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“Wonder Boy is working in their HQ now. They just landed that big new Disney musical.”
“Hot damn, tell him congrats next time you see him. Truly our loss.”
Nora toasted him with her glass and they maneuvered to a velvet bench on the landing of the stairs so they could sip their drinks and people-watch.
“So Hedstrom wanted to fire Angelo for not sticking to a classic drinks menu. A bunch of us went to bat for him – Parker even did polling on his days off and created a spreadsheet to prove the custom drinks’ popularity and profit margin.” She took a long sip. “Damn, I could drink my feelings every day. Even without a Swedish Fish garnish.”
“These are all Britesmithers?” Beck asked.
Nora counted with a pointer finger. “Only five in Front of House. But this is one of the smaller theaters we work with. We had six.”
“Was that Bennett you mentioned?”
“Yeah. When his wife had their second baby, he came up with a brilliant idea for plastic cups with sippy lids on them, for theater-goers to be able to return safely to their seats with their drinks. Hedstrom nixed it, saying it would be ‘controversial.’ I don’t blame Bennett, but he moved to one of our competitors, who rolled out that idea faster than you can say ‘paternity leave.’ Which, by the way, they gave him, too.”
They shared the bag of gummies and watched as the Britesmith employees took on the crowds with a friendly greeting and quick service. “It’s different than the ballparks in many ways, obviously. But in other ways, exactly the same.”
Angelo was pointing at a young couple nervously waiting at the back of his line, assuring them he’d get to them before the bell chimed.
“During hiring, I look for people with hospitality experience, sure. But if they understand theater, it’s a plus.”
“A-plus, Ruben.” Beck’s praise burned bright and warm like the bourbon, all the way to their next stop.
* * *
“This matinee started an hour later than the last one, so…” Nora flashed her ID at the box office worker of a much bigger operation right on 42ndStreet.
In they swept, but whatever performance was happening didn’t seem to be contained to the stage. You could hear heavy rock music thumping from behind the closed doors. The lobby itself was much dimmer – still quite cavernous and grand but was going for a wholly different aesthetic.
Alex recognized the girl pinning a black T-shirt emblazoned with the show logo to the wall of the merch stall – although combat boots and piercings could’ve been the required uniform.
“You came! Finally!” April jumped down from her stepladder and hugged Nora before giving a shy wave to Alex. She pointed out elements with a black-lacquered nail, including a replica of an iron maiden that people could step into for photos, and a bar that was frothing with dry ice and neon green “shots” in clear plastic syringes.
This is still Broadway?Alex thought Des Moines had arrived when they finally got the touring production ofHamilton. This was next level…and probably wouldn’t make it to the Midwest for three to five more years. They followed April down a side walkway toward the stage, where strobe lights could be seen stuttering from the gap in the aisle’s curtain.
“It’s almost intermission!” Even hollering, April’s voice was lost to the crescendo. A small group of people huddled in the wings, dressed similarly to the playbill photos hanging outside and heavily made-up. They held trays strapped to their neck like old-time cigarette girls, but everything else about them screamed BDSM steampunk.
Alex caught Nora’s attention and gestured. “Are those actors from the performance?”
“They’re waitstaff.” She leaned close, her murmur laced with liqueur and a hint of Swedish Fish. “It’s an immersive performance, so when the actors leave the stage, this concession crew takes over and fits in seamlessly.”
“Nora came up with their costumes!” April praised. Alex turned to see if Nora had anything to say for herself, but she was sucking on one of the green syringes plucked from a staffer’s tray and shrugging modestly.
The house lights didn’t exactly go up, but the theater went from pitch black to red light district. The staff sashayed out and began slinging drinks and hand-helds to the crowd, who raised credit cards high and snapped pictures. Alex estimated about half stayed in the theater, while the rest of the audience moved up the aisles for their twenty-minute reality check and pee break.
Nora squeezed his hand and gestured with her chin. “Young love.”
April had her arms wrapped around a stick figure of a guy coming toward them, smelling of clean sweat and greasepaint. He looked more like a graverobbing rock star than a trained tenor, but Alex recognized him as the lead from the poster. He tipped his top hat to them, and they continued up the aisle.
“April’s boyfriend, Tommy. She was my first Britesmith hire – graphic design is her side hustle, but her true love is this.” She swept her hands around, before dropping her voice. “She’s young and entirely too trusting, but smart. Went right for the max contribution and company match. But hasn’t been with Britesmith long enough to be vested.”
In other words, a perfect candidate for Hedstrom’s nefarious fuckery.
The waitstaff hustled by with empty trays, probably wanting to get one last refill in before intermission was over. A couple of them fist-bumped Nora as they passed.
“Even without makeup, you wouldn’t have recognized them from the holiday party. So many of our hires do have acting jobs off-Broadway, in addition to their day job. Most of the people there were the corporate drones, like me.”
“Hardly,” Alex chastised. “I see eight-year-old you in those eyes, lighting up like they must’ve during the opening chant ofLion King.” He took one of her hands, and inspected her fingers. She was luminous, even with the red glow of the lights casting eerie shadows on her pale skin. “And I see the straight-A costume major through college, designing those get-ups...which are fabulous, by the way. Future Jocko will be in good hands.”
