Devonne Brown

If I found a pot of gold…

“Have a glass of wine and relax, just don’t mention the cursed play and this one will be fine.” I poured a glass of wine and refilled my own. I thought about how I was to dress for the premier. I owned this theatre. Folks would be smiling at me out of curiosity, and that was fine.

“Mom, what time is curtain?” Ian wanted to know. He was the accountant of the enterprise and his brows were knit together like a sweater. He was scared and nervous. He’d only dealt with film before. He’d never known the rush of a live audience. He’d seen rehearsals and he’d seen movies shot. Live performances were foreign to him. 

“The house opens at seven, curtain at eight.” After all these years, the “Lionel and Berny,” an intimate bowl of a theatre where drinks and dreams were served to anyone who wanted access to the stage would open. A mini stadium, a tiny black superbowl with lights and sound and a stage that would rise and fall on hydraulic lifts, my pot of gold at the end of the rainbow arrived.

Who would have believed it would work? “The Lionel and Berny’s” premier was an old Emyln Williams murder mystery. The boys weren’t sure, the beginning rehearsals were horrible. The actors, auditioned and imported, the director, flown in from a secret location, an old friend of mine from college, were just terrible for the longest time. But, as everyone says in the theatre, “It will be ok.” 

“What kind of committee picked that play?” Ian asked. The play was a hundred years old, a classic romp.

“Just watch.” I said. “When it gels, you’ll understand.” 

Ian, being the movie type, didn’t get it. “What if they lose their lines? What happens then?”

“They”ll figure it out. They’ve been trained to do that.”

“Why does that door open on the stage when it doesn’t go anywhere? No one even uses it on the set.” said Ian.

“That’s the actor factor. You never put a door on set that doesn’t open. An actor will forget and try to open it.”

“You can trust that actors will pick up each other’s lines, but not mess with a fake door?” Ian was aghast.

“They trust each other onstage. They aren’t humans like us anymore. Cut them some slack, they’re part of the rainbow from the pot of gold. Enjoy it.”