Chapter Text
“Is this everything?”
“Hm? Oh, yes, hon, that’s the last of it.” Sally began to make her way through the wings of the stage, over to her stage manager. “I really appreciate you sticking around for today’s strike. It’s been a massive weight off my shoulders, especially when half the cast ducks out at the first chance.”
“Hey, it’s the least I can do.” Kip kicked the last box of props into the storage closet and shut it behind her. “Strike brings out the worst in cast members, and I’d honestly rather have it behind me.”
The faint jingling of the keys sounded as Kip strutted down the steps and placed the keyring in Sally’s hands. “I might as well give a good hand around here, since who knows when I’ll be back in here next.”
Sally pouted facetiously, though her expression was sincere. She folded her arms and gazed downwards at the floor. Kip winced.
“Sorry.”
“It’s not gonna be easy without you, you know…”
Kip slumped with guilt, barely able to face her longtime mentor. Sally was so good at what she did, even when she was acting playfully, you couldn’t help but feel emotionally moved by her words. It was as if she was always speaking to a keen audience, but in mundane conversation. She swallowed her guilt and met eyes with Sally, whose expression had changed to one of bittersweet pride.
Noticing her withdrawn stance, Sally started up. “Now, don’t let me make you feel bad about this…exciting, unprecedented opportunity, dear. I for one knew it was coming, but it didn’t mean I was any less prepared for the day it happened.” Sally drew closer, placing her hands on Kip’s shoulders. “I’ve watched you grow and adapt over the years you’ve worked with me and it’s safe to say you’ve outgrown me and this place. I want you to spread your wings..” Sally mimed as she said the words. “...and see where it takes you from here.” Tears pricked at the corners of both’s eyes. Her soliloquy was only making the transition all the more tough.
“Sally, thank you…” Kip quickly wiped the wetness from her eyes, determined not to make a scene. “I don’t think it’d be possible without your oversight.” She flashed a wobbly smile, barely masking the tears that were already starting again. “I’ll visit you and the husband soon, okay?”
“You’ll do wonderfully.”
“I just hope I’m ready.”
Sally went in for a final hug, practically digging her fingers into Kip’s back. “I don’t think I’m gonna find another manager quite like you,” she whispered. “You go out there, and you knock ‘em dead.” Still in the embrace, Kip nodded vigorously, returning the hug before gathering her things and starting towards the theatre exit.
—--
Once outside, the facade came clear off. Hot tears rolled down Kip’s face, who hastened her pace so that passerby wouldn’t see as she hurried home. It was no secret that Kip, despite her stage duties and ability to adapt quickly behind the scenes, hated change, particularly any change of this scale. The uncertainty that came with a new environment, having to start over with an entirely new cast of members, and worst of all, relearning the fundamentals that had been so firmly ingrained for years in her mind.
As more and more thoughts rolled through her mind, her pace quickened from a power walk to a dash. Crying in private was one thing, but to do so in the presence of the general public was a level of embarrassment most would hope to never experience.
“Keep it together,” she repeated to herself as she neared her building. She fumbled in her pockets for her keys, and steadied her breath. Her cheeks flushed with warmth as people gathered and seemed to stare while she passed. Kip slipped into the entrance of the building, then leaned on the opposite side with a heavy sigh.
“What am I gonna do…”
Kipper Parfum–or Kip, as she preferred, lived alone on the second floor of a complex right in the heart of Inkwell City. It had been three years since she had taken a chance and moved from the small agricultural town she’d been raised in. Adjusting to the city hadn’t taken too long, although the constant buzz and jive of it all was overwhelming, to say the least. Although Kip had quickly volunteered at the Inkwell Community Theatre and made some small connections there, the worst setback she had found was the ever-present loneliness found in the city. Sure, there were people wherever you could imagine, and countless faces to meet and get to know, but Kip had never really cracked the code as to how. As a stage manager, she mostly went unseen in her daily work, and living alone certainly was no aid to that either. Normally she didn’t mind, but without the certainty that came with seeing Sally every day at the theatre, and the familiarity of that space, she was unsure what to think.
As she ascended the stairs leading to her apartment, she mumbled inaudibly to herself. Ducking her head as other tenants passed, something about “distractions” and “focus” could be gleaned. Kip hastily unlocked the door and promptly collapsed on the loveseat near the entrance, then sat up and reached for the radio.
Race results, sports meetings, weather reports…nothing of remote interest. Kip turned the dial and smooth, sweet jazz filled the room. That would help. She sighed and sank deeper into the cushions. Closing her eyes, she let the music overtake the thoughts in her brain…
Ooh... you gotta take a chance, when your life begins to flop
You've got to roll them bones to bounce right back to the top
You cannot win if you don't play! Ha! You got to get into the sway!
There is no better way to go from beggar to king!
“Shit.” Kip shot up to the sound of the familiar voice. Any citizen of Inkwell City could put a name to it. But it wasn’t necessarily the one she needed to hear right now, in fact, far from it. She leaned over the armrest and quickly lowered the volume. Any other day, she’d be happy to listen to Roll the Dice’s upbeat show tunes. But for Kip, it was a harrowing reminder of the days to come.
It had been five or six days since she’d gotten the call. The acclaimed radio show was supposedly in “desperate need” of an experienced stage manager, according to ads in the paper. Kip had hesitated initially, but after making a few calls home asking for advice, had been encouraged to follow through and apply for the position. Despite her lack of faith in her qualifications, they had answered with overwhelming zeal and requested she start as soon as possible. She couldn’t help but feel that it was too much of a jump from her former services at the community theatre, but dismissed those anxieties to the best of her abilities. If they really were that in need of her, they couldn’t be too critical in the end.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” her mother had said on the phone.
Kip pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ugh…”
She flicked the radio off and shuffled around her apartment, removing her socks and shoes as she probed for a better distraction. Reading or journaling would take too much energy, and eating this late would just cause problems later on in the night. She opened up a notepad to sketch, and found herself creatively dry. Frustrated, Kip gave up and retreated to her bedroom, not even bothering to change out of her work clothes before shuffling under the covers. Maybe at least her rest would be easy and hassle-free…
She tossed and turned, unable to let go of the nagging thoughts. It wasn’t the hour to telephone a friend or relative and talk it out, and even then, there wasn’t much they could say or do to improve the circumstance. Kip sniffled into her pillow. This was supposed to be an exciting change of scenery, a fresh start, and all she could do was worry. So much about it was uncertain: how things operated behind the curtains, the job expectations, and worst of all, the host . In most of her theatrical experiences, cast and crew had a mutual respect and support for one another. However, with someone with as big a presence and following as his, she didn’t expect that same treatment in the slightest. Even worse, she feared the consequences that might come with disappointing a star of that caliber. King Dice himself was also a hard fellow to figure out. All she’d heard up to this point was the charming, jovial personality he’d put on to his thousands of listeners every day. There was no telling what kind of colleague he’d end up being. The amount of pressure was crushing, and she hadn’t even begun yet. Kip whimpered, stifling sobs into her pillow. Oh, if she could just talk to Sally again right now…
Eventually, fatigue won over the spiraling thoughts, and Kip drifted into a dreamless sleep. One last quiet day would pass before the new beginning, in which all her recurring questions would, for better or worse, answer themselves.