Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Paul Ruditis is the author of many licensed fiction and nonfiction companion books, from Charmed and Buffy the Vampire Slayer to Star Trek and Bones, among others. He lives in Burbank, California.

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Entrances and Exits

Simon Pulse

The Producers

Sam took the stage, as I'd seen her do many times before. She stepped out from the wings with a commanding presence, daring us to look away. Moving downstage center, she stopped a few feet from the edge, at home under the bright lights.

"My name is Sam Lawson," she said in a clear voice. "And I'll be performing the part of Felicia from Hope Rivera's play, Achromantic." Sam had chosen one of the three parts we'd selected for the girls to audition with. None of us was surprised that Felicia was the monologue that Sam had chosen. The playwright, Hope Rivera, is our other best friend.

Sam closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. It was part of her traditional preparation for an audition. Her body language shifted as she took on the character. People who didn't know her probably wouldn't have noticed it at all. But to me the transition was clearly evident. Sam's eyes blinked open. She was prepared to begin.

"NEXT!" I shouted.

"Bryan!" she screeched in response as her carefully constructed character fell apart.

I was laughing too hard to fear for my life at the moment. "Sorry. Couldn't resist." But seriously, like I needed Sam to audition for me. Like our teachers, Mr. Randall and Ms. Monroe, weren't already familiar with her talents either. We each wanted her to star in the one-act plays we were directing. The only question was who was going to get her?

"Bryan." Mr. Randall gave me a teacherly disappointed look that made me realize the tactical mistake I had just made. If I wanted to get Sam to be in my play, juvenile games like that during an audition were so not the way to make it happen. But in case I didn't get the message on my own, he had to give me the lecture. "I realize you and Sam are friends, but I would expect you to behave in a more professional manner during an audition. I only agreed to allow you to direct because I thought you were mature enough to handle it. Please do not make me regret this decision."

Wow. He didn't use a single contraction there. He must've been upset.

I suspected that it wasn't a good idea to point out that he'd mainly agreed to allow me to direct because the playwright -- namely Hope -- had told him that she wanted it to happen. Mr. Randall was more afraid of upsetting Hope than anything. Not that Hope is the real problem, mind you. Oh, she can be downright frightening when she's mad. Seriously. You don't want to see her angry. But the real intimidation comes from the power she wields in having a father who is a big-time lawyer to the stars. Hope would never take advantage of our teacher's fear, like so many other students at our school do on regular occasion, but Mr. Randall has worked in Malibu long enough that he knows to avoid the risk by keeping the students happy. And keeping Hope happy meant making me the director. Though I like to believe that part of the reason I got the job was based on merit.

"My apologies," I said with my best attempt at a professional demeanor. "Ms. Lawson, you may proceed."

Sam squinted in my direction. I could tell she was weighing the risks of being unprofessional herself and laying into me for interrupting her audition. With her talent she could get away with almost anything. But she didn't. She closed those squinting eyes again, took another deep breath, and launched into the monologue I could now recite by heart. And I was usually lousy at memorizing dialogue.

My familiarity with the text had nothing to do with having heard it a half dozen times already during the auditions -- though that certainly didn't hurt. Since Hope gave me a copy of her play back on the first day of school, I'd probably read it a hundred times. No lie. I may be prone to exaggeration from time to time, but not in this case. Recent behavior aside, I was taking this whole directing thing very seriously. Not because I was the first student in Orion Academy history to direct a play in the Fall One-Act Festival. Not because I was hoping to redeem myself after learning that some people thought I wasn't the best actor in the world. And certainly not because I felt I had anything to prove to some of my more obnoxious classmates.

No, it was mainly because if I screwed up Hope's play, she'd kill me.

Fear is a handy motivator.

The full significance of this event was not lost on me, though. Hope was also the first student ever to have a play produced in the showcase. It used to be that the one-acts were directed by Mr. Randall, Ms. Monroe, and a celebrity guest. The thing is, celebrity guests hadn't worked out all that well in recent history. The faculty had been considering dropping that element of the festival when Hope came along with her first stab at a short play. I'm told that once Mr. Randall read it, he couldn't say no. And not because Hope had threatened him or anything. Her play, Achromantic, was just that good.

Now, you might think I'm biased, with Hope being one of my best friends and all. And I am. I freely admit that. But every girl who auditioned for the festival was allowed to choose a monologue from one of the three plays we were putting on for the show. And so far every girl had chosen to read Hope's. Even our old archnemesis, Holly Mayflower.

You can't get much more of a recommendation than that, can you?

Although part of me would like to believe they were also excited about the possibility of working with me as a director. You know, because any serious actress would prefer to work with an amateur who doesn't know what the heck he's doing as opposed to two professional educators with years of directorial experience under their belts...who also could get you out of class for additional rehearsal time if necessary.

"Thank you, Sam," Mr. Randall said, pulling me out of my wandering thoughts. As a director -- and a friend -- I should have paid more attention to her audition, but I had a lot on my mind. In addition to the casting there was the actual directing of the play itself. Then there was the design of the play, the costumes, and all that. Surely I was going to have help with those things, but I was also going to have to be the final word on everything. This being a high school production, we didn't have a huge staff at our disposal. We were more like producer-directors, truth be told. This was particularly exciting because I could then think of myself as a producer-director-photographer, which raised me to a double hyphenate for the first time in my life.

See, hyphens are how we judge success in the L.A. area. The more hyphens in your title, the more successful you are. Me? I've made it into a bit of a game. It isn't much of a fun game considering I can never manage to come up with a good hyphenated title for myself, but I'm working on it. And I admit, the "photographer" part of me is more a hobby than a lifestyle. But this "producer" thing could work. Granted, I didn't have any money invested in the Fall One-Act Festival. Mr. Randall was actually the one who would make all the final decisions about the big stuff. Even Headmaster Collins will have the ultimate say in things like how we cover the budget. People will probably be checking over my shoulder every step of the way.

Okay. Fine. Back to director-photographer.

Even though I wasn't feeling much like a real director yet.

I shot Sam a smile as I came back to reality while she left the stage. No doubt she was getting a lead part. I only hoped it would be in my play.

"Hope, no!" our intrepid stage manager yelled from the stage door. Poor Jimmy Wilkey...