Sometimes, the endings don’t follow from the beginnings.
All the other actors lazed about in plastic chairs or looked bored. I sat in the back of the theater. “Number one on the rules list for the show,” said Darren, tapping a clipboard. “First, all the male actors are required to shower before each Sunday performance and taping. That is without exception. Devon, one of the costumers came up to me last time and complained that you reeked. That’s not fair to them to force them to breathe your skank. So, basic rule now: Everybody shower before you come to the television studio.”
“What?s next? Oh, yeah, number two: Everybody wears underwear to the tapings. This is mostly directed at the women, the ones who wear skirts. I know that this is not a problem for most of you, but if I have to look at Rachel’s stanky snatch one more time, I swear I’m gonna lose it. So it’s a global rule now. Got it? Okay, any more questions?”
Silence for a beat. Then Chuck, bald and tough and jovial, turns and grins at me. “Hey! We got a new member of the SUTN cast here? Let me be the first to say, welcome, John!”
Everybody clapped and someone catcalled, “You go, Harvard!” Chuck gave me a big hug.
One week later, Chuck was in a local hospital for some outpatient surgery. He had decided to have more children with his wife, and his vasectomy was being reversed. His forty-six year old heart stopped, and he died.
