©Megan Elyse Fulmer 2014
Your ears continuously crackle and pop as the plane descends into the first tour city. Before you know it, the wheels are rolling on the tarmac in Minneapolis. All you can hear is the clicking of seat belts freeing each passenger and cell phones alerting each person of the phone calls, emails, and texts they’ve missed while up in the air. Your heart flutters with excitement, but you must conserve your energy no matter how much you want to run off the plane and start venturing through this new city. Calm your urges and rest once you reach the hotel.
Your soothing alarm gently wakes you at 9:30am to prepare you for a 12:30pm call for dress rehearsal. You push play on your “calm” playlist, and start a morning routine that you plan to marry on the road. Finding normalcy on tour creates a homey atmosphere in a series of unfamiliar places. Today you create your two show day routine. Dress rehearsal ends just a few hours before the big opening night, so it’s time to fuel up, bundle up, and walk through the freezing winter wonderland towards the Orpheum Theater.
You cross a parking lot that leads you to the stage door. You search for signs that will lead you to the call board. You initial next to your name and follow more signs that lead you to your dressing room. You enter a large space with couches in the center of the room, bordered by each ladies station. Your mirror is topped with a laminated strip of paper that displays your headshot to the left, your name in the middle, and your ensemble number on the right. You notice the foam rollers available for use by the couches, and grab one to begin rolling out your muscles before a double dance day. You flow through a series of other stretches until your stage manager’s voice rings through the dressing room monitors.
“Hey everyone, you have two minutes before our first company meeting. If you haven’t already, start making your way towards the female ensemble dressing room.”
The entire cast gathers around as the stage manager guides you through details for the week. She rattles off a list of scenic and casting changes, showtimes, and other important information crucial to a successful first week in this particular venue. Company management reminds you of tonight’s cast party, and other fun activities available in the area. A few castmates ask questions concerning travel, the venue, and spaces to warm up. The meeting wraps up, and you make your way to the stage.
You retrieve your mic and walk onto the stage for the first time. Every Orpheum Theater across the country holds a magical design that never fails to take your breath away. The band rocks through the monitors, and the sounds of Whitney Houston’s classics fill the empty seats from the orchestra to the balcony. Your heart flutters. Your smile widens. Your eyes slightly swell with tears of joy, but not a single one releases. You inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth, focusing your excitement to concentrate on lift call.
You meet your new partner upstage for a lift call before the dress rehearsal. One of the principal actors has to film a TV show that conflicts with opening night. Due to his absence, your regular partner must jump into the absent actor’s role, the onstage male swing bumps up to your partner’s track. The offstage male swing will take over the onstage male swing’s track. Whenever an actor is out of the show, the cast plays a tedious game of musical chairs. Once each understudy or swing reaches their new seat, they must fill each missing puzzle piece as if the final picture had never been dismantled in the first place. Having been a swing before, you support your new partner as much as possible. Having the hardest job has the ability to become overwhelming, so the calmer and more secure he feels, the smoother the show.
After a successful lift call, everyone hits their first position dressed and ready for the top of the show. Company management, important members of the Hennepin Trust, and a photographer shooting press photos fill a few seats in the audience. You hear the bang of the opening gun shot and the yell of your new partner acting as if the Bodyguard just shot him. As the brief opening scene blacks out, your new partner unzips his hoodie, rips off his fake bloody t shirt backed with velcro, and reveals his “Queen of the Night” costume that was dressed under his opening look. He jumps up to the top of the high platform and yells out a cry of profanity.
“Are you ok, Sean?!”
“Yea I’m good.”
The sliders open, the lights flash, and you strut down to the front of the stage. Through the corner of your eye, you see Sean exiting through the wings. Each ensemble member share a brief look of confusion as the second male swing starts dancing in Sean’s place. You let it go and keep moving through the number. You all treat this as a real performance, and don’t allow the audience to know of any problems. The sliders close on the opening number, and everyone runs to their quick change asking for Sean. Two scenes later, the news flows through the grape vine. Sean banged his cheek bone on the top of the platform. He’s on his way to the hospital to get stitches. For the remainder of the day, your partner, Bradford, will continue understudying the actor track, and the other swing, Willie, will replace your injured swing. The chaos of a less than stellar dress rehearsal can only mean opening night will be out of this world— right?
The confetti cannon pops. The crowd stands roaring and clapping as the sliders continue to close. The backstage lights fully brighten and you join a huddle around Willie. He gracefully swung into dress rehearsal, and opening night. As your partner, he lifted you every step of the way. Everyone had a smooth, enjoyable opening night despite the crazy changes. Sean comes backstage from the audience and sings praises to all of the cast, stitches and all. You make your way to the dressing rooms and primp for the first opening party of tour. You bump up the ladies room jams to continue this high energy. Glammed up and ready to go, you and the ladies strut towards the party.
By the time you and the ladies arrive, most of the food has been gobbled up by people outside of the cast. The cast’s stomachs grumble in hunger, so you all nibble on whatever bits and bobs you can find on the half empty trays. The open bar doesn’t support the lack of food. You drink as much as you normally would if your stomach was full. Your empty stomach has nothing to soak up the extra alcohol. As your body tingles, the music gets louder, and the DJ drops dance hits. You join a circle of castmates busting out their go to, offstage dance moves. Cameras flash, people laugh and cheer, and everyone lifts the energy through the roof.
You look around the room of wonderful people, taking a second to reflect on all that you have gained. You remind yourself of today being your first day as a member of the Actors Equity Association (which will bring your first AEA check in two days). You take this moment to celebrate you, and all the work you’ve put in to get to this moment. You start dancing harder as if you just won the Mega Millions. Things may be looking blurry on the outside, but your happiness has never been more clear.
Your soothing alarm gradually rings at 9:30am. What tends to gently wake you has startled you today. You remember dancing with a few castmates by the bar. You vaguely remember gathering your bags and opening night gifts. To your surprise you showered, put on your pajamas, and brushed your teeth. You walk into the bathroom, and find last night’s fake eye lashes on top of the drain in the bath tub. You can’t help but laugh at yourself. The high from all of yesterday’s joy continues to flow throw your body. You may not remember how you got home, but you’ll never forget feeling like a million dollar bill. You couldn’t have asked for a better way to launch this exciting new chapter in your career.