One Door Closes

She saw it coming.  She wasn't shocked...or maybe she was in shock.  She couldn't be sure.

"I'm gonna have to let you go.  I just don't have the money to pay you.  With the business slowing way down I just can't afford to pay you right now."

It was effective immediately. That very minute.  She packed up her stuff and drove back into town.  A theme was sensed when she was unable to do a mobile deposit on her phone, and the ATM was down.  She had to walk in and deposit it in person.  She tried to think about how things could be worse.

She dropped all her office stuff off at the storage unit, and spent the rest of the day on the couch applying for jobs and watching My So-Called Life on Hulu.  She was always surprised that every time she watched the show, she felt differently about each character.

At the end of the day she snooped.  She checked on his emails to see if he put out a call for someone to take over her job.  He hadn't.  At least he had been telling her the truth.  That made her feel a little better, that it was nothing she had done.

But that didn't put money in her bank account.

Du Jour Means Crash Positions

"Our old teacher just called me.  They just lost their male actor." He texted.

She sighed and texted back "...she cast you didn't she?"

"She was talking to BW as well.  Hopefully he takes it." He said.

"BW won't take it.  He knows you will."

"Dirty pig fucker.  I wish PJ was available."

"Crazy husband.  Did you take it?"

"Only because I'm stupid."

"You are stupid.  It's adorable."

"Ugh, this character is like all of my worst traits amplified, plus a pothead"

"You mean like the kind of idiot who would take a role 9 days before opening night?"

No Direction

BW talked to the director about her too.  Basically said the same thing he said to TM; "She's awesome, stop fucking it up."

The director was driving her crazy.  She was singlehandedly letting down the entire female population with her antics.  She would say things like "You know how in old movies girls just wanted to be hit?" and would cry at the drop of a hat.  She was not directing.  She lost it a couple of weeks before opening and brought in the male artistic director of the company to direct for her.  She was going to lose us the right to vote.

"The energy feels a lot different than it did with the last one, doesn't it?" PJ had asked her one night about halfway into the run.

"Yes it does," she answered.  "The last play actually had a director."

She really just hated the fact that she was stuck not being able to fully do her job.

Right before the run the director had taken her aside and asked what she could do to help.  "You have it the wrong way.  I'm supposed to be helping you, but you won't let me.  You pull in other people, don't ask my opinion, and deliberately change plans after I've told everyone the opposite thing.  The next time you direct something, you should really pick a stage manager you trust.  I'm not sure what I did to make you not trust me, but clearly you don't."

Not sure if that made it any better, but for what it was worth the director wouldn't be around anymore.  It was her show now.

Two Wrongs Don't Make a CopyRight

She loved photography and taking pictures.  She'd felt a deep connection to it ever since her father had introduced her to it.  He taught her how to center the main focus of the picture, composition, and tried to teach her F-stops and shutter speeds.  Sadly that education had been lost to time, but she still loved taking a good photograph.  As technology had progressed, her iphone had told her time and again her storage was full so she couldn't take more pictures.  She would frequently do a dump of photos onto her computer so she could start over.  She bought tiny little lenses for her phone so she didn't have to lug the big computer around.

She also had the Nikon her father had left her.  She became the play historian, taking photos and video.  She posted them on her Instagram and on the private Facebook page for people involved in the play.  During the last play she noticed her pictures going up on the theatre's public page with no photo credit.  She mentioned it the theatre manager (TM) who ran the page.  He laughed it off.  He laughed off a lot of things that were disrespectful and bothered her.  It was starting to become a problem.  Even more so when she realized that they had put her photos up on the official web site for the current play.  Without permission, without credit.  Didn't they teach everyone these things in Kindergarden?

She had her writing stolen several times when she was trying to do freelance.  It wasn't okay when complete strangers violated her like this, but someone that she considered a friend?  She felt betrayed, double-crossed, stabbed in the back.  It really cut her deeply, and she didn't know what to do.  A few days later the BFF convinced her to tell her the whole story, in an alley behind the theatre with PJ.  With tears it came out, along with the fact that there are certain things she just didn't feel comfortable sharing with the BFF.  BFF was upset about that for sure.

But it was her friend BW that ended up saving her.  She had gone to him to vent about the situation, and he had talked to the theatre manager, and said "Penny is one in a million and gives her all.  Don't fuck it up with her.  You need her."

TM had been kissing her ass ever since.  BW certainly had a way with people.  Out of all the people who she had told about this awful situation, he was the only one who took action to protect her.  She wouldn't soon forget that.