hair for the show but lost that fight to the design team when it was pointed out quietly in a production meeting that she didn’t have a ton of hair to work with, as it had thinned out considerably once she’d entered her thirties. The costume designer had made the right call, in Lauren’s opinion, and Alicia was much more glamorous in the wig. Now, if they could keep the princes, who happened to be gay anyway, away from her for one more day.
They were so close, Lauren could taste it. Into the Woods was in its final weekend of performances at The McAllister Theater in Minneapolis, where Lauren was one of two resident production stage managers. Her job was varied and intense, but she wouldn’t trade it for any other. It fell to her to oversee the assistant stage managers and keep everything about the production moving forward in a timely, healthy, and organized manner, and that came with a long list of responsibilities. Lauren called each cue of the show personally on the headset from the stage manager’s booth. She worked with actors on any problems, both personal or performance based, arranged for their understudies to step in when they were sick, and made sure the production team was informed about nearly every detail of each performance. She filled out electronic paperwork on every performance. She coordinated with the house manager. She made sure the director’s vision remained intact once the show opened. She booked doctor’s appointments, arranged for rides, and acted as therapist and counselor. In short, there was nothing Lauren Prescott didn’t do in the scope of her job to make each and every performance better, and she did it calmly with a smile.
And while she loved her gig as stage manager, she loved The McAllister even more. With a season of six productions annually, every one had to be top-notch. Lauren generally stage managed three or four of them, making the pace of her life incredibly busy. Sure, she’d love to date, socialize, or maybe make it to the gym on occasion. Hell, she’d settle for time to drink her coffee before it got cold. Yet she didn’t have time.
“And send,” she said, striking the key on her silver Mac with the rose-gold casing that would blast the performance report to everyone who worked behind the scenes in any position of status. They’d run three minutes longer than the night before, which meant that The Baker was milking his dramatic moments again. She’d pass on the note, knowing the director’s wish for him to keep the pace of those emotional moments in act 2 aloft.
Most of the forty-eight performances of Into the Woods had been sold out, and the reviews had been relatively positive. Yet the production had devolved into a backstage circus because of the dramatic nature of a few choice actors. Nothing new, but not Lauren’s favorite type of ensemble. Her goal was to get them to the end of the run the following evening without The Baker’s Wife killing The Baker, without Little Red Riding Hood wandering away to Instagram her face eighty times a show to the world while missing her act 1 entrance, and without The Narrator, a functioning alcoholic, performing so soused that audience members noticed. She could do it! She saw the homestretch in front of her with a glass of wine blinking like a 7-Eleven sign on a lonely highway at midnight.
God, she couldn’t wait for this trip.
She’d earned this vacation. Dreamed about it. In forty-eight hours, this production would be another successful entry on her already impressive résumé, and The McAllister would bring a new show to the main stage, and enter rehearsals for another. The system was in constant motion.
“Mona—the dresser for the princes?—hit on me tonight,” Trip said, leaning against her table in the booth. “She grabbed my ass, and it hurt like hell. Mona has traumatized me.”
“Do you want me to write it up?” Lauren asked with a sympathetic grin. She was also the first step to Human Resources for such claims, before the union got involved. “Call it aggressive ass grabbing?”
Trip rubbed his right cheek. “I do not. This time.”
“I’d do that for you, Trippy. I’ll say Mona’s an ass grabber.”
“Nah. Maybe next time. I just want my boss and friend to sympathize with me.”
She offered him puppy dog eyes and blinked slowly. “I’m so sorry your ass is sore, and that Mona thinks it’s so cute she has to harm it.”