Just North of Whoville Turiskylie, Joyce (smart books to read .TXT) 📖

most people doubt that I actually have a cat. But I do. It’s just that she likes to hide. Maybe because she was a stray when I found her pulling chicken bones out of a trash can in the Village not long after I moved to New York. I just took a shine to the little bottom-feeder, I guess.

I took her home, gave her a bath and got her to the vet. She’s in good health, she just likes to hide. Oddly, her name is Heidi. Pure coincidence.

That night, I’d agreed to meet Steve at the theatre to check it out. The Albatross Theatre, located in Noho, had seen better days. The painted albatross bird on the sign in front of the theatre obviously hadn’t been repainted since the seventies when they first opened their doors. Housed in an old church, the architecture, with its stained glass windows and Gothic archways, seemed incongruous with the sort of bare bones (and occasionally explicit) theatre it became known for in the drug-fueled seventies.

Recently, the old hippie vanguard that started the theatre turned over artistic control to a group of local artists who began turning it into a co-op venture; the shared responsibilities still in keeping with the flower child feel, if not the plays themselves. Various small theatre companies took turns vying for the theatre and its rehearsal spaces. None of them bringing in much revenue. But recently, a rock opera based on the pioneer expedition of The Donner Party took off. For some reason, the combination of electric guitars and 19th Century cannibalism struck a chord with the masses. I haven’t seen it yet. They say it’s going to win the Tony this year, so tickets are hard to come by. But the hit song, “Donner, Party of Five---Donner, Party of Four” is already considered a classic.

Last year, Steve became involved with Recycled Paper Theatre. Their mission statement was to put on old plays in new ways that spoke to new audiences. Mostly they just revived the classics in modern-day dress. But the artistic director’s father was an entertainment lawyer. He threw some money into the company and regularly called his showbiz friends to check out his son’s latest work. They were starting to get reviewed. Not likely the case for Steve’s play as the whole family was celebrating the holidays in Aspen. But Steve got the go-ahead to fill the space and take over the company for a few weeks over the Christmas break. Their last holiday show had been a production of Strindberg’s Easter; which, due to a scheduling conflict, opened in September. Apparently there were still some hard feelings with Blighted Watermelon, the theatre company that had snapped up their desired Lenten slot.

As he gave me a tour of the theatre and its various rehearsal rooms and offices, I gave him a recap of my interview with Jan.

“She made me feel like there was something wrong with me.”

“Did you smile? She likes people who smile.”

“Yes I smiled! And I shaved my legs!”

“Well that’s a little desperate.”

“I was eager and smiling my ass off. What more do they want?”

“What wrong with you? You’re so edgy lately.”

“I know. It’s not really me, is it? It’s the stupid holidays. I hate this time of year.”

And then I saw a vending machine with ice cream.

“Oooo----fudgesickles!”

I’d never seen a vending machine with ice cream bars. If anything can totally make my day it’s ice cream on a stick.

“And…she’s back,” Steve chimed in as I pulled quarters practically out of my ears.

“This is the best thing ever!” I squealed as I popped my coins into the machine.

“How can you not like Christmas?” Steve asked as I made my selection.

“It’s just…depressing. It reminds you of everything you don’t have.”

As I opened the vending machine slot, I discovered that the machine had made a mistake in my favor---two fudgesickles for the price of one.

“See. This is the pathetic kind of luck I have. No decent job, but two ice creams. Want one?” I offered.

“Can’t. I have an audition tomorrow. Dairy makes me all bloaty.”

It’s moments like this I thank god I’m not an actor. If I want a fudgesickle, I’m going to have it. Damn the torpedoes.

“Maybe things are looking up,” Steve suggested. “Two fudgesickles. This could be your year.”

Whenever anyone says it could be “my year” I just want to shoot them in the foot. People have been saying it’s going to be “my year” for ten years now. But I had two fudgesickles in hand, so I’d mellowed a bit. I popped the spare into my pocket and dove into my chocolate-y prize as I switched from complaining to brooding.

“I don’t know. Whatever I’m doing is not working. But I don’t know what else to do. I just want to quit everything, but quitting everything seems ever stupider. I’m at a dead end.”

“How about a career counselor?”

“I can’t afford that. And I’m in theatre, not marketing or accounting. It’s a whole different animal.”

“You’ve still got a few months left on your health insurance from that restaurant job, right?”

“So?”

“Talk to a shrink.”

“I’m not crazy. I’m just under-employed.”

“They’re counselors. They listen and give advice. Maybe there’s a deeper reason why you’re not succeeding? Besides, everyone in New York has a shrink.”

“You?”

“No. I’m perfectly…”

Just then, a cute girl walked past us thru the halls. Though Steve was already thirty, he still had a thing for college girls. Especially the pierced and tattooed ones. She fit the bill.

“Hey Diana!” he called out.

“Hey…” she turned around cautiously, as if she couldn’t remember how she knew him or his name or his face. But she was curious enough that when he wagged his finger at her to “come on over”, she complied.

“See,” Steve said using the lower depths of his vocal