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It is the night of the Cornley Drama Society’s biweekly logistics meeting, and they are already behind schedule.
Chris Bean is poised on the stage beside an easel pad, upon which he has written out a carefully plotted agenda. In one hand, he clutches a thick, black Sharpie; with the other hand, he fiddles with the collar of his shirt. He glances impatiently at his watch. 7:38. Sandra manages to be late to every one of these meetings, always dashing in ten minutes after the planned start time, trotting out some excuse that half the time involves a phone call with JJ Abrams.
Everyone else has arrived on time, something which pleases Chris, though he keeps his pleasure to himself. Nobody else seems to notice or care that they’re running late. Annie and Trevor are sitting next to each other on the stage floor, heads bent over Trevor’s phone, giggling together at something on the screen. Jonathan and Robert are deep in conversation. Dennis is sitting to the left of Robert, leaning in, nodding and laughing every once in a while, as though he is part of their discussion, though neither Jonathan nor Robert seems to have noticed him at all. Vanessa is in the middle of the stage, looking somewhat lost; every so often, she glances over at the others with some interest, smiling at something she’s overheard, but never joins in.
It is at this point that Sandra dashes on stage, clutching a large tea, as per usual. “Sorry I’m late, Chris—I had a phone call with this American film director, and you know how they are—it’s like they don’t have any sense of time at all.”
Chris gives a curt nod. Max, who is sitting near the edge of the stage, grins widely and waves Sandra over. She walks over and sits down next to him, matching his smile with her own. He grabs her hand and gives it a quick squeeze.
“All right, then. Hello—over here.” Chris raises a hand and waves at the CDS members. Gradually, their conversations die down, and they turn to face Chris.
Chris takes a deep breath to steady himself. He spent hours this afternoon writing out the notes for tonight’s meeting, and he’s hoping for a relatively productive meeting. At the top of the first page of the easel pad he’s written CORNLEY DRAMA SOCIETY MEETING—FEB. 10. Underneath are three topics of discussion:
- INTIMACY COORDINATOR
- BUDGET
- HORSE?
“Right. We’ve got a half hour to get through this meeting, and I’d like to keep things moving.” He gives the society members a significant look, which doesn’t seem to register with any of them. “Just a quick reminder of our rules: first, keep all language respectful and civil; second, stay on track; and third, if you’ve got something to say, please raise your hand and wait for me to call on you.”
Robert raises his hand. Chris points at him. “Yes, Robert?”
“You’re not raising your hand.”
Chris feels his blood pressure rise. “I am the director. I don’t need to raise my hand.”
Robert mutters something to himself, which Chris chooses to ignore for the sake of rule two. He spies Max’s hand in the air—never a good sign—and sighs. “Max?”
Max lowers his hand. “I miss the talking stick.”
The cast and crew murmur in agreement. Chris pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes, well, we lost talking stick privileges, didn’t we? After someone decided to practice his swordplay choreography with unapproved materials?”
Max nods. He has the decency to look somewhat abashed.
“Right. We’ve got a lot to discuss, and only a half hour to discuss it. So let’s start with our first topic of discussion.” Chris taps the first point with his Sharpie. “After receiving several letters of complaint about our recent production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, we have been asked to hire an intimacy coordinator.”
Dennis’ hand flies in the air. Chris points at him. “Yes, Dennis?”
“What’s an intimacy coordinator?”
Chris tries to think of a Dennis-appropriate definition. “An intimacy coordinator is…someone who comes on to a set during scenes of, er, a romantic or sexual nature, to make sure that things remain…appropriate. So if two characters needed to kiss, the intimacy director would supervise during rehearsals and offer suggestions in order to ensure that everyone—onstage and off—remains comfortable.”
Sandra raises her hand. “I could be the intimacy coordinator,” she says without waiting to be called on.
Chris shakes his head. “You could not. We have been asked to hire a trained intimacy coordinator.” Besides, he thinks to himself, you are the subject of at least half of those letters of complaint.
“I could get trained,” Sandra persists.
“I suspect that might be a conflict of interest.”
Dennis’ hand is up again. When Chris nods at him, he asks, “What’s a conflict of interest?”
“Right!” Chris claps his hands together. “Focus, everyone. This is not really a topic of discussion. This is me, telling all of you, that we are going to hire an intimacy coordinator. If anyone has any leads, please let me know after this meeting. Now, then.” Chris taps the second point. “On to our next topic of discussion. Once again, our budget has been cut.”
Groans go up around the room. Chris holds up his hands. “I know, I know—it’s not ideal. But we’ve always managed. I need some suggestions on areas where we can cut costs.”
“Spend less on safety harnesses,” calls out Trevor.
Chris feels his jaw go tense. He tries to relax. “Remember, all, we are raising our hands.” He raises his own hand in demonstration, forcing out a friendly laugh. “Also, we have already cut our safety harness budget to the legally allowable amount, so that’s out.”
Dennis sticks his hand in the air. Chris points at him. “Dennis, go ahead.”
“We could cut the intimacy coordinator.”
Chris’ heartbeat thuds in his skull. He takes a deep breath. “Not an option.”
“Why not?”
“Have you been listening to what I’ve been saying?”
“Yes,” says Dennis. “I just don’t see why we need someone to coordinate our intimacies.” He glances around at his fellow CDS members. “We’re all friends here.”
Chris grits his teeth. “Actually, Dennis, we are not all friends here. We are all members of the Cornley Drama Society, an amateur theatre troupe, so I think it is important to maintain a certain degree of professionalism here. Now, on the subject of budget cuts—”
“Annie and I are friends,” says Max. Annie smiles. They give each other a spud.
“Okay.” Chris does his best to remain calm. “Not relevant.”
“I know.” Max grins. “Just wanted to say it.”
“Right. Well. Back to the topic at hand—”
“Wait. Hold on.” Dennis frowns. “Annie just said she’s friends with us. So we are all friends here.” He turns to Annie. “Right?”
“Well…yeah. Sure.” Annie looks a bit uncomfortable. “I—I’m friends with some of you…”
“Which some of us?” asks Dennis.
Annie shifts anxiously, twisting her hands together. “Well…”
“It’s obvious,” snaps Robert. “Those of us she’s not avoiding looking at.”
Trevor raises his hand. “Annie and I grab a pint sometimes after rehearsal. So we’re friends.” He looks at her. “Yeah?”
Annie smiles and nods. “Yeah.”
Max nods seriously. “Okay. That’s two friends. I just want to say”—Big smile— “that I consider all of you my friends.”
The CDS has somewhat mixed reactions to this, divided between smiles and eye rolls. Chris, for his part, is on the side of the eye rolls.
Before Chris can say anything to get the meeting back on track, Dennis is speaking again. “So we are all friends here.” He glances at Chris, seeking his approval. “Right?”
Chris sighs. “Listen,” he says, grasping his hands together tightly behind his back. “Now is not an appropriate time to have this conversation. Like I said, we are simply a drama society. There is no need to define our relationship beyond these terms. Now, back to—”
A flash of motion on stage catches Chris’ eye. Vanessa is somewhat timidly holding up a hand. Chris points at her with his Sharpie. “Yes, Vanessa?”
“I—I have something I’d like to say,” she says, in a small voice trying to sound bigger than it is. “I’ve been meaning to say it for a while, and I think that now is a good time.” She clears her throat and rests her hands in her lap. “I have not been made to feel particularly welcome in the Cornley Drama Society. I realize that I am new, but I—I have been feeling somewhat like an outsider.”
“Oh, that’s bollocks,” calls out Robert before Chris can try to get the meeting back on track. “Your first day of rehearsals, I offered you a copy of Anything You Can Act, I Can Act Louder. ”
Vanessa’s forehead creases in frustration. “Which you said was free, but then the next day, you billed me.”
Robert holds up a finger. “I offered you a payment plan. And I offered you reduced life coaching rates.”
Vanessa’s voice pitches high with irritation. “And I told you that I would need to be seriously desperate to accept that offer.”
Robert shrugs. “Never say never.”
Jonathan leans over to Vanessa. “I was very friendly toward you in your early days,” he says. “We talked every chance we got, remember?”
“Jonathan, that’s only because you were trying to get into her pants after what happened with Sandra,” points out Robert.
Vanessa turns pink. Jonathan splutters wordlessly. Sandra’s jaw twitches.
“All right,” says Chris. “We really ought to—”
Robert goes on. “But when you found out she fancied girls, you dropped her like a hot potato.”
Vanessa turns red. Jonathan tries to defend himself, but Chris cuts him off with some forced laughter. “I think,” he says, “that is quite enough of that.”
“It’s true, Chris,” says Robert. Several society members nod in agreement.
“I don’t care if it’s true,” says Chris, although it is. “We are not here to discuss personal relationships. We are here to discuss necessary cuts to the CDS budget.” He flips to the second page of the easel pad. “Now, if you’ll look at this pie chart—”
Chris breaks off. Annie is making meaningful eye contact with Chris and waving her hand in the air. “Yes, Annie?”
“I just want to say,” says Annie, looking at Vanessa, “that me and Trevor invited you for a drink when you first joined up. Not just once, but a couple times, maybe three. Each time, you said no.” She puts her hand down. “That’s all I wanted to say."
Every CDS member, Chris included, is staring at Vanessa now. Vanessa presses her lips together. “That’s true, but…” She sighs. “Annie, please don’t take this the wrong way, but sometimes you and Trevor can get a bit rowdy.”
Trevor cackles. “Rowdy?”
Vanessa flushes. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“Right, right. Sorry, Vanessa. We’re not laughing at you,” says Annie, very much still laughing at Vanessa.
“Yeah. Sorry if we got a bit rowdy,” adds Trevor.
Annie elbows Trevor, swallowing her giggles. “Look, Vanessa, maybe it’s for the best that you didn’t come. Sometimes you can be a bit…”
“Yeah, sometimes you can be a bit,” Trevor agrees.
Vanessa’s shoulders are even more tense than usual. “A bit what?”
Chris attempts to intervene. “This is getting somewhat personal. We really should get back to—”
“A bit uptight,” says Annie quickly, as though to get it over with.
Vanessa’s shoulders are practically at her ears. “A bit uptight? Oh, I’m sorry that I don’t enjoy drunkenly climbing on tables, and I’m sorry that I balk at lighting myself on fire—”
“That was one time,” interjects Trevor.
Vanessa plows on, her voice pitching higher the longer she speaks. “I guess I’m just not cool and relaxed enough to understand the wonder of—of punching another man in the mouth and getting my absolute arse kicked six ways to Sunday.”
Trevor starts to say something, but Annie steps in. “Yeah, Trev, you do tend to get a bit fighty when you get a few drinks in you.”
Trevor looks betrayed. “And is that a bad thing now?”
Annie scrunches up her face. “Well, not a bad thing…it’s just that it can bring the night to an abrupt end, is all.”
Trevor scoffs. “Unbelievable. Just because Little Miss Perfect”—He juts his chin in the direction of Vanessa—“can’t handle a good time, now you’re turning on me, too?”
Annie laughs. “I’m not turning on you!”
Trevor’s face darkens. “You are! You–”
“Trev, all I’m saying is that you’re going to get badly hurt one of these days—”
“All right,” says Chris over the rising din.
“I can handle myself, Annie—”
“Clearly you can’t, I’ve had to step in these last two times—”
“All right!” shouts Chris.
Annie and Trevor stop yelling, though they don’t stop scowling at one another.
Having regained the attention of the drama society, Chris speaks slowly and deliberately. “I think,” he says, “that this serves as an excellent reminder as to why CDS relationships should be kept strictly professional. Professionalism can help us avoid all this…messiness.”
He gives Annie and Trevor a significant look. Trevor crosses his arms. Annie scoots closer to Vanessa.
Pleased to have regained order, Chris points to the hand-drawn pie chart. “Now: item one. I would like to draw your attention to—”
Dennis raises his hand. In the interest of being fair, Chris calls on him. “Yes, Dennis?”
“Is being roommates a professional relationship?”
Chris is briefly stupefied. “Um.” He considers. “No. Not traditionally.”
“Because Robert and I are roommates.” Dennis smiles at Robert. “And friends.”
Robert coughs. “Just roommates, Dennis. And it is a very temporary arrangement.”
Dennis raises his hand again. “Yes, Dennis?” Chris says, and immediately regrets it.
“Is six months temporary?”
Now, usually, Chris would shut this sort of off-topic discussion down, but the look of indignance on Robert’s face, as well as the snickers coming from the rest of the drama society, are really quite enjoyable. “No, Dennis,” says Chris, his eyes on Robert, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Traditionally, six months is not temporary.”
Robert’s color is rising. “Well, regardless,” he says, raising his voice to be heard over the titters, “we are simply temporary roommates, and certainly not friends.”
“But…you said that I was doing you a favor, because friends do favors for each other.” Dennis looks utterly confused.
“Well. Yes.” Robert pauses. “I did say that, didn’t I.”
“And I was also doing you a favor, because we were friends, when I paid—”
“Aaaah!” Robert interrupts Dennis with a loud shout. Chris recognizes this as masking, one of the techniques discussed in Anything You Can Act, I Can Act Louder.
Dennis doesn’t seem to remember that chapter. “When I paid—”
“Aaaaah bah aaah baaaaah,” masks Robert, even louder this time.
Chris folds his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry, Dennis, I can’t hear you. When you paid for what?”
“When I paid for your portion of—”
“Aaaah gah! Aaah.”
“—your portion of the rent,” finished Dennis, looking even more off-kilter than usual.
There is a long silence. Robert has the expression of someone unexpectedly caught in the spotlight.
“And how long have you been paying Robert’s portion of the rent?” asks Vanessa.
Robert laughs uncomfortably. “I don’t see how this is—”
“Six months,” says Dennis.
Another silence. Expressions range from stunned to disgusted to guilty (Robert) to perplexed (Dennis).
Jonathan is the first to speak. “Robert, even for you, that is low.”
“Oh, as if you’ve got the moral high ground,” snaps Robert. “Who was it again who cheated on his girlfriend live on stage?”
Jonathan goes red. “That was a mistake! I’ve apologized for that one million times—what else do I need to do to repent?”
“Fuck off forever,” says Sandra sotto voce.
Jonathan’s voice grows shrill. “I’ve told you this, Sandra—Annie was the one who came on to me, not the other way around!”
Annie leaps to her feet. “Yeah, because I had brain damage!” she shouts.
Jonathan rises to meet Annie. “Oh, how long are you going to use that excuse?”
“I legally died and came back to life, so excuse me if I was a little confused, and by the way, it was like kissing a dead fish anyway—”
“Oh, you should be so lucky—”
“Excuse me!” Chris shouts, straining to be heard over the commotion. “Excuse me—EXCUSE ME!”
With some effort, the shouting match dies down to a glowering match. Chris takes a deep breath and attempts to regain some composure.
“Look,” he says. “You lot can deal with personal matters on your own time. While we are on this stage—or backstage, for that matter—our relationships will remain strictly professional. Is that clear?”
Scattered mumbling.
“Is that clear?”
Eight resentful yeses crop up from the theatre floor. Annie and Jonathan sit back down, giving each other a wide berth.
“Good.” Chris steeples his hands together. “I don’t want to hear any more talk of who is friends and who isn’t. This isn’t grammar school, for God’s sake.” He turns back to the easel pad. “Now, we haven’t got much time, but I would at least like to discuss—”
A hand. Why is there a hand waving in the air? And why in God’s name does it belong to Max?
“Max.” Chris points at him. “Is this related to the budget?”
Max lowers his hand. He doesn’t confirm or deny, just launches right in. “Sandra and I aren’t friends.” Max grins that wide, cheesy grin of his, the type that looks like it might split his face in two. “We’re boyfriend-girlfriend.”
Sandra flinches. She lets out a nervous chuckle. “Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far.”
Max freezes. His smile vanishes. “What? What do you mean?”
“Well…” Sandra is glancing around, her lips pressed together. “We’re seeing each other, yes, but I wouldn’t be so quick to put a label on what we are.”
Max looks as though the ground has been swept out from underneath his feet. “Well, what are we?”
Sandra is twisting a ring around and around her finger. “Max, that’s what I’m saying—that we shouldn’t try to label what we are right now. Can’t it be a casual thing?”
“We’ve been seeing each other for six weeks!” Max’s voice is rising in volume and timbre.
Sandra’s eyes are wider than usual. She licks her lips. Her hands are up; her posture is defensive. “Right, and that’s what I’m saying. Six weeks isn’t that long.”
“Six weeks is the longest relationship I’ve ever been in!” Max sounds frantic. He stands; he begins to pace. “Six weeks is the only relationship I’ve ever been in!”
Sandra winces. “ Relationship—Max, you’re labeling it again.”
Max rakes a hand through his hair. “Well, what if I want a label?”
Now Sandra’s voice is rising. “What if I don’t?”
Suddenly, Max deflates. His shoulders sag. “Then…then I guess we aren’t…”
He can’t seem to make himself finish the sentence. He drops back down to a sitting position, his shoulders sagging, his head bowed.
The Cornley Drama Society shoots daggers at Sandra. Her mouth falls open.
“As if—not my fault that—as if I’m the bad guy…”
Her words turn into vague mutters. She stands, stalks a few feet away from Max, and sits. Her head, too, falls between her shoulders.
“Awkward,” says Robert under his breath. Unfortunately, Robert speaking under his breath is still really quite loud.
This final sparring match seems to have taken the wind out of everyone’s sails. The Cornley Drama Society sits grimly on the floor. No one makes eye contact.
Chris decides that, as director, he should take control of the situation. He clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. No one looks up, but he speaks nonetheless.
“Look,” says Chris. “Maybe we don’t need to define what this” —He gestures at the theatre, at everyone in it—“is. Maybe we can just say: we’re a drama society. Maybe that’s all we need to be.” Pause. He’s having a hard time reading the room. “Okay?”
No response. The silence ticks on for five seconds, then ten. Chris is beginning to wonder if he should say something else when someone finally speaks up.
“I think Chris is right,” says Max in a subdued tone. “I think that when you try too hard to define something, you can ruin it.”
Max blinks several times in rapid succession. Sandra looks away. The rest of the drama society seems equally subdued.
“So let’s just…stop trying to define things before anything else gets ruined.”
The drama society fiddles with their hands, with their hair, with their shoelaces. They look at the floor. They scarcely breathe. The theatre is silent—a rare occurrence.
Chris figures this is as good a time as any to continue the meeting. “Thank you, Max. Well said. Now, about our budgeting difficulties…”
He turns back to the easel pad, and is about to launch into a diatribe against the excessive use of pyrotechnics, when he catches a glimpse of the drama society. His drama society.
Annie’s brows are drawn together in a frown. She traces a circle on the floor with her index finger. Trevor keeps looking over at Annie, then looking away. His mouth twists downwards. Dennis looks confused, and, yes, he always looks like that, but if Chris isn’t mistaken, there is some hurt lurking beneath the confusion. Robert is gazing at the stage floor as though the scratch marks and tape residue demand his full attention. Vanessa, meanwhile, is giving Chris her rapt attention, but there is something forced in her focus, her eyes just a touch too wide. Jonathan keeps glancing at Sandra, who is glancing anywhere but at Max, preoccupied with her hair—running a hand through it, tossing it over her shoulder, occasionally chewing on a lock, an old habit which Chris hasn’t seen her partake in for years.
And Max, poor Max, looks utterly defeated. His shoulders are almost cartoonishly slumped, and he has that kicked-puppy look in his eyes that he only gets when something really goes wrong. Max, who is so indefatigable, who never stops grinning that maddening grin of his, looks devastated.
God damn it.
Chris knows what he has to do.
God damn it.
“Actually…” Chris places the Sharpie back down on the easel stand. “I have something I’d like to say.”
Nobody responds. They all probably think he’s going to remind them that all costumes must remain on the theatre premises at all times, or bring up the recent trombone catastrophe on the set of The Music Man.
“Well, really, it’s more of a question.” He clears his throat, clasps his hands together. “What are we if not friends?”
Now he’s got their attention. Seven pairs of eyes meet his. They all look mildly dubious, as if they suspect this is some sort of trap.
“You said it yourself, didn’t you?” says Annie. “We’re a drama society.”
“Well, yes, we are that.” Chris wipes his damp palms on his trousers. This is really not his forte. “But aren’t we…just a bit more?”
There is a long pause. They all seem a bit hesitant to leap back into the friendship discussion. Chris doesn’t blame them. He tries to think of some way to make this easier.
He begins to walk the stage, weaving between the seated members of the drama society. “Look, maybe we should start with a definition of friendship. What do friends do?” He offers the question up to the room. “Anyone?”
He locks eyes with Trevor, who has a hand half-raised in the air. “Yes! Yes, Trevor?”
“Get pissed together,” says Trevor confidently.
Chris blinks. “Right! Okay. Yes. Good example. Trevor.” He gathers his thoughts. “And I recall you saying that you and Annie go out for a drink sometimes after rehearsals, correct?”
Trevor smiles. “Yeah, we do. Get proper smashed sometimes.”
Annie smiles at the floor. “Yeah, sometimes.” She turns to look at Trevor, and they grin at each other, as if sharing a memory.
Emboldened by this apparent mending of a rift, Chris continues to stroll around the stage. “What else do friends do?”
Chris glances about to see that Jonathan has a hand in the air. “Yes, Jonathan? Er—also, you don’t need to raise your hand. We’re speaking casually here.”
“Friends drive each other to the airport,” says Jonathan.
Chris nods. “Certainly. Great example, Jonathan.”
Sandra speaks up, her voice soft. “You drove me to the airport once,” she says. “That time I thought I might have an audition in LA.” She lifts her head to look Jonathan in the eye. “It was four in the morning. You didn’t have to—I could have just called a cab. But you did anyway. Said it was no bother. So.” She tosses her hair and looks down at her lap again. “Thanks.”
Jonathan nods in acknowledgement.
Chris is feeling somewhat on a roll. “Fantastic. And even though it turned out the whole LA audition was a misunderstanding, it was still a very kind gesture from Jonathan.” He looks around again. “Friendship? What do friends do? Anyone else?”
Dennis stretches his fingertips towards the ceiling. “Friends help each other move,” he says with certainty.
Chris nods. “Yes. You don’t need to raise your hand—but yes, Dennis, quite true. May I ask, Dennis—did you help Robert move, when he moved in with you?”
Dennis nods. “Yes. I helped him carry everything up two flights of stairs.”
“To be fair,” interjects Robert, “Denise took quite a lot in the divorce, so Dennis only had to move what can fit inside a Honda Civic.”
Dennis turns to Robert, looking slightly deflated.
“But,” Robert hastens to add, “it was still a gesture of friendship. And also, Chris,” says Robert, thrusting his hand in the air, “friends live together, and split the rent 60-40.” He reconsiders. “Or 70-30. Either way. Friends do both of those things.”
Dennis’ face lights up with a smile. Robert smiles back.
“Again, there’s really no need to raise your hand—oh! Vanessa.” Chris spies Vanessa waving her hand frantically. “What is it?”
Vanessa places her hand in her lap. “Friends support each other,” she says. “Friends help each other feel better when they’re upset.” She swivels around so that she’s facing Max. “Max,” she says.
Max’s head, which has been slumped between his shoulders, pops up.
Vanessa locks eyes with him. “One day at rehearsal, I was really down on myself, because I couldn’t get my lines right,” she says. “You told me that it doesn’t matter, that everyone forgets their lines sometimes, and that you were sure I’d remember them next time.” She smiles. “And then you made me laugh. You did your Dr. Frog material.”
Max smiles bashfully. Some members of the drama society murmur kind words about Dr. Frog.
Chris thinks it is extremely generous of Vanessa to call Dr. Frog “material.” Maybe this, too, is part of friendship: being kinder than necessary.
“I thought of something friends do,” says Max slowly. “They give people a chance.” He looks directly at Chris. “Chris, you gave me a chance when you let me into the Cornley Drama Society. The Murder at Haversham Manor was my first play. And you gave me loads of chances. And I’m glad you did, because I met you all, and I’ve had loads of fun. So. Thanks, Chris. You’re a good friend.”
Chris is speechless. He feels as though something is stuck in his throat.
Fortunately, the drama society fills in the silence for him.
“You gave me a chance, too, when I wanted to switch from stage crew to acting,” says Annie to Chris. “And I’m glad you did, because I think I’m getting really good.”
“You are,” says Vanessa.
Annie beams at her.
“Friends forgive each other,” blurts out Jonathan. He turns around to give everyone a meaningful look. “You’ve all—mostly—forgiven me for my, ah, mistake.” He looks down. “Which is really more than I deserve.”
Sandra looks away. There is a brief pause before Robert claps a hand onto Jonathan’s shoulders. “Well, we all make mistakes,” he says, while looking at Dennis—which, Chris supposes, is the closest Robert will ever get to an apology.
“You all forgive me when I make mistakes, too,” says Dennis. With all the earnestness that fits in his tiny body—which is quite a lot—he says, “Thank you all for being my friends.”
Max walks over to Dennis and gives him a hug. Trevor lightly punches Dennis on the shoulder.
Now everyone is raising their hands, speaking over each other, turning to find the person they want to deliver their message to.
“Friends get each other coffee when one of the friends is rehearsing and the other is on break.”
“Friends show each other funny videos of cats losing their balance.”
“Friends drive each other to the hospital.”
“Friends give each other constructive criticism.”
“Friends get the fire extinguisher when another friend is on fire.”
“And friends have fun together, don’t they?” says Annie. “I have fun with all of you. It’s tough sometimes, but we really do have a good time, despite it all.”
Nods from the society members. At any other time, Chris would disagree, but now is really not the time (although he does allow himself to disagree—quite emphatically—in his head).
Chris raises his own hand to get the attention of the Cornley Drama Society. “Okay! So, then, it sounds like we’re all in agreement. We’re friends.” The words feel unfamiliar on Chris’ tongue, but he perseveres. He glances around at the society members, seeking their assent. “Yes? Agreed?”
Nods and words of agreement spring up from the stage floor.
Chris can’t help but smile. Order is once again restored. Things are as they should be. He gives them all a nod of approval before turning back to the easel pad. “Now that that’s settled, why don’t we turn our attention to—”
Sandra’s hand shoots up. “I want to say something,” she says fervently. She stands and steps towards Max, who looks at her with alarm. “Max and I aren’t friends. And we’re not avoiding labels, either.” She grabs Max by the hand and gazes up at his stunned face. “We’re boyfriend-girlfriend.”
Max’s face practically splits in half with that grin of his. His face turns roughly the color of a tomato, and Chris can’t be sure, but he might see some tears gathering in Max’s eyes.
And despite not getting paid for any of this, Chris decides that crying is quite above his pay grade, so he decides to bring an end to all this sappiness.
“Right!” Chris clasps his hands together. “Now that we’ve all agreed that we’re friends—or, er, boyfriend-girlfriend—can we get back to our meeting?”
“Actually, Chris, it’s 8:02.” Robert holds up his phone lock screen as proof. “We’ve run over time again."
“All right!” Trevor slaps his thighs and stands up. “I’m headed to Flanagans. If anyone wants to grab a pint, you’re welcome to come along.”
“I’ll be there,” says Annie. “Vanessa?”
“Why not?” says Vanessa, looking surprised, then delighted, at her spontaneity.
The rest of the society chatters in assent and begins to pack up their things. Max and Sandra hold hands as they walk to the theatre exit. Max is babbling on about something—probably some revisions to his Dr. Frog “material”—and Sandra is gazing up at him, her eyes softening in that way they only ever do for Max.
Chris glances at his lovingly drawn pie chart with some minor frustration. As usual, they didn’t manage to make it past the second topic of discussion.
But still, they got something done, didn’t they? They seem to have resolved some of the tensions that have been brewing for a while. Of course, new tensions will spring up—they always manage to do so. But somehow, Chris suspects they will manage to resolve these new conflicts, and will be able to remain friends, or at the very least, remain society members.
It was very strange, Chris thinks as he folds up the easel pad, to be the one facilitating so much talk of friendship. It’s not as if he’s a friendship expert. Actually, he’s never exactly had friends. He’s known Robert for a long time, longer than he’s known anyone aside from his own mum and dad, but he wouldn’t call them friends.
Yet tonight, he had declared all the members of the acting troupe friends, and he supposes he falls under that label, too. Chris doesn’t see the harm in a white lie, especially if everyone believes it.
Besides, he keeps going back to that question he posed to the Cornley Drama Society: if they aren’t friends, what are they?
Lost in his musings, he doesn’t notice that almost the entire drama society has walked out the exit, leaving him nearly alone. Annie is the last to leave. She’s zipping up her parka when she calls out, “Chris—you coming?”
“What—me?” The words fly out of Chris’ mouth before he can stop them. “I mean—you’d like me there?”
Shameful. This is not the kind of confidence a director should be projecting.
His embarrassing show of insecurity doesn’t seem to bother Annie, who smiles at him almost as though she really likes him. “Well..sure. Everyone’s invited. Like Dennis said, we’re all friends here.”
Again, Chris feels that something is stuck inside his throat. She really is very kind, that Annie. They all are, most of the time.
Realizing that Annie is waiting for his response, Chris clears his throat and takes a chance. “All right, then. Yes. Might as well.”
Annie smiles. “Right. Cool. Well, shall we?”
Chris nods, and follows his friends into the blustery winter night.