Page 42 of You Spin Me

The house where the theater puts up actors is only a few minutes away, so my car’s heater is still blowing cold air by the time we arrive. Jack unlocks the front door and ushers me inside, where it’s not much warmer.

“Did you guys not leave the heat on?”

“We did, but it’s pretty useless. We’re not living in the lap of luxury here.”

I follow him down the hall and drop my overnight bag as he turns on the kitchen lights. “Okay, then. All I need is a bed and a teakettle. Maybe an extra blanket.”

“Tim’s got some nice whiskey. We usually have a drink at the end of the day. You should join us.”

The front door opens and closes, and the man in question yells, “Are you giving away my liquor, Jack?”

A shit-eating grin on his face, Jack yells back, “You know I am.”

Both Tim and Earl, the two New Yorkers in the cast, burst into the kitchen, full of post-rehearsal energy—part adrenaline, part whatever it is that makes actors crave the spotlight. As tired as I am, I can’t walk away from it, so before I know it, I’m seated at the kitchen table with a glass of brown liquid in front of me.

Raising it to three men I’ve grown quite fond of in the past few weeks, I say, “To getting through tech weekend.”

“Hear, hear,” the guys chorus as we clink all around. Tim plops down next to me and tugs on my braid. “Will you let this mane free for the opening night party? My boyfriend’s coming, and he will die when he sees this gorgeous hair. He’ll want to do highlights, but don’t let him. Your color is perfect.”

“Don’t worry,” I laugh. “I couldn’t afford it anyway.”

“Oh, he’d give you the Tim’s-friend discount. You’ll need them someday.” He nods sagely. “According to Gary, everyone needs highlights in their thirties and forties to get back to the colors of their teens and twenties.”

“What about when you go gray?”

Tim shudders. “We don’t think about that.”

“Why not? Men are distinguished with gray hair. Women are just old.”

He pats my hand. “Gay men are just old too, honey.”

Earl raises his glass. “Sing it, sister.”

Earl is well over six feet tall and must weigh at least 200 pounds, most of it muscle. His deep, resonant voice amplifies his stately presence, but his laugh and his silly personality melt it all into goo.

It’s cozy here in the kitchen with this new set of theater brothers, so I let myself relax into their storytelling, bickering and laughter. Until I look at the clock, which seems a little fuzzy, like my brain. “You guys, iss almos’ midnight! How did that happen?”

“Relax, sweetie,” Tim says. “You don’t have to drive home, and our call isn’t until ten.”

“I jus’ have to make a call.” When I stand, my joints seem to be made of Jell-?O. “Woo.”

Earl jumps up to guide me back down. “Maybe you’d better sit here to make that call. Unless you need privacy?”

Blinking, I wonder if I do. “Uh, nooo? Have to check in with my… my…” I shake my head but the word to describe what Cal is to me doesn’t fall out of my mouth. “I don’ know what he is, but he worries about me.” For some reason, this statement is incredibly funny. To me and to the guys. “Everybody laugh!”

Jack appears next to me, phone in hand, the cord stretching across the kitchen. “You sure you want to make this call? You’re kind of wasted.”

“Oh, yeah. He’ll be mad if I don’t.” Still giggling, I look around for my purse. “I haf to get my calling card.”

He pats my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. As long as we don’t abuse it, the theater covers our long-distance calls.”

“Thass so nice.” The numbers are swimming around on the receiver, so I close my eyes and let my fingers do the walking. I’m still giggling, walking my fingers across the table when someone picks up.

“It’s Jess! I’m here!”

“Hang on.”

Holding up the receiver so the guys can hear the song playing, I explain. “He’s working.”

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