Page 126 of Close Match
It’s dated for three days from now.
“Do you think I have a right to interfere with her life again?” I ask the man who brought me back from hell to the land of the living.
“I think you owe it to yourself to see her again if for no other reason than to close the chapter on your life.” Making his way to the door, he spotsForgivenesswrapped up, ready to be transported to the farm. “If that’s what you both choose.”
No, I think as Victor leaves, I’d choose to live forever in a world that would allow me to orbit her in it in some way. The question is—I smile at my parents as they walk into my room—did this much time and distance between us with my ignoring her overtures cause her to wish I did?
Eighty
Montague
Instead of a Playbill’s usually vibrant appearance, the program is dark and somber much like my mood. I flip through it absentmindedly, passing over the enormous sponsor list until I see her official headshot and bio. And other than it being a glammed-up image of the woman haunting my dreams the last six months, her official bio gives me no indication about where her mind is at.
My hand slips into the pocket of my jacket so I can pull out my cell to scroll through the photos reminding me our time together wasn’t something I dreamed up when my fingers brush the encouragement coin in my pocket—the coin celebrating my sobriety.
I did it for the right reason: me. I’ll earn the next one for the same reason. It isn’t because of Linnie or my family I stayed in rehab; it’s because after I got through detox, I hated the man facing me in the window’s reflection. It wasn’t just the destruction I caused to those around me, but the harm I was causing to myself that helped me scale the mountain to get to the other side. Don’t get me wrong; I can still scent out a good brandy or whiskey at thirty paces. But the pain I was causing to myself and those I loved was a motivator to shove away the crutch the alcohol was giving me. But while I’ve tried to explain that in letter after letter to Linnie, I’ve never been able to send them. I truly meant to let her go, even though she gave meForgiveness. That was, until the ticket arrived for tonight’s event.
The lights overhead begin flicking on and off. “Distinguished guests, please take your seats. The show is about to start. As you are aware, this is a live broadcast. You have consented to be videotaped. In the event you need to leave your seat, we kindly ask you to wait until in between acts. A seat filler will take your place if your ticket has been marked with a special indicator.” Reaching into my pocket, it’s stamped with the words “SEAT FILLER REQUIRED.”
The lights begin to dim. The theater goes black except for two spotlights aimed at either wing. I don’t know where to look. My head is flying back and forth like it would at a tennis match. Nerves mix with excitement in my veins.
And then there she is.
She steps out in a similar outfit to the one she wore the first time she met her father. It has a little more pizzazz: the jacket and pants sparkle with a million lights, and the shoes are barely more than diamond straps, but it’s Linnie. God, I’m so close to her. I want to race up onto the stage and scoop her into my arms. But more than the orchestra and stage lights that separate us, my behavior is the reason I haven’t been with her every step of the way. My eyes close in pain as Linnie and Simon, now center stage, try to get everyone to take their seats. When they manage it, her voice rings out clear. “Welcome, everyone, to the first—”
“But sadly not the last.” Simon slips an arm around her.
Her arm goes around him as naturally as if it was made to. “Tragic but true. It’s unlikely the last event where Broadway comes together to present one show in support of our community. We have a problem.”
Thunderous applause greets her words. When it begins to die down, she continues. “For those of you who may not recognize us without our costume du jour, my name is Evangeline Brogan. And I am a BADASS.”
“I’m Simon Houde. I, too, am a BADASS. For those of you not aware, Linnie and I costarred together in the Broadway award-winning showMiss Me. And tonight, we are missing our colleagues and our friends who are not standing beside us.”
“Across every Broadway show tonight, we’ve dimmed our lights because we lost not one, but two, of our own. We lost them as a direct result of drug and alcohol abuse. Over the years, there were attempts by many of us to put those individuals on a better path. Tragically, we failed. We’re feeling that pain as individuals and as one community—one family. When their deaths occurred so close to one another, we were reminded this couldn’t continue. We can’t lose any more of our family this way. The brainchild for being a BADASS came shortly after the death of my godmother, celebrated choreographer, Veronica Solomone.”
My lips part as Linnie’s wounds begin to penetrate, but she forges on.
“As the cofounder of BADASS, or Broadway Against Drugs and Alcohol and Substances on Stage, and one of your hosts for tonight, it’s my responsibility to help you understand the truth. We all often feel alone, vulnerable, and even isolated from the world around us. People feel stress, highs and lows. They consume the parts they are acting, shows being worked on, the life they are living. But when the low hits—and sometimes they hit hard—people are turning to the cushion of drugs and alcohol to stop the pain instead of more constructive outlets.”
Simon takes over. “Tonight’s benefit will not only help the families of those whose lights have gone out, but we’ll help offer counseling for grief, dependency and depression free of charge.” The audience breaks out in tremendous applause. They wait for it to die down before it continues.
“We call patrons of the arts our angels, but I have an actual angel looking down over me. She taught me to give back, to see beyond the stage lights. And she was a recovering alcoholic who was sober for more than thirty years. My mother, Brielle Brogan’s, heart gave out last year. She abused alcohol in her early years to such a degree when it unknowingly damaged her heart. She was one of the lights I lost too soon. Way too soon.” Linnie tips her head back and swallows. “I’d like to think she’d be proud of us becoming BADASSes,” Linnie flashes a smile up at Simon, who has curled her into his side.
“I know she would.” Directing his comments to the audience of thousands at Lincoln Center, Simon says, “You all donated handsomely to attend tonight. You are our angels funding something much greater than a single show. It is our promise to you that you’ll receive a performance straight from our hearts—a show you will never forget.”
“A show that will mix who we are with what we do,” Linnie adds.
“If the spirit moves you, stand right up and sing along with us, but please keep the aisles clear for our amazing camera crews who are streaming this live,” Simon warns.
“And to our audience who is watching from the comfort of your homes, there are not enough words to say thank you and bless you. This type of tragedy hits all of our communities. The fact you’d take your time to grieve and celebrate with us is something we’ll never forget.” Linnie blows a kiss to the nearest camera tracking her movements.
“We’ll be back later. We promise.” Simon bows. “But for now, please welcome to the stage members of the cast ofMiss Mesinging Delta Rae’s ‘Morning Comes.’” Linnie and Simon saunter offstage as the curtain opens to a dimly lit stage. The chords of the guitar strumming are soothing.
And then I listen to the words—really listen. The lyrics seem to have been ripped from my soul, tortured yearning overplayed with overripe jealousy. It’s a song about someone who’s been knocked down, but unlike the misery I buried myself in each time I chose to let the alcohol pass through my lips, they picked themselves up from their knees because a new day would come.
How often, I wonder, before that night when I blacked out and spewed such hate at the woman I love did Linnie wonder if I was going to fall? And was she prepared to catch me if I did? Almost as much as detox was, the thought is sobering. Settling back, I wait for the quartet to finish before leaping to my feet like the rest of patrons at the Koch Theater at Lincoln Center.
Simon strolls back out onstage. “Wasn’t that brilliant? Now let’s keep that energy going for the cast ofBook of Mormon, who are a bunch of BADASSes themselves in this number for their Tony Award–winning show.” Applause greets his departure.
