Work Text:
April 27th, 2020
Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn NY
Hey there, the name’s Shannon Kroll and I’m a stagehand. That means I get up, work a gig, run a show, go home, have a shower beer, go to bed, then get up and do it all over again. Some days I might even hit up a bar with some buds between gigs, but life is mostly just work. ‘Another day another dollar,’ as they say.
Sometimes I take a break from the Midtown theaters and do a gig or two at a little place in backwater Brooklyn. Tucked away at the bottom of the borough, not much goes on here other than kid’s shows, school dance recitals, and the occasional Jersey Boys act for the blue hairs. Our audiences are usually screaming children or the walking dead. So you can imagine my surprise when I learn that the one and only Caro Greene is coming through town. I dunno why a world-famous podcaster like them would stop at our little hole-in-the-wall, but I’m not here to ask questions. I’m here to put on shows.
When the day arrives I head in like usual, trying not to let my nerves show. Like I said, I’m a stagehand, I work with stars all the time. The first rule of my job is not to get star-struck, and that’s a rule I follow very well. Mostly cos I couldn’t care less. I don’t care about TV shows, or movies, or celebs. I don’t recognize half of them half the time anyway. I’m sure I’ve put a body mic on someone you’d go gaga for, but I can’t be bothered to remember names. Except for one. And now that one is going to be here in five hours or so. And I’m brimming with nerves.
Loading in the set helps me regulate: changing over gel colors, refocusing the lights, testing the PA, transforming our wide, empty space into another world. The liminality of stages is truly what drew me to the industry in the first place. I could care less about what a show is, but MAKING a show happen, now that’s an undeniable magic. To take a black space devoid of anything but blue light and a back wall, beaten up floor and a creaky pin-rail, and transforming that into something else, to fill it up, scenery forming pockets of place, trapping in energies, activating the unseen, filling it with sound, movement, lights and voice; that carves out a new reality, each one unique, each one it’s own complete world, even if only for a night. Then we take that world apart, put it on a truck, and it gets shipped out to take up residence somewhere else, leaving us with a blank slate again, waiting in anticipation of what’s to come next. A stage is more of a possibility than a place. And today instead of black drapes, dust, and old ghosts, we get to have the pink and blue lights of Gasco paint purple across our deck.
Caro is running late for sound check. Their manager assures us it’s fine. Bummed I wont get to meet them, I slowly make my up to the lighting booth. I didn’t dare tell Lizard and Chris that this person is my one and only idol, so they don’t help make excuses for me to stay. It’s better this way, I tell myself. I have a job to do and it’s not like we’re getting a rehearsal. I must remain undistracted.
The booth is dark and dusty, like always. I say hi to the ghosts, Mike and Petey, before clicking on the overheads. I get the lighting console fired up so Caro’s board-op can do their thing, then I get the ballast on my follow spot up and running. I comfort myself with the knowledge that in an hour or so, out on that stage it will just be Caro Greene and me. The best part is they wont even know I’m there. Like a ghost in one of their stories, I will maintain a silent presence, my light following their every move. Sure, I’m a stagehand, but even more so, I’m a people reader. That’s what gets me follow spot jobs in the first place. Sometimes it’s like I know what an actor or dancer is going to do before they even know, and I am always right there with them.
When Caro’s board-op comes upstairs, she goes over the show with me. It all sounds easy peezy lemon squeezy. Before I know it, I’m bringing the house lights down to half, then taking them out completely. The crowd goes wild in the dark before the show. I’ve never heard a house this exited before, not even on Broadway.
“Hey, Hey, Listeners!!!” a familiar voice chimes, and my heart skips a beat. They really ARE down there. Fuck, I dunno if I can do this. I’m too nervous.
The lights come up. Caro is onstage. I hug the burning body of my spotlight and pick them up. It’s hard not to be enthralled by their presence. Even though they’re a tiny human, the sheer strength of their charisma makes them feel huge. Bright, sunshine eyes wink and smile, pale skin is pink in my warm light, tattoos dazzle and sparkle. I swear to god the way they shine on the stage makes them seem like a gateway into another dimension. Like, I am already a HUGE fan of Caro Greene, but seeing them in person is converting me to a whole new level. It takes a MASSIVE amount of control to keep my hands steady. I swear my heart is going to pound this spotlight into a strobe light. They use the whole stage to warm up the crowd, and I use my whole body to keep my light steady. I focus in on their every gesture, doing the best I can to anticipate where they will go. I give it my all, staying right there with them. They deserve the best, after all, but they’re only getting me.
“Wow, you’re smooth as hell,” the board-op comments.
I glance over, surprised by her presence. Honestly, I forgot it really wasn’t just Caro and me. That’s when I realize she’s busking too, pulling up lights as she wants them, pushing pinks and lavenders here, deep teals there, accentuating Caro’s jokes and swagger, timing everything just right; true talent.
“So are you,” I reply honestly, then look back to the stage. Caro is settling into a ghost story. We simultaneously change our color pallets, cooling things down and bringing shadows in close. A center special lights up Mx Greene, casting creepy shapes into the hollows of their features, blue backlight completing the look. I flip to my Lee 201 and iris in on their face, bringing focus to their words. That’s when I finally calm down and listen their story, and let me tell you, chills run my spine. Honestly, I don’t even realize that I’m slowly irising in, caught in the suspense, until their posture suddenly changes. A change that I DID NOT see coming.
They flop backwards out of my light. I panic. I’ve never lost a pick-up before. I must have made the beam too narrow. My heart pounds. I’m gonna get fired for sure. Then they’re back up, eyes glowing teal. Neat trick, I tell myself. Then they start speaking in tongues. I panic more. I panic more but the show keeps going. I iris in on their face until all the audience can see is their pale lips, now with a tinge of frost about the edges. We all stare at those lips, at those in-human eyes, listening, entranced, not knowing how long they will babble. We all hold our breath. It seems like forever.
Then over the headset comes the manager’s voice. “BLACKOUT!” she yells.
So we do. I let the house linger like that for a full ten count, then bring up the lights. The audience erupts. People enthusiastically fly out of their seats. They all think it’s part of the act. Over the PA I hear the manager’s voice sound, “Hellooo Listeners! After a twenty-minute intermission Caro Greene will return for the talk back and Q&A! In the meantime, please enjoy your refreshments and check out our merch. Thank you.”
When she clicks off I hear her voice start up on the board-op’s COM. Letting them go over things, I tell Lizard I’m going off headset, then lean forward to turn off my ballast. Twenty minutes seem a bit too long for a break in show, but it certainly will give my light time to cool down. Slumping back in the chair, I chug a bottle of water, hoping it will calm my pounding heart.
“Phew! That was good!” the board-op suddenly turns to me. “Thank you for taking the initiative there! That pin-spot was perfect! So spooky! The manager loved it.”
“Oh! No prob! That was fun, honestly, tho I didn’t expect the act to get that intense,” I reply. Then I glance down at the run sheet and notice something isn’t right. “Wait, there’s no intermission on this,” I state the obvious, double and triple checking the paper taped to my light.
“Oh shit! Sorry, I gave you the wrong one,” the board-op replies.
I would believe her, except her voice shakes when she says it. I don’t mean to give her a doubtful look, but I can’t control the expression my face makes half the time. Besides, she is pale and sweating even though we have the AC running. So I have to ask, “Everything okay?”
“Okay, look, I’ll tell you the truth. You jus’ gotta PROMISE not to say ANYTHING, you got it?” she eventually caves.
“Mum’s the word,” I reply, shrugging away her insecurities.
“Well, something happened out there during the show,” she begins in a low voice. Then she glances over to make sure I’m listening. “Going to black and calling an intermission is what the three of us have come up with to . . . ummm, handle stuff like this . . .” she trails off.
“Stuff like what?” I ask innocently, wanting to hear it from her mouth.
“Well, ummm, I’m NOT supposta say this. But, well . . . Caro Greene . . . is . . . well . . . they’re no actor,” she whispers with a small gulp. “They’re the real deal. And, ummmm . . . well, lots of theaters are haunted and shit, so . . .” she trails off again, letting my mind fill in the blanks.
“No fucking way,” I whisper whole-heartedly. I fucking knew it. I knew it as soon as it happened. Now I feel even better that I got to help save the show. Glancing anxiously to the curtained-off stage, I secretly hope that Caro is doing okay and the possession didn’t hurt them. Glancing nervously back to the board-op, I give her a sheepish smile and she grins shyly back at me. Just before breaking into a shit-eating smirk.
“HA! Gotchya!” she shouts before breaking into laughter. “Ohmygod the look on your face! That was fucking priceless! Dude, ‘m just joking with ya! Caro’s an actor in league with the best of ‘em,” she continues to laugh.
I stare at her confused for a moment. Then I pretend to laugh too. “Haha, yeah, you got me good,” I say, glancing back to the stage.
“Hahaha, I really did just give you the wrong run-of-show,” she laughed. “Don’t worry, after the break the rest of the night is simple. Just give them a half-iris on the stool. Actually, why don’t we do this? I’ll pop a special on them, and you pick up the folks asking questions, yeah?”
“Kay,” I reply. When I bend forward to flip my ballast back on, I sneak another look at her. And again, I’m pleased to say: I fucking knew it.
Like I said, I’m a people reader. So of course she doesn’t know I see the way her hand shakes while pressing the button on her COM, or her small swallow right before calling back, “Standing by.” She doesn’t know I can tell she’s faking, and I can’t blame her for trying to cover her ass. After all, she DID just divulge a BIG trade secret. So I let her think she successfully fooled me. I don’t tell her that I know it was either Mike or Petey (I need to tear them a new one) cuz they cause a ruckus every show. I let her believe what she needs to. But Caro Greene defiantly did just get possessed on my stage, and I feel both elated and horrible about it.
The rest of the show goes off without a hitch. Afterwards we pack Gasco back up and put it on a truck. I never got to meet Caro, but that’s okay, cos now I know their stories are real. Don’t worry; I’ll take that secret to my grave. I’m a stagehand, life is mostly just work, remember? Who would I even tell?
Besides you, that is.