The Diva of Destiny

The chords of a piano, sharp and harsh in their intensity, echo through a warehouse as if to ensnare all who hear it with the sound of pure rage. A black stage towers above dozens of folding chairs, most of which remain empty. The only things on the stage are an overweight woman holding a wine glass and a frameless mirror attached to a fabric-covered scaffold.

Beneath a lone light, the woman glimmers in her elaborate, gold dress, and the mass of red hair held into a bun sag from the weight of beads and crystals hanging off it. Red fingernails are a stark contrast against the stem of the wine glass.

“I am the true Diva of Destiny,” the woman utters with red lips pulled into a snarl, “and I will not be silenced!” The wine glass falls to the floor, and the sound of breaking glass is smothered by the spotlight switching off with a loud bang.

The warehouse is engulfed in complete darkness, and after a long moment, the lights turn back on. The rest of the play finishes as usual. The actors line up on stage to take their bows to a mixture of polite and enthusiastic applause before retreating to the reception area with smiles on their faces and heads held high.

“Are we cursed?” The smile on the leading actor’s face drops immediately. “Why do our spotlights keep exploding at that specific scene?”

“Maybe it was him,” another actor offers as his fingers dance nervously around the gaudy watch on his wrist.

“Him?”

“They say the theatre is haunted by a ghost.”

“All theatres are haunted by ghosts, Jeff,” the overweight woman states tiredly while eyeing the chairs lining the walls longingly.

“This place was a shipping warehouse last year and no one’s died yet. How can it already be haunted?” The leading actress asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, but all our stuff came from a big theatre, right? There’s no telling what’s attached to these things.” Jeff tilts his head until his large, floppy hat covers his face in shadow. “In fact, I know of one such thing that has killed a man.”

“Alright, enough of that,” the stage manager says, seeming to appear out of thin air.

“No one’s stuck around to chat. Jeff, help me get the snacks out of the van, and everyone else go change.” Jeff groans, and the rest of the cast scatters before they too are roped into doing chores.

Helen, the overweight woman, heads back to the stage to grab her plastic wine glass from where she kicked it. The last time she forgot it, it had gotten stepped on, and she’d been held responsible for finding a replacement. It’s the burden of being a small acting company, she supposes.

The wine glass lies behind the scaffold, and it’s a fight with her layer of skirts and annoying wig to bend over. She almost falls over as a strange, muffled voice speaks up from behind her. “A wonderful performance, Miss Diva.”

Straightening up, Helen falls into a defensive stance before recognizing the black shadow looming over her as a plague doctor costume. It’s one she’s seen before from the closet for the other acting company sharing the building.

“Thank you,” Helen says automatically before relaxing slightly. “Oh, are you from the other troupe? I thought your rehearsal ended this morning.”

“I wanted to watch your show before leaving. I know it is past time to give it up, but I like to wear the suit until I am ready to go. It is very comfortable.” The plague doctor shrugs.

“And the stage manager lets you get away with that?” She raises an eyebrow.

“I may have been pointedly ignored after destroying a rather pricey set piece.” At Helen’s noise of intrigue, the plague doctor continues sheepishly. “We were rehearsing but our prop violin broke. We decided to use the sound director’s personal one—and yes, I know, bad idea, no need to say it—and my fingers might have fumbled.”

“You dropped it? Well, things like that happen. Surely, that can’t be held against you forever.”

“Perhaps they would have been more understanding if I had not then tripped into the scaffolding holding all our lights overhead.”

“Say no more, I understand,” Helen says with sympathy. It is one thing to make a mistake that can be easily fixed, and another entirely when it costs the company a small fortune. Such incidents come down to how much the staff like their actors, and in Helen’s experience, that’s usually not much.

“I was not joking about your skill. Have you ever thought to audition for the main lead?” The beak of the actor’s mask tilts not unlike a curious bird’s.

“My figure isn’t cut out for being anything but a side character. The fact I managed to become the villainess is already an accomplishment,” Helen shoots down with practiced ease.

“Is that what you think,” the dark glasses on the plague doctor’s mask seem to shine menacingly, “or is that just what you’ve been told?”

“I know what you’re trying to say, but people don’t appreciate watching fat people act,” Helen says indifferently.

“Have you tried losing weight?”

“Of course, I have. The most I could do was slim down to this. I can’t lose anymore, or I’d be putting my health at risk.” The remaining fat on her body has nothing to do with overeating, but people don’t care about that particular fact. “There’s nothing else I can do.”

“Then there is nothing else you can do to fit the mold,” the plague doctor nods, “but why should you be the villainess forever for such an inane reason?”

It takes Helen a moment to understand she’s not being mocked. “Excuse me?”

“Your body type is not a crime, and even the prettiest of faces cannot stand before the strength of skill. Have you ever tried asking for a different role?” The plague doctor asks.

“Once. The stage manager said I couldn’t fit any others.” After a tough audition, she’d been upgraded from a bumbling peasant girl to the evil queen. She’d been so ecstatic over landing such an important role that she never said anything about the new eating scene added to the play.

“You didn’t ask the director?”

“Our director left for a sabbatical.” Of the disheartened and casino-heavy kind. “He left the stage manager in charge of casting decisions.” And all other decisions as well.

“Then ask again, but this time in front of your peers.”

“What?”

“Trust me on this one. Your acting ability is second to none. You stole the show, and your colleagues respect that. I can see it from here.”

The person in the plague doctor costume nods with surety, and before Helen can ask if they’re suffering from a heatstroke, a fellow cast member yells for her from the reception area. “Helen, where’d you go? Mike remembered to bring the drinks this time!”

“Excuse me, I have to go,” she says, biting back the urge to laugh hysterically.

“Of course, forgive me for holding you up.”

She hefts up her skirts and leaves the wine glass lying on the floor without a second thought. For someone tall and thin to tell her to just ask for a new role as if it’s that simple is galling. Opportunity is not given to actors of her size unless it’s to emphasize the thinness of someone else.

“What’s wrong Hel-Girl?” A castmate moving to hand her a bottle of water takes one look at her face and asks in concern.

“Nothing,” she smiles carefully.

The words from the actor in the plague doctor’s costume continue to haunt her, and a sudden yearning for a leading role hits her like a long-forgotten memory. She wants to tell Mr. Plague Doctor that no matter how flattering his words are, it just isn’t possible for someone like her to be the heroine, but there’s no time to find the other actor to continue the conversation.

Just ask, a tiny voice inside of her screams as they prep the stage for another week of plays. She is the Diva of Destiny. The worst that could happen has already happened every weekend for the past month when she dies from her own poison.

“Mike, I would like to audition for a chance at being Cassandra,” Helen finally proclaims which leads to a flurry of excited chatter.

“What? No way.” The stage manager instantly refuses her request, and the excited chatter dies instantly.

Before Helen can feel embarrassed over her rejection, Lydia, the current actress for Cassandra, steps forward to give Mike a dark look.

“Why can’t Helen try out the lead role for the matinees? It’s not like we’ll lose any customers if it doesn’t work out,” Lydia says.

“You can’t just change the show whenever you feel like it!” The stage manager scowls.

The leading actor lowers his cleaning rag to give his two cents. “I think the director said, and I quote, ‘Do whatever you like, I’m going to pretend this script never happened,’” he recites the quote with a gruff voice.

“We’re past the point of rehearsals.” Mike wipes his face with a groan.

“Come on, man. We’ve done this show so many times, we can recite each other’s lines in our sleep. Pretty sure we all know each other’s marks too. Give Helen a chance,” another actor pipes up from the floor where she is roping off a section of chairs.

“We don’t have dresses in her size,” Mike says flatly.

“I think I could whip something up in about a week,” someone offers immediately.

“Everyone’s already overworked enough,” the stage manager says.

“Just give it up already. I think we’re all wanting to see how far our Hel-Girl’s range can go.”

“I said no!” Mike shouts.

It is at this moment the scaffold on the stage collapses. The mirror attached to it shatters into a million pieces, and the cast member closest the area screams loud enough to wake the dead.

“Oh shoot! Is everyone okay?”

After a chorus of “I’m fine” ring out through the theatre, they all gather to stare at the mess with despair. Due to the lack of a cleanup crew, it’s up to the actors to clean it all up and find a replacement mirror.

“I think this is a sign, boss.”

“Fine.” Mike throws his hands up in surrender. “Fine! Helen and Lydia, you two switch on next Friday’s matinee, but if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work, understand?”

Cheers break out throughout the cast, and Helen is quick to hide her face in her hands as tears threaten the corner of her eyes. It’s a surprise to her; she never realized how badly she wanted the leading role until it was pointed out to her.

Lydia is quick to hug her while glaring at anyone who looks ready to say something about Helen’s sudden loss of control.

“So, what happened? Why did the scaffolding fall over?”

“It’s just old,” Helen answers, still hiding her face.

“It’s definitely the ghost!” Jeff refutes with excitement.

“Jeff!”

“No, I did my research this time! That scaffolding came from an old theatre house that shut down, but it turns out there’s some history with it. An actor was practicing on stage, and it was full of those really old lights, and the whole thing fell right on top of him!”

“Geez, it just tipped over?”

“Oh no, he bumped into the scaffolding while trying to catch a violin of all things.”