Author's Note: It's funny that the title of this chapter is "PG-13 Enough" because I include the F-word toward the end. It's said by a character in a moment of frustration. I don't like to include many curse words in my writing, as I don't use many in my every day vocabulary either, but every now and then my characters disagree with me. So, fair warning: if you are offended by the F-word, it is used once in this chapter. :-P
Patti wipes her mouth off on her cloth napkin and pushes her chair away from the table. "Well, we should get started with our rehearsal soon."
I look down at my plate that still looks like I've barely touched it, and then at Moth's, which is already completely clean. Thatcher's looks more like mine.
"Are you guys ready?" she asks.
"Sure," Moth agrees, and I'm too shy to tell them that I'm still hungry, so I push away from the table too.
"Honey," Mrs. Weiner protests, "your friends are still eating."
"You guys are done, right?" Patti asks. She seems on edge and her eyes are crazier than normal, so I just nod my head. I haven't seen Patti's bad side, but with a part in A Call from Midnight on the line, I don't want to see it.
"Yep," I mumble as I fall into step with Patti, heading back toward the staircase, probably to go to her room.
"Thanks for dinner Mrs. W," I hear Moth say behind me.
"Yeah, thanks," I echo.
"No problem, kids. Have fun," she calls after us, but Patti is already leading us upstairs.
The stairwell is lined with framed pictures of Patti through the years. Little Patti in a dance costume, posing with her hip popped and her arm in the air. Little Patti in a princess Halloween costume. Middle school Patti standing in Times Square wearing a bright red pea coat and a white beret. A glamour shot of just Patti's head. High school Patti mid-performance in some show where she's wearing raggedy clothes and has dirt on her face. High school Patti and her parents wearing matching outfits and smiling beneath an autumn tree.
I follow Patti down a red carpeted hallway, wondering if this color choice was made to make Patti feel like she's a star when she walks out of her room every morning, and into the last bedroom on the right. A red, glittery letter P hangs on the outside of the door and when Patti opens it, I see the red glitter continues into the room. It's a glimmering pink and red explosion in here.
The walls are painted a deep pink color and a red chandelier dripping with crystals hangs from the center of the ceiling. The walls are striped in some sort of white glitter paint and framed playbills--that's what Patti calls them when she shows us around--hang all around the room. Glimmering white lamps with red lampshades sit on either side of her bed, which has a white headboard that looks more like the outline of a crown than something that belongs on a bed. At the far end of the room is a table with four chairs around it. Not like the forgotten outdoor set Thatcher had in his attic, but a white, round table that probably cost more than three of Thatcher's sets worth. Her room is easily twice the size of mine.
"Alright, let's take a seat," Patti says, all business. "Does everyone have their scripts?" Then before any of us can answer, she continues, "I made extras."
"Okay," Thatcher says, glancing to me for a quick smile.
"Look at your room, Patti," Moth says, still in awe. She turns to look at him, her cheeks turning as pink as her walls, and smiles.
"Oh yeah, it's pretty nice."
"Pretty nice? Uh, uh. This is like TV show nice," Moth replies. "Your parents must be loaded."
Out of anyone else's mouth I'm pretty sure that comment would come off the wrong way, but of Moth's mouth, we all just laugh. Patti nods. "My mom is a financial advisor, so... yeah." She catches her breath. "Anyway, let's get started. We were at the part where my character has just found Janie's character in her house, page thirteen."
"Are we sure this play is going to be okay with Mrs. Permala?" I ask. Patti shoots me a look that would send lasers through me if we were in some science fiction movie. "I mean, it's kind of grown up for us, isn't it? Husbands, wives, girls who are sleeping around with the husbands?"
"It'll be fine," Patti says with a deep inhale. "It's our best shot. We can't pick a new play now, not with Grant O'Reilly coming. We would never have time to rehearse. This is our play."
"Okay," I say, lifting my script from the table. "Is it my turn?"
"Yeah, right there where it says, 'I'm Rita.' Ready?"
I nod and close my eyes for the moment. I imagine how the play will go: Violet (Patti) has just come onstage with a cupcake and a candle in it, and her face drops seeing me there. She asks, "Who is this?" and the audience kind of laughs a little if we're lucky, because they know what's going on. I put my hand on her hip with sass and say:
Rita (me)
I'm Rita. From Harry's work? Really, he has never mentioned me?
Violet (Patti)
I'm sorry--why are you here right now? And dressed like that?
Rita (me)
Oh, I slept over with Harry.
"Violet glares at Harry," Patti reads.
Harry (Moth)
I swear, nothing happened.
Rita (me)
I wouldn't say nothing.
Harry (Moth)
She just kissed me, that's all.
Rita (me)
And then he kissed me back... a bunch of times.
Harry (Moth)
I was so confused about us.
Rita (me)
He told me you guys were definitely separated.
Harry (Moth)
Rita!
Rita (me)
What? I'm not the one who ruined your marriage. That's all you, buddy.
"Rita takes a big bite of bacon," Patti reads.
Rita (me)
Hey Jeeves! Where's that ketchup, old sport?
"My character is actually the worst," I say. Thatcher smiles.
Harry (Moth)
Okay, I think you've had enough of breakfast.
Violet (Patti)
Yes, I believe it is time for you to leave.
"Harry takes Rita by the arm and pulls her offstage as she reaches for the rest of the bacon on her plate. He returns from offstage, exhausted."
Harry (Moth)
Violet... we should talk.
Violet (Patti)
I believe it is time for you to leave too.
Harry (Moth)
What do you mean?
"Violet blows out the candle and removes it from the cupcake before smashing it into Harry's face," Patti reads.
Violet (Patti)
I mean we are officially done here. Get out.
Harry (Moth)
Fine... I'll go to my room, but... when you have cooled off, I want to talk about this. I need to explain.
Violet (Patti)
There is nothing to say. I will meet with you later, but I will have the divorce papers we asked for last month. Only this time, they will be signed.
Harry (Moth)
But... I love you Violet.
So that's why Patti wanted to play Violet, I think. So she could hear Moth tell her he loves her. Her cheeks blush.
Violet (Patti)
No, you don't, Harry. You only feel guilty for ruining this marriage. Goodbye.
"Harry exits," Patti reads.
"Woah, my character done messed up," Moth says, setting his script down. I laugh.
"Yeah, we really made a mess of this play," I say.
"We're still reading," Patti says. She looks down at her script. "Peter enters."
Violet (Patti)
My god, Peter. Look at the mess I've made.
Peter (Thatcher)
The cupcake crumbs can be swept away. Not to worry.
Violet (Patti)
No... I mean the mess with my marriage. Look at what I let it become.
Peter (Thatcher)
That was not you at all, Mrs. Stein. That was all Mr. Stein.
Violet (Patti)
No... we are both to blame. I stopped... I stopped loving him. We stopped loving each other.
Peter (Thatcher)
Why do you say that?
Violet (Patti)
Well... if I loved him still, even just a little bit, I would be crying now. But I'm not crying, Peter. I don't even feel the need to cry. I feel... relieved. It's strange. Oh goodness, you must think I'm so dreadful to talk to you about my marital problems.
Peter (Thatcher)
Not at all, Violet.
Violet (Patti)
No, no, you must think I'm--did you call me Violet?
Peter (Thatcher)
I did.
"Oohh," Moth says, and I shush him.
Violet (Patti)
Why?
Peter (Thatcher)
Well... I have to say it, even if it costs me my job... I think you are perfect. In a I-think-about-you-day-and-night kind of way. I know it's a lot to ask, especially now, so I won't even ask you to react to this next statement, but... I love you Violet. I have since the moment I began working for you.
Thatcher finishes saying his line and I feel an unfamiliar burn inside me. I think this is jealousy. Even though it's just a line and even though he is playing a part, he says the line so well--like he has always said his lines--that I almost believe them.
Violet (Patti)
Peter, this is a highly inappropriate conversation for an employee to be having with his employer.
As Patti reads, I shift in my seat and even though I don't mean to, my face pinches with discomfort. Moth must see because he leans his hand over to the edge of my chair and knocks on the side of my thigh with his knuckle. Thatcher starts his next line as Moth mouths to me, "It's a show." I nod, swallow my insecurity away to that place inside me where all the uncomfortable things I don't like about myself go, and listen to Thatcher.
Peter (Thatcher)
I apologize, but it had to be said.
Violet (Patti)
I also apologize. You're fired, Peter.
Peter (Thatcher)
I understand. Thank you for listening.
"Peter moves toward the exit," Patti reads.
Violet (Patti)
Peter...?
Peter (Thatcher)
Yes?
Violet (Patti)
Why aren't you kissing me?
Ugh, the insecurity is stuck in my stomach.
Peter (Thatcher)
Excuse me?
Violet (Patti)
I just fired you. You are allowed to kiss me now.
Peter (Thatcher)
Please don't say that because you feel bad for me. If I kiss you, I want to mean it.
Violet (Patti)
Peter, in the time since I hired you, you have been there for me more than my own husband even was in the ten years since we've been married. I am asking you to kiss me and I mean it.
"Peter walks toward her and kisses her," Patti reads. I shift again. "And we won't practice that today."
"Okay," Thatcher says with relief.
Violet (Patti)
Sit down.
Peter (Thatcher)
Why?
Violet (Patti)
Because now it's my turn to make you breakfast.
"And scene," Patti finishes.
"I don't know, man," Moth says. "I think Janie might be right. What if it's too raunchy for the performances?"
"What do you mean? I edited this play like crazy."
"But you left in the part with the thong," Thatcher says, "and Janie's character says some inappropriate things. Like... I'm not sure how we can edit this to make it okay for school. I'm almost positive Mrs. Permala is going to say it's not PG-13 enough."
"We're in high school," Patti protests, her face reddening.
"Yeah, but we can't just go around performing plays about one-night stands. I don't know... I think we need to find a new one."
"No," Patti explodes. She breathes heavily for a few moments before brushing the hair from her face and continuing, "We will perform this for Mrs. Permala and if she says something, we'll change it. If not, this is our play."
None of us argue, especially not after Patti's outburst.
"Well, no matter what we do tonight, we will get our final answer from Mrs. Permala when she sees what we've got so far tomorrow," Thatcher says.
"Exactly," Patti says, "so we might as well get back to work. Let's run through it again for blocking. Places, everyone."
My stomach rumbles as I move to the "off stage" part of Patti's room.
We finished at 8:00, and since my curfew is 9:00, Thatcher decided we deserved a treat. He and I sit in his car with the windows cracked just enough so it won't fog, eating our McDonald's in the parking lot before heading back to our neighborhood. This McDonald's sits right at the break in our town on the road that divides the really rich from the really poor. It's a funny location, because every now and then, you'll see the scared looking soccer moms heading in with their kids, holding their hands for dear life as they cross the parking lot, like a drive-by could happen any moment. Meanwhile those of us from the other side of town are just relaxing, wondering why this woman is so scared of the outdoors. I mean, we know what she's scared of, but... at least for me, I like to imagine it isn't people from my side of town. People like Thatcher and me.
"Patti is really on edge," he says before stuffing a bundle of fries into his mouth.
"She's nervous about Grant O'Reilly coming," I say.
"Yeah, but... she could have at least let us finish our meals, jeez."
I laugh. "She was just embarrassed by her parents."
"Aren't you when people come over?"
I shrug. "Not really. They are annoying sometimes, yeah, but I can't return them to the store. I didn't choose them to be my parents. So like... why pretend like they're not? Just say, yes, these are my parents, they are crazy, but I love them, and move on."
"Well... sometimes it's not that easy."
I smile, but I feel bad. Thatcher's dad isn't the crazy-but-I-love-him type. He's just the plain old crazy type. The kind of crazy that hurts kids, maybe not physically--maybe not all the time--but hurts.
"Yeah," I say, not knowing what else to say instead.
"How do you like the scene?" Thatcher asks, taking a break from his fries to chomp into his double quarter pounder with lettuce, cheese, and mayonnaise only. He ordered a full meal, but since there aren't any vegetarian meal options there, I just ordered fries and an Oreo McFlurry.
I shrug. "We were all right and Patti doesn't want to admit it. We are going to go in there tomorrow and Mrs. Permala is going to say we can't do it without major edits. And stupid Layla is going to be all smiles about it. I can't stand her. She sits next to me in math now, and all she does is brag. And she's got Gina on her side...." I shake my head. "And they're all going to laugh at us. They're going to be nasty and laugh."
"So what if they laugh?" he asks, but he can't even pull off the nonchalance he probably meant to convey.
I stuff my mouth with fries to give myself time to think. I decide to be honest. "Every time I talk to people about my insecurities, they just tell me to be strong. They say that all of the drama from high school won't matter when I'm older, that I just need to put it out of my mind and be myself. But the thing is, even though it won't matter in the future, it matters a whole lot now. If people laugh at me or think I'm stupid or try to make me feel bad for doing what I want, I feel worse. It makes me feel like I shouldn't be myself or open up to people, and I just keep on being unhappy by myself. Because when you're bullied or made to feel small, it's easier to be unhappy by yourself than to put yourself into situations where you're open for more attacks."
Thatcher doesn't say anything for a while, so I shrug and take a bite of my McFlurry.
"I don't know. Sorry."
He shakes his head. "Don't be sorry. I understand. I never had a Gina, but I've definitely had a bunch of bullies. I mean, c'mon, look at me. I've been this height since sixth grade and I was even thinner back then if you can imagine it. I had some really terrible names, to the point where there were days I didn't want to live. Luckily, we moved to this district before I did anything, and I got a fresh start. Being in theater helps, because people just expect you to be weird. Moth helps. Patti helps. You help. If we're all together, whatever insults we get won't be so bad."
"Not if Gina singles me out."
"Fuck her," he says, and the word is so harsh coming out of his mouth, that I literally gasp like an old lady who's never heard such vulgarity in her life. He laughs at my response. "You're part of a team, so if she comes at you, we will be there to fight back. No one misfit falls alone."
I smile, and actually feel the tightness in my chest begin to loosen. But it's 8:37 already, so we should get going.
"Thanks. I will keep that in mind."
"I'm serious," he says, his eyes darkening. "I won't let you get bullied by Gina. None of us will. Just have fun with the class."
"Thanks," I say, this time without any hint of sarcasm in my voice.
He rolls up his trash in the brown paper bag our food came in and starts to take us home. We aren't far, so it only takes us a few minutes to get to my house. I'm inside with fifteen minutes to spare before my curfew, but my night still feels full. Especially after my little detour with Thatcher.
I hope you're enjoying so far, thank you so much for reading! Predictions on how their rehearsal for Mrs. Permala will go?