Directors Don’t Die, They Just Fade Away

“We can see you back there! Cut cut cut!” yelled Max, rolling his eyes as his head dropped tiresomely into his hand. The actors on stage relaxed like soldiers after being told “at ease.”

Chris nervously poked his head from around the curtains, his shoulders shrunk with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry Mr. Docet. I’m trying to untangle these wires back here.”

“Never mind!” barked the director, “just leave that stuff for now.” He rubbed both temples with his fingers, trying vainly to find some relief.

The three actors stood on stage surrounded by cardboard walls that look like the stonework of the inside of a castle. Fixed to the walls were portraits of family members; Elizabeth of York, King Henry VII, Edmund Tudor, and various cousins of King Henry VIII. A large chandelier hung down from the ceiling above a wooden table, covered with props of fake food and a pig's head. Various animal rugs covered the floors.

Arthur, the older man on stage dressed majestically in a purple robe graced with a gold belt and crown, spun away from Miss Catherine of France, who was actually Mary, from the local library.
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“I never experienced all these interruptions when I played Rum Tum Tugger in Cats,” exclaimed Arthur, with a hint of pride lacing his words.

He bowed his head while swooping his arms in a large arc. “That was at the West End Theater,” he triumphantly announced boastfully.

Mary rolled her eyes, tired of hearing about the bygone days of Arthur Swell. She broke from the French accent of her character. “We know all about your days with Andrew Lloyd Webber, Arthur!”

Arthur turned on his heels and faced Mary.
Arthur whispered in a deep voice. “Did I ever tell you about the time I suggested a prop change to Andrew,” saying the name Andrew in his best posh English accent.

Max rose to his feet in frustration. He ran his fingers through his dark thick hair, then adjusted his loose-fitting corduroys that sat low on his hips.

“ARTHUR!”

Arthur turned and glared at Max, sticking out his tongue like a naughty little boy. He then turned back to Mary and chuckled, shoulders hunched. She returned the gesture, before straightening her face and composing herself.

“Let's refocus here guys. Mary, remember Miss Catherine is only marrying King Henry as part of a peace treaty. There is no love, there is no romance.” He said the word ‘romance’ with his best French accent, rolling the letter r.

Mary pulled and tucked at her uncomfortably fitting gown. She scrunched her face as she adjusted her long tight braids. “Yes, I know,” she said annoyingly.

Max snapped his fingers at lilly. She sat sitting on a log next to the fireplace, fake flames made of red tissue paper moved with the help of an small hidden electric fan. Her thumbs racing across the screen of her iPhone.

“Lilly Lilly pay attention!” Max roared.

Lilly’s head shot up, torn from Facebook. She sulked and gave Max a defiant look before dropping her phone into her apron.

“Lilly, when King Henry says the line, ‘to my dearest Catherine,’ you come in and serve them the wine. The king first and then….”

“Yeah, I know,” she interrupted, “serve the king first and then the French princess.” She flickered her eye lids and smirked at Mary sarcastically.

“Opening night is this Friday. The critics will be here; the local papers will write about this show. Even the Mayor will be here. Chris, stand still back there,” then pointing at Arthur he said, “take it away Arthur.”

Suddenly, everything went black.

“WHAT NOW?” roared Max.

The lights came back on in the theater. Furniture sat on the stage covered with dusty sheets. The torn curtains showed their age, discolored, and frayed with years of working them back and forth across a dusty wooden floor.

A blonde woman in her early fifties walked down the aisle toward her father sitting lonely in the quiet auditorium. She frowned as she looked at her dad, resting her hand gently on his shoulder.

“Dad why were you sitting in the dark.”

Max struggled to turn his head; his aged neck not as flexible as it once was. He looked up at his daughter with old eyes, face covered in wrinkles. “Oh, I’m just remembering the good old days dear.” He ran his frail fingers through his thinning gray hair.
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“Okay dad let’s get you home. My appointment with the contractor is finished.” She helped him to his feet, taking hold of his arm. They slowly made their way up the aisle to the theater exit.