Alarming Redhead

boys are dumb

Lance Goss was the director of the Theatre Department at Millsaps College for many years. He was also my friend. After his heart attack, Lance was anxious to return to work as soon as possible. I was anxious for this as well. Nothing heals the body like an active mind.

Returning for the Spring Semester, Lance wanted to direct two plays as always. One was to be a vehicle for Nikki Lipari, who was on track to graduate that year with a degree in Classics. He chose two shows, each with a cast of four women and four men. Since Lance’s health wasn’t a hundred percent, and his confidence was even less, I asked if I could be the stage manager and his personal assistant for both shows. I had already done my senior show and taken comps. This was going to be on my personal time.

If a school only has seven hundred women, it’s not hard for three or four to become aesthetic standouts. Unlike some other schools, Millsaps always celebrated a high element of aesthetic diversity, so someone who stands out at Millsaps is usually pretty arresting.

Lance usually didn’t require headshots when he had auditions. It’s a small school; he often knew the people auditioning before they came through the door, although he always gave a speech before auditions that if he had known you before, he’d completely forget that when you read for the auditions. Everyone who gave him their time to audition for his play had tabula rasa for their audition. He was lying, of course, but he always tried to be fair, and I think most people appreciated the gesture.

The next day, Lance and I sat down to finalize the cast. He’d already chosen most of the parts. They were regular members of the players. When we got down to one certain part, he said, “How about her?” and pointed to a name on an audition card.

“I don’t remember that person at all,” I said.

“She has red hair,” Lance said.

“I don’t think she made an impression,” I said. “Was she the one in the yellow sweatpants?’

Lance kept every issue of the Bobashelia Year Book in his office for just these occasions. I flipped through it and found her name.

“Lance. Um. This woman is alarmingly attractive.”

My Scottish heritage makes me either utterly at the mercy of redheads or utterly immune. I’m the latter. A black-irish lass can easily make me sign over for a mortgage (you know who you are), but I can be pretty objective about a redhead. Immune or not, I’d been around long enough to recognize the difference between a mule and a racehorse if you walk them by me.

She actually was very nice, a hard worker, and generous on stage. Being generous on stage is one of the most important things an actor can be. It’s one of those things that doesn’t make much sense until you’re actually in that situation, and then it makes perfect sense. From the point of view of the stage manager, she was ideal. However, I noticed some strange behavior from the male cast and crew members.

One night, during rehearsal, a boy I had never seen before showed up fully intent on fighting a member of my crew to win over the alarming redhead. It took a minute to break up their unnecessary display of bravado, but once they were separated, I banned the boy I didn’t know. I’m sure he thought it unjust that I banned him and not also the boy he fought with, but at Millsaps, they made me read “The Prince” by Niccolo Machiavelli, and I needed the other boy, even though he was just as guilty. If the Dean asked me about it, I would work out a defense of my position.

The other boy, the one in the cast, I pulled aside where only he could hear what I had to say. Not Lance, not other members of the cast, just him and me.

“Look. I’m, what, almost eleven years older than you, but I’m your friend. As your friend, listen closely to what I have to say: some women are impressed by displays of manly fortitude and fighting skills, and some are absolutely not. I watched that woman’s eyes while you two were pushing each other like a pair of Kansas City Dance Instructors, and I’m telling you, as your friend—she is over both of you. Whatever you were trying to do didn’t work. I’ll tell you something else too. From the bottom of my black little heart, if you start shit like this again, in the middle of one of my rehearsals, and the next person you’re gonna have to fight is me!”

What he didn’t know, that I knew, is that after Lance cast her, I took a peek at her credentials. As a student, she was a hell of a lot more than just bone structure and big eyes. She was the darling of her department, which, among other things, meant they would come to the play. Some brainy girls like bonehead guys. That didn’t seem to be the case this time.

Many years later, everybody was married to somebody else; everybody had pretty remarkable careers in something other than Theatre. Boys will be boys and all that, but nobody ever fucked around in one of my shows again.