A TRAIN RIDE WITH PUPPETHEAD – PART 32

 


A TRAIN RIDE WITH PUPPETHEAD – PART 32

A day off brought an unexpected relief to the cast. We’d been living through the grind of rehearsals, the chaos of the shipyard, and all the madness surrounding us. So, when we got a break, we eagerly began making plans. We were in Italy, after all, so it was time for a day trip to Rome. A chance to wander the streets, see the history, and—hopefully—take our minds off the nightmare we were living.

We gathered in the lobby of the Hotel Lugano, ready to walk over to the train station. I was feeling pretty good, maybe even a little excited. That’s when I ran into Puppethead. At that time, I still believed that he was someone we could trust. He had this way of convincing us he was on our side, always talking about how much he cared about the cast, how he understood our struggles. I didn’t have a reason to doubt him. Yet, looking back, I can’t shake the feeling that I always heard his words, but never actually saw his lips move. He was a bit like a ventriloquist’s doll, always speaking for the company, never himself.

“Why not?” he said when I invited him along. His trusty cell phone was always in his hand, ever the symbol of his connection to “Big Brother”.

The train ride to Rome was filled with uneasy tension. Here we were, riding with a producer—someone who controlled much of our fate—and yet, we all kept our mouths cleaner than ever. The conversation was stilted, full of forced pleasantries, and empty chatter. It felt as though we hadn’t spent any real time together, despite everything we’d been through. But the promise of Rome, with its history and its stories, kept our minds occupied.

We arrived, tired and hungry, and headed straight for lunch. After a few blocks of wandering, we ended up in an American hamburger joint. When I walked in, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. Hanging from the ceiling, swaying gently in the breeze from the door, was a company icon—one of the performers, her fins moving ever so slowly, tied up with fishing wire. But as I looked closer, I noticed that someone had taken the liberty of splattering her with tartar sauce. It was almost too absurd, even for this twisted version of reality we were living.

Despite the oddness of it all, we managed to enjoy the day, laughing and exploring the history of Rome together. I even convinced myself that Puppethead was having a good time when he laughed along with the group. But then, a fellow cast member leaned over to me and whispered, “Watch out for saying the F-word around him.” I began to wonder how many times I had said it that day alone—probably more than I could count.

We visited the Colosseum, where so many people had died for the entertainment of others. The tour guide shared stories of how the arena could be flooded with water so that sea creatures could devour the Christians who were thrown in. The whole experience—learning about death and spectacle—was surreal, yet strangely fitting for the bizarre nature of the show we were living in.

By late afternoon, I decided it was time to head back. I had a date that evening, and I needed some rest. Puppethead asked if he could ride back with me. I agreed, though my instinct was starting to nag at me. On the walk to the station, I let my guard down, sharing some of the inside jokes from the cast, things like how we referred to Uncle Fester as “Sorella”, which means “sister” in Italian. I talked about my plans to return to New York, how I couldn’t wait to get back to my old company and finally be free from the madness here. Puppethead listened attentively, his head nodding at every word.

Hours passed as we sat together on the train, talking about everything and anything—until the inevitable happened. The next day, I received a call from Uncle Fester. Apparently, he had gotten into trouble for letting the company refer to him as “Sorella”, and the trouble had come straight from Puppethead. I was furious. I had trusted him, told him things in confidence, and now he had betrayed me. The lies were starting to stack up, and I couldn’t ignore them anymore.

I went to hunt Puppethead down, seething with anger. When I found him in the hallway, he looked like a deer caught in headlights. I demanded an explanation, and once again, he denied everything. “I never said anything, I would never do that!” His lies were as transparent as ever, but still, he stood there pretending nothing had happened.

The cast began to come together, determined to catch Puppethead and his lies in the act. We needed proof, and we were ready to get it.

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