Final Act Dianne Yetman (popular ebook readers txt) 📖

few smiles, a few frowns, and a lot of shuffling feet.

“I can assure you I have the support and sympathy of the Board of Directors otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here now.  Also, I’d like to announce that our very own talented Stage Manager, Andrew, has been promoted by the Board to Assistant Director.  Long overdue of course, Andrew, I look forward to working with you.”

A huge round of applause.  Andrew waved his thanks to the supporting cast and crew and smiled at Henry. He had gotten the call earlier in the morning from the Chair of the Board but he didn’t realize Henry would be released.  He thought the Board was hedging their bets.

“If anyone is unable to accept me at the helm, say so now.”

No one uttered a word.

“Okay, good then, now, as they say in this business, on with the show.  We have time to do a few walk throughs, then a long, leisurely lunch, last minute adjustments to costumes that need it this afternoon, then you’re free to nap or rehearse or whatever way you choose to relax before the opening performance this evening at 8:00pm.”

Andrew went on stage, script on hand, invited the actors to get out their scripts, grab some chairs, and begin rehearsals.  Henry and Eleanor took their usual seats in the third row back.  Sitting side by side, Henry couldn’t believe his eyes.  Iron Lady, Thatcher’s twin, was all atremble, a cheek muscle twitching in sync.

Chapter 20

At 7:30pm, Susan and Alexis entered the theatre lobby after waiting patiently in the long line of people to hand in their tickets for the opening night of Death of a Salesman.

“You know, Alexis, a mere thank you for these fabulous seats won’t cut it.  We’ll have to take Eleanor to one of her favourite restaurants”, Susan said.

“Absolutely.”

“I prefer something lighter of heart but I make exceptions when it comes to Arthur Miller and Tennessee Williams.  You know who one of my all time favourite comedic playwright is, Alexis?”

“Let me guess – Neil Simon?”

“No, he’s good but the one I adore is Oscar Wilde. The Importance of Being Earnest is such a cleverly written conceit and funny!  No matter how many times I see the play, it cracks me up. We’ll have to take it in the next time its showing.”

“Yes, a good idea, in the meantime, I think we should appreciate tonight’s showing.  You know they say Death of a Salesman explored the ramifications of a fatally wrong way of life – a way of life distinctively American in its commitment to a naive idea of success.  They were wrong of course, and I objected to it in one of my University essays on the play.  After all, the desire to succeed by being “well liked,” to be respected by one’s friends, to be loved and admired by one’s family, to contribute to the success of one’s children, to pay one’s bills on time, and to own one’s home, is not confined within the boundaries of America.  It’s universal middle-class value which crosses all borders.”

“You are such a brain child Alexis.  Are you able to sit back and just take in a play or do you think about themes?”

“A bit of both I suppose.”

Susan waved at the closed curtain of the stage.

“What are you doing?”

“I just saw Eleanor peeking her head around the corner of the curtain and I waved.  I don’t think she saw me though.”

Eleanor stepped away from the curtain not wanting to risk anyone else seeing her peek out like a nervous little child.  It’s a packed audience on the first night, couldn’t see any empty spaces, even the nose bleed section is full.  No seats empty except the two she and Henry would occupy to the far right of the stage. She swallowed hard, bile rising in her throat at having to sit next to him in such confined quarters.  She knew he was part of the reason the house was full. The newspaper articles and Henry’s new found notoriety.  People love to gaze on, stand next to, and talk to who may be a charged with murder.”

“Eleanor, can you do me a favour?”

She turned to the Acting Stage Manager.  “What’s up, Brenda?”

“I need to get the props for the second act ready and Charlotte is raising ole bloody hell in her dressing room.  She needs, positively, needs to speak to Henry, who I can’t find anywhere.  Andrew is with Philip trying to calm him down; you know what he’s like on opening night.  Would you try to calm her down, she’s giving the cast a case of nerves, as if opening night isn’t bad enough.”

“Ok, I’ll see what I can do.”

Eleanor made her way down the back corridor, paused for a moment before knocking on the door, and thought of the best approach.  She wasn’t going to give in to the hysterics of a woman who behaved like a child.  She pounded on the door.

The door flew open.  “Henry..., where’s Henry, Eleanor, I need to see him.”

She looked at the tear stained face and tried to tamp down her contempt.

“You can’t see him right now.  He’s not here.  So, pull yourself together, act like a professional.”

“Andrew, he can help.  Can you page him, Eleanor?”

“No I can’t, Charlotte.  Someone your age and as long in the tooth as you ”, she could see the shock on her face at that one, “should tread carefully.  Reputations are fragile things and once they are ruined, there’s no going back.  You should know that.”

Charlotte sniffed, blew her nose, but said nothing.

“Understudies are always itching to go on.  Wouldn’t want to see that happen to you, dear heart, but as the expression goes, there’s always someone waiting in the wings. So, if you can’t get it together, say so now,