“Not again, Miss G!”
“Yes, again, Miss Jamal! You should have had your ass here. Play Understudy in one of the twosomes and learn those lines as if they’re your own. You may end up getting more Understudy roles than regular roles. That’s how it works in this town. You need to know what it’s like to be as prepared as the Lead even though you may never get a chance to utter a single word on stage.”
Jamal exhaled. “Yes, ma’am,” he said with displeasure in his voice, as he headed for the back counters where everybody’s gear were stored. “I guess that’s what I get for being late.”
“Exactly,” Roz said with a smile. She loved it when students took responsibilities for their actions.
But then she realized her own error. She looked at the round, green clock on the dingy wall, saw that it was already half pass, and quickly made her way to the back counter herself. “Talk about late,” she said as she hurried. “I’m going to be late myself. Marge!”
Marge was one of her students. One of the older ones. She hurried to her. “Yeah, ma’am?”
“You’re in charge.” Roz placed her shoulder bag satchel over her small shoulder. “Let them finish their dramatizations and then walk them through the same Improv set from last week.”
“Straight sets?”
“Yes. They were awful last week. Straight sets until they get it right.” Then Roz addressed the entire class. “No nonsense just because I won’t be here,” she warned as she was leaving. “This is not a game. This is your career we’re talking about!”
And Roz hurried out of the rented space, down the three flights of stairs, and out into the busy, overcast New York evening as she hurried, practically ran the entire way, to the Subway station.
As soon as she got onto the train and sat down, she flipped the escaping strands from her ponytail out of her face, leaned her head back, and exhaled. She’d already text her friend Betsy and told her to wait at the gate, which was their term when they needed someone to stand guard at the entrance door to let her into the theater if she arrived too late.
Although teaching acting paid her bills far more often than her actual acting, it wasn’t always that way. Roz used to make a living as an actress, a decent living, although all of her major roles were off Broadway. But then, two years ago when she turned thirty, even those roles began to dry up. Nowadays everybody wanted younger actresses to play even the older parts, because one young actress, with the proper makeup, could play two or three roles of various ages and save productions tons of cash. That was why, once Roz turned thirty and still wasn’t established, it became an uphill climb. Now even auditions were few and far between.
But Roz was a professional. She didn’t allow the dire side of her circumstances to get her down. She closed her eyes from the bump and grind and noises around her and focused on the positive. She rehearsed in her head each and every dance move of her upcoming routine.
When the train stopped at the station, and she was off again, she ran the four blocks to the backstreet, off-Broadway theater where auditions were being held for an upcoming on-Broadway production. Although she had a few minor roles in Broadway plays in her decade-long career, she had yet to make so much as a dent on the Great White Way. But this play, like all the other plays she auditioned for, could give her that chance.
She looked at the time on her cell phone as she made her way toward the back entrance. Although she was only a couple minutes late, she knew if Betsy didn’t come through for her she would not be allowed in. But her pal Betsy Gable was waiting at the door, holding it open, and she made it in.
“This is different,” Betsy said as Roz hurried in. “I’m usually the one who’s late. You’re usually the one holding the door for me. I like the change.”
“First Call made yet?” Roz asked, and Betsy was about to tell her. But Greg, the stagehand and door guard, entered the back hall shaking his head.
“You’re late, Roz,” he said. “No admittance if you’re late. You know that.”
“But I’m in now,” Roz said.
“Barry says no admittance if you’re late. You know the rules.”
“But she’s in now,” Betsy said.
“Then she needs to get back out. Barry says---”
“Ah, for crying out loud, Greg,” Roz said, employing a tactic she would never teach her students. “It’s not as if I didn’t make it at all. I’m only a couple minutes late.”
“That’s still late.”
“Give it a rest, Greg,” Betsy said. “She’s in now. What difference does it make now?”
He didn’t like it, but he waved them on. And Betsy and Roz, two pros on the circuit, didn’t delay. They hurried along the narrow corridor that led to the dressing rooms, knowing they had just dodged a bullet.
“I can’t believe I let time get away from me like this,” Roz said as they hurried.