The morning after

Day 31: Sunday, March 19

Surprisingly, considering how much I’d had to drink the night before, I wasn’t hung over. (Although I’ve never had the classic “hangover.” If I do get to that state, I’m usually just sleepy.)

I was going to be sleepy, though, since I had to get up early to see Pidge off. Even though her flight wasn’t until 12:30, she’d booked a car for 8:00 am, since she worries and wasn’t sure how the storm (on Tuesday!) would affect traffic. (As it was, it took her something like 20 minutes to get there.)

I woke up sometime after 7:00 and Pidge and I talked some while waiting for the car; nothing of moment; just kind of debriefing the night before and her trip and her week to come. Finally, the car came. I was going to go down to the sidewalk, but was barefoot and in pajamas, so she told me not to.

I came back up to the bedroom and it seemed startlingly empty. There hadn’t been a lot of evidence of her; her clothes and suitcase were in the closet the whole time, but there was something almost palpable. I went back to bed (since I didn’t have to get up for the show for a while), and was just darn sad. Minutes later, though, there were the usual sirens and street noise, but they stopped close by. I got up and looked out the window and saw four hook-and-ladder trucks, more than a few cop cars, and numerous spectators all outside the building catty-corner across the street. One of the fire trucks had a ladder extended up the roof of the building, and there were hoses everywhere. There was no evidence of smoke or fire, but something was obviously going on. I waited a few minutes, but nothing seemed to be happening. Finally, the firemen started coming out of the building, unhooking hoses, and generally packing up. I hate to leave the story with no ending, but I have no idea what was going on.

That incident over, I went back to sleep, then got up and prepared for the show. I decided to take the subway (I had the box with the diorama to deal with), but took a train I don’t normally take and didn’t get lost, but got a little disoriented.

Something that was nagging at me was summed up by the old story about Laurence Olivier. One night in the early 60s, when doing Othello, he was on fire; he was never better, to the point where the cast was watching the performance from the wings. After the show, someone (in the version I heard, it was Maggie Smith, who played Desdamona) went to his dressing room to congratulate him, and found him in tears. She was stunned. “Larry,” she said, “what’s wrong? You were magnificent tonight.” He looked up, depressed, “I know. But I have no idea how I did it.” It was the same thing for me (though not on that level, obviously) in that we’d had a great show Saturday night, but I had no idea what we did or how we could replicate it.

The show was sort of a benefit, in that most of the audience was comprised of people from Clark College, where Gino teaches and where Leah and Brian were students. The problem with a crowd like that is that, in many cases, they’re of like minds. If one likes it and is demonstrative, they all will be; if not, not. This was the latter case. They weren’t a bad audience, by any means (even if they didn’t realize the show was over and didn’t applaud until lights came up for curtain call; that happened a few times in San Francisco); they just weren’t generally demonstrative or loud. They laughed some in Scene 5 and seemed to like it overall (except for one guy in the front row and someone else who was either snoring or breathing loudly in Scene 6), but it wasn’t as lively as I’d have liked.

We did a brief talkback, during which an older woman spoke to me about something. We were having a nice chat until the staff made us close the theatre. We all continued to the Irish bar where we’d had our opening night party for a reception. It was another odd atmosphere. I’d assumed it was going to be more of a party, but it was only the show staff and a few of the college people. I talked more with the woman and learned she had a fascinating history as a UPI reporter, dealing with revolutions and dictators and death threats. She had an amazing life that she seemed almost blasé about. I can’t imagine how anyone could take any of that for granted, but she seemed to have absorbed it all.

I kept checking throughout the party to make sure Pidge got home all right. She did, and it was a nice night, so I decided to walk home. I picked up the Sunday paper and read it when I got home. I was looking forward to the off-day, even if it meant I was going to have to back to the Apple Store for more phone woes.