Off Book

12. Ian

12

IAN

“The will of man is by his reason swayed . . .” Act II, Scene II

I really wouldn’t have minded getting punched in the face last night, except for the fact that I have to be seen in public today, and I have lunch with the artistic director of Red Barn Playhouse, who happens to be like a second dad to me.

I’ve considered all the possible options about what to tell Robert when he asks about my face. Lie and say I fell and hit it against something in the shop. It’s likely enough that people might go for it, but I’m not a great liar. The truth is also an option, but I don’t think I can bring myself to admit that I got in a fight.

So option three is makeup. I can’t do much of anything about the swelling, and I look a little bit like an orc from the Lord of the Rings movies, but when I woke up, my face was about four shades of red and purple, and that’s something I can potentially do something about. Or at least, I know someone who can do something about it. Which is why I’m sitting at a dressing room station in the theater with Jade inches from my face again, gently dabbing makeup over the most tender bruise I’ve ever had in my life.

“Stop wincing,” she says.

“I’m trying. It fucking hurts.”

“Maybe think about that next time before you get headbutted.”

“Yeah, I’ll just do that. Thank you so much,” I say and try to roll my eyes, but they’re closed, so it doesn’t have the desired effect.

Truthfully, I’m not sure what came over me last night. It’s tempting to blame the alcohol. I acted out of character. Never in a million years did I think I’d be the kind of guy who punched another person. But even if I was fully sober last night, I meant what I said to Jade. I would punch a thousand Nicks. I’d punch him again today.

Maybe it was the high of that rehearsal right before the party. All my hard work to get off book and into character paid off, and I truly felt like I’d made myself, Anastasia, and Jade proud. I felt like I finally understood something that had felt entirely foreign to me just five weeks before, and something about that made me feel like a million bucks.

Not to mention the kiss . . .

Bruised and battered, I still feel a few inches taller today. Not only am I proud of last night’s rehearsal, but I’m also proud of myself for sticking up for someone I care about.

“Are you almost done?” I ask. As gentle as Jade is being, every touch feels like a hammer to the face.

“I’ve barely started. Remind me what you need this covered for. And why you don’t want to wear this like a badge of honor?”

“I’ve got a meeting today with the guy from my hometown community theater, Red Barn Playhouse. Robert. I basically grew up with the guy. He’s also friends with John.”

“Chappell?”

I nod.

“Just a casual catching-up kind of lunch?” Jade asks.

“I emailed him recently about a job opportunity. They probably want someone sooner than I can be there, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

“What’s the job?” Jade asks, dabbing as gently as she can at my tender face.

“Tech director for the theater.”

“That sounds . . . sort of up your alley?”

“The dream is to be a light designer, so it’s partially up my alley. But at a small community theater like that, less is more. Less people doing more things is better for the budget. I’d have to do set design and oversee build, and just all the tech stuff.”

“I don’t think I knew you wanted to be a light designer specifically,” Jade says. Her voice is quieter, more introspective. “I don’t think I ever really asked. I just assumed you wanted to do all the tech things.”

“I can do all the tech things, but that’s not really what I want to do.”

“Then why go for the job?”

I huff a half-laugh. “I don’t know. I guess that’s a good question. It’s a steady job, which I don’t have to tell you is hard to come by in the theater world. Comes with benefits. I could live with my parents while I work there and save up a lot. Wouldn’t have to pay rent.”

“Sounds . . . safe,” Jade says and steps away from my face, presumably to get more supplies.

Before she can step back in, I hold up my hand. “Can I just have a second? It’s so tender.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

“Yesterday I was a hero, and today I’m a baby? What does it take to hold onto your reputation around here?”

“I wouldn’t know—I don’t have one,” Jade says and pulls up a chair to sit across from me.

She stares intently at my face, and it takes me a second to realize she isn’t staring at me —she’s staring at her work. I try to look anywhere but at her, but it’s hard. I want to look at her. I want to drink in her auburn hair and the light smatter of freckles across her nose. I want her to meet my gaze.

As if she can read my mind, her focus shifts, and then she’s looking at me. Her eyes collide with mine, and for a second I feel off-kilter. With the full weight of her attention, I get lost for a second in her eyes—green like the spring or sea glass. I should say something, continue our conversation, but my voice is stuck somewhere in my collarbones.

“Ready?” she asks kindly, and I nod.

Jade takes my chin between her fingers, the graze of her skin against mine electric. She tilts my chin up and stands close, gently dabbing a makeup sponge under my eyes. Last time we did this, I held back. I didn’t let myself enjoy her proximity. But I’m still high on the past twenty-four hours, so I don’t fight the instinct to touch her. I graze the backs of her thighs, the denim of her jeans rough against my hands. My fingers splay out against her legs, taking up space, claiming unexplored territory. Meanwhile, Jade is no longer holding my chin but cupping my cheek. It may be because she’s trying to keep my face still for the makeup, but the way her thumb strokes my jawline tells me it might be more than that.

Footsteps echo in the hall, but it isn’t until a familiar voice fills the room that Jade and I snap apart as if we’ve both touched a hot stove. My hands drop like weights from her legs, and Jade turns toward her makeup kit sitting on the counter.

“Hey! What’s up, nerd?” Seth strolls into the room, hopefully not having noticed what he just interrupted.

“Just getting my makeup done,” I say.

“Cute,” Seth says.

“I don’t think we’ve met.” Jade holds out her hand to Seth. They exchange names and pleasantries.

“Glad to finally meet you. Put a face to the name,” Seth says.

“Oh yeah?” Jade says, leaning against the counter. She folds her arms across her chest, pushing her cleavage up in her low-cut crop top. I try not to stare, but I’m not very successful. “We were just talking about reputations.”

“Speaking of which . . . your reputation is blowing up after your little incident at the party.” Seth pokes me in the shoulder.

“I have a reputation?” I ask, whipping my head toward Seth.

“You do now,” he says. “I wasn’t even at the party and I feel like I know every detail about it, even though you haven’t told me a thing.”

I drag my palms down my legs and try to ignore the sour taste at the back of my throat. I don’t want a reputation for anything other than my lighting design skills. What if I become known as a guy who fights at parties?

“What about outside the theater?” I ask. “You’re hearing things?”

“A little, yeah,” Seth says with a smile that seems better suited for telling me good news, not this news. “It’s not every day someone gets punched at The Row. So you want to tell me what happened—why you attacked Nick?” he asks.

“He didn’t attack Nick,” Jade says. “He punched him, which is no less than Nick deserves. He’s been harassing me for years, and Ian stood up for me.”

Jade pats my shoulder and flashes a big smile at Seth. Even I can see it’s an “eat shit” grin, but he doesn’t seem able to tell.

I don’t know if I could pinpoint the exact moment I started being able to read Jade, but it feels good. I sit a little taller in my seat.

“You won’t get any argument from me. I always thought he was a miserable shit and deserved to have his face punched, so good for you, man.” Seth pulls up a chair to sit with us.

I don’t know how I feel about him being here. On the one hand, I want him to meet Jade and see that she’s more than just her reputation, but on the other, I’d sort of rather be alone with her.

“So makeup, huh? You want to look good for your lunch with your future boss?”

“I want to look like I didn’t get punched,” I say.

Jade takes me by the chin, twisting my head to the side so Seth can see.

“It doesn’t look that bad,” he says, and Jade nods approvingly.

“That’s because I’ve been putting makeup on it. Needs more, though. Ready?” she asks me, and I nod.

Jade gets back to work, and I close my eyes even though I probably don’t really need to, but otherwise they’re going to land on Jade’s low-cut top and I don’t need a boner and a black eye.

“All right, well, this has been fun.” I hear Seth slap his legs and stand even though he just sat down. “Gotta get going—Alexis just texted me.”

“Ooh, who is Alexis?” Jade asks.

“Just a friend,” Seth says at the same time I say, “The love of his life.”

“Shut up,” Seth says and shoves my shoulder, jostling me.

“Excuse me, I’m working here,” Jade says.

I open my eyes in time to watch her shoo him off.

“But tell me more about your friend who you love.”

“I do like her, but she doesn’t know that, and we’re just friends. She doesn’t see me like that, and it’s fine. I like being her friend.”

“Mm-hmm . . .” I make a noise that makes it clear that I don’t believe him, and that he doesn’t believe his own words and he knows it. Because I’ve seen the way he looks at her. And I’ve seen the way she doesn’t even notice. She’s completely oblivious to his feelings. I have a feeling it’s not “fine” he’s in the friend zone. But he won’t admit it, so I try not to be too pushy about it.

“Well, have fun with your friend ,” Jade says, and I fight a smile.

Seth leaves, and Jade continues to work on my face, dabbing and dragging a brush across it. Now that we’re alone again, I’m itching to touch her, but the moment we had earlier is gone, and now I’m wondering if I’m the only one reading into these moments we keep sharing. Unless Jade likes me too . . .

My deduction skills are lacking when it comes to desire, but she seemed to like that kiss yesterday. And she stared at me a lot during the theater party . . . Does it mean something? Jade doesn’t seem to have a problem separating feelings from the physical, so maybe she just wants to hook up.

That thought bums me out a little considering my growing feelings for her, but I tuck it away for another day, because I don’t want this plaguing me during my lunch with Robert.

Sometimes I wish I could take my brain out of my skull and just have a break from myself.

“All right, I think it’s good,” Jade says. She steps back, observing her work.

I turn to look at myself in the mirror, and besides a little swelling and the general sense that something is off with my face, I can barely tell I had a bruise there at all. Jade has masterfully hidden it. I reach up to touch it, but she smacks my hand away.

“Damn, Jade, you are . . .”

“I know,” she says and starts to pack up her stuff.

I lean forward, studying my face. Even with the bright dressing-room lights, there’s no visible bruise. It’s really impressive. My admiration for her talent compounds. It’s obvious she takes the same kind of pride in her work that I do, and despite the many differences we have, this is something that connects us.

“Seriously, Jade. You’re really talented.”

I straighten and face her, but she’s still packing her things, so I tap her shoulder, and it has the desired effect. She turns her head to look at me. I take her chin and turn her head even more, so she has no choice but to fully face me. I imagine brushing my lips against hers, and the thought of it sounds so good, like ice-cold water on an August afternoon, that I give myself over to it.

It is the barest touch of our lips, and it holds the promise for more another time. I’d hoped this would satisfy me, but it’s only made me want more. And I can’t stay.

“I mean it,” I say, our lips inches apart, my voice thick with all the feelings for her I’m not saying out loud. “You’re incredible.”

“Thank you,” she says, and her voice is soft. Her green eyes are dark with the kind of vulnerability I don’t normally get to see from Jade. It creates the tiniest of cracks in my heart, which was already too soft to begin with.

Seeing these parts of Jade she works so hard to hide from the world . . . this is what does it for me. This is what makes me want Jade, even though I know we’re not right for each other. She doesn’t want to be married. She doesn’t want love.

And I still want her.

“Don’t you have to go?” Jade asks, breaking the spell.

I nod, trying to swallow around the lump in my throat. “I’ll see you later,” I say, and leave Jade in the dressing room.

Robert is waiting for me in the lobby when I get to the playhouse. I wait for comments about the makeup or the bruise, but he makes no indication that anything is amiss. Plastered on his face is a big, friendly smile. It’s the smile of a man seeing a long-lost son.

Robert doesn’t have kids of his own, and he kind of became a second dad to me given how much time I spent in the theater as a teenager. He’s that way for all the theater kids at Red Barn Playhouse. He’s kind of a jolly, Santa-like man. He’s got a gray beard that hugs his face, and his cheeks are perpetually red, and I swear I’ve heard him “ho-ho-ho” a few times while he was laughing.

“Ian!” Robert holds up his arms like he’s preparing for a hug, which he is.

I give him a hug and relish the casual affection of being with someone who’s known you for a long time.

One of the most startling things about being in college was arriving and realizing no one here knew me. I could tell everyone here my name was Steve and they wouldn’t know any different. These people will never know the high school, middle school, or elementary school-aged versions of myself. And if anyone here stays my friend for life—Seth, maybe? Jade?—they will only ever know me from this point in my life forward. Something about that has always felt so lonely to me. How will people know the whole me if they’re only meeting college me? I shake the thoughts from my head. Robert has known me since middle school, and the comfort of seeing an old friend outweighs the mini existential crisis I have when I think too hard about this stuff.

“Good to see you, Robert. Did you say hi to John yet?”

John and Robert were theater majors together in college. There really is nothing like the friendships forged in the catwalks of the light grid or the heat of the scene shop.

“Oh yeah, we got breakfast at Grandma’s this morning.”

Grandma’s is a diner just fifteen minutes from campus. It’s almost always packed full of college students, unless you go before eight in the morning, which I’m guessing is what they did. It’s the perfect place for breakfast—greasy comfort food, waiters who don’t look you in the eye, and coffee so pungent it might actually be jet fuel. There’s gotta be a tradition in there for Robert and John, because Grandma’s is best consumed hungover, not sober at 8 a.m. on a Friday morning.

“Should we take a stroll before lunch?” Robert asks.

I nod and follow him outside.

Robert likes to walk and talk—he’s not a “sit still” kind of guy. The halls within Red Barn Playhouse are worn thin from his pacing.

It’s a perfect fall day in Pennsylvania, just enough of a chill to wear a light jacket but not too cold that our walk is unbearable. It’s days like today that make me regret choosing a major that keeps me inside all the time.

“John tells me you’re one of his best students,” Robert says, arms clasped behind his back as we begin our walk.

“John says that about everyone.”

“I’ve known John a long time, and he will sing anyone’s praises, that’s true. But he reserves superlatives for those who deserve it.”

My cheeks burn at the compliment. They must have talked about me over breakfast, and the thought of it makes me feel a little warm. My armpits start to sweat more than the weather warrants.

“So you’re interested in the tech director role?” Robert leads the conversation.

“Yeah, I think so. You know I have a special interest in lights, but I’m definitely willing to consider it.”

“I know you’re probably not thrilled about the idea of spreading yourself across all the tech areas, but I really think you’d be a great fit for the role.”

Robert has always seen in me what I don’t see in myself. At the ripe age of eleven, I showed up at the Red Barn Playhouse for Hair auditions and said, “I’m not a very good singer, but can I still be in the play?” I didn’t want to actually be in the play, but I didn’t know how else to be involved. I’d just seen my first musical, Wicked , and I was so mesmerized by the production that I knew I wanted to be part of it somehow. If I’d known there were teams of people who helped put the play on behind the scenes, I would have asked to be part of that.

Robert told me if I couldn’t sing, this wasn’t the play for me, but there was a space on the crew. He explained how crew members helped with lights and sound and props, and it sounded so perfect for me that even in my eleven-year-old heart, I knew that was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.

He stuck me on the set crew, and my dad and I showed up to help build the set and paint it. After that, I was involved with every play Red Barn put on, and within two years, Robert had asked if I wanted to try to help with the lights. That was when I really fell in love. But I don’t know if I would have tried if Robert hadn’t been there guiding the way.

I expected his confidence in me to fill me with pride and warmth; to make me feel taller and bigger somehow; to give me the confidence to know, yes or no, if I definitely wanted this job. And his words do strike at the eleven-year-old in me who dreamed of these words, and maybe dreamed of this exact life for himself. But his confidence in me doesn’t shake anything loose or give me a grand realization. I feel exactly like I did before: unsure about the right path for me and how to trust myself to make the decision.

Why is it that I have the confidence to punch someone but not the same level of self-assuredness to decide what I want to do when I graduate? I thought I wanted someone to tell me what to do, but I don’t. I want someone to tell me how to trust myself. How to stop overthinking.

We continue on the sidewalk that takes us around campus. We’ve only made it a quarter of the way around the loop. We take up the whole sidewalk, walking side by side, and people have to walk on the grass to pass by us. I feel bad, but Robert doesn’t seem to notice.

“How long would I have to think about it?” I ask. “I don’t graduate for another six, almost seven, months. I kind of thought I’d have more time to think about it, but I know you’re hiring now.”

“We’ve got a temp in. She’s great, but she doesn’t want to stay long-term. She’d be fine staying on until the summer. So you have some time. Maybe by the end of the semester? Not too many applicants are looking to come to suburban Pennsylvania to be the technical director of a small playhouse,” he says with a laugh, and I try to laugh too, but I relate too much to his words, and that gives me heartburn. “You haven’t asked, but I’m sure you’re curious about the pay and benefits, and I want to assure you that you would not have to take on another job while working for Red Barn Playhouse. We’re looking to pay the position 45,000 dollars to start, plus benefits. Healthcare, 401k. We’re offering a lot of stability,” he says, because this man does know me, and he might have just said the thing I needed to hear to say yes.

“ Sounds . . . safe. ”

Jade’s words clang around in my head—the way she said it, like, “Of course you want that—Ian always plays it safe,” or like, “Well, that explains why you like it.” And really, what’s wrong with liking things because they’re stable and safe?

We can’t all be like Jade, staring down the barrel of our fears and doing things anyway. History wasn’t just forged by the courageous; it was also shaped by those who took safer, well-trodden paths.

Probably.

It doesn’t matter. I’m not here to make history. I need to make money and live my life in a way in which I can thrive. And being in survival mode doesn’t sound like thriving.

“That all sounds really good,” I say, and I think it’s the most honest thing I can say. Because it does sound good, but just because something is good doesn’t mean it’s right.

Being with Jade is good. It feels good. It feels comfortable. But we are mismatched in a million ways, so it’s not right.

“I’ll definitely think about it and let you know at the end of the semester, okay?”

Robert stops walking and turns to face me. I pivot so we’re not blocking the entire sidewalk but give him my full attention. Replacing his jolly smile is his most serious face—the one he uses after a particularly great show to let the cast and crew know we’ve made him proud. Truly proud.

“If you say you want it, the position is yours. My word carries a lot of weight on the board of directors, and I’m sure they’d want to bring you in to chat, see a portfolio. Though I’m confident the board would give you a ‘yes’ all around.”

My throat goes dry, and my words get stuck in the desert of my throat. I manage a nod and hope that I haven’t started sweating off the makeup around my bruise.

“Now, how about some lunch?” Robert asks with a cordial pat on the arm. He gestures for us to keep walking—this time in the direction of the cafeteria.

We change the subject, but the threat of the unknown and the pressure to be the decider cling to me like a bad odor.

It reminds me too much of my character, Ben, in The Mercy Seat . Our choices are vastly different, but this is what I imagine he feels like in some sense: stuck between two decisions, with nearly equal pros and cons on each list. Overwhelmed by the need to make a decision. Maybe knowing in his gut what he really wants to do, but not being brave enough to say it.

My sister closest in age to me has said more times than I can count that when she feels indecisive, she’s actually just being a coward. Deep down, she knows what she wants to do; she just isn’t brave enough to say it out loud. I think that’s true of my one-act character, but is it true of me too? Maybe it isn’t my decision-making skills that need sharpening, but my courage, my confidence.

This is why I stick to tech roles. I prefer the dark backstage or the cold lighting grid, lonely as they can be. These are the places I am most confident: behind the scenes. Being the main character of the story kind of sucks.