Chapter six: It’s time to meet the big boss

Trigger warnings for those who need them

None

Venusia looks different at night.
Shadows are harsher against the gaslight street-lamps and lanterns suspended from balconies, bridges and odd places.
People sound louder against the silence, rougher, more like father when he’s drunk again. I don’t know where he’s drinking now.
I avoid all cafe’s, bars and seedy places, keep my eyes fixed on my feet as I walk. Try not to make a fuss or raise any eyebrows.
Just get to the theatre, I tell myself.
Once you’re there it’ll all be okay.
I duck under bridges and jump over small streams.
And then…well this should be it. The white building with the big facade that kind of looks like a bank.
But there are so many people here!
I didn’t consider there may be a play on tonight but the small square in front of the theatre is teeming with folk.
I feel a hint of panic creep and crawl along my back. What do I do?
Should I get in line with them?
But I don’t have a ticket. I just have a card.
But the man said ‘Give it to the doorman’.
I don’t think I can just jump the cue, that’d be far too rude.
So I find the end of it.
And wait.
“Ticket.” The doorman says blankly and I can tell from the tone of his voice he’s been standing here for a while now, and he’s trying his best not to show he’s bored.
“Uhm, Okay so I wanted to speak to Mister Craig.”
“Please go to the ticket booth.”
“But I have this card-”
“The ticket booth is to the left-”
“But I don’t need a ticket, I need to see Mister Craig.” I hold the card in front of his face but man just stares at it passively.
“What seems to be the problem?” an older gentleman with a funny green hat asks as he comes in our direction.
“It’s one of Barnaby’s again.” The lad tells him.
“You got a card?”
I show him the piece of cardstock, he snatches it from my fingers startling me.
I feel an odd sense of nervousness as he flips it over in his hands and wipes a thumb over the golden lettering.
I know it has to be genuine, but I still fear the gold will rub off and with it my entire dream.

Then the man smiles politely and gives the card back to me “Mister Craig is getting his make-up done right now. Please follow me.” he tells me as he pulls away the chord separating the street from the theatre.
“His make-up?” I ask confused.
I thought he was the owner.
The man smiles but doesn’t address my confusion. Instead he leads me past the crowds of people and up a set of steps next the nook where guests can leave their coat and pick up a drink instead. We arrive at a row of door. I follow the man all the way to the far side with a key. As we pass by the other doors I hear the faint suggestion of people talking inside. He then opens the door with a key and beckoning me inside.
I step into a little room with bottle-green plush seats, a ceiling light made from bits of glass that casts strange shimmer throughout the room and a wall missing through which I can see the stage.
He’s led me to one of the opera boxes at the top of the theatre.
Aren’t these spots the most expensive?
“But I don’t have a ticket,” I explain hurriedly before he has a chance to leave me here.
The man smiles “I know, but Mister Craig would quite possibly fire me if you came here during a performance and didn’t get to see him in action.” He winks. “Enjoy the show.”
And then he leaves, just like that.
“Right…” I say to no one but myself.
Beneath me in the pit, the orchestra plays odd-sounding music that feels disorientating to me.
The curtains are drawn still and people are still making their way to their seats. So all that’s left is wait I guess.
I have no idea what the play is, let alone what it’s about.
I have no idea how long it takes.
Will I be able to talk to Mister Craig afterwards?
If not that’s kind of a wasted evening…
Well not wasted exactly, a free theatre visit is amazing.
I just hope father doesn’t come home and find out that I’m not there.
The orchestral pit grows silent. The lights dim.
The curtains open.
And I’m transported to a different world by songs and costumes and music and dance.
Butterflies flutter over the stage with wings encrusted with sparkling stones.
Two cats chase one another playfully jumping and leaping over one another.
The music is upbeat and cheerful as if it’s trying to reassure the audience everything will be okay in the end.
I’ve never felt this…
This…
Happy?
Comfortable?
At home?
That’s it.
I never felt this at home in my life.
The play ends too soon.
Overcome with emotion I’m drying my eyes with my hands When the man comes to pick me up again.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asks handing me a handkerchief.
I nod helplessly as I accept the handkerchief.
“Do you need a minute to compose yourself?”
“No, no it’s fine thank you.” I wipes my face and take a deep breath, then hand back the kerchief and get up.
“Good, then it’s time to meet the big boss.”
The people walking in front of us as we descend the stairs again look like royalty to me. They talk in a foreign tongue but even without knowing what they’re saying they exude elegance and class.
“I’m afraid there are no doors between the guest and artist section of the building.” my guide tells me as we veer away from the other guests “We’ll have to go over the stage.”
My heart skips a beat “Oh, really?”
“Yes, this way please.”
Behind yet another door I find a bunch of chairs and two paths leading up to the stage. Looking up I’m surprised to see the balconies aren’t as high up as I expected them to be.
But regardless this is amazing, I can’t help but look up and around and take in all the splendor with my mouth hanging open in wonder.
I hope my guide doesn’t think I’m silly for it.
I pull my face into a kind smile and follow as a five steps lead me up the stage and standing there feels electric.
It feels like destiny.
We walk in between the wings and towards a corridor absolutely crammed with doors.
This place must be massive.
Not even the church is this big I’m sure.
We stop abruptly in front of a wooden door, I notice a little placket on it saying ‘Star’ on the front.
“There’s a young lady here to see you.” the man says loudly making me awfully nervous all of a sudden.
“One minute Mjokwa. I’m getting dressed again.”
“Just say when.” the man responds patiently. He then turns to me “Apologies for the inconvenience miss.”
“That’s okay I wouldn’t want to impose.” Or walk into a room where someone’s getting dressed.
I stare down the corridor and see the performers jump in and out of the doors in various states of costume. I recognise their roles from the play and I wish I was brave enough to tell them how much I enjoyed their performance.
“All right come on in.”
The man called Mjokwa holds the door open or me.
I step in cautiously. The man is sitting behind a large wooden desk on a large wooden chair. The walls are covered in gold-tooled leather and the floor is a soft plush carpet in a matching shade.
Lavish.
This place is lavish.
Mister Craig rises from his chair “Ah, the little miss from the clothes factory.” He sticks out his hand I shake it politely.
“My name is Donna.”
“No last name?” mister Craig sounds confused.
“I-” the image of my father shoots through my head and I’m certain the two of them know one another.
“No, no last name.”
“Mysterious, I like it. Well, you wanted to audition.” He sits down again “You have my full attention.”
“Yes of course, what do you want me to play?”
The man’s face cracks into a smile “Whatever you want to show me.”
“Oh…”
And just like that my dream shatters into a million pieces.
That’s not what I expected. I expected a script or an assignment.
I didn’t prepare anything beforehand.
“I see, uhm, I can sing something?”
This is going all wrong.
“Then sing.”
I fumble the notebook from my pocket and flip it open scanning the pages desperately for something that would catch the attention. Dazzle an audience.
This is rubbish.
It’s all rubbish.
What am I even doing here?
I can’t do this.
“Donna?” the man asks.
I swallow.
And vocalise my scales.
What else am I supposed to do!?
I don’t have any good songs. Just…angry thoughts or childish drivel so instead I sing the exercises that I use to warm my voice to show I know my notes.
“You can stop there Donna.” The man tells me kindly and it makes me want to cry “You’ve shown that you can hold your notes but that doesn’t tell me why you’re here.”
“I’m here to be a singer in your theatre.” I squeeze the notebook in my hands, angry at it, no. Angry at myself for not having anything better to sing.
The man hands slam on the desk with a loud thud and raises his voice “Then show me some emotion! Make me feel something. Show me more than a competent singer. Show me Donna!”
I step back. “All I have to show is anger sir.”
“Good, then show me rage.”
Rage.
I can do that.
I nod.
Open up my notebook, and sing.

I don’t care that you don’t love me.
I don’t care to know your thoughts.
I just want you to stop pretending.
I don’t matter.
I don’t count.

I want you to see me.
I’m more than your pawn.
I’m a person.
A woman.
Not some final petty ‘fuck you’ to the people that I love.

I’m not a pet you keep around.
I’m not your servant either.
You need my wages to pay rent.
Because you drink away your own.

Every night you stumble your way up into the room.
I secretly hope you’ll slip.
Crash.
Crack your head open and die.
Free me.
Release me.
From this horrible place.

A thank you would be nice.
For working till my fingers bleed.
Acknowledgement of my existence.
But I don’t hold out hope for that.
Just like you won’t apologise.
For the way, you’ve messed up my life.

My heart is racing. My lungs gasping or breath. My muscles are pulling in anticipation, hands balled, my jaw feels tense with nerves.
The man merely looks at me for a moment.
Maybe I should just walk out.
Before he says no.
Foster the illusion I did stand a chance.
The he smiles, eyes shimmering “Well, that certainly was something.”