Page 17 of Script Swap
One of the backstage doors flew open, and Jonni strode backstage.Instead of her Pippi/Penny costume from the show, she had on black yoga pants and a pink sports bra.The pink didn’t exactly go with her rust-colored curls, and the spandexy material of the sports bra bit into the flesh of her shoulders and sides.Her cheeks were red, and she was waving her arms in the air.
“Fine, forget it, never mind!”she was shouting.“I’m done!I don’t have to put up with this!Find yourself someone else for this—for this hick town!”
Behind her came a small woman with a bob of dark hair and the padding of middle age.Well, and theextrapadding of her work shirt and fishing vest (and, for the record, cargo pants).She was carrying a clipboard, and she moved like a tiny icebreaker—the general impression was that if you didn’t get out of her way, you were the one who’d be the worse for it.
“I’m sorry, Jonni,” this new woman was saying.“What’s wrong with your room?Maybe I can fix it.”
Never give an actor an opening.
It was the perfect line, and apparently one that Jonni had been waiting for, because she whirled around and stabbed a finger at the smaller woman.“You can’tfix it.Can youfixa mortal insult?Can youfixpublic humiliation?Bad enough that I have to put up with the demands of that odious little girl, but now this!”
“You can have my room.”The words came from Nora Day, who now stood in the doorway watching the action unfold.She wasn’t wearing her costume either (thank God; seeing her dressed as Vivienne might have given me a nice, efficient little nervous breakdown), but she also wasn’t dressed in the Biker Dolly Parton getup from her publicity photos.Instead, she was in sweats, no makeup, and she looked like somebody you might pass on a jog or in the Keel Haul.Admittedly, someone still quite striking, but an ordinary person, and carrying a whiff of perfume.Jasmine?
Jonni drew in a furious breath.But something about Nora’s poise seemed to have thrown her off balance, and she struggled visibly before saying in a more reasoned tone, “That’s kind of you, Nora, but that’s not the point.”
“Jonni, I thought youwantedthat dressing room—”
“What I want is to be treated with a modicum of dignity.What I want is to be treated with an ounce of respect!I don’t have to live like this.I don’t have to live this tiny, sheltered little existence, afraid of everything that moves, making myself smaller so that the rest of the world can feel bigger.I deserve to be happy!And I deserve the right to make myself happy!”
If that speech sounds like a non sequitur to you, it’s because she was cribbing those lines fromThe Mousewife.
“I’m sure if we talk to Kyson,” Nora began.
Jonni screamed.
Not a little scream.
Not a scream for the faint of heart.(Or for that matter, anyone with a heart condition.)
It went on and on, running up into the high, empty space above the stage, clanging around up there with the catwalks and the light trusses.It was earsplitting.It demonstrated tremendous lung capacity.And it was a great reminder that theaters are built with acoustics in mind.
Jonni cut off, gave us all a satisfied look, and stormed offstage.
Fox was checking their ears for blood.I, on the other hand, had that slightly concussed feeling I got after long conversations with Millie.
The smaller woman gave Nora a helpless shrug.
“I’ll talk to her,” Nora said.
A man poked his head through the doorway to glance around, and then he slipped backstage like he thought nobody would see him.White, sixties.He was dressed in a uniform similar to the woman’s, and he had graying hair that he wore long, probably to compensate for the fact that he was going bald in front.A square jaw, a hint of a double chin.Nora glanced over at him, and he smiled and crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.That was all I needed to see to peg him as one of those guys who aren’t as good looking as they think they are.
“Come on, Milton,” the smaller woman said.“We’ve got to take a look at Jonni’s dressing room.”
“Again?”Then, a little too quickly, he said, “Terrence wants me to—”
“Nice try,” the woman said as she started toward the doors.“Let’s do this.”
And then it was just us and Nora.
“Ms.Day?”I said.“Do you have a minute?”
“What are you doing?”Fox whispered.
Ignoring them, I made my way across the stage toward Nora.She was giving me a considering once-over.And then her eyes narrowed.
“I’m—” I began.
“Dashiell Dawson Dane,” she said, and the note in her voice was genuine pleasure.She took my hand.“God, I thought you looked familiar.Do you know how many times I’ve watched the video of your writing panel?”
