Chapter 10: THE BRIT DRESSED AS A PILGRIM

 

Chapter 10: THE BRIT DRESSED AS A PILGRIM

I know that at this point, you’re probably wondering, “Why didn’t they leave?” Looking back, I find myself asking the same question. I don’t have a clear answer, but I have a few thoughts that might explain why we stayed.

Performers, in many ways, are like whores. We get paid to perform, and we love it. We’ll do anything to get attention, and if we truly believe in a project with all our hearts, we just want to see it through to the end. I guess it’s true that we need love, and as they say, “Applause means love.”

That’s one way to look at it. Another way is to say that we’re fools for staying. Either way, you be the judge. It’s hard to figure out why we all stayed, what we each needed, and what kept us going. Some of us came from bad home lives, some from great ones. Some of us ate garbage, others ate caviar. We were all from different walks of life, and yet, we created our own paths together.

Painkillers could’ve been another reason. Some of us popped them like candy. They were easy to get in the Bahamas, along with several other types of drugs. I’m not saying everyone took drugs, but some of us did, as a way to cope. Others distracted themselves by eating out every night, dating within the cast, going to the movies, shopping, or crying themselves to sleep. We’d been stripped of our emotions and were led to believe that our fates were in other people’s hands—hands that, by this point, seemed to control our every move.

Then came Thanksgiving. A time for giving, they said, so the company gave us two hundred dollars to feed thirty of us. I volunteered, along with another cast member, to organize the party.

I put up lists for people to sign up for whatever food items they could bring, and I used the money to buy turkeys and bags of potatoes. We took tablecloths and napkins from the hotel, pilfered anything we could that wasn’t nailed down to help with decorating, and “borrowed” silverware from nearby restaurants. We stocked up at liquor stores, gathering what we could for our feast. We were determined to have a proper celebration.

I even bought a set of Christmas lights to create a centerpiece and ripped down palm tree branches to decorate the foyer of one of the condos. People brought over their tables, and we worked late into the night, decorating everything. The centerpiece was fabulous—it not only plugged in, but you had to light it yourself. We were bound and determined to give ourselves a beautiful holiday, even though we were far from our homes and loved ones.

That night, while all the turkeys sat defrosting in people’s fridges, we were hit with another power failure. This one lasted for hours. Every time we turned around, one of the cast members could be seen collecting bits of string, ribbons, and stolen tablecloths from the hotel maids' closets. He was incredibly crafty, turning these scraps into amazing costumes, drapes, renewed tablecloths, and even new clothes.

Today, he was busy sewing black tablecloths together to make a pilgrim costume. We had convinced the last Brit in the cast to give a speech at our dinner, dressed in full pilgrim regalia. One cast member jokingly asked him if they even celebrated Thanksgiving in Britain.

Finally, the day of our festivities arrived. We all put on our best clothes, cleaned up the house, and prepared for a day of togetherness. Everything looked beautiful. All the hard work had transformed one of the condos into a showplace. I, for my part, was on painkillers for my back and legs, and was drinking wine and vodka at the same time. I had no pain, and I couldn’t stop laughing.

Upstairs, as the guests began arriving, we took our Brit and turned him into something out of The Crucible. His long skirt dragged down the stairs, and as he reached into his sleeve, he read aloud a Thanksgiving story he had prepared. The crowd erupted in wild cheers and whistles, and flashbulbs went off everywhere. It was a magical moment.

The day stretched into night, and for once, we forgot about our problems and celebrated our friendships. The only person who wasn’t there with us was our choreographer—he had a football game to watch.

One of the new cast members, a tough, no-nonsense woman who seemed straight out of a dime-store novel, joined us at the party. She was the sweetest girl, but with the mouth of a gunslinger. She wouldn’t last long, though—she defected later in the contract.

Everything was beautiful. The house looked spectacular, the dinner was amazing, and for the first time in a long time, we were able to relax. We celebrated each other, forgetting the constant pressure and the difficulties we’d faced. But then, of course, as always, the power went out.