Not Only Magic Floats

  Chapter 2: Rehearsal – Part 1 The alarm clock blares, yanking me out of a restless sleep. I’ve probably gotten about four hours of rest. I’m sure the nerves about what today holds are to blame. The sun is starting to rise, its light creeping across the wall of my room. Slowly, the fog of sleep begins to clear, and I remember where I am: the Bahamas. I squint at the clock, its glowing numbers reading 6 a.m. I’ve always loved mornings—there’s something about the stillness of them that makes me feel at my best. I swing my legs out of bed, my feet hitting the cool floor. My suitcases are still open, half unpacked, scattered around the room. I rifle through them, searching for rehearsal clothes, and pull out my best dance gear, stuffing it into my dance bag. I shuffle out into the hall, stopping by the bathroom on my way downstairs. The mirror reflects the mess of my morning self: hair sticking up every which way, eyes bloodshot and tired. I manage a dry smile and mutter, “Hot.” No on...

  Chapter 2: Rehearsal – Part 2 I eat breakfast quickly, rinse out the bowl, and jump into the shower. It’s still quiet in the house, so I assume my roommates are still asleep. The water blasts from the showerhead, hot and powerful, pushing me back slightly. I close my eyes and let the heat wash over me. As I stand there, I suddenly feel like someone’s watching me. My eyes snap open, and a shadow appears on the shower curtain. “Hello?” I call out, my voice hesitant. There’s no response. I peek out from behind the curtain, but no one’s there. I close the shower curtain again, and the shadow has disappeared.   Must be my imagination , I think, shaking off the strange feeling. I finish up, get dressed, and head into the living room. My mind is racing this morning. There’s so much to think about, so much to prepare for today. I need to make sure I’ve got everything I’ll need. The layout of the house is simple but cozy, sparsely decorated. In the living room, two couches face each ...

  Chapter 2: Rehearsal – Part 3 Several cast members are standing near the vans when I approach. I grind out my cigarette, flick it into the brush, and summon what I imagine to be a good “Company” voice. It’s important to fit in, to be a team player right now, especially since I’m surprised I’m working for   the Company   again, let alone doing it in the Bahamas. “Good morning!” I blurt out. Typical greetings come from the group in response. One of the chorus girls, barely audible, mutters, “Child, it is way too early for that.” We climb aboard the vans, and as we pull out of the parking lot, the driver looks the wrong way before pulling into the road. Thankfully, no cars are coming, so we’re in the clear. As we drive out, we pass an old, faded sign that stands guard at the entrance of our complex. The white paint is peeling in sheets, and one of the letters is hanging loose.   Welcome to Guanahani Village , it reads. Everyone seems to be on their best behavior, and ...

  Chapter 2: Rehearsal – Part 4 This hotel reception room will serve as our temporary home until we can move into the theater down the block. We’re told the process will take about three weeks. I glance around the room. The floor is covered with wall-to-wall carpeting, and in the center, a portable wooden floor has been set up. It’s a basic hotel ballroom with little to distinguish it, except for the view. One entire wall consists of a row of glass doors leading out to a veranda. I step outside, and as I look down, I can see the hotel pool. Several guests lounge poolside in a variety of basic swimwear, soaking up the sun. Beyond them stretches a breathtaking view of the ocean. The hotel has even gone so far as to import sand to create a vast sandy beach, lined with palm trees, an artificial paradise. I step back into the room and notice the mirrors set up for us. At first, I think they’re regular mirrors, but on closer inspection, I realize they’re a makeshift wall, with mylar stre...

  Chapter 3: The Chopping Block Appears – Part 1 Day in and day out, we continue to run around the room. The sun, which once provided a pleasant warmth, now blazes in the sky, scorching our eyes. The temperature, once bearable, has risen by at least 20 degrees. The electricity has blown out three times, each blackout sapping what little energy we have left. According to the locals, power outages are a daily occurrence here in the Bahamas. I keep glancing at the door, hoping for some change, some interruption to this monotonous insanity. Then, someone new enters the room.   Thank God,   I think.   Please be a savior. Please be someone who can put an end to this madness. Please be someone who sees us and wonders why we look like the cast of   Awakenings *. "Run!" screams the Assistant Director. "Sit, stand up, drop to the floor, be an animal, jump, now be a monkey!" Everything he yells, we do. Now, he wants us to run around, shake someone's hand, and shout, "...

  Chapter 3: The Chopping Block Appears – Part 2 Our musical director is a brilliant man, and his stories fill our heads. He talks endlessly about Sondheim, Robbins, Fosse, and Elaine Stritch—tales of the drugged-out ‘70s and whacked-out ‘80s. He spins stories of who’s who, who’s not, who was, who wasn’t, and who isn’t. His anecdotes fill the hours, more and more stories, until we realize we haven’t sung in what feels like forever. “Christ, he’s driving me mad,” someone hisses. “Shhhhhh,” I whisper. “Geoffrey, stop talking!” he snaps at me, cutting me off. “Sorry,” I mutter, my face burning. “God, what an asshole,” the voice hisses again. “Shhhhhh,” I repeat, turning around and placing one finger to my lips, trying to silence the murmurs. “Geoffrey, stop talking!” he screams now, louder. “Walk away and get water,” the voice in my head says. I take the hint. I stand up, grab a cup from the water cooler, fill it, and walk out into the hallway. This would be the day I stormed out of r...

  Chapter 4: PARTY FOR THE DEAD The moment Corporate releases us from the room, we’re out of there like bats out of hell. It’s a scene straight out of an action movie—car doors slamming, tires screeching, vans peeling out of the parking lot. Shock. That’s the word that keeps repeating in my mind as I look around at the faces in the van. No one says a word. The tension is suffocating, thick enough to cut with a knife. We all want to get home, to check if what we just heard is really true. The vans pull into the parking lot, and the doors fly open. We scramble out and make a beeline for our homes, searching for the bodies. Some of the "dead"—those let go—couldn’t get flights out and are forced to leave in the morning. The Company has violated several contracts, but no one knows how to handle it. Talk of anger, hate, and lawsuits fills the air. There are tears, hugs, and a few dramatic shouts of "I quit!" “Don’t do it! It’ll get better!” someone protests. In the theate...

  Chapter 5: REEFER MADNESS The holes left by the "dead" in the show are vast. Originally, I was understudying three major roles, but now I've been assigned a fourth, and I'm in every single minute of all three shows. Understudy rehearsal starts for me in the bathroom, where I carry my script and rehearse in the company of porcelain. The bathroom becomes my sanctuary—no one can bother you there. And with the mounting stress, my body seems to think that every moment is an opportunity to go. We all deal with the pressure differently. My roommate, for instance, blasts the Spice Girls on repeat 24/7.   Tell me what you want, what you really, really want?   I can think of a dozen ways to destroy that damn CD, and none of them are pretty. Fear has us in its grip. We smile, fake it, eager to please, but inside, we’re slowly dying. A new contract is handed out to us, and we’re told to sign it by the end of the day. It strips away the few rights we still had. "Sign it or ...

  Chapter 6: THE 2:45 PREPARES FOR TAKEOFF – PART 1 We’ve been warned repeatedly during our meetings about the dangers of poppy seed muffins, how they can cause a false reading in your blood, making it look like you’re on heroin. So now, we need to come up with another story. "Who is it?" we ask, glancing around. We've sat through countless drug speeches and seminars put together by the "Company" to show us the perils of a "wild" lifestyle. I look around the room. No one's bingeing on snacks, no one's laughing uncontrollably, and no one's tracking their fingers with their eyes. All the signs they warned us about—signs of pot smoking—are nowhere to be found. We feel like we’ve been dropped into a Shirley Jackson novel, the one where someone draws the black dot from the bag. I’m sure another speech about the dangers of drugs is coming. I'm 33 years old, and I feel like I can’t dress myself, feed myself, or even use the bathroom without ge...

  Chapter 6: THE 2:45 PREPARES FOR TAKEOFF – Part 2 Rehearsal starts right up the next day, and now the stage is set for scenes and dance numbers, while the dressing room is reserved for vocal rehearsals. We begin with the dance numbers, re-learning what we learned yesterday, then changing what we learned last week. Half of what we learned two days ago gets tacked onto the end of what we learned twenty minutes ago. Then we re-learn what we were supposed to have learned but never quite did. My mind starts to spin; I can’t make sense of what I’m supposed to be learning. But we push on. Why are we even learning this? Suddenly, a cast member screams, “I can’t take it anymore!” The music stops, and all heads snap around. “Several of our cast members have been fired and no one will talk about it!” she yells, tears streaming down her face. The room goes silent. Somewhere in America, a cow stops giving milk, children stop playing, and our shoulders slowly begin to rise. No one knows what t...

  Chapter 7: THAT IS THE SLOPIEST DRAG QUEEN I EVER SAW At night, we become regulars at the only Bahamian gay bar on the island, named “Endangered Species.” There are five of us sitting there on a hopping Friday night. Actually, there are only two other people in the bar with us, bringing the total to seven. “It’s usually busier in here,” says the barmaid. “Funny,” she adds, “you said that last week—and the week before that.” I look across the bar at the leopard prints that cover the walls, chairs, settees, and every bar stool. I absentmindedly tap my foot to the latest tunes from the '80s, blaring through small speakers suspended above the bar. An old man winks at me just before his head hits the counter. I sigh and put away my fifth straight vodka. My five best friends are with me, and I raise my glass to salute them. The rest of our cast is asleep, safe at home in the condos. We’ve all become much closer since the “slaughter” wiped out so many of us just a couple of days ago. I ...

  Chapter 7 Part 2: THAT IS THE SLOPIEST DRAG QUEEN I EVER SAW I’m supposed to be at rehearsals today, so I’m not sleeping as soundly as I’d like. I rise up on my elbows and glance at the clock. Damn it—I’ve overslept by a whole ten minutes, and my schedule is already shot. Panicked, I leap out of bed and peel off my disco clothes. I stink. I rush to the bathroom and, while stripping off my underwear, I accidentally drop them into the toilet. The cold water of the toilet bowl jolts me awake, and I hurry to finish getting ready, skipping most of my usual grooming rituals to save time. I race down the stairs in nothing but my towel, start the coffee, pour a glass of orange juice, and add a little vodka just for taste—and, honestly, to forget about whatever it is I’m not sure I’m trying to forget yet. Back upstairs, I throw on my clothes, run out the door, and hop into the van. Happy, smiling faces have been replaced by bloodshot eyes and grimaces. “Ugh,” I grumble. “Mmm,” is the coll...

  Chapter 8: NEW BLOOD AUDITIONS The Stage Manager approaches me to tell me that I need to appear for a meeting with the Director the next day. He looks deeply into my eyes and adds that the company casting director will be there too. "Is anyone else going to be there?" I ask, already sweating under my t-shirt. He shrugs. I spend the rest of the night tossing and turning. I arrive for my meeting, prepared for anything. I’ve already packed my suitcase and several boxes. I’ve saved all the scripts and script changes given to me, which now total nine. I plan on selling them at the company’s yearly convention in Florida. I figure, if nothing else, I’ll make a ton of money doing this—even though the first page of each script outlines all the publishing and sales rights. Great, I’ll make tons of money but get a criminal record along the way. The next morning, I arrive for the meeting and am asked to wait in the hallway. It feels like I’m back in high school, waiting for the princip...