stage | Gregory M. Fox

Doug marveled.

No one would have described Doug as artistic. Very few would have described him at all. The former mechanic was an oddity at the theater where he worked, if only because he was so mundane. But avant-garde dance and eclectic productions of Shakespeare still need someone to raise the curtain. Doug had strong arms, deft hands, and never missed a cue.

Reliability can be easy to overlook.

Doug was there for every show. From his post at the fly rail, far from the stage lights, Doug watched. Doug listened. Doug saw.

No one would have described Mazie as a star. Few would have described her either. But every night, Mazie found a fresh rose at her place in the dressing room. She was just the understudy. But soon she had more flowers than she knew what to do with.

Sometimes, reliability means everything.

When Mazie took a bow her first night in the lead role, Doug marveled at how the light danced around her face. From his spot off stage, he whispered, “Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand that I might touch that cheek.”

Then Mazie turned to look at him and blew a kiss.

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

Photo by Emily C. Fox

She had to take slow, careful steps to reach the center of the stage, but her pain disappeared as the applause reached a crescendo. This was why she kept performing; not for the applause, but for the audience. For a chance to create something meaningful.

A trophy, gleaming gold. Lights shining in her eyes. Faces turned toward her expectantly. “Thank you,” she began. They would think she meant for the award. How could she let them know it was for so much more.

The audience had been thin and the performance had been exhausting. Bad reviews had scared people off, and they had never managed to turn it around. Each night she asked herself if it was worth going on, not just with this show, but with the whole damn career.

When she left the dressing room that night, a wide-eyed girl lingered in the theatre lobby. “It’s you,” she said. There were tears in her eyes. “Thank you”

She stood in Times Square, dizzy and delirious, staring up at a her name on a marquis.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“It won’t be easy.”
“I know. But maybe it will mean something.”