Interlude One:
The Strike Begins
“That’s it, we strike.”
“What?!
“You heard me,” the man playing Rhys glared up at me from the stage. “Strike. Do I need to spell it out for you?”
Gem stared down at her cast and stammered. Stephen, the actor behind Rhys, crossed his arms over his tuniced chest while Elizabeth and Daphine, rather Elysia and Damiana, just looked on for a moment before nodding their heads emphatically and tossing their scripts to the stage. Off stage the cast behind Darshana, Arodon and Idril did likewise. Stagehands, make up artists, and costume designers were muttering as they too nodded. “But, but why?”
“Why? Would you look at this stage? At this script? And you dare ask why?” Elizabeth (Elysia) spat the words as she pulled off the bright red wig she was wearing and her own chocolate brown locks came tumbling free over her shoulders. “You’ve written and re-written things twice, cut and added scenes without warning. Hellfire you even changed our names! Do you realize how many takes we’ve messed up because I call him Dominic?”
“And I suddenly have a brimstone scented demonic penguin for a familiar? Who sounds like Hugh Jackman, not that I’m complaining about the last. But honestly now, how many evil penguins do you know of?” Daphine tapped her foot as she berated the author, her voluptuous breasts threatening to break free of her robe with her arms crossed beneath them.
Gem looked toward stage right as familiar music began to sound in the background. The kids had pulled out a Wii and started playing Super Mario Brothers, as was their wont when they weren’t involved in a scene. She sighed and shook her head as she lowered it into her hands.
The cutting tap tap tap of a cane steadily coming closer made her head snap back up and the rich, cultured British voice suddenly grated on her nerves like it never had before. “All right everyone, this set is closed indefinitely.”
“What in the nine levels of hell are you doing here?”
Marcus Horatio Radcliffe, Knight of the British Empire, looked up and smiled his silk smile. “I am their agent, Ms. Wallace, and you are in breech of contract.” He pulled a file from his folio case and opened it. “I, Gem Wallace, the undersigned, do contact to write at least two thousand words, or spend at least two hours writing, whichever amounts to the greatest number of words committed to paper, during the month of November in the year of Our Lord two thousand and seven.” He closed the file and looked back up. “You, madam, have failed to provide your cast with the livelihood of their world for no less than six days already this month and it is only the thirteenth.”
Marcus reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a packet. Opening it he divided the items into two stacks onto the surface of the nearest table. Gesturing with his right hand to indicate the pile beneath it he spoke, “Tickets to Tahiti” and then with his left at the second pile, “and Disney World. All expenses paid. Erik, Lisa, why don’t you come pick first, and make sure you get enough for your families.”
Erik, the young man who had been playing Arodon so very well, paused his game and jumped up to his feet. Lanky steps brought him to the table and he gave a gap toothed grin to Marcus as he took six tickets from the Disney pile. He divided these on his way back to Lisa’s side and handed her four of the tickets before pocketing the other two and turning the game back on.
Gem groaned as one by one each cast member walks up and took tickets from the pile. She wasn’t surprised that Elizabeth and Stephen picked up Tahiti tickets, but what did surprise her was how quickly the Disney tickets vanished. Tossing her manuscript into the trash she leaned back in her chair and watched while sets were broken down and removed.
Taking out the checkbook for the production she wrote out each member’s wages individually and handed them out while everyone came by her small office on their way out. She sat in her writing office alone and stared blankly at the dark, silent and almost haunting stage below her. Marcus came up and took a seat on the edge of her desk, playing with a blank business card, rolling it over his fingers like someone would a quarter. He clasped his hands over the card and then opened them to show it had vanished. Opening his folio case once more he plucked out another packet and handed it to her before he leaned up and fished her manuscript out of the rubbish bin. “You are letting this stress you out too much. It’s supposed to be fun.” He chided and lay the packet of papers back down on her desk. “Don’t toss what you have, Gem. Rather make it a comedy of errors rather than what you were aiming for.”
He took the packet back from her hands and laid it on the manuscript he’d placed before her. “You’ll get your edge again if you stop worrying about what you’re writing, cease pushing the words out like your life depended on it, and have fun with it.” In an odd move for him he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “My card is in the packet, but it’s not like you don’t know how to reach me.” He took his cane from where he left it against the doorjamb when she wasn’t looking and started to leave.
“Why are you doing this? I mean… where’s Tobey?” She finally spoke again.
He stopped in his tracks and looked back to her then shook his head and pulled his silk handkerchief from his pocket when he saw the tears brimming in her expressive brown eyes. “He’s doing some contract work for your friend Edge. Something about the end of existence as we all know it. It sounded too good for him to pass up,” he gently folded his kerchief into her hands.
Marcus tapped the packet and the manuscript, “Take a day or two off, get your notes collected and try again.”
He was gone before she could look into the packet he left her; she hadn’t even heard his cane this time. Wiping her eyes she picked up and opened the packet, laughing softly as she dumped out a ticket to the weekend’s Denver Broncos game. She packed up her laptop, pens pencils and notebooks into her case, shoving character notes into a side pocket and picked up her stuffed penguin before she cast a final look at the darkened stage.
There was still time to get something written.