Give My Regards to Nowhere: A Director's Tale by Richard Engling

Author:Richard Engling
Format: epub

24

Sunday, January 11, 2004

“Y ou’re not going to like this,” Tom said in a sing-song voice. “You’d better get over to the Playhouse right now.” That was the entire message on Dwayne’s voicemail. He tried calling Tom back, but it went immediately to his voicemail.

What the fuck?

Six inches of snow had fallen and the temperature was to drop to three below zero that night. Chaz had volunteered to give Dwayne a ride to rehearsal, and Dwayne called him to come early. They climbed out of Chaz’s all-wheel-drive Subaru and shuffled through the snow toward the Chicago Repertory Arts Playhouse, steam curling from Dwayne’s nostrils in the cold. He stopped for a moment, remembering his walks home from school on the cold afternoons of his childhood. His coats were never warm enough, and he would shiver helplessly. His mother worked as a cashier at Sears and insisted on buying coats on sale with her employee discount, and they weren’t the coats that really kept you warm. Dwayne never believed they were poor, but they definitely lived at the modest end of Evanston in a small ranch house.

At least he could buy his own coats now and make sure they were adequate—even though he had a long way to go to match the earning power of either his father or mother. Other than the mortgage, they never were in debt like him.

He took in a deep breath and blew it out powerfully through his nostrils, watching the fog curl out like the horns of a wild boar. He followed Chaz into the lobby of the theatre. They smacked their hands together and brushed the snow from their shoulders.

“Oh, Dwight,” Raymond Green called, coming out of the ramshackle box office. “A word, please.” Green grinned at him uncomfortably and rubbed the top of his head with the palm of his hand, releasing a little snowfall of dandruff onto his shoulders and shirt front.

“Dwayne,” Dwayne said.

“What’s that?”

“Dwayne,” he said again. “You called me Dwight. My name is Dwayne. Dwayne Finnegan.”

“Right, right, right,” Green said. “Absolutely. Dwayne. Sorry,” he said, rubbing his head again, and then scratching it, releasing more dandruff. “It’s about the additional rehearsal hours. I’m not sure how much your team has added, but I’ve got to charge you for that. Can you have your stage manager provide me a revised rehearsal schedule?”

“If you are adding expenses,” Chaz said to Dwayne, “you have to let me know.” Chaz was suddenly very money conscious. They had not found the $8,000 sword. They were offering a $750 reward. Chaz figured that was more than someone would be able to get from a pawn shop or fence, but so far they’d heard nothing. It had been missing four days. He’d turned suddenly cold toward Coco, and she looked resentful whenever he appeared.

“We haven’t added any rehearsal hours,” Dwayne said to Green.

“Your people have been up there for two hours already today,” Green said. “And how am I to know how much other time you’ve added when I’ve not been here?”

“My people have been here for two hours?” Dwayne said.

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