Third Time's a Charm

I have already mentioned how I gave a rousing approval of Charles Busch's new play, The Third Story, above. In the late hours of last evening (and the wee hours of this morning), we celebrated the opening of this new work with a big party bash, La Jolla style. It went off without a hook: the food was great, the scenery was awesome -- something I have to give my boss credit for; dry ice is always great decor -- and everyone left in high spirits high off of spirits. What was really cool was that it didn't end like our last opening night party ended.

Here's that tale now:

Memphis was the first really big musical I've worked on in my entire life. What I should have known from the start is that big productions require big extravaganzas to surround them. That's where we came in: company management plans the huge bash for the after party and the no one gets his or her rock 'n roll stolen until the next morning's hangover. Since it was our first party with catering from the newly opened restaurant, my colleagues and I got to enjoy ourselves at the party. Sure, we'd been setting up all day and it was going to be a hassle to clean it up once everyone left, but for the moment, raise a glass to your health.

Only a few people raised their glasses a little too high, a little too often. Our Boston Intern, one of the most dedicated, stoic, and honest-to-goodness guys to have on the team this summer, was chugging the Huckadoos (don't ask) one after the other. Girl Intern and Boston Intern engaged a little innocent flirting...they disappear for a while and Girl Intern comes back to help clean up. I walk into our offices to find Boston Intern boiling like a kettle filled with gasoline.

Me: Hey, man, are you okay?
Boston Intern (BI): Sit down.
Me: Okay.
BI: Do you...could you ever see me doing something bad to her?
Me: What?
BI: I spent this whole summer trying not to fall into a trap like her's and now...on my last night! My last fucking night she has to go and ruin everything!!!

I'm paraphrasing the dialogue, but this is pretty damn close to what was going down. It was his last night working for us and somehow he thought that Girl Intern had played him for a fool and the rest of us were in on the joke. No such thing, to my knowledge, was afoot. Anyways, Boston Intern starts punching a chair. Hard.

BI: Do you know what I did for her!?
Me: No...
BI: I seethed for her! I...lusted for her! I cut myself for her and I bleed for her! And when she asked me to go in there...that I would fuck her in a theater...that I could soil such a holy place in my heart. That I would fucking do that!!! (seriously)

At this point, I tried to calm the man down. He was not looking for the stove to be turned off. Instead of taking a breath, he grabbed me by the shoulders and I did the same, locking horns, so to speak. Boston Intern puffed like a bull about to charge and when he did, I almost couldn't believe it. I mean, he hit me! In the face! Who does that these days? It wasn't a slug, per se; more of an open fisted push that knocked me on my lower jaw. I countered with my green-belt-level-barely-remembered-karate skills to pin him back by taking hold of his lapel and with my other arm, leveraging my elbow against his chest to throw him outside. Now he's a bottle rocket let loose in an antique store. The tables are kicked over. The glasses are smashed to tiny diamond shards. And all the while screaming: "she's ruined it! She's ruined the last four fucking months! No pay and all my hard work down the fucking drain!" Finally he listened to me when I screamed back at him: "She didn't ruin a thing...but you are, right now! Right now, you are about to throw a whole summer's worth of work down the drain. You are about to throw a recommendation letter down the drain. You are about to lose a contact in a world you want so very much to be a part of." I ordered him down to the service yard to chill out.

He complied, but on the order that I find my boss and send her down to speak with him. At this point, everyone left at the theater heard the incident. One girl almost wanted to call the police, but Boston Intern was finally cooperating. I found my boss, who, at that point, was ready to be taken home by her husband. I walked her down to the service yard with her husband where Boston Intern was hitting himself on the head, crying and scrambling on the oily pavement, hollering at the moon. They had a brief, repetative chat -- y'know, the soulful ones you have when you are drunk for the first time in a college freshman dorm with a person you didn't really want to sleep with, but who will do for the time being -- that ended with me taking his keys and tossing him in our van. I had been designated driver earlier in the evening so it was no big deal to take him home. Between the cries...the laughs...and the screaming...he asked such questions as "have you ever tried black tar heroine?" and "do you think I can do better than a fat cunt?" We finally made it to his street. Boston Intern slummed out of the seat and, in a grand finale, tore up the going away card we had all signed for him, then proceeded to hit his head against the side of the van. Four...times. As the dawn was coming up as he rolled up his driveway to stay, tears streaming down his face as he waved me away from the scene of his overblown crime.

I made it back to the theater where my great co-workers had a drink waiting for me and a camp fire like circle ready to hear the story. It was a crazy night, especially since my old RA instincts kicked in, even though I never dealt with anything this insane my entire time at NYU. Meghan and I went to her house to walk her dogs while sipping cocktails from cheap mugs. We did this last night too, not so much to take the edge off the night, but just to shoot the shit. I will really miss those walks. Meghan has been one of my first friends down her in SoCal and she's leaving for personal reasons that I understand fully (but won't make me miss her any less). Currently, she was staying very close to our work, which was good, because while I was able to calm the storm, it didn't change the fact that an actress needed to get to the airport at 6 a.m. that same morning. Guess who'd volunteered the night before to take her? Yep.

Looking back, I think they were both great parties for entirely different reasons. It might not be what I want to do in life or even close to my goals in theater, but I can honestly say this: I'm not bored in the slightest with my job and that's something not many people can say, so I gotta take the good with the bad. And this isn't even the end of the saga. Oh, no. We're doing a whole other opening night party in two weeks. Stay tuned for the ensuing adventure.