THE SUCK ZONE, PART 1: Springtime for Harvey

 
Sunday March 24, 2024
Marion County Community Theater
Indianapolis, Indiana
2:47 PM Local Time
 
“Stop!  Stop! STOP!”
 
With a discordant bang of piano keys and a trailing off of voices, all other noises in the theater ceased as Wendy Briese-Thompson leapt out of her seat and marched towards the stage, flame colored hair trailing behind her.  She tossed her clipboard onto another row of chairs as she walked, mainly because the temptation to throw it at something- or someone- far more consequential was becoming overpowering.
 
She tried to remind herself that it was none of her actors’ fault, that this entire production had been doomed from the start.  When her boss had pitched the idea that the MCCT put on a writing contest where the winner’s script would be put into production, she had agreed.  After all, it was hardly a bad idea to encourage local writing talent, and the entire stunt would increase interest in the theater.  Little had she realized that the “contest” had been likely loaded in favor of her supervisor’s son, and force his writing into the limelight.
 
She still remembered all too well the bottomless chasm that had opened in her stomach when the script for WEINSTEIN: THE MUSICAL! had plopped down on her desk.
 
Wendy slid onto the stage and pulled herself to her feet, wincing slightly as her knee twinged from an old wrestling injury.  Smoothing her skirt, she turned to face George Stelter, the man she had selected to be the lead in this excremental insult to the musical theater.  “What was that?”
 
George blinked, nonplussed.  “What was what?”
 
“THAT.”   Wendy took a deep breath, again resisting the urge to do something unseemly.  George was normally a nice guy, and generally solid in supporting roles.  But he wasn’t the kind of guy Wendy really trusted to carry a production.  But that had been another unfortunate consequence of this production- a large percentage of those involved with the MCCT were teenagers, and given the subject matter, Wendy had absolutely refused to cast anyone underage for this.  She had to make do with what she had.  “You sound like a gameshow host announcing the next challenge.  It’s a serious moment.  You need to show more gravitas.”
 
George looked over at the other actors on stage, and Wendy could sense that she was heavily in the minority here in terms of support.  Several even nodded.  “I can’t do it.  Not with this crap.”
 
“You can.”  Wendy asserted.  “You absolutely can.  I wouldn’t have casted you in this role if I didn’t think you could.”
 
“Then you do it.”
 
Several people smirked.  Wendy was taken aback.  In the ten years since she returned to running the community theater, she’d never found herself challenged this much as she had been these past few weeks of rehearsals.  She had even began to suspect that there was a silent mutiny rising against her.  Her patience was running out.  Lousy production or not, she needed to take control.
 
“Alright fine,” Wendy snapped, beckoning George to move out of her way.  “I’ll do your job for you.” 
 
She took his spot, cleared her throat, then looked over at the piano player, nodding.  She began the lead in for the spot, and Wendy breathed in to sing.
 
You’ll be begging for more
You greedy little whore.
Because I’m not a slouch
On my own casting couch!
 
“Okay you’re right the line absolutely sucks” Wendy said immediately, beckoning for the pianist to stop playing.  “Oh my GOD does that line suck”  She raised her arm as if ready to throw her clipboard, but then remembered she’d already tossed it aside as a precaution for this exact situation.  So instead she ran her hand up the side of her face over to the back of her head, where it clasped the other in the classic surrender cobra position. 
 
“At least it rhymes,” offered Mary Albright, who had been cast to play the unfortunate actress in this abysmal excuse for a scene.  Wendy sensed some of the tension break, at least, as if her admitting the awfulness of the material had been just what the actors had been hoping for, that maybe she was on their side after all.  “Listen, Wendy.  We’d been discussing things over drinks after rehearsals and we think, well… the only way to make any of this work is to camp the hell out of it.”
 
“Like the Rocky Horror Picture Show or something” George offered.
 
“I don’t know” Wendy balked.  The vision of how the play would turn out in this manner was forming in her mind, and she was appalled at how much more… appealing it all seemed.  “It just seems so disrespectful”
 
“I don’t think any of this is respectful” Mary replied.  “Listen… we’ve also all talked about quitting.  Every single one of us feels like we need to take a shower after rehearsals because of this shit.”
 
“Harvey would probably like that” offered the pianist.

“NOT helping, Miranda” Wendy hissed in response.  She turned back to Mary.  “Look.  I’ve… I’ve thought about resigning too.  Maybe I should.  Maybe we ALL should.  And then we can at least leave with our dignities intact”
 
“Then what happens to the theater?” asked one of the stagehands, who had been busy resetting the scene.

“I… don’t know” Wendy confessed.  “We seem to always barely survive the budget meetings as it is.   Everyone quitting would probably be enough for them to pull the plug.”
 
“Putting on this performance is probably going to be enough for them to pull the plug,” Mary observed.
 
Wendy nodded.  The inevitable community backlash had been on her mind.  “Alright, you know what?  Let’s try it your way.  If we’re going to go down, we might as well go down on our terms, right?” 
 
Her cast and crew nodded, and Wendy felt more of the tension leave the room.  She had a feeling the only reason most of them hadn’t already quit was out of respect for her, and what she’d done on previous MCCT productions, and now that they knew she was still on their side over this whole fiasco, they were ready to support her.  She jumped down from the stage, pleasantly surprised by a lack of a tinge in her knee this time (although somewhat annoyed by the fickleness of the joint), grabbed her clipboard, and plopped down on her chair, waiting for everyone to finish getting back into position. 
 
“Okay, ready?  Five, six, seven, eight!”
 
The piano started up again, and Wendy cocked her head to the side, folding her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes critically as she took in the scene.  It was still abhorrent, and she still understood Mary’s desire to take a shower after dealing with it, but maybe… just maybe it was watchable?  If nothing else, her people seemed to be having fun with it.
 
“Interesting… interpretation.”
 
The voice at her side was delivered in a pleasant enough tone, but Wendy could sense the acid boiling not too far beneath the surface.  She glanced over her shoulder to see Carina Cantrell, her boss, standing next to her, an expression that was torn between bemusement and annoyance on her face.  Wendy inwardly grimaced.  There had been several Directors of Parks and Recreation for Marion County during the two stints Wendy had running the MCCT, and Carina was hardly her favorite.  She found the woman a bit too pompous for her liking, although they’d still gotten along well enough over the past couple of years.  At least until she’d sprung this nepotistic atrocity on her.
 
“We’re experimenting” Wendy replied stiffly.  “Trying to get the scenes to work is all.”
 
“And you think this… works?”
 
It was best to just treat that as a rhetorical question and move on. Wendy checked at her watch as the scene came to an end, grateful for at least an excuse to end rehearsals.  “Alright everyone, that’s all the time we have for today!   I’ll see you all Tuesday night, alright?”  
 
Murmurs of assent comprised of various enthusiasms greeted her, and Wendy herself rose from her chair, grabbing her tote bag and sliding her clipboard inside.   Carina watched the actors on the stage wander off for a second, then took a step forward, looking over at Wendy sternly.  “I do trust you are treating this production seriously?”
 
Wendy couldn’t keep the offense from her face.  “Of course I am.  Have I ever let you down?”
 
Carina at least had the decency to acknowledge the point with a tilt of her head.  “I’m just making sure.  I know David worked very hard to win that contest, and I would hope his efforts are given justice.”
 
Then why isn’t he directing, Wendy wanted to ask.  In truth, it wasn’t as sarcastic a response as it might seem- many times during her tenure she’d been more than happy to step aside and let someone else run a production.  But such a scenario hadn’t even been discussed- she’d simply been handed the script and told to make it happen.  Normally that wasn’t a problem.
 
“Anyways, the reason I’m here is to ask you for Belinda’s phone number” Carina responded, referring to the woman who was in charge of ticketing.  “I need to speak with her about adding names to the VIP seating list”
 
Wendy chuckled helplessly, then gestured around the auditorium that maybe sat 250 people.  “We don’t have VIP seating”
 
“Well, we will for this.  Some of David’s professors from college are going to be attending, and I hear they might even be bringing along a broadway producer or two.  This could be a very big moment for him!”
 
“I see.  I’ll text you her number,” Wendy said.  Her brain was spinning, and things were rapidly clicking into place as the answer to her previous unspoken question was becoming clear.  Carina had put the onus of the production in her hands with the hopes that she could provide a launching pad for her son’s writing career.
 
And make her an awfully convenient scapegoat if things didn’t work out.
 
Wendy collected herself for a second, steeling her resolve.  Her job be damned, she was going to tell Carina Cantrell exactly what she thought about Weinstein: The Musical! “Actually, Carina, you know wha- oh, can I help you?”
 
The last of that was directed at two police officers who had just walked into the auditorium, diverting her attention.  One stepped forward, taking in his surroundings.  “Yeah, I’m looking for a Gwendolyn Thompson?  Is she here?”
 
Her actual legal name.  That wasn’t good.  “Yeah.  That’s… that’s me” 
 
“We’ve been trying to reach you all morning.  Please, come with us”