“I do,”I replied.“I like the actors and the production staff, and I’m really excited about the schedule of performances coming up. It’s just this director.”
“Don’t let him ruin it for you, then,”he told me.“When he asks you to get coffee, have fun with it. Make it into a game. Turn it into a race to see how fast you can go. Or come up with little stories, like you did when you were young. Yes, he’s your boss. But he can’t control how you feel.”
My dad’s advice worked back then, and it’s held true ever since.
So, with his words in my head, I start lining up the arms and legs in rows on the floor, arranging them in order of height. It doesn’t take long to create several lines of arms reaching into the sky, followed by a dozen body-less legs and feet behind them.
Strange? Maybe. But it makes the task go faster. And it has the added bonus of making me smile.
Once I have everything out of the boxes, I pull my phone from my pocket and snap a photo of the eerie display. Then I send it off to my friend, Jaz, who’s performing out in New York City in an off-Broadway show.
Less than thirty seconds later, her response lights up my screen.
Please tell me why you have a graveyard of body parts?
With a laugh, I send my reply.
The new boss asked me to inventory the prop closet. Just trying to make it more interesting.
Jaz immediately texts back.
I hope you’re going to leave them that way. I can only imagine the reaction of whoever goes in there next.
I think about it for a few seconds before rejecting the idea.
No, I can’t. My luck, one of the board members would come in tomorrow for a tour. If it’s one of the older ones, I could scare them into a heart attack.
Three dots blink while Jaz composes her reply.
I suppose that wouldn’t be a great look for you.
The dots blink again.
Anyway, how’s your new boss? I’m assuming he asked you to do something that’s clearly not in your job description? And you felt like you couldn’t say no?
I quickly count the hands and feet, then record the totals in my notebook before answering Jaz’s question.
Yes, he asked me. Right when I was about to leave. The woman who usually does this is out on maternity leave, so… With Ken still being new here, I want to make a good impression.
Technically, Ken’s been here for six months. But compared to the last artistic director, who’d worked at Portland Rep for twenty years, Ken’s new to our company. And while he’s definitely not my favorite boss—his demands are at times unreasonable, and he has a tendency to stare at people too long—he’s got a ton of experience and his ideas for the company sound promising.
My phone chimes with Jaz’s reply.
I get it. But don’t be afraid to put your foot down. You’re a talented stage manager. If he doesn’t appreciate you, there are plenty of people who will. I could introduce you to some, you know.
It’s not the first time Jaz has brought up the idea of me moving to New York and working out there. Career-wise, it would probably be a good idea. The theater scene in Portland is a lot better than people think, but it can’t compare to New York City. Honestly, if I were only concerned about advancing my career, I would have taken her up on her offer.
But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized the importance of other things. Like living in a city I love, one that holds memories of going to the theater with my dad. It’s having my own two-bedroom apartment with a tiny yard and trees outside the window, rather than sleeping on the couch in Jaz’s cramped studio. It’s being close to the cemetery where my dad is buried, so I can visit him once a month to check in.
My nose prickles again, but not from the dust this time.
It’s been seven years since my dad passed, but sometimes the loss feels as fresh as if it just happened. There are still times I pick up my phone to call him, getting as far as dialing his number before I remember,He’s gone. His number was assigned to a different person. I’ll never hear his voice again.
A lump lodges in my throat, and I swallow several times against it. I don’t want to cry now. Not when Ken could come in any minute to check on me. Then he’ll see me sniffling over my weird collection of body parts, and God knows what he’d think?—
“Noelle!”
Ken’s deep bellow echoes through the closet, making me jump. My elbow whacks the tallest of the arms, sending them toppling over like dominoes.
