THE RED WAKE

Chapters10-11-Interlude-Chapter 12

CHAPTER 10

     

     Most of the actors had made it through the crazy-maze that New York City had become seemingly overnight. Drivers had been instructed not to come into the city unless accompanied by at least two other passengers in an effort to avoid the hideous traffic delays. Buses and taxis were still running, but the subways and commuter trains had been shut down following several massive armed assaults on riders. Roving bands of “Wakers” had taken to looting public transportation robbing and, in several instances,  killing commuters. The Mayor had made several emergency announcements, advising people to commute by car or stay home: Public transportation had been targeted and passengers were not safe. 

     But work was work. The city couldn't afford to slow down for long, and so, even under the extreme circumstances generated by the crisis, New Yorkers were beginning to adapt. 

     That morning, Alan Whitmore spent three hours sitting in one spot on the West Side Highway, trying to get into the city. The show was on for tonight. Unbelievably, dozens of people had called the theater, wondering if the performance was still scheduled. Management had instructed all operators to state confidently and unequivocally that yes; Alan Whitmore’s King Lear would go on. Nevertheless Alan fully expected a cancellation as the city fell deeper into chaos. But even Titus Horgan had phoned to say that he would be there, "with bells on and balls attached." And so Alan had gotten into his car two hours earlier than normal, and headed in. 

     When he finally arrived, angry, frustrated and frightened, to the theater, Horgan was onstage, his head wrapped in a white bandage. He was rehearsing the storm scene with Jeffrey Kalember who was playing The Fool.  

     Even in his present state of aggravation, Alan had to admit the old ham still had it.      

     “Blow winds and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!”

     Alan didn’t think he’d ever seen Horgan spout King Lear's famous monologue with such intensity. As he sat down to watch the rest of the scene, more of the actors and crew filed in behind him. Many of them stopped and watched as well. 

     When the scene was done, director, actors and crew all stood to applaud, their approbation filling the theater with ‘bravos.' Alan looked around him, sensing in the tone of almost frantic applause a sort of challenge, a defiant celebration in the face of onrushing catastrophe. And he applauded even louder. 

     But Horgan seemed mortified by all the attention. His eyes were bright with embarrassment, as if what had happened on stage had surprised even him. The actor almost sheepishly waved the applause away. But his gesture only incited those gathered in the theater to louder applause. Alan could see some among the crew wiping tears from straining, upturned faces.  

     As the thunderous ovation ended, Alan approached the stage. 

     “Well, Titus if you give ‘em even half of that tonight we’ll be good as gold."

     Horgan stared at him curiously. 

     “Why wouldn’t I give them my all, Alan?” he said. “I mean... if you have some criticism of the work just be a man and spit it out.”  

     Alan stepped back a pace, shocked by Horgan’s sudden aggression. 

     “Titus, I only meant to say...” 

     But Horgan waved his hand, dismissing whatever Alan had been about to say. He tapped the side of his bandaged temple with his index finger.