“Thank you for the nomination, Kerrie, but I can’t accept,” Porcher said. Serafina sat in the front of the theater. I hadn’t even noticed her when I’d gotten there. I had a slight ping of anxiety seeing someone fromThe Faith Healer. “As the company stage manager, my views on the show and the actors’ views on the show are often at odds. I think the position should be held by someone esteemed by the cast but is also one of the cast.” Porcher looked around the room as everyone evaded eye contact. It was like everyone believed if Porcher couldn’t make eye contact with you, she couldn’t nominate you. “I nominate Maeve McKenna.”
“Mrs. McKenna?” McCartan asked.
“Yes?” the older woman asked.
