Let me tell you about Zeta. She is pushing 40, is a substantial 5′ 6″ (1.7m) 130lbs(59kg), 36D, highly talented woman of Eastern European heritage. Was born in Europe, was educated there, speaks four languages, and worked her way up the ladder in live theater to eventually become a stage manager. The key word here is “Manager”. Her career revolved around, essentially, telling people what to do and when to do it; and, if they don’t, the quality of the production diminishes or fails altogether. Believe me, nobody wants to suffer the wrath of Zeta for fucking up anything!
But apart from her being driven professionally, Zeta could be immensely charming…and sexy! Her range of knowledge was broad. The arts, of course, were her staple, as one might expect but she had a thorough understanding of history and politics–focused on European history, certainly, but world history as well. She was what one might call a raconteur; by virtue of her many years in the performing arts she had a wealth of stories about actors, playwrights, directors, and others that she shared at the drop of hat. She commanded attention…literally!
I was invited by Karen to attend the local premiere live performance of a particularly popular musical. (Karen? I may tell you about her later.) Karen knew one or two of the performers, women in the chorus, and I went along with her backstage to visit them. Before the performance, everyone is too busy and stressed to make visiting realistic, but Karen wanted to at least wish them luck–in theater parlance, to “break a leg”. I was standing aside while Karen talked to the two women when a voice boomed at me.
“Who are you two and WHAT are you DOING on MY stage?” It was Zeta “managing”.
At that moment, Karen turned around from her conversation with her friends and faced the booming voiced Zeta.
“Zeta! How good to see you,” said Karen with a charming smile, “you recognize me, I’m sure. I trust you weren’t objecting to my presence here.”
What I didn’t know but found out right there was that Karen, being a moneyed person, was a patron of this theater group. She was involved in the organization that put on the productions, including selecting the…yes…the stage manager. In other words, Karen had some pull.
Zeta pulled in her horns somewhat, and said, “Oh, Karen! I didn’t see you there. I certainly wasn’t directing my displeasure at you. You are certainly welcome anytime backstage. It was that male creature there I intended to question.”
“I can understand your concern, Zeta,” Karen continued, her charm now somewhat forced, “that ‘male creature’, as you put it, is my guest, Drummond. I invited him back here to see a little backstage prep for the show.”
“Oh, I see, Karen, my mistake,” said Zeta, deferentially, “I didn’t think he belonged here, especially ogling the chorus women. I have to watch everything, you know.”
“I can vouch for him, Zeta…he’s harmless, ” said Karen with a sly smile, “but, please Zeta, meet my friend Drummond.”
I extended my hand to Zeta who declined to shake it. I found out later that her European sense of etiquette made a woman shaking hands with a man inappropriate, especially on a first meeting. A woman offering her hand to a man, on the other hand–so to speak–was acceptable. It was all about form and propriety for her.
Zeta eyed me up and down, gave a little sniff, and said, “Yes, well Mr. Drummond, as friend of Karen’s you are, of course, welcome back here when you are with her. I trust you won’t take offense at my impoliteness.”
I sensed that Zeta was being too stiff, too formal. This may have been because Karen was there, whom she depended on for her job; or, it may have been that she was suppressing some feelings that I couldn’t identify at the time. No matter, though, I wasn’t going to let her ruin my date with Karen or my enjoyment of the production.
The performance was a rousing success, bouquets thrown on the stage for the principal performers, multiple curtain calls. Reviews hit the internet instantaneously, not like the “Good Old Days” when everyone had to wait for the morning newspapers. And, trust me, everyone who was anyone connected with the production had read them before the after-the-show party commenced.
At the party, Zeta was in high spirits. Being three or four cognacs in didn’t hurt her ebullience either. It turns out that Zeta was such a talent at her craft that playwrights, producers, and even directors often deferred to her in terms of the actual performances. She was the equivalent of a Field General; she made the wheels turn, in sync, and on time. Yes, a VIP, unquestionably.
“Ah, Mr. Drummond!” Zeta addressed me at the party, “you enjoyed the performances tonight? I trust my behavior didn’t tarnish your enjoyment.”
I could tell Zeta was “fortified” and headed for being just plain old drunk but, being with Karen, I didn’t want to brace her on it, or anything else. I smiled and nodded.
“Oh, come, come, Mr. Drummond,” she said as she put her arm on my shoulder, “there’s no reason to pout. I like you, Mr. Drummond…I do…despite…well…no…not despite….what’s the right word….despite…yes…despite you being something of a cretin…still…there is something about you…I…well..yes…like.”
“You flatter me, Zeta,” I said forcing myself to not cut loose on her, “you are too kind!”
“Well, I apologize, Mr. Drummond,” Zeta continued her native accent more pronounced, “if I have said anything to insult you…well, I apologize…yes…and let me make it up to you… Please come to my office…yes to my office…to see me…yes see me…I will give you…give you a tour…a look at… yes a tour…of our production back stage…I want to…well…make out…I mean make up…for my unforgiveable…behavior. I hope you will…come…”
Karen and I glanced at each other and simultaneously shook our heads. It was clear that Zeta was well on her way to, if not passing out, dozing off. We gave our farewells and headed off.
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In the morning, Saturday, Karen’s cell phone buzzing woke me up. (I said Karen is another story…be patient.) I could see the display showed “Zeta”. It woke Karen too; she reached over and answered the call. Of course, I could only hear one side of the conversation but Karen managed to give me a hint at what Zeta was saying.
Karen: Hello, Zeta. Well, yes, it was a grand triumph. I think you outdid yourself.
(In more ways than one, I thought)
Karen: Oh, the party? Yes, that was quite a time too. Drummond and I enjoyed it immensely.