Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set

hello. My name is Lettuce Stanley. What’s your name?”
I raised my eyes to the ceiling because I knew this bit. Lydia liked to make up names for her characters when she was in the ensemble. She insisted everyone call her by that name... All. The. Time.
So, since she wasn’t interested in Jane’s real name, I answered on her behalf, “This is Jane... er… Mabel Stanley.”
This little tidbit of information lit up Lydia’s (Lettuce’s) face, and she squeezed Jane’s arms, snapping a selfie.
“Hashtag Stanley Sisters.”
She posted the photo immediately with the addition of #piratebootycall.
A hush came over the cast as the director entered the room. We all clung to our sheet music with rapt attention. Cole Forster preceded his reputation as one of the toughest directors in Los Angeles theatre. He semi-retired from his Broadway career and when he came to Los Angeles he worked almost exclusively at the Gardiner, where he would direct one show a year. Every single one of them won awards. No pressure. He was also a silver fox.
He cleared his throat and scanned the room. I wasn’t sure if the scowl he wore was attributed to his displeasure at such a ragtag cast, or if that was a permanent fixture on his face. I pushed the thought aside for later, because ya know… grumpy silver fox.
He addressed the thirty-five or so performers thus.
“I want to start by congratulating all of you for your display of talent and skill that has brought you here today. The audition process was rigorous, and the elimination rounds were especially difficult for Fitz and me.”
He gestured to Fitz Hanlon, the music director standing by the piano with his music stand at the ready. Fitz nodded gravely.
Cole Forster continued, “As some of you may be aware, we pre-cast some of our principal players which I don’t see here at present, but I do have a surprise which I think you’ll consider a real treat.”
Everyone in the room straightened at attention a little bit more, if that was at all possible, but Lydia slumped in her chair, almost pouting that Mr. National Tour had yet to enter the building.
And then, like a tropical storm, the woman of the hour swept into the room. The legend. The queen of theatre for whom the place we were sitting in was named. Audible gasps waved through the cast. A faint smile cracked across Cole Forster’s face as he introduced the elderly but spry woman entering with a flourish in a black leotard and a flowing paisley kimono. “Our very own Dame Stella Gardiner will play the part of Ruth.”
The room filled with thunderous applause. Scripts hit the floor, and everyone was on their feet, the applause growing in intensity as Stella made several large, sweeping bows.
It was a beautiful moment. This woman was so celebrated, she didn’t even have to open her mouth with one line of dialogue to get a standing ovation. In my opinion, she deserved it. Black and white photos of Ms. Gardiner in various productions over the years lined the foyer and hallways of the theatre. Dramatic images taken candidly upon the stage of her playing Lady Macbeth, Evita and Maria von Trapp were the whispers of antiquity that gave the theatre its character. Her legacy was set upon the long and notable career she built for herself. She was nominated for seven Tony awards and won three, had an Oscar under her belt, and her countless film and television appearances were probably just another day in the life of the great Dame Stella. Yep. Definitely not in Kansas anymore.
“I just want you all to know,” she began with her regal English air, “that even though I’m technically the owner of this pile of bricks…” She waved her hand around, indicating the theatre. A flutter of chuckles accompanied her pause. “…we are all in the same boat together. By the way, I’ve seen the designs for the actual boat, and we’ll be packed in quite cozily. So wear deodorant.”
This earned her more laughs, and she smiled with that famous glow she was known for. It wasn’t a trick of good lighting or the magic performed in the editing room. That glow was all her. She was radiant. I noticed with awe how incredibly electric the room became simply by her presence. But she didn’t strike me as one of those old-timey movie stars who expected everyone to grovel. She cracked jokes and exchanged hugs with the creative team. Fitz said something in her ear, and she laughed with an easy mien, squeezing his shoulder in genuine camaraderie.
This was her tribe, I thought wistfully. I’d observed it in many celebrities and Broadway stars. There was always that group of people who, sharing the toil of one’s life work, became more than friends. It was like a club one could only join by doing brilliant things. I wanted to be a part of it. I was a part of it. It could be my tribe, too.
Admittedly, I still felt like a voyeur, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It reminded me of that time my uncle snuck into the U2 concert by simply walking through the stage door with the crew. He’d described how he watched the entire show from the wings, and nobody said anything to him. He did that three times. But on the fourth attempt, part of the security staff stopped him for not having a lanyard.
A lanyard.
So he pretended he was lost. No big deal. I wondered how many rehearsals I could realistically attend before people noticed I didn’t belong. I’d have to act confused and claim I wandered in there by accident, thinking it was a Pilates studio. I did a quick perusal of the other actors to see if any of them had lanyards or name stickers. Nope. So far, so good.
Stop freaking out, Beth. They want you here. You’re good enough. You can do this.
As if on cue, two men walked into the rehearsal studio riding on the wake of Stella’s limelight. It was as though, true to a stage performer’s