Don't Dress

I fought to stay awake and alert as Don’s voice droned on about some medieval stage used by peasants to perform bible stories on, or something of the like. It was impossible to distinguish the topics in this class any longer. The nature of the topics themselves and the way in which the teacher approached them, made them blend so seamlessly.

My eyes scanned the room in search of my fellow victims of a dubious monster referred to in the Theater as Tech Week, more affectionately known as Hell Week. Hell Week consisted of 5-6 hours of rehearsal nightly, after long days of class. One was lucky to be able to find time for basic functions like food and sleep, making homework, studying, paying attention in class, all secondary and often-skipped activities. A lovely perk of being involved in Theater performances in college. Even lovelier was that fact that by the grace of the great Dionysius, god of theater, Hell Week often arrived concurrently with Midterms week. A fact that you would think the teachers in the theater department would realize and possible try to accommodate for in some way, yet they never seemed to and often attempts to remind them and get a possible reprieve proved fruitless.

I began to think about how much better a student I would be, how much higher my grades could have been if I had never joined the department or worked on a show. These thoughts pleased me to a point, the perfectionist that I am, but it was abundantly clear that without these crazy weeks I would feel something huge was missing. A sentiment I knew many of my fellow actors and techies shared. We were all lucky to be training, hands on, in the field and for some the specific jobs we planned to pursue after graduation. How many kids in any other department could say that? How many of them could list classes or projects that they worked on for their majors, also as job experience on their resumes? We were lucky, even if it meant not sleeping for week.

Spotting Stephanie down the row from me, I saw her head begin to drop off her spread out hand, like a bust tipping off a column. I shot the small eraser that lay on my desk at her arm.

Her neck straightened and a toothy smile was sent my way, accompanied by a thumbs up.

We would make it through this together.

I searched for another target for my newfound game, wiggling another pencil top eraser out of my bag.

I caught the dirty blond locks of Alex's hair and began to steady my aim, as suddenly the words “Don’t Dress for Dinner” caught my attention.

My gaze switched back to the teacher, believing his next words would be, “Good luck to the cast and crew”, the norm, with an additional “remember, you are required to go see it for this class.” This typical script fell from the lips of every teacher in the theater department for two weeks a semester, every time a new show was about to go up.

“The Midterm will be pushed back a week, until after that show closes.” He announced. Mouths dropped and a feeble applause began, and then quickly faded out.

Alex turned around, his eyes bloodshot, but opened as wide as they could possibly go, and his tongue looking as if it was about to fall straight out of his unhinged jaw. He looked towards Stephanie and I for confirmation that Don’s words had been real, that he had not just fallen asleep and dreamed this whole thing. Our equal shock and surprise seemed to serve as enough of an answer and he swiveled back forward.

“Our time is up for the day!” Don exclaimed and we all began to trickle out of the room.

Stephanie grabbed onto my arm as we entered the hall.

“Did that really just…?” she stumbled.

“I think so.” I replied, my heart still beating in my throat from the shock. “Unless we were just all having the same miraculous dream.”

“Somehow that seems more likely.” Steph responded.

“He NEVER does that!” Alex exclaimed taking Steph’s other side.

“Let’s not question it.” I warned.

“I know, but…” Alex started.

“No buts. He pushed back the Midterm. We don’t have to accept our failure on it as inevitable, because we can’t study, and for that I am glad.”

I wanted to scream and dance with joy, but knew it would be a waste of energy. Energy that I would no doubt need tonight and for our last few days on this show.

“If I did fail this, my whole plan would be ruined.” I continued.

“Ah, your plan.” Steph said. “Little girl can’t do bad in a single class, there is no retaking a class, or the world will end.”

“I would have to be here at Bing, a whole other year. I won’t be done in 4 years.” I replied.

“Which would be the end of the world.” Alex agreed. “You sophomores just don’t get that yet. 4 years is more than enough of this balancing act.”

“Exactly.” I added.

“And just because our new wardrobe supervisor here is a overachiever and needs to finish 2 degrees while we all work on one, doesn’t mean she should have to take anymore time then we do.” He continued.

I needed those degrees done. I needed to get out of this school and out in the real world where I wouldn’t need to be limited to what can be done in between classes, where I wasn’t limited by my location.

College was honestly not originally in my plan, especially not Binghamton University. If any higher education factored into the plan it was UCLA, where I could be working, auditioning and making a name for myself under the guise of receiving a higher education. College was my Mom’s plan and I simply had to follow. I knew I didn’t need a degree to be a writer or an actress, but if the degrees would earn me my mom’s support in achieving the goals and careers I ultimately wanted, it didn’t seem like a terrible trade.

“I’ll grab the table.” I said, meandering through the small, student run café to find 3 open seats. Finding an empty table by the window, I dropped my overloaded bag to the floor and began to dig through it. Finding my snack bag, a gallon size Ziploc filled with everything from fresh fruit to chips, to gummy snacks, I grabbed out my apple and laid the rest on the table.

“No bagel today?” Alex asked, sizing up my bag of loot.

“Nope.” I replied. “Pretty sure if I eat anymore carbs I will crash on the spot. I’ve had enough junk food this week so far. Need something with actual nutrients.”

“My bagel has blueberries in it.” Steph interjected as she took her seat across from me. “They are a fruit.”

“Very true.” I smiled.

“So now that the noose has been removed from our necks, what fun shall we have.” Steph started.

Alex and I glared.

“We aren’t entirely out of the woods, Steph. It may have been moved back but we’ve both missed the last two classes, note wise at least, judging by your head balancing trick earlier.” I reminded her.

“Damn!”

“Never fear ladies.” Alex said in a mock-heroic accent, as he pulled two sets of photocopied notes from his bag. “These are from last class. I’ll try to get the ones from today copied and to you tomorrow.”

I looked at my phone.

“Frigg! I was supposed to be down in the shop, meeting with Amy today.” I exclaimed, tossing the food and notes back in my bag and starting to dash out the double doors.

I sprinted down 3 flights of stairs and to the basement of the Fine Arts building, where the costume shop was.

Sketches covered the wall. The slate grey paper gave way to blotches of watercolors. I marveled at their beauty and the masterful way they were created and thought to my own attempts to draw similar sketches. It was clear. I would never be a designer, but I was content just making and caring for the 3D masterpieces the sketches represented.

Amy entered. Her light brown hair in its usual state of tassel from hours of running her hands through it out of frustration or stress. She dropped into her seat behind the desk and threw a new stack of files onto her desk. Her eyes looked as though they wanted to close but were being held open by some invisible device.

I sat in my chair across the office waiting patiently for her gears to switch.

She smiled.

“So what’s up?” She asked speaking rapidly enough to put the Gilmore Girls to shame. “Anything you need? The show seems to be going well so far.”

“Yeah.” I replied. “Not much to report.”

She smiled again and turned towards her computer, opening her calendar and email.

This had become our weekly norm. It seemed so strange to me now, when I thought of my first venture into this office after Amy had taken over. She had arrived so suddenly into a place that had been my second home for my first two years of college. I had found the first time I stepped into this shop, that I was a commodity, a rarity; someone who already knew how to sew. I hadn’t realized how prized I was until I began to be given major projects, entire costumes to build. Somehow working here took my mind off the waiting game that was my college life. Not to mention I gained a new back up career, Wardrobe.

Without warning, Marge was gone and Amy was in her place. Many were scared of Marge, but due to my natural sewing abilities I was quickly taken in as a favorite and had no reason to fear her. Amy, however caused my body to tremble slightly.

Her eyes were in no way stern and her tone was inviting, but she was new. As far as I could tell, she knew nothing of me. I was jarred. Our first talk, involved a lot of me listening. I felt like I was in the principal’s office, and things stayed that way for a while.

Now, I knew better. We had achieved a rhythm and a relationship that would open opportunities, major opportunities for me later on.

I sat back scribbling on my notepad while she perused the screen.

“I see no issues from the crew, actors or director,” she stated.

“Nope.” I replied. “We seem to be doing well on this show.”

“Which is definitely credit to you.” She insisted. “I can’t ever remember working on a show that has run so smoothly throughout tech week rehearsals and all. No issues filling up my inbox, is great. We should’ve had you working these things sooner.”

I could feel heat rising into my face, knowing that my already rosy checks were achieving a new shade of crimson. When I took this job, I never expected it to be such a big deal.

“Yeah, lucky I’m allergic to saw dust and couldn’t work in scene shop, huh.” I joked.

“Very lucky.” She replied. “Not that we would want to share you with them anyway. Well, no questions, comments, concerns on your end?”

I shook my head.

“Great. Looks like we beat our record for shortest meeting.”

“Nice.” I replied beginning to leave, dreaming about lunch.

I stopped in the doorway.

“Oh, before I forget how is Henry doing?” I asked.

“Great as a matter of fact.” She replied. “He is really loving the JCC daycare.”

Henry had become one of our first topics in common. I already had a soft spot for kids, but that had been exasperated by the fact that I had two cousins, both boys the same age as Henry. We loved to talk about what the boys were doing, things they were achieving or struggling with, comparing experiences. It was something we were both animated about and the discussions often softened the blow that I wouldn’t see my two little guys for another few months because of school. Henry’s occasional visits also assisted to this affect.

“ And will we be seeing him this week.”

“Possibly, though I think he is starting to get over the glamour of a life in Costuming and Wardrobe. Looks like he won’t be joining his mama in the theater world.” She replied.

“You never know. Three year olds are tough. They lose interest rather quickly.” I answered back.

“Especially the boys.” She added.

“Don’t I know it!” I replied and we laughed.

“So same time, same place, next week?” she asked.

“Naturally.” I said. “I’ll try to drum up something for us to discuss.”

“No need.” She replied. “No news is good news. I’m fine with these drive-by meetings.”

“Me, too.” I assured her.

“Good luck tonight!” She added as I scurried out the door.

The air was stale with the smell of hairspray. The artificial grape-ish scent climbed down my throat like a hideous cold medicine, making it difficult for my voice to rise over the blasting music. Today’s playlist consisted of N’SYNC, Backstreet Boys, and other 90’s icons, partnered with the occasional hairbrush microphone.

We all sang along. Some of us struggling and mumbling over the words while sang out loud and clear. Many of us were singing different versions, however it never seemed to matter much because we all got the chorus down pat. We were united by the joy, the experience of the music not the songs themselves.

“30 to curtain!” a voice rang through the 90’s dance party.

“Thank you, 30!” voices answered back in a round.

“Okay guys. We gotta turn it down now, so they don’t hear us in the house.” I ordered.

I was met with a triad of pouted lips, reflected through the fire-surrounded mirrors.

I understood their upset, an actress myself I knew how helpful music was to not only pump up one’s energy for a performance, but to help an actor into character sometimes. Music was a powerful tool for artists in any medium, to find inspiration and to set a mood. However, that this moment it was also a hazard due to the thin walls of the theater and it currently filling with occupants.

I looked back trying to express my apology for having to limit their fun, yet reminding them that it was necessary. I started picking at my nails and removed myself out of the way into a corner as they turned the music lower.

My eyes dropped to the dingy yellow and grey speckled tile of the floor, trying to count the speckles.

I envied them. I didn’t want to be the one having to tell them what to do and impede on their fun. I wanted to right there with them. I wanted to be right on stage next to them, taking in the energy from the audience. Being the ones receiving the adoration and attention. Working backstage, was a thankless job, unless you had an absolutely stellar cast, who were selflessness enough to realize how much work we all did to make them better; how much we were needed to make the show go. However, as a rule actors tend to be selfish.

Venturing a glance up, my eyes were met with compassionate looks. Still, I kept myself dislocated, arms crossed in front of my body, rubbing each other as if for warmth, an ironic thought given the high-watt bulbs incasing the mirrors could have melted Antarctica with their glow. They glowed so hot; they turned the dressing room into a sauna when left on for more than 20 minutes. While perfect for this show, seeing as the girls were to be costumed in lingerie, it often caused a stifling effect, making the room seem small, cramped and hard to get any air in. For this reason, the lights were never turned on before they absolutely had to be, and often the actors or actresses would choose to go without using them at all, since there was plenty lighting in the rooms without them.

This show had marked the longest use of them I had seen to date. I wondered how the actresses could stand it, as I began to cough. Within minutes, I began to feel suffocated and quickly slipped out the door.

“I should check on the boys.” I claimed upon my exit, but it was merely an excuse.

Getting into the open hallway, I filled my lungs with the cool air. I laid my back against the course, grey, brick wall, and eyes straight ahead. “Why did I offer to do this?” I wondered, “Why did I choose to work this awkward job? Did I think it would be just like performing in a show? I hate having to be the bad guy.”

Regaining my strength and composure, I walked down the hall to the dressing room that held the guys.

Knocking was unnecessary. The door stood wide open, held by a small wedge of reject wood from the scene shop next door. I wondered if the door had remained that way since their arrival. It would not be the first time, if it had.

No sound traveled through the open doorway. Neither did the blinding lights of the mirrors. I peered in and caught a pair of brown eyes. The owner of the eyes smiled warmly and beckoned me in.

“All good in here?” I asked, already having the answer confirmed by the site of groomed hair and button-down shirts, not what they arrived in.

“Yep!” Alex replied leaning back on his chair.

I smiled.

“I know you’re surprised.” He said straightening up in his chair. “We guys just take so much maintenance.” He joked.

“Always.” I replied. “Why can’t you all be just like the girls?”

The boys shrugged and we all laughed.

Suddenly, a twinkling sound rang through the air. One of the guys quickly jumped up to silence it.

“Sorry.” He entreated. “I know the rules. After call is your and the crew’s time not our own. I honestly didn’t think we got any service down here anyway.”

“Only when we don’t want to.” I replied. “One of the benefits of being exiled to the basement.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Alex piped in. “She’s cool.”

“It happens.” I added.

As he returned to his chair I did the, now, second nature scan of his costume.

His shirt was crisp and the vibrant ascot around his neck was tied perfectly, a first for the show. It wasn’t surprising how long it took to get this piece right, seeing as nobody including myself knew what an ascot was until we googled it. Thanks to those in the shop, we finally began to understand how to get it tied, but it was definitely an art.

I continued my scan down, proud of the actor’s achievement, when my heart began to pound. I scanned the other two in their chairs and found the same flaw. The discovery had made my eyes grow wide prompting Alex’s concern,

“What?” he inquired, his own eyes scanning the outfit and trying to find the fault.

“Pants!” I puttered out.

They all laughed again.

“They don’t go on until 10 til curtain, remember. Otherwise, we have a tendency of wrinkling them like mad, before we even step on stage.” The phone owner replied.

“You told us to make that change yesterday, at the end of the night.” Alex consoled. “And honestly I think, we all like it better this way anyway.” He winked.

I shot him a glare. Then began to laugh, my nerves subsiding.

“Well, whatever makes you all happy I guess.”

“ That has got to be the first time anyone from wardrobe has said that.” Alex kidded.

“Feels that way, sometimes.” I replied.

“There is just so much with this show.” I tried to explain.

“I know.” Alex replied. “I’m surprised we even remembered the note, and we don’t have six actors to dress.”

“Well, I won’t forget after this.” I smile. “Just be sure they get on please. This show might be called Don’t Dress For Dinner, but it doesn’t work if you are undressed before lunch.”

“Got it.” They intoned in unison, as I drudged back towards the girls’ door.

Moments later curtain was called. We all began our trip to our places for the top of the show. Sprinting to my own, I heard a whistle and turned my head back.

Holding the stage door open, the three guys stood there gesturing to their pants.

“Thank you.” I mouthed, with a thumbs up and followed the girls to stage right.

The black stage floor stung my skin like ice through my signature yoga pants. It was scuffed. Short white lines from years past, speckled it’s otherwise uniformed black. It was clear to me that it hadn’t been painted in years, even though the rule of thumb was to repaint the stage right before the opening of every show. Of course at a school like Binghamton University, there was no money for that rather routine maintenance. There was no money for the arts here, only for the construction of science buildings that less than half of the student body would ever gain any use of. We, in the theater, were left make due.

I shivered as a draft blew down into our little conclave in the shadows. It had been colder these past few days than any of us remembered backstage being.

“Where is that breeze coming from anyway?” Nikki whispered, shivering herself in her black tee and matching yoga pants.

“I’ve got no clue.” I answered back. “I’ve been trying to track it for days now. ”

She shrugged, returning back to her textbook and the homework she had been neglecting, to work on the show.

Mary looked over at us and suddenly let out a silent giggle.

“What?” I inquired starting to stand and ready myself.

“When you said in orientation that we all had to be uniformed in black head to toe back here, I didn’t realize we had a real uniform.” She giggled softly again looking at her own pants and then ours.

I thought back to that orientation, the first I had been left to run on my own. I still had fears I had forgotten to mention something or that I wasn’t serious enough or maybe was too serious and intense. I was a student supervising and leading other students, some my own age. There was nothing more awkward.

“Like she said yesterday, we are Ninjas after all. Wardrobe Ninjas.” Nikki added.

“Silent but deadly. Stealthy and quick.” I added, as footsteps pounded down the stage stairs coming our way pulling me back into the task at hand.

Arriving at the mark we had agreed on days before, Alex started to disrobe. His deep purple button down flew into my arms, followed by the soaked white undershirt. Throwing them onto the bottom of the rack, I waited for his pants to join the pile. With much less rapidity they landed in my arms and I started to hang them, by the bottom cuffs so they would dry without causing any creases or wrinkles that we would need to iron out the following day.

For moments he stood there. Nothing on his person but, navy boxers and a pair of dress socks. His light skin gleamed in the slight backlighting we were given to facilitate each actor’s change. A tattoo right above the V of his pelvis, jumped out at us. Body relaxed he stood there, waiting for the next count in our choreography, for his cue to join the backstage dance.

As the pants hit the rack, Mary stepped in, the tallest of us all. She placed a new fresh undershirt over his head, guiding his arms through the holes like a toddler. Nikki followed immediately holding out his grey suit pants to be stepped into. Once both legs were in she pulled them up handing off the waistband to Alex’s waiting hands. He buttoned and zipped quickly, freeing his arms.

Like a bird about to take flight, his arms shot out to the sides. Each taking a side Mary and I covered his outstretched arms with a faux suede button down, while Nikki navigated his grey belt loops with a shiny black belt. Leaving it unclasped, she headed to grab his new loafers off the rack and placed them in front of his feet.

He stepped into them as Mary finished the buttons on his shirt, her hands slipping on the fabric. Sudden alarm hit his face as we all heard the familiar speech, his cue to return to stage. Quickly he finished the belt and gave a swift spin as he started up the stairs. He looked straight at me, as he stood in the wings, ready to make his reentrance. I nodded and he disappeared through the door into a room of laughs.

I looked at my phone.

“35 seconds.” I said. “We gotta make it faster. That got too close. Alex is a pro and we had him worried. If we can make it down to 30, I’ll be happy.”

They both looked at me exhausted.

I was irked, but I didn’t let it show. As leader I wasn’t allowed to. Still a dark cloud swirled in my chest full of restlessness and regret, but duty came first.

“If we preset the belt through the loops, we might be able to cut time.” Nikki suggested.

“True and if we get the shop to rig his shirt we can definitely get it done in time so his eyes won’t bug out like that again.” I suggested.

“Rig his shirt?” Mary asked as we all slipped back into the corner.

“It means sewing either Velcro or snaps under each button so that you don’t have to button the shirt for it to look buttoned.” I explained.

We were lucky to have the costume shop at our disposal and so near to the theater and Nikki and I knew it well. We had both worked countless hours there, before taking spots backstage. First you learned how to make the clothes then you were ready to dress people in them. It was like a right of passage. One Mary had skipped.

“Just one of the many tricks we have at our disposal here.” Nikki added. “ You’ll learn them all, if you work wardrobe long enough.”

I realized in my mind I had been working it longer than I had ever planned to.

“With such a comfy and sliming uniform, why wouldn’t I stick around.” Mary’s giggle returned.

“We could always tell him he just needs to get those pants off quicker.” I suggested. “Give him some motivation.”

Mary’s eyes grew wide.

I was surprised. It was 2012. Modesty, naïveté wasn’t common, not on a college campus and especially not in the theater department.

“Tell him to imagine he’s with a girl and they only got 15 minutes til his parents are gonna be home. He’s gotta get’em off.” Nikki added.

“They are actors.” I explained to Mary’s scandalized face. “Sometimes you need to have them use that imagination training to get things done backstage too.”

Mary’s face relaxed but she still sat there fidgeting with her fingers and shaking her legs.

“Freshman.” Nikki whispered in my ear. “She ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

“Not so sure she will be around long enough to see more.” I whispered back. “She’s great at following directions, but I’m not so sure this wardrobe thing for her. This isn’t just some extracurricular activity. It’s a real job, even though we don’t get paid. And it needs to be treated as such.”

My nose crinkled as I heard the words burst from my mouth. They tasted horrible. This had only been meant as an extra-curricular when I started, something to do when I wasn’t acting in a show to stay around for the excitement. This wasn’t my passion, it was a back up, yet somehow I had spent more time and energy working back stage then on stage. It stung my heart, to think of how many opportunities I might have passed to do what I loved instead of what I just liked. How had I let myself get so lost?

Nikki wrapped her arm around my shoulder and pulled me to her.

“You are the boss!” she whispered.

Another hour passed as we sat in the shadows, poised and ready, but unneeded. It was a sign the show was ready.

At the end of the night, no notes were given and giant grins stretched over the mouths of all the wardrobe crew. Pride radiated through the costume shop, as they placed their wardrobe emergency aprons, a black half apron filled with bobby pins, safety pins, pad, pencil, bandaids and a small flashlight, into the basket where they would sit ready for the next day, opening night!

It was exciting and surrounded by their energy was contagious. I may not have been my first choice of how to work on a show but at least good people surrounded me. I wasn’t going to let my mood down all of theirs. Opening night was Opening Night no matter which side of the curtain you worked on. It was a cause for nerves and celebration.

“Call is 6:45 tomorrow and Nikki has laundry duty.” I stated. “Otherwise, you are all free to go.”

“Thanks, 6:45!” they reverberated.

One by one they left, Mary staying behind longer than the others, to go over how to do the laundry, steaming and ironing once more. After a quick refresher, she left, shaking a bit either with nerves or excitement for tomorrow’s show.

The door closed behind her. I looked around at this place that had become my second home for so long now. Letting out a deep breath, I collapsed onto a chair. The chair sank with my weight, almost to the ground. I caught myself with my hand on the table and laughed.

There goes another one! Yet another end for one of our noble hand me downs.

I knew it would be kept until a replacement was found, which might be weeks and that the replacement would most likely be in worst shape than even the rolling stools that graced most of the machines. Who needs a back on your chair while sewing anyway?

We would never get anything truly new down here. The stage would probably not get repainted for another 10 or so years, but we could still make a terrific professional level show. We could still move an audience to tears, whether from sadness or from never ending laughter. That was what mattered and I was a part of it.

I was a part of this success. Even with all my previous doubts, the show would go on. The costumes would be there on time, pressed. The actors wouldn’t need to worry. They were covered.

I trembled as I grabbed my bag and locked up the shop. Heading through the double doors I met, Nikki and Alex by the elevator.

“You okay?” He asked.

“The show went fine, tonight. The best it has.” He assured.

“I know.” I said. “We’re all good.”

“Just excited!” Nikki added.

“We’re gonna rock this!” I said pulling the two into a group hug.

“You know it!” Alex exclaimed as we all strutted into the elevator, laughing.

I chimed in wanting to keep myself high on the excitement, knowing that after it broke, I would have to face the possibility that maybe the last 4 years of my life had just been a play I had crafted to distract myself, while I pleased everyone else.