Misfit Theater Company (Wattys Winner 2018)

22. PG-13 Enough

Author's Note: It's funny that the title of this chapter is "PG-13 Enough" because I include the F-word toward the end. It's said by a character in a moment of frustration. I don't like to include many curse words in my writing, as I don't use many in my every day vocabulary either, but every now and then my characters disagree with me. So, fair warning: if you are offended by the F-word, it is used once in this chapter. :-P

Patti wipes her mouth off on her cloth napkin and pushes her chair away from the table. "Well, we should get started with our rehearsal soon."

I look down at my plate that still looks like I've barely touched it, and then at Moth's, which is already completely clean. Thatcher's looks more like mine.

"Are you guys ready?" she asks.

"Sure," Moth agrees, and I'm too shy to tell them that I'm still hungry, so I push away from the table too.

"Honey," Mrs. Weiner protests, "your friends are still eating."

"You guys are done, right?" Patti asks. She seems on edge and her eyes are crazier than normal, so I just nod my head. I haven't seen Patti's bad side, but with a part in A Call from Midnight on the line, I don't want to see it.

"Yep," I mumble as I fall into step with Patti, heading back toward the staircase, probably to go to her room.

"Thanks for dinner Mrs. W," I hear Moth say behind me.

"Yeah, thanks," I echo.

"No problem, kids. Have fun," she calls after us, but Patti is already leading us upstairs.

The stairwell is lined with framed pictures of Patti through the years. Little Patti in a dance costume, posing with her hip popped and her arm in the air. Little Patti in a princess Halloween costume. Middle school Patti standing in Times Square wearing a bright red pea coat and a white beret. A glamour shot of just Patti's head. High school Patti mid-performance in some show where she's wearing raggedy clothes and has dirt on her face. High school Patti and her parents wearing matching outfits and smiling beneath an autumn tree.

I follow Patti down a red carpeted hallway, wondering if this color choice was made to make Patti feel like she's a star when she walks out of her room every morning, and into the last bedroom on the right. A red, glittery letter P hangs on the outside of the door and when Patti opens it, I see the red glitter continues into the room. It's a glimmering pink and red explosion in here.

The walls are painted a deep pink color and a red chandelier dripping with crystals hangs from the center of the ceiling. The walls are striped in some sort of white glitter paint and framed playbills--that's what Patti calls them when she shows us around--hang all around the room. Glimmering white lamps with red lampshades sit on either side of her bed, which has a white headboard that looks more like the outline of a crown than something that belongs on a bed. At the far end of the room is a table with four chairs around it. Not like the forgotten outdoor set Thatcher had in his attic, but a white, round table that probably cost more than three of Thatcher's sets worth. Her room is easily twice the size of mine.

"Alright, let's take a seat," Patti says, all business. "Does everyone have their scripts?" Then before any of us can answer, she continues, "I made extras."

"Okay," Thatcher says, glancing to me for a quick smile.

"Look at your room, Patti," Moth says, still in awe. She turns to look at him, her cheeks turning as pink as her walls, and smiles.

"Oh yeah, it's pretty nice."

"Pretty nice? Uh, uh. This is like TV show nice," Moth replies. "Your parents must be loaded."