Play Out The Play

“I quit!” No. Not strong enough. 

“I QUIT and all of you can go to hell!” No. Too passionate. 

“Tybalt is dead and Romeo banished and… I QUIT!” Yes. That’s it. Dramatic yet tasteful.

“Ten minutes til places! Ten minutes til places! Have a wonderful second act everyone!” 

The assistant stage manager’s voice sharply crackles through the intercom. Outside the dressing room I hear a unanimous “thank you 10!” from the cast and crew. I don’t bother joining them because I finally have privacy, which is hard to come by when you’re sharing a dressing room with six other women. I watch my gestures as I rehearse in the busted vanity mirror with its dingy ever-flickering Hollywood lights. My dark complexion is a stark contrast from the ivory Elizabethan gown framing my thick hips. I’m not the Juliet the audience imagined or wanted. But I fought tooth and nail to be standing in this matchbox of a dressing room wearing an itchy, recycled gown with yellowing pit stains permanently ingrained in the cheap fabric. Dale, the artistic director who refuses to step down after 35 years, told me I was lucky to be given the opportunity to be Juliet. That no other company would have taken the chance on me. Before now, I had roles without any lines or lines that were cut to a single sentence. And everyday I was reminded how grateful I should be to work under a benevolent, gracious artistic director. And how grateful I should be that my pay hasn’t increased even though I am performing as a titular character in the first show of the new season. I should be grateful for the lingering stares and inappropriate comments from senior cast mates. Well, tonight I will show them just how grateful I really am. Tonight, Romeo and Juliet will die a new death. 

I make a note in my script to indicate exactly where my quitting speech will begin. I have been dreaming of this moment since I received the congratulatory casting email. I suffered through the director screaming about his vision being ruined because I couldn’t say the lines the way he wanted. I managed to get through the passive comments about my weight and the costume designer’s obvious annoyance that I couldn’t fit a size 2. Up until now, I’ve done everything right and no one suspects anything different from the second act. The first act went perfectly as the director intended. Not a line out of place, no late entrances or exits and all the blocking pushed the plot along effortlessly. The audience gasped and laughed in all the right spots and intermission started right on time. I can’t think of a single actor that has ever pulled off what I’m about to do tonight. 

“Five minutes til places! Five minutes til places!” The dressing room door swings open and bumps against my vanity, nearly knocking all of my makeup off the table. A lone lipstick tube rolls off the edge onto the water stained carpet and disappears under the vanity.

“Mya, your hair is all frizzy again! Why won’t you just let me put a flat iron to the top?” Angel starts to fuss with my coils but I swat her hand away. 

“For the last time Angel, my hair is kinky, coily. I told you since the first fitting that I can’t just put extreme heat on my hair without the proper prep. Besides, there is nothing wrong with it.” For months, Angel has been trying to convince me that straightening my hair would complete the director’s vision. That by refusing I was ruining the entire production. 

“Fine. Go out looking a frizzy mess! What do I care!” Angel stomps out of the dressing room and finds a new victim to sink her teeth into. I exhale deeply and look around the room one more time. Uncovered lipstick tubes and foundation sponges are scattered across the floor and vanity tops. Ripped stockings and discarded pasties litter the back of creaky chairs and clothing racks. I fold my post show clothes neatly in my chair and pack up my makeup with great care just in case I am forced to leave after my speech. 

“Two minutes til places! Two minutes til places!” 

“Thank you, two!” I responded gleefully this time, anxious and excited for my big moment. I put on a smile and glide out of the dressing room towards the stage left wing. The woman playing my nurse is bounding for me, arms wide ready to attack me with an embrace.

“Oh, my sweet Juliet! This is our scene! Break a leg, babe and let’s have some fun!” She squeezes me tight, pressing my arms down by my side. I laugh and squeal, promising her that this will be a night none of us will ever forget.

I make my way to the wing. The area is dark aside from a few pieces of glow tape lighting the way to the stage left entrance. I can hear the patrons talking and laughing as they trickle back into the theater. The stage is set and every prop and styrofoam set piece is placed perfectly for the second act. Tybalt is dead and Romeo is banished. 

“Places everyone! Places! Have a wonderful second act!” The lights are dimming and a soft hush sweeps the audience as the intermission music slowly fades away. Verona is soon to be in great turmoil. A backstage crew member, a young spritely intern gives me an energetic thumbs up. I match her eagerness with a gentle hand squeeze. My makeup is simple, the dress is simple, the set is simple but this moment will be magic. The company will never be the same after tonight. I am going to make them regret every manipulative, moronic action ever inflicted on any innocent actor that has performed on this stage. 

The audience is completely silent aside from a few strangled coughs. The lights are fading up on Juliet’s chamber. The sun, a soft yellow spot light brightens signaling my cue. It’s showtime. The crew member whispers a soft “go” behind me indicating my time to enter. I wistfully run onstage and stand directly under the LED sun. I’m a happy, naive Juliet who is about to discover her husband has been banished to Manchua and her cousin is dead. I wish the sun away and beg for my lover to return to my loving arms. My nurse enters right on cue to deliver the devastating truth. Now’s the time to change the narrative. It’s time to write a new ending. My nurse says exactly what everyone in the audience is expecting. 

“Tybalt is gone and Romeo banished! Romeo that killed him - he is banished.” Her eyebrows furrow with worry and sadness. I moan, I weep and the audience is right there with me.There are real tears in my eyes now but not for Romeo or Tybalt, but for me. Joyous tears, the kind that signify freedom, an end to the greed that is professional theatre. 

I stand stark still and run my eyes over each person in the room. My heart is racing but my legs feel strong. I say it exactly as I’ve rehearsed in the dressing room, “ Tybalt is dead and Romeo banished and…and… I QUIT!” I pause, a long pregnant pause and the theater is so quiet that I can hear the buzzing of the LED light above me in the catwalk. My nurses’ eyes have gone wide, her skin is ashen. I can see her racking her brain to fix what she thinks was a mistake. No, honey. This is the real deal. 

“I quit! I am done being the token black girl that is just barely good enough to be on this stage. I am done being your one way ticket to diversity. You hear me, Dale?" I pause to gauge the audience but everyone is stunned silent. As if my words froze them in time. I look up towards the lighting director’s booth where the stage manager operates the show but no one is moving. Everything is surreal and still. It's only a matter of time before one of the crew members drags me off the stage and the patrons will be asked to leave for the evening. The show will end but not without a few last words from me. 

"This company exploits their actors and claims equity and inclusion, but look around. I am literally the only person of color in this theater, including the cast and crew. And why is that? It isn’t because people like me aren’t auditioning, because we are. Time after time we are overlooked and underrepresented. That has to change. And Dale. Your lovely artistic director says he can’t pay us what we’re worth because there isn’t enough money. Well, how are you liking that new Mercedes, Dale? How was that trip to Dubai? I’m happy that a six figure salary is taking care of all your needs. Truly, I am. This company promises transparency but refuses to tell us until we sign on that there will be additional hours added that we won't be compensated for. Instead, we are offered food vouchers and coupons whenever they decide that paying us adequately is outside the budget.”

“ And why,” I turn upstage, facing the set as if to speak to the actors standing in the wings,

 “Why do we continue to perform? Because we love it, right? Because we should be lucky to get to do something so “trivial" and fun for the rest of our lives? Love and luck don't pay bills and they certainly don't stop the harassment of older cast and crew members flirting with new interns who haven't got a clue." I turn back to the audience, " And patrons? You have a voice too. Demand more from your theater. I see several donors out here tonight. Why not use that money to help bring underrepresented, underprivileged schools to see a performance? Art is more than-"

All at once the lights go out. The stage is pitch black and for a moment I am weightless falling through the stage. I am screaming and falling fast beneath the stage until someone catches me. The trap door had been triggered to release. I fight to break free from the arms holding me. All of a sudden hands are on me, ripping at my dress, snatching bobby pins out of my hair. My mic has been painfully torn from my face. I howl from the sudden burn of the adhesive. I try my best to slap the hands away but they're too quick. Someone is aggressively yanking sweats over my legs while another set of random hands pull a t-shirt over my head. I feel a hard shove on my back and a door opens just before I slam into it. Then the door shuts behind me. The flickering street light and overflowing dumpster confirm I am outside the backstage entrance. 

"What the hell is this? Let me in! It's freezing out here!" The door opens just enough for an arm to slip through and someone tosses my coat and shoes to the ground and the door immediately slams again, shutting me out for good. I stop yelling and stand frozen, unsure of what to do next. When my toes start to feel numb I jump into action and lace up my converse and zip up my coat. I head for the lobby entrance, expecting a flood of patrons to be leaving the theater. Surely the show cannot go on without Juliet. The rest of the run would have to be canceled and maybe that'll give them time to think about what they could do to change their behavior. The lobby is warm and the bar attendants are milling around. The monitor against the glass wall is showing a live view of the play. 

"What the- It's still going on?!" How could this be?!

"Hello, miss. Intermission has ended and the second act began not too long ago. I can take you to your seat." The attendant attempts to guide me by the elbow towards the house doors.

"Excuse me, no. I'm in the show or I was just a few minutes ago. I'm Juliet. I was just on that stage. I gave a big quitting speech and everything. I stopped the show. How can it still be going on?" The young attendant looked concerned and then began nodding knowingly.

"Oh, yes. I was in my fair share of shows too! Mostly community theater, of course. I bet you were a really great Juliet. Where did you perform?" She smiles reassuringly like she's a caregiver to a disgruntled, confused patient.

"Here. There. Don't you recognize me? I'M JULIET!" I flail my arms around my face. I find a program lying face down on a barstool.

"See! This is me!" The woman glances back at the security guarding the entrance, then looks at me. She smiles again but tighter this time.

"Ma'am, maybe you should cool down a bit before going back inside. Are you alone? Is there someone I can call for you?" I look at the program cover and see another woman entirely. It’s not me resting my head against Romeo’s chest but a blonde woman with piercing blue eyes. I pick up another program and another and flip through searching for my name, for any evidence that I was Juliet. None of the programs or posters have my face on it. I stumble backward, nearly tripping over the glass stairs behind me. How could they replace me so quickly? Who is this Juliet and where did she come from?

"Ma'am, is there someone I can call for you?"

"No. I'll- I'm okay. I think I'll just go to my seat now."

"Oh! Allow me to help you find the way."

"No. I mean, I can manage. Thank you." I scurry up the steps before she can protest. The stairs wind and shine underneath the chandelier. I head straight for the east wing balcony door and quietly slip in. Onstage is the new Juliet talking to the friar about the sleeping potion. I glance around the theater. It's as if the show never stopped, as if I was never there. I find an empty seat in the very top row, the furthest row away from the stage. I sit and watch this Juliet lament to the friar. I watch until the very end. I mouth the final line along with the chorus. 

"For never was there a story of more woe, than this of Juliet and her Romeo."

The cast comes out for bows. I stand stiffly and let the tears fall and roll down my chin.

An older man leans over and whispers " That Juliet. She gave an outstanding performance didn't she? What a show!" I nod and shuffle out of the theater with the rest of the patrons into the cold air. The first snow of the season has begun. I dig around for my metro card and find a neatly folded piece of paper tucked into the pocket. I read the words over and over again until the wet snow causes the ink to bleed.

Play out the play.

I crumble the paper and toss it into a nearby trashcan and commence to walk the long walk towards the train station.