October 20, 2007

• “After the Curtain Call” a short story: Part One

  As promised, here is the continuation of my short stroy “After the Curtain Call” written when I was in high school. I have bolded the first few paragraphs, whch appeared in my “teaser” on October 5th, although there has been further editing since then. MFN/ppf

  “After the Curtain Call”
  A short story by Michael F. Nyiri
  Written in 1970 and 1971, and expanded/edited in October 2007

  
  The young stagehand grasped the large rope in his steady hands, and pulling it slowly, caused the old stained red velvet curtain to lower. It lightly plummeted on it’s descent, then paused for a moment, absorbing the muted noises of the auditorium, letting the audience’s cheers and applause seep deeply into the actors’ souls. It continued it’s drop to the bottom of the stage, falling in the end with an ethereal thud. As the lights came up behind the curtain, highlighting three dozen people standing still while the audience cheered, one thought ran collectively through their heads – one thought with only two words – “It’s over”.

  Jeff Lancaster, standing straight looking blankly ahead to where the audience had just been seated, contemplated an odd feeling welling up from deep inside him. All the rehearsals, the memorization, the character analysis – all over. With the falling of the shabby and careworn red curtain of the Makay High School Auditorium, three months study in perfecting the play had reached a crescendo and tapered off to nothingness. The make-up stuck uncomfortably to the face. The costume itched. Lines of dialogue sprung unconsciously into the head.

  All of it over. Three months study for a two night performance. Jeff wondered if it was like this in all of Southern California – in all of the United States, or the world even. A small town high school play cast performing an obscure play is such a small part of the fabric of total existence, yet it seemed so large and important. In all of Jeff’s seventeen years, nothing defeated him so much as this moment. He had, three short months ago, tried out and succeeded in landing the lead role in Makay High’s yearly All School Play. It had been the greatest moment in his short life, filled with anticipation and accomplishment. Now, his personality had melded with that of his character. An hour or so ago he was a different person with a different life in a different place. Traces of the character still whispered to his psyche. Now the curtain was down.

  It’s over.

  “Jeff, what’s the matter?” The voice barely piercing the hazy cloud surrounding him belonged to Laurie Radcliffe, a supporting star in the production. “You look disappointed. You should be the happiest. You’re the star!”

  ‘Huh”- Jeff shook his head, clearing it of it’s earlier reverie. “I’m sorry, I – well. It’s just the feeling that it’s all over. Just now, as I finished my last line, and saw that curtain go down… it just shook me.”

  “Congratulations anyway, ” Laurie shot a confused look at the blonde, tall craftsman, who seemed to be worlds apart from the here and now. Laurie always wondered about Jeff Lancaster. Even when doing scenes with him; he was distant- a thinker.

  “I guess they make good poets,” she sighed to herself as she approached some of her friends. “Congratulations Mary, Kathy.”

  “Thank you,” Mary Larsen squealed. “Oh, this is so beautiful. I love theater.” She hugged Laurie.

  Kathryn Shelby smiled instead of saying anything. She loved theater too. Theater arts had always been her way of expressing herself. She loved acting, singing, dancing, anything that gave her the chance to perform. She was above crying, like Mary, or hugging everyone in sight, or so she thought. Her mind was merely contented with knowing that she had been noticed. She felt that giddy sense of exposure now, after doing that big scene with Jeff Lancaster and Margaret Burbridge, the two leads in the play. She had felt it in the dance concert last month. She felt it last year in choir when she performed the solo in the Easter Program. Kathryn simply smiled at Laurie, wondering if she could be as proud of herself.

  Across the small stage, parents and friends gathered abundantly, congratulating, kissing, laughing, posing, and generally spreading happiness. Mark Carson walked out of the small dressing room in back of the stage. He at once looked over to a far corner of the plywood set, where Margaret Burbridge, the female lead, stood holding court, accepting the congratulations of her family and friends. Too many friends. While he watched her, still looking radiant with her luxurious auburn hair, round face, and full yet pert figure, he envisioined the scene in the play which he still wished were real. In it, he played Margaret’s character’s lover, a part he prayed he could enact in real life.

  “Roberta, wait for me. I’ll be back as soon as we pile a few whales on that deck.”

  “Gregory, you know I don’t want you to go. But if you must – then – I guess nothing can stop you.”

  “No.” The directions called for Mark to stand up in a furor. “I’m NOT going out on that Godforsaken hell trap just for the sake of sea blood. I want you, Roberta. Neither miles of ocean nor hundreds of whales are a match for your love.” He grabbed Margaret, savoring the moment. She squealed a small “Oh” and then succumbed to his lips. In this, the final performance, he had not faked the kiss. He had forced Margaret to feel his passion. He wasn’t Gregory Furth, sailor. He wasn’t second lead in the play. He was the flesh and blood Mark Carson, telling Margaret Burbridge how much he loved her. At the time, she seemed to reciprocate, yet after the curtain call, instead of turning to him in order to declare her love, she went over to Larry Gorshin, a smooth talking but pushy person who was only a minor character in the play.

  Mark had been positive she had felt his kiss, and had been responding, but now he guessed she had only been acting. She was such a fine actress. He turned his head away from her clique and surveyed the stage.

  Why couldn’t he be more like Jeff Lancaster, who had the lead male part. He was always with a girl except when he wanted to be alone. Why did Mark have to fall for a girl who could care less about him. Margaret and Jeff Lancaster – now they were made for each other.

  Mark Carson felt he was at the other end of the spectrum. He couldn’t conjure up one good trait. He was forever in the wings, silently waiting, ever patiently waiting for something like a love affair with Margaret Burbridge to arrive in his life. His manly instincts told him he should be the one to break the ice. No, he wasn’t that brave – but wait a minute – didn’t he show the girl how much he cared? He gave her a kiss in the scene at the end of the second act that should have caused anybody else to swoon. No. She was just acting. Damn it all. She thought he was only acting too! Why couldn’t he just go over to her, grab her away from that bunch of greasepainted fools and declare straight into her beautiful face: “I love you! I want you!”

  He shook his head, trying to rid his mind of these futile thoughts. The noisy crowd on stage was growing. He pushed his way through it, ignoring everything and everyone around.

  “Hey, Mark.” He half heard the shout. “Carson! Are you goin’ to the party?” David Melrose came up to him, wiping makeup off his face with a towel.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Mark hadn’t really thought about it. He was too busy with the roiling thoughts of his one sided love affair.

  “Well, the place has been decided. It’s goin’ to be at Mary Larsen’s. Her parents are in San Diego for the weekend. There’s nobody there!”

  At that moment, Margaret Burbridge suddenly appeared, bearing the air of a movie star after signing autographs.

  “Jeffery, hi, ” she called to Jeff Lancaster while racing over to Mark and David. “David, Mark, you’re not leaving are you?”

  “Uh, n-n-no” Mark stuttered.

  “Good, I just came over to congratulate you both. Mark, you were wonderful.” She leaned over to him and kissed him. “That’s to pay you back for that whopper you gave me in the second act.”

  Mark couldn’t believe it. She was paying attention to him “You did very well, too, as usual, Margaret,” he slurred.

  “The party’s at Mary’s, Maggie,” David interjected. “No doubt you’ve already heard.”

  “Yes, David. Congratulations on a fine job in the play. I’ll see you later. Goodbye.” She disappeared in a the swirl of her garment, calling to more friends.

  “Well, Mark, I’ll see you later. I’ve got to go tell everybody about the party!”

  “Yeah, Dave. I’ll be there.” Mark turned towards the footlights and stared intently into the darkened auditorium. He envisioned an audience populating the sea of red felt seats and felt like bowing.

  Over near the rear of the stage, Jeff Lancaster.was also gazing out into the empty auditorium. He was deeply cogitating. The curtain had been raised again. The lights were turned out. Now the only lights were those on stage and the only people were those still on the stage as well. Now there was simply no hope of doing it again. The play had ended. Completely.

  “Jeff-” He looked to Mary Larsen. “We’re having the party at my place.” She smiled prettily.

  “Yes, I know.” Each of the low words were spoken slowly and articulately. “I may be there. It all depends on how I’m feeling.”

  “Oh, Jeff. You’re the star of the show. You’ve got to come. We’ve even got a surprise for you and Margaret.”

  “Maybe.” Jeff stood up and ran a hand through his short blonde hair. “Like I said, it all depends.” He took long sure strides into the dressing room.

  The noise in the Makay High School Audiorium subsided slowly as more and more people left. Fred and Lila Johnson took their daughter Gloria home. Jim Forbes and Sam Carruthers escorted two obscure blonde understudies to a bash in one of Makay’s darker and seedier restaurants. Kathryn Shelby went across the street for a malt before going to the party. Mary Larsen, Laurie Radcliffe, and eight others crammed into Billy Crenshaw’s pick up and sped down Hornberry Avenue to Mary’s house.

  Old Jim Dean, the caretaker and chief janitor of the high school, strolled across the empty stage of the auditorium. As he stood looking at the clumsy plywood and canvas set, painted sparingly and leaning now in the wake of being used as a playset by 10 year old younger siblings who had been frolicking on stage, Jeff Lancaster came out of the dressing room.

  “Hello, Mr. Dean,” he said.

  “Oh, hello, Jeffery. You kids did a good job tonight. I liked the play. Really did.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Dean.”

  “Oh, anybody still in the dressing room?”

  “Yeah, a couple of people.” He turned to go out the stage door. “Good night, Mr. Dean.”

  “Night, Jeffery.”

  The door closed noisily behind him as he savored the feeling of the cool night air. Makay County was situated as near to the desert as it was to the sea. It sat just northeast of Los Angeles on the California coast. The unique location of the small county gave it mostly beautiful weather. Jeff stood silently beside the magnificent auditorium. He turned to face it again – this building was the home of all Makay High School plays, and most of Hinsford High’s as well.

  Not only did school productions always premiere in this building, it had been host to many city and county shows, charity pageants, and local concerts throughout the years. “Old Makay Hall” was not a part of the high school, although renamed “Makay High School Auditorium” in 1962. It had survived two world wars and a depression, and had undergone numerous facelifts, yet nothing could mar the beauty of the building itself, nor the beauty in the fact that it was the father of so many Makay County plays.

  Jeff turned back to the driveway and walked to his car. He decided to go to the party. After all, he was the lead, and this was his last year in Makay High. His ’62 Vette fired easily and shot down Larrabee Street on the way to Hornberry Avenue. The large facade of the auditorium disappeared quickly behind him.

  Back in the auditorium, Mark Carson finished cleaning himself up and collected his costumes. He didn’t care about ever seeing this place again. Now he had a hope in his heart – a huge hope that centered around Margaret Burbridge. That was all he could think about.

  The stage door slammed shut as Kathryn Shelby ran towards the dressing room. She arrived at the dressing room door just as Mark opened it.

  “Hi,” she smiled.

  “H’lo -  uh, you’re the girl who played Shirley. Oh, – let’s see… Kathy….??”

  “Yes – it’s Kathy Shelby. I was just across the street having a quick snack, and came back here to see if anybody was around. I wanted to get to Mary’s house for the party.”

  “You must have stayed for an awful long quick snack.”

  “Yes. I was thinking about – oh, it isn’t important. I wanted to know if you…”

  “I’m going. Come on. We don’t want to be late for anything.” He led the way out of the auditorium, passing for the last time the remnants of the dead set.

  The two found themselves in the parking lot, where Mark’s blue 1966 Chevrolet Malibu sat waiting, alone in the expanse of diagonally paralleled parking spaces.

  “I guess we’re the last to leave.” Mark chuckled, while opening the door.

  “Probably. Oh, you gave a wonderful performance.” Kathryn seated herself.

  “Thank you. You did good, too. I thought the whole play was good.” He started the car, placed the gear lever in reverse, and backed out of the parking space.

  “Maggie Burbridge was wonderful, too.” Kathy said as an addition, although she could have cared less about the play or the performers, except for her own performance, but made idle conversation just for the sake of using Mark for a ride.

  Mark swing the car out onto Larrabee Street and turned left. “I think Margaret was wonderful, too.” He thought about meeting her at the party, congratulating her, having a snack of the cake that would be served. Then, of course, the lights would dim, and he and Margaret would be inseparable.

  “What time is it?” Kathryn broke his concentration. He glanced at his watch.

  “11:20. We’ll be there in ten minutes.” He tried not to think of his time at the party, but of the road and his driving. Thinking may only drown the surprises awaiting him.

  TO BE CONTINUED.

  ---

  EDIT: 10/21 9:29am pdt. This story was initially written in 1971. I’m posting as I transcribe. This will have about five “chapters” and I’ll make sure I don’t wait a week between chapters. I’ll probably post the next chapter on Wednesday, Oct. 24th. I’ll try to make sure I’ve posted the complete story by the end of the month.

  • 1:15 pm
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