In 2023, I was meandering around the desert as someone’s wife. I had no clue what was going on, let alone what I wanted. I had tried to get a job multiple times over the years, but had absolutely no luck getting past the first interview stage. I couldn’t tell you why if you asked me. I felt worthless most of the time. All I knew was that my invisible disability made me feel, well, invisible. Who’d have thought, right?
I got a call one day from someone I barely knew, but whose spouse was a friend of my spouse. We lived in a big little city. That means that everyone else was no more than two degrees of separation away from everyone else, no matter who they were. That also meant that everyone’s family knew everyone else’s family. If you didn’t have one, you’d get put in one. There was never a choice.
In this case, the person calling asked if I wanted to be a “front of house” person for a small theater production. All I knew about theater was absolutely nothing. After outing myself to them, I casually asked why it was so urgent. The caller, Didi, said, “Well, if you like this super popular TV show, you’ll want to be here. The cast is in the play.” I was, of course, a fan of that show. Naturally, with my mounds of absolutely no experience, I jumped on it. The only downside at that point was that pay was up in the air and it was an hour drive each way.
Again, why not?
My partner and I hopped in our car the next day and drove into the state capitol. It wasn’t as big of a big little city as where we lived, but it was a much more esoteric, cultural melting pot. You could smell the sage and incense driving into town. It was small enough that the locals sometimes called it a “village”. If you went into the local Target, though, you’d get a shock. That sucker was two city blocks across. I’ve never been so out of breath going to a store in my life. But I needed antacids. I was already getting GERD flares.
When we finally got to the playhouse, I was shocked. They weren’t kidding when they said a “small local theater”. It was a building sectioned into two stages, an office on one side, a bathroom, a sound area upstairs, a parking lot, and an old piano. I hadn’t been to a studio lot or anything, but my high school PAC was bigger than this. No matter, though. I was there to work and I was going to kill it.
Walking in, I went into the stage where the play was being rehearsed. I was given a script and a highlighter and told that I would need to give lines when asked and highlight discrepancies. This was “front of house” work? It didn’t sit right with me, but I was okay with it. As it turns out, this was two jobs. I was a front-of-house person and a PA for the cast.
As I sat there turning the highlighter between my thumb and forefinger, I stared at the director on set. I was listening intently to his directions to the cast: two grown men who were in that super popular TV show. One of them had introduced himself to me and wandered off. He was serious and then some. The other had walked in after me and sat down. I looked over and said hi. He grinned and responded in kind. Then, I did a double-take. I didn’t just recognize him from the show. I knew that face from somewhere else. I couldn’t put my finger on it right then.
I shrugged and went back to my focus on the director. As I glanced down at the script, one of the actors slowly took his shirt off and walked in front of me, right to left, slowly. My eyes widened. I knew my partner was upstairs, but I was loyal. I was also frustrated. The actor was flawless. I thought he was in his 20s. It turns out that he was my age, a crisp 40-year-old. Realizing that later shook me.
As I began to twitch in my attempts to focus harder, the other actor, the one with the familiar face, got up and did exactly the same thing.
They’re trying to kill me. That’s not nice.
I found out later that they were testing my focus to see if I would make a good PA. Aside from that one time, they didn’t test me again. But it would’ve been nice to have some warning, I guess.
As the rehearsals went on, I realized that I was in love with the work I was doing. I fed the guys lines until we were in the week before the play opened and I was prohibited from interfering. It was rough watching them struggle, but it was necessary. I took care of them as best as I could. We had gotten close enough in that last week that I felt like they were friends. They treated me better than I had been treated in years.
The opening night was killer. We had a party with so many of the cast from the actual show. I got to meet some of my childhood inspirations and heroes. I was awestruck by some of them that I genuinely never thought I’d get to meet. It was amazing and we went to a beautiful restaurant and bar in a local historical hotel after.
The week went on and, every night, I watched my guys, whom I felt extremely protective of, grow into their roles more and more. The one with the face would collapse on stage and bleed every night. His tears were real. There were two nights when I almost jumped up and ruined the play because he was so convincing. It was brutal and heartrending. The crowds, each night after almost selling out, would walk past me and into the lobby, congratulating me on the show like I had somehow birthed it myself. I thanked them and made sure to pass their praise on to the guys. The guys were much harder on themselves than they should have been. I thought the play deserved a much higher attendance. Of course, we didn’t have the room. It was intimate, atmospheric, and limited to specific people. I met more Hollywood bigwigs and A-list actors in that week than I’ve ever met working on convention circuits.
As it turns out, the guy with the face looked familiar because of his dad. His dad has been a Hollywood A-lister for decades and worked with everyone from the late great John Candy to Mel Brooks himself. I was blown away. I thought the crew was pulling one over on me when they said that this guy was our guy’s dad. Then, it hit me. I looked at the billing again. His last name was right there. Somehow, it never crossed my mind that they were related, let alone son and father.
The final night, the show sold out. After everyone had been seated, even in the hallway near the stage, I looked up to my colleague. He was my partner’s friend. He was suddenly very nervous.
“What’s going on?” I asked, weirded out.
“He’s here. He’s standing right outside!” he giggled, jumping up and down. He quickly ran away from the front door, standing by the theater entrance and, taking a deep breath, collected himself.
Right then, the man of the hour walked in. He asked if I needed to see anything to let him in and, once I could pull my hands away from my mouth and breathe, I shook my head and quietly said, “No, sir. You’re good.” I slid him a gift that I had researched and found out he loved. He said we’d look at it after the show and put it in his pocket. I recovered my breath and walked into the theater for the last show, sitting at the end, stunned.
After the show, the theater cleared out except for the families of our guys and their close friends. After Didi had come up and demanded that I escort a specific group of people out of the theater very loudly, I looked at her and quietly said, “These are the guy’s personal family friends. I’m not asking them to leave.”
She grumbled and then looked around, asking me, “Oh? Really? They are?”
“Yes. I’m not asking them to leave. If you want to, you go right ahead,” I responded, visibly annoyed by her lack of tact.
She walked away, rolling her eyes. As she left, my guy’s incredibly well-known dad came up to me. I could barely move.
“You must be Alice! I’ve heard so much about you!” he said, throwing his arms around me and hugging me. After I could breathe again, I hugged him back.
“My son told me how much work you’ve been doing and how you’ve been there for them so much these past few weeks. Thank you so much!”
As he went on, all I could do was look at his son. I couldn’t believe he had talked to his dad about me. How dare he! It was also the sweetest thing he could have done. He grinned when I looked at him. I think he knew that I was in shock, but in a good way.
That experience changed my life forever. I’ve auditioned for parts myself since. I also realized that I don’t deserve to be treated like I’m nothing. No one does. I make sure to treat people like they matter because I don’t want people to feel how I feel and I don’t want them to feel that way because of me.
The guys and I have kept in touch here and there. It’s been amazing getting to meet the people I met and getting to work with them. I wasn’t responsible for that play in the least, but I know I helped create something amazing. I’ve maintained contact with the director and am happy to say he’s landed a movie deal. If he did this much with two men, two chairs, and a table, what can he do with a movie?
During that last week, one of the bigwigs had told me that, since I had the absolute last Playbill, I was extremely lucky. He said it was worth so much money and was a hot ticket item. I still have it tucked in somewhere safe. I’ll never sell it. That little play turned my world upside down in the best way. I’ll never forget my guys. I’ll never forget realizing that I mattered even a little.
I've still got it in my head. Each night, as the house lights and stage lights went down, I stood in the dressing room with my ear to the door and my hand on the handle while the guys waited nearby with baited breath. At the sound of absolute silence, I would whisper, "Actors go!" and open the door, ushering them onto the stage, proud and excited that I, someone's worthless little wife, was getting to introduce the world to art and talent they were in no way prepared for.
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