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The Show Must Go On

"GET. DRESSED!" The stage manager's nose was only inches from Caleb's own. "NOW. Or not only will I have you fired, I'll have you offed. In the most heinous way you can possibly imagine. Or maybe I'll assemble a focus group to come up with something worse. I'm not even close to kidding. I know people."

Caleb nodded and tried again to slip into the stage outfit, but couldn't quite fit his arms into the puffy shirt his character was supposed to wear. They were stuck. He craned his head around to look: the shirt was tiny. As if it had been made for a child.

He turned back to face the stage manager, who raised her eyebrows condescendingly. "Problem?" she queried.

Caleb shook his head emphatically. For some reason this woman scared the crap out of him.

"Maybe you need to drop some of that extra weight?" she jeered.

Caleb looked down at his body and back up at her. She rolled her eyes at him. "Sarcasm! I was being sarcastic, you fucking scarecrow genius."

Makeup was still fussing with his hair. The large, flamboyant gay man was very exacting about coiffure, which was part of why he was so good at his job. He took a step back, tilted his head and pursed his lips, then reached for a jar of foundation and began applying it to Caleb's face. Caleb tried again, desperately, to struggle his way into the shirt, but made little progress. The violence of his efforts stymied makeup, who stuck a finger into his left eye by accident.

It burned. Like, really burned. What was in that foundation? Caleb yelped involuntarily and clapped a hand to his face, dancing around in agony. The stage manager shook her head, her expression scornful. "Please. Just be ready, ok? Curtain rises in fifteen." And with that she stormed out of the room.

Caleb whimpered and tried to force his eye open.

The animal trainer walked by his dressing room door, then stopped, turned, and stuck her head in. She glanced quickly around, something close to panic in her eyes. "Have you seen your co-star today?" she asked.

"Bernard?" Caleb asked. "Not since last night's show..."

"Fuck", the animal trainer breathed. "Why did I never have him defanged? Jesus, what was I thinking? What if he bites someone?"

Makeup shook his head. "All I know is, you better find him honey. Before Miss thang finds out."

Caleb nodded soberly. "She's on a tear", he confirmed. The animal trainer sighed exasperatedly and stalked out of the room. Caleb gave up on the shirt and ripped it off. His eye was on fire. "How does it look?" he asked makeup, "Is it red?" Makeup evaluated it thoughtfully. "Maybe you should wear sunglasses."

"I can't wear sunglasses. It's supposed to be 1783!"

"I don't know what else to tell you", makeup responded, shrugging. "It's bad".

"Well, maybe I should try washing it out with some eyedrops", Caleb suggested. He went to the medicine cabinet and took out a bottle, tilted his head back, and squirted an entire dropper full into his eye.

"AAAAGGGHH!!! he screamed, jumping up and down in place and clutching at his face as if it might fall off. Owowowowowowowow. OW! Oh God, what is that?"

Makeup took it from him and peered at it. "Capsicum tincture."

"Are you ok?" a kind voice asked. It was the leading lady. She was standing in the doorway, a look of concern on her face. At least... Caleb thought it was concern. It wasn't easy to tell with the one eye, which was tearing up now in sympathy with the other. She looked stunning (he assumed), as she always did, her hair designed to fall with artful carelessness around her lovely features, the green sequined dress she wore clinging to her in all the right places.

"Technical difficulties", Caleb croaked.

"Capsicum. In the eye." Makeup added helpfully.

"Oh! Baby..." leading lady commiserated. She came closer, leaned in and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. "Are you alright?"

Caleb grinned weakly. "Better now."

Just then something hissed and bit his leg.

"Shit", Caleb moaned, "Bernard. Stupid snake!"

Makeup and Leading Lady both gasped and jumped back, their eyes frantically scanning the floor.

"WHAT is the holdup?" bellowed the stage manager from the doorway. "Get it together people! The show must go on!" She stalked forward to get in Caleb's face. "I don't know what you're playing at, but you're not irreplaceable, mister!" She took a long drag on her cigarette, then poked it at Caleb for emphasis. "The show. Must. Go. On!" she snarled.

Just then leading lady gasped and put a hand to her mouth. "Oh! Your hair, Caleb! It's on FIRE!"

"Oh shit!" squeaked makeup, "It must be that industrial strength hair gel! Where's the fire extinguisher!?!?"

Now he felt it. The flames crawling across his head, eating at his flesh. His eye burned from capsicum tincture. His leg throbbed as the venom from the intact-fanged snake began to spread. The pain was ridiculous. This was it. He was going to die.

Caleb sat bolt upright in bed, hyperventilating, his pajamas soaked in sweat. It took him a couple of seconds to realize where he was. Then he began, methodically, to try to calm himself down. "It was only a dream", he told himself. Finding that this statement did bring some small comfort, he repeated it, over and over again, to reinforce the idea, having not really believed it the first time. "Your job at the repertory is going to be great. It's what you've wanted. Opening night is going to be just fine tomorrow. Stop stressing. It was only a dream..."

He got up to get a drink of water and pee. As an afterthought he gulped down a handful of herbal relaxation pills, though God only knew if they did anything. Then he threw himself back on the bed, pulled up the covers, and rolled over to grab a pillow to hug, for comfort.

Something shiny flashed at him. It was a sequin, lying there on the sheet in the moonlight. A green sequin. Just like in the dream, he thought. But it was too late, his eyes were already closing...