Beneath The Skin(118)

Hot guy sets down a light, which issues a loud bang that ripples across the stage. He returns to the rack for yet another, sauntering as he goes. Boy, does that sexy man know how to walk. He has gloves on those big hands of his, those long leather things that come halfway up his arm, the kind I imagine welders wear.

I can’t seriously be the only one staring at him. That man is fine.

“The five departments are: costume crew, set crew, props crew, lighting crew, and box office,” the bearded wizard tells us.

As he goes on to describe the typical duties of each technical crew, I’m stuck in a daze watching the hottie carry Fresnel after Fresnel across the stage, his arms bulging with each trip, sometimes taking two at a time. His face is slick with sweat. Patches of wetness adorn his tight shirt, causing it to plaster to his muscles more and more by the second.

He stops after his five-hundredth trip and runs an arm slowly across the whole length of his forehead, taking just a moment to survey the house. His brow wrinkles as he looks out at us. He has to be an upperclassmen. His presence is so commanding that I can’t pay attention to anything else, not with him in the room.

Some papers are shoved at me. I stare down in confusion at what looks like a stack of forms. “Take one and pass them,” Victoria tells me. I do so, passing the stack to a girl two seats away from me. “Now you get to pick the crew you want. Preference one, and preference two, see?”

“I see.” I’m very thankful for Victoria’s guidance, considering how little attention I was paying to the wizard-person. I stare at the five options for crew and consider them.

Victoria leans into me, her bony shoulder poking into my arm. “Costume crew is a living hell,” she whispers to me. “Box office is a total blow-off. I’d go for that one, so long as you’re not claustrophobic and can do basic math. Ever work with money?”

My eyes wander to the stage. He’s examining one of the lights that still hangs from the rack. The gloves are off and tucked under his arm while his fingers expertly inspect the equipment. I imagine those fingers expertly inspecting me, the way they’d feel as they trace up and down my arms, run over the length of my body, and awaken a wave of excited goose bumps across my skin. I feel my toes curling in my shoes just thinking about it.

“Made up your mind?” whispers Victoria.

His biceps flex as he works, his fingers making art out of that lighting instrument. I swallow hard, unable to pull my eyes away, unable to slow my thumping heart, unable to ignore my ache any longer.

Yes, I have, I think to myself, bringing the pen to paper and circling my first choice: lighting crew.





DESSIE



“There’s a whole row of restaurants on Kelly street, but they’re a bit on the pricy side …”

“Done! Lunch is on me!” I decide with a smile.

That’s how Victoria, Eric, Chloe, and I end up at an Italian restaurant on the not criminally-inclined edge of campus for an early evening meal after my first Tuesday morning movement class and afternoon voice class are over. Chloe’s the one I met at the mixer with choppy black hair whose eyes bleed eyeliner, and Eric is the one who just a moment ago politely asked me to stop calling him Other Eric. I apologized for calling his homebrew “cat pee”.

“Auditions are this Friday,” Victoria reminds me between bites of a very aromatic plate of basil pesto chicken fettuccini. “I hope you have two contrasting monologues prepared. Oh, I didn’t even ask! Which role are you gunning for?”

To be honest, I hadn’t given it much thought. My mind’s been circling thoughts of a certain someone so much that I forgot about auditions for Our Town. “I was considering the wife, maybe?”

“Myrtle? That’s Emily’s mother,” explains Victoria. “Maybe try for Mrs. Gibbs, George’s wife, if you want to play a wife. Oh, you’d be cute as her! Go for whichever you want, just as long as it’s not Emily.”

“The lead? But she has the look,” protests Eric.

“That’s my role,” Victoria insists. “I’ve waited two years for it, and I shall claim it. Besides, Nina basically already told me I got the part.”

“Nina the acting prof,” Eric clarifies for me.

“I know. I have her for acting class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. And it’s okay,” I insist with a nervous titter. “I don’t want any leads. I should really, uh … reread the play.” For all my “Theatre background”, I sure feel so uneducated right now.

“Not to mention Dessie’s experience,” Eric goes on, despite Victoria’s annoyed snort. “You’d make a great Emily. You have world experience. You’ve been to Italy and shit.”