Theo

Bridezilla’s and playdates

 

I float home on cloud nine.

My audition and interview went extremely well and they had me reading for the director of a local commercial shoot with an ad agency. It would require just a day of filming in July and the take home pay I’d receive could easily cover my living expenses for the next six months. Especially since I’m still living rent-free at Patrick’s.

The other good news came in the form of a call from the show producer, Niles, of the Acting OUT theater company. Not only had my play been selected as their one and only summer performance project, but my application for director was also approved.

It seriously felt like I’d just won the lottery.

All my cares and financial problems had literally been wiped away with these two events. And the first thing I wanted to do was tell someone. But not just anyone; Joey.

By the time I’d gotten home around three, she was no longer in Patrick’s apartment. While I expected that, I still felt the loss of her company. We had such a great time together last night; at least, I thought we had.

Joey is such an easy soul to talk to. She’s funny, smart, a wee-bit of a smart-ass, and lest not forget, sexy-as-hell.

Those legs of hers haunted me in my dreams all night long. So much so that I had to quietly take care of my morning wood while I showered this morning.

Maybe that release gave me the inspiration I needed for the commercial casting audition. Ironically enough, the commercial is for a new brand of erectile dysfunction pharmaceuticals. I might be hawking the product, but I certainly am not the target audience with the sexual thoughts of Joey running through my head on a constant loop.

I open the door to the apartment and expect a very exuberant and wiggly dog to be circling my feet. But the place is silent and there’s no Woody anywhere to be found.

“Woody?” I call out and get no response. Logically I know he’s not going to verbally yell out, “Hey dude, over here!” – but you’d think I’d get something in return. A bark or yip or the sound of his little paws running across the hardwood floors.

And if not that, I’d expect to see him lying on his puffy dog bed by the doorway, waiting for my arrival. But not so today.

I check around the apartment to confirm, just in case he’s playing hide-and-seek, which I know sounds ridiculous, but I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s a goofy and smart little fella.

But my search proves futile and turns up empty, no Woody in sight. Then I wonder if maybe he’s next door with Joey.

Closing the apartment door behind me, I walk the forty-feet to 2B and knock.

I hear whimpering, a muffled noise and the sound of scampering doggie feet.

A sigh of relief slips out of my mouth when I hear him, but as soon as the door swings open and I catch sight of Joey’s face, my heart stops beating.

Panic races through my veins. I can see the tight scowl and the agitation rolling off her body.

“What the hell, Joey? Is everything okay?”

She grunts and turns back toward her living room, her shoulders tight with rage.

It’s such a weird dichotomy from her normal self. She’s usually so happy and bright-eyed, so this takes me back a bit. I take this as my cue to let myself in and bend down to pick up Woody who is circling at my feet. He gives me a wet lick across my cheek and chuckle.

See? I know how to make friends with dogs. Of course, he still has me by the shorthairs versus the other way around.

“Good to see you, too, Woods.”

When I sit down on the sofa next to Joey, I let the squirmy dog out of my arms and he immediately snuggles onto her lap.

My thoughts are all over the place, uncertainty washing over me as to what has doused the normal joy in her expression.

“Joey,” I hesitantly begin, placing a hand on her leg. “What’s wrong? You don’t look so good.”

I get a glare for that comment but I don’t look away.

Instead, my eyes take a peek down at her chest because she’s only in a white tank top and, well, the tops of her breasts are visible and even her nipples pebble against the fabric. Fuck me standing, no guy can stop himself from that view.

 “Do you know anything about brides before their weddings?”

I cock my head, my eyebrows lifted together trying to piece together where this is heading.

“What? You mean like they turn into bridezilla’s?”

“Yes, exactly,” she muses, the words dropping out of her mouth like heavy boulders. “And I do not want April to go postal on us. She doesn’t deserve it.”

I scoot closer, not wanting to alarm her, but only wanting to be next to her.

“Joey, I think I’m a little lost here. Who is April and why is she going to go bridezilla?”

My arm goes around her shoulders, my hand brushing her bare skin. The contact is exquisite and my thoughts inappropriate, so I focus on the tightness in her neck versus my tightening balls.

“She called me today and asked that I help her get her order for dresses resolved. They messed up the color of the dresses and she’s so upset by it. So she asked for my help.”

My hand involuntarily clenches on the top of her arm.

“Okay. That sounds…”

“She asked me to resolve it. So I did. I called the company and demanded that they exchange her fucked up colored-dresses or I was going to the Better Business Bureau and filing a complaint. But before I do that, I’d add the worst review they’ve ever seen on Yelp and all over social media. And then I said I’d ram the ugly-ass purple dresses up their tight, hairy buttholes. But not before I doused them with gasoline and lit them on fire.”

There’s a bit of maniacal in her tone and I gulp in fear. God, I hope she never gets that pissed at me.

“Uh, that doesn’t sound like something you’d say.”

She pulls her head back and gives me this look that says, “boy are you an idiot.” At least, that’s what it seems to say.

“Exactly. I didn’t think I had it in me, either,” she flaps her hands in the air and her eyes blaze with annoyance. “But I’ve come to the realization that it’s because I’m wound up tighter than a rubber band on a ticking time bomb. I’ve hit my tipping point, you know? And I’ve figured out that it’s because I hate teaching. It’s making me into a horrible, angry, stressed-out woman. I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

She bends at the waist and drops her head to her hands. My hand is displaced and falls to her lower back, which I rub in reassuring circles.

“Oh babe, you have no idea the impact you’ve made with your students. But you’ve got to do what you feel is right for you. And if it’s not teaching anymore, that’s okay. Then you go find something else you’re passionate about that won’t break you or make you feel like this.”

She nods as if I’ve said something that makes sense. Something positive and worthwhile. I watch with fascination as she leans into me and places a soft kiss on my cheek before she stands.

“You’re right. Absolutely right. I need to find something else,” she declares with hands on her hips, determination in her eyes. “I just don’t know what.”

It dawns on me then. What makes me happy when I’m down and frustrated? What helps me get out of my own head, for even a little while, and puts me in someone else’s shoes?

“Join my play group this summer.”

Joey laughs for the first time since I entered her apartment.

“Play group? You want me to have a playdate with you? What are we, like four?”

I chuckle at her reference and then my thoughts turn dirty. Nope, stay away from that idea.

I wave my hand. “No, not like that. My theater group. I just heard that my play was chosen as the summer project at Acting OUT. It’s a beginners group – no experience necessary. It’s all about fun and learning the craft.”

Joey adamantly shakes her head. “Dude, I’m not an actress. No way. I couldn’t.”

Jumping to my feet, I reach for her hands and place them in mine, see-sawing them up and down.

“Yes, this is perfect. It’s exactly what you need this summer. It will be a great way to step out of your comfort zone and will possibly open up a whole new world for you. At the very least, you’ll have some fun with me.”

She tries to pull her hands away but I hold on tight, refusing to let go.

“I don’t…”

“You can and will,” I promise. “I’ll help you. I’ll teach you the basics of acting. I mean, think about it. The similarities between teaching and acting are there. You stand up in front of an audience and recite stuff. In the case of stage acting, it’s just fiction, not English or whatever.”

She’s still looking at me incredulously, like I’ve just told her I’m Napoleon come back to life.

I continue. “Okay, how about this? Just come to the first class next week. You’ve already read most of the play and know what it’s about. Join the group as we discuss the components of a play, the process for putting on a live stage production and the plans for preparing for the live performance this summer. Then if you’re not interested, I won’t be offended.”

“Theo, this is crazy,” she hedges, but I know I’ve got her.

I give her my biggest, craziest smile. “That’s exactly why you should do it. Plus, I could really use the support. I’ve never directed a play before.”

Joey’s eyes grow wide and then a smile forms on her beautiful face.

“You’re directing it, too? Oh my God, that’s great!”

With a flail of her arms, she throws her body into my chest and I let out a umph as she knocks me back in a big hug.

Now I just need to convince her to join the cast ensemble. And maybe if she’s good at it, assign her the female lead role.

I have thoughts on who will be the male lead character. I’m sure there have been plays where the playwright is the director and principle actor before. Right?

Well if not, there’s always a first time for everything.