Page 1 of To the Moon and Back

Chapter One

“No one died today,” Lauren Prescott said out loud to herself. It wasa glorious statement, and she proclaimed it proudly. She hadn’t killed anyone,and no one had keeled over on their own. She punched the air a few times in aRocky-like victory dance. That accomplishment was a pretty big deal for aSaturday night sold-out show with a cast who had a penchant for drama, hijinks,and tantrums. As she began her final stage managerial duties for the night, shelonged to include that sentence on the performance report she would momentarilyemail to her entire production team, as well as the designers, director, andfront office staff for The McAllister Theater. She decided, instead, to addthat knowledge to the celebratory wine column. In other words, all the reasonsshe’d earned a great big gulping of a glass once she returned home to peace,quiet, and serenity. God, she longed for that wine. She might even chair dancelike a boss once it was in her hand. After all, celebratory wine time was hermost favorite of all the times, which was why she reserved it as her dailyafter-show reward. Lauren dreamed about it now, lustily. She could be in theliving room she very much missed in under an hour if she played her cards rightand was expeditious with her daily paperwork.

Thank God the tumultuous night was finally winding down, and onlytwo people had cried. Well, two and a half, if you count misting up and fanningyour face like it was on fire. Most of the actors were already out of costumeand makeup and out the door following the performance, likely signing Playbillsfor the patrons who’d lingered for photos and a chat with their favorites.Lauren’s two assistant stage managers were busy tending to their nightlyhousekeeping responsibilities. Janie, who decked the show at the stage level,was busy organizing the props and giving Milky White, the cow puppet they usedin the musical, Sondheim’sIntothe Woods, a good brushing to get the makeup stains off hershoulder. At the same time, Trip Hooper, her right-hand man and the closestfriend she had, swept the stage in that very methodical way Trip was known for.When he spotted Lauren watching him, he offered a playful salute along with ajovial dance.

“You’re totally Bert right now,” she told him and began to hum afew bars of “Chim Chim Cher-ee.”

He spun in a circle with his broom.

“You need soot though, or you’re just the poor man’s version, andwho wants that?”

He kicked his heels together in full chimney sweep mode andgrinned. “I’ll work on that for ya, Mary,” he said in his best Cockney.

“Brilliant.” Lauren adored her staff. She was lucky, because thiswas not the kind of job you waded through alone. That’s actually how she andTrip had become so close. In stage management, you needed soldiers to help youcrawl through the battlefield of high maintenance performers and irate designers.Later, you had a cocktail together and toasted days like today whennobodydied and saidall the things you could never say in the actual rehearsal room, even thoughyou desperately wanted to. She and Trip had been through many such battles andwere closer than ever because of it. They always had each other’s backs andalways would.

“Night, Lauren,” Jesi, their wig mistress, said as she headedhome. “Almost to the end of this one, and I don’t know about you, but I’mready. This group is a handful.”

“They’re definitely on their own journey. I pray for them,” shesaid with a wink. “One more to go, and we’re out. Oh, hey,” Lauren said,pausing Jesi’s exit. “Did Cinderella’s act two wig sit far back tonight, or wasthat just me?”

“It did.” Jesi shook her head ruefully. “All because Alicia keepstugging on it when she’s gabbing with the princes in the wings. It’s how sheflirts. I’ve talked to her, but I can’t hold her hand all night. She’s aman-crazy lady.”

Lauren nodded, knowing how much Alicia hated being wigged. She wasa kind person, but the brand of actress who didn’t understand why everythingwasn’t simpler for her specifically. When she’d asked Lauren to run lines withher, part of her gig as stage manager, Alicia actually asked if she could rewritea few of them. Sondheim and Lapine would besopleased. Alicia had also argued to use her own hair for the show but lost thatfight to the design team when it was pointed out quietly in a productionmeeting that she didn’t have a ton of hair to work with, as it had thinned outconsiderably once she’d entered her thirties. The costume designer had made theright call, in Lauren’s opinion, and Alicia was much more glamorous in the wig.Now, if they could keep the princes, who happened to be gay anyway, away fromher for one more day.

They were so close, Lauren could taste it.Into the Woodswas inits final weekend of performances at The McAllister Theater in Minneapolis,where Lauren was one of two resident production stage managers. Her job wasvaried and intense, but she wouldn’t trade it for any other. It fell to her tooversee the assistant stage managers and keep everything about the productionmoving forward in a timely, healthy, and organized manner, and that came with along list of responsibilities. Lauren called each cue of the show personally onthe headset from the stage manager’s booth. She worked with actors on anyproblems, both personal or performance based, arranged for their understudiesto step in when they were sick, and made sure the production team was informedabout nearly every detail of each performance. She filled out electronicpaperwork on every performance. She coordinated with the house manager. Shemade sure the director’s vision remained intact once the show opened. Shebooked doctor’s appointments, arranged for rides, and acted as therapist andcounselor. In short, there was nothing Lauren Prescott didn’t do in the scopeof her job to make each and every performance better, and she did it calmlywith a smile.

And while she loved her gig as stage manager, she loved TheMcAllister even more. With a season of six productions annually, every one hadto be top-notch. Lauren generally stage managed three or four of them, makingthe pace of her life incredibly busy. Sure, she’d love to date, socialize, ormaybe make it to the gym on occasion. Hell, she’d settle for time to drink hercoffee before it got cold. Yet she didn’t have time.

“Andsend,”she said, striking the key on her silver Mac with the rose-gold casing thatwould blast the performance report to everyone who worked behind the scenes inany position of status. They’d run three minutes longer than the night before,which meant that The Baker was milking his dramatic moments again. She’d passon the note, knowing the director’s wish for him to keep the pace of thoseemotional moments in act 2 aloft.

Most of the forty-eight performances ofInto the Woodshad been sold out, and thereviews had been relatively positive. Yet the production had devolved into abackstage circus because of the dramatic nature of a few choice actors. Nothingnew, but not Lauren’s favorite type of ensemble. Her goal was to get them tothe end of the run the following evening without The Baker’s Wife killing TheBaker, without Little Red Riding Hood wandering away to Instagram her faceeighty times a show to the world while missing her act 1 entrance, and withoutThe Narrator, a functioning alcoholic, performing so soused that audiencemembers noticed. She could do it! She saw the homestretch in front of her witha glass of wine blinking like a 7-Eleven sign on a lonely highway at midnight.

God, she couldn’t wait for this trip.

She’d earned this vacation. Dreamed about it. In forty-eighthours, this production would be another successful entry on her alreadyimpressive résumé, and The McAllister would bring a new showto the main stage, and enter rehearsals for another. The system was in constantmotion.

“Mona—the dresser for the princes?—hit on me tonight,” Trip said,leaning against her table in the booth. “She grabbed my ass, and it hurt likehell. Mona has traumatized me.”

“Do you want me to write it up?” Lauren asked with a sympatheticgrin. She was also the first step to Human Resources for such claims, beforethe union got involved. “Call it aggressive ass grabbing?”

Trip rubbed his right cheek. “I do not. This time.”

“I’d do that for you, Trippy. I’ll say Mona’s an ass grabber.”

“Nah. Maybe next time. I just want my boss and friend tosympathize with me.”

She offered him puppy dog eyes and blinked slowly. “I’m so sorryyour ass is sore, and that Mona thinks it’s so cute she has to harm it.”

“That’s it,” he said, nodding, warming to the characterization. “Ihave a harmed ass. I’m glad you’re finally acknowledging my pain.”

“Always, Trip. Always. Want to go home now? Cuz it feels like it’sthree a.m. and I’m close to death.”

“Quarter to midnight, but yes, please,” he said, snapping out ofmartyr mode. A thought seemed to pop into his brain. “Excuse me. Lala?”

“Yes?” Lauren asked, smiling at the use of the nickname he’dassigned her years ago.

“Will you be at the after-party tomorrow night? Please don’t sayyou need to have lonely wine time at home. Lonely wine time is really sad winetime, and you don’t want to be that lady.”

She nodded and ignored his judgmental observation. “I’ll be there.I’m exhausted, numb, and ready to clock out of this one, but it wouldn’t feelright to skip out, you know?” She’d never missed a closing party and didn’tplan to now. There was something important about the cast and creatives comingtogether socially to say their good-byes, and send the show off into thehistory books as a united group. Say what you would about a drama-filledproduction, but once the curtain was down for good, everyone forgot thetumultuous details and fell in love all over again. The glory of theater.

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