It should be a perfect day. Instead, I spend the entire time missing Zoe.
The scenic crew and I start loading the Macbeth set into Legrand early on Saturday morning, so I don’t see her again until we’re all called in for a surprise company meeting that night. The second Russell and I walk into Haydu, she calls my name from across the room, and a smile breaks across my face when I spot her waving and gesturing toward the seat she’s saved for me. She looks a little tanner from hiking, and it’s strange and terrible that she could change even a little bit in the two days we’ve been apart.
“I’m going to sit with Zoe,” I tell Russell. “You want to get dinner after the meeting?”
He looks surprised; we’ve spent so much time together the last couple of days that I guess he expected me to sit with him. But when he says, “Sure,” he doesn’t sound upset at all. “I’ll meet you out front when this is over.” He smiles at me and then heads straight for Olivier, who’s chatting with Barb near the stage.
I bump into a bunch of people as I hurry over to Zoe; I can’t get to her fast enough. When I sit down, she hugs me close, and even though the arm of the chair is digging into my side, even though I know I should be pissed at her, I never want her to let go.
“Hey,” she says close to my ear. “I missed you.”
I think, No you didn’t, but what comes out of my mouth is, “I missed you, too. Where’s Carlos?”
“He’s showering. Hopefully this meeting won’t take long. Do you know what it’s about?”
“No,” I say, and I try not to think about the reasons Carlos might need to shower at six in the evening. “Hopefully it’s nothing bad. Did you guys have fun camping?”
“Yeah, it was great! The Catskills are gorgeous, and the hike we did was supereasy after what we’re used to at home. Look at this!” She digs out her phone and shows me a picture taken from the top of a small mountain.
I scroll through her photos: trees, a lake, Carlos with a makeshift walking stick, Zoe eating a granola bar, about fifteen selfies with their faces pressed together, a few shots of them kissing. Then come the photos of Zoe setting up their tent and Carlos roasting marshmallows over a campfire. When I get to one of Carlos shirtless in a red sleeping bag, I hand the phone back. “Looks really nice,” I say.
“What’d you do while we were gone?”
Before I can answer, Bob Sussman jogs onto the stage. “Good evening, warriors for art!” he shouts. “Is everyone having a good summer?”
The whole company cheers, and Bob smiles so hard, I think his face might split down the middle. “Wonderful,” he says. “I am so pleased to hear that.”
“How’s your summer, Bob?” someone shouts from the front row, and everyone laughs. If someone asked Marcus Spooner a question like that, he’d probably give us a lecture about how happiness is detrimental to acting, then throw a few cream pies at us for good measure.
“My summer has been spectacular!” Bob answers. “Thank you for asking! It’s such a delight to see all of you. The work you’ve done over the past six weeks has been phenomenal. Some of our long-time donors have told me they think this might be the very best season Allerdale has ever had, and that’s all down to you. Thank you for making it so special.”
Everyone applauds, and I find myself smiling. I know I’ve had nothing to do with making this season special, but it’s impossible not to feel included when Bob is talking.
“I have a very exciting announcement for you tonight,” he continues. “This coming Monday, right here in Haydu Hall, Allerdale will hold its first twenty-four-hour play festival!”
Everyone breaks into enthusiastic murmurs and whispers, and Bob beams like a benevolent dad. “I’m so glad you’re excited as well! The goal of a twenty-four-hour play festival is, of course, to write, rehearse, and perform original short plays within the span of a single day. You will form groups of eight or fewer, and starting at 12:01 AM on Monday, you will gather to create your own fantastic original work. At eight PM that same day, you will perform those ingenious creations right here for an audience of donors and subscribers. The only rules are that you may not begin work on your play until the clock starts, and the work you perform must be memorized and completely original. Your whole group is not required to perform, as long as you all contribute to the creative process. Do something you’ve never done before! Experiment! Be bold!” Bob is bouncing on his toes now, so buoyed by his excitement that I think he may achieve liftoff.
My phone vibrates with a text from Russell:
Want to try one of our mash-up musicals? Midsummer night’s dreamgirls, maybe?