Waiting in the Wings Read online

  Waiting in the Wings

  Tara Frejas

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Himig ng Pag-uwi

  Coming Home

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Erin’s Waltz

  Epilogue

  Author’s Notes

  Copyright

  Glossary

  Special Thanks

  About the Author

  To all the Erins, Ramons, and Pios—

  thank you for letting me live vicariously through you.

  One

  It’s definitely mocking me.

  So thought Erin Javier, mesmerized by the rock Hiraya Cosculluela wore on her finger. In terms of size, it wasn’t that huge. Marquise cut in white gold, the simple elegance of the shiny little thing fit Hiraya’s bright, no-fuss-no-frills personality to a T. And it wasn’t as if the newly-engaged playwright deliberately flaunted the diamond, not at all.

  It was just there.

  That Erin thought it mocked her was her problem. After all, none of the other Teatro Lakambini company members inside the war room seemed to mind. Everyone else was focused on the script for Hanggang Ulap, the new musical they were staging next. Some of them were reading silently on their own, while some were huddled in small groups, engaged in discussion.

  She flipped a page on her script, closed her eyes, and sighed. Focus, Erin. Focus.

  “Anything the matter, babe?”

  Fire engine red highlights in Hiraya’s hair caught Erin’s eyes first when she looked up at the woman who eyed her curiously.

  Erin shrugged. “Nope, nothing. Why do you ask?”

  Hiraya pouted and tilted her head to the side. She always seemed to be trying to figure people out, and Erin was one of her favorite subjects.

  “Is the script stressing you out?” The playwright puckered her lips in the direction of Erin’s hand. It was tapping a pen against the work table in a steady staccato beat.

  Erin stared at the pen as though it was an alien object and let it go. She didn’t even realize what she was doing.

  “You can be honest with me. That’s what workshopping this piece is for, after all.”

  “It’s…kind of depressing?” Erin bit her lip. She didn’t have a problem with the script, but she knew her theatre big sister-slash-confidante wasn’t going to let her off the hook if she didn’t give an appropriate response.

  The appropriate response didn’t necessarily mean the truth, of course.

  “You’ve read through to the end, right?”

  “I did, but…this part is just really sad.”

  “Says the girl who pitched Chronicles of a Breakup. Do you know how difficult that was to write?”

  Erin pursed her lips and nodded. “Touché.”

  A Teatro Lakambini original musical, Chronicles of a Breakup featured the stories of three people who were on their way to meet and break up with their significant others. Erin had pitched the idea during her first integration workshop three years ago, and the writing team eventually picked it up for development. The project paved the way for Erin and Hiraya’s friendship and launched Erin’s career as a full-fledged theatre actress as well.

  Hiraya reached across the table to pat Erin’s hand. “I’ll write a happier one next time,” she said with a playful wink.

  “Like Karaoke Queen?”

  Both women laughed at the mention of the campy jukebox musical they staged last year. “Oh god, yes. That was so much fun, we have to do it again.” Hiraya flashed her a thumb up, and Erin found herself staring at the diamond ring once more.

  * * *

  Hiraya’s boyfriend, Jericho Abueva, had proposed three nights ago during the final curtain call of Ang mga Manghahabi. It hadn’t been as fancy as Erin had imagined, but that was just the grand gesture-loving hopeless romantic in her speaking. The moment the musical director had gone up on stage and went down on one knee, not even the utter lack of pomp had stopped Erin from swooning and crying and cheering with everyone else in the theatre.

  Maybe she had cried a little more backstage, but nobody had to know that.

  Erin had long been feeling hyperaware about the couples around her, but that proposal lit a fire of longing in her heart.

  How was she so unlucky finding love? Her college friends were all in relationships. Even her close friends in the theatre industry have significant others too. Either that or they were active in the dating circle.

  And then there was her. Erin Javier, the perfect leading lady.

  She was someone whose heart you fought for, won, and protected—but only on stage. On average, her romances lasted two hours a day. Four, if she did both matinee and gala shows. When the curtains fell and the lights went down, her love affairs ended too.

  Was there something wrong with her, that men only fell in love with her because it was written into a script? That men only kissed her and held her in their arms because the scene called for it?

  “Yes, babe?”

  Erin blinked and realized she’d been staring at Hiraya this whole time. Should she bare her thoughts to her Ate Hiraya? She was sure Hiraya would drop anything for her if she SOS-ed somehow, but this wasn’t an emergency. This was her being whiny at the world. She wasn’t going to drag her friend down from cloud-nine just because she was unhappy about her singlehood. That’s just wrong.

  So instead, Erin left her seat and cozied up to Hiraya, perching her chin on the woman’s shoulder. It allowed her to peek at the playwright’s notes, gave her a glimpse at how her mind worked.

  “I like this song,” Erin said, pointing to a page with Himig ng Pag-uwi written on top of it. On the margins were a couple of notes in black ink and pencil, Hiraya and Jericho’s handwriting. “I think it’ll be the best song in this musical.”

  “You think so?”

  “Mm-hmm!”

  “I have Jer’s preliminary arrangement. Do you want to listen to it?”

  “Sure!”

  With a shared pair of earphones, they listened to the song that spoke of longing to see your beloved, no matter the odds. Jericho’s piano arrangement was still raw, but Erin heard its potential. She could already imagine the musical director acquiring the help of a string quartet to lend a more desperate, haunting feel to the piece.

  “I would love to hear you sing this,” Hiraya said, smiling hopefully at her.

  Erin returned a grateful smile. She was, by no means, the best singer in the company. Her voice wasn’t as powerful as Iris Sandoval’s, and Andrea Lopez had better technique than her. But she was told that whatever she lacked in vocal prowess, she made up for with stage presence. A newspaper critic once waxed poetic at how she could tell stories with her voice, her face, her body.

  Which was why, even as she continued training to be as good as Iris and Andrea, Erin became a casting favorite.

  But while she thrived on stage, she now felt apprehensive about putting on the shoes of another woman in love. For five consecutive productions now, Erin had always played the leading lady—the girl who refused to break up with her high school sweetheart, the kolehiyala trapped in a love triangle, the working lady asked to choose between love and family, and so on.

  She was only 23, and a
lready so exhausted with romances that were never even real.

  “We’ll see,” Erin simply replied, unable to say no outright. Hiraya would probe for sure, and Erin wasn’t certain she had a good enough reply.

  But she’d already decided. The next time she falls in love, it won’t be on stage. Her love story wasn’t going to come in a script, complete with musical scoring and dramatic lighting.

  The next time she falls in love, there won’t be an audience watching with bated breath, waiting to applaud.

  Because the next time she falls in love, it will be for real. And all her love story needed was her and whoever it would be on the receiving end of her first real kiss.

  Two

  “You do know we’re not as financially stable as the other theatre companies out there, don’t you?”

  “Yes ma’am, I’m aware of it.”

  “Sometimes we put productions on pause or shelve them completely when we don’t get proper funding.”

  “I understand, ma’am. Don’t worry—I know what I’m getting into.”

  “Interesting. Your credentials could earn you an in-house artist post at Alistair Productions or Indigo Theatre, and yet you chose to come to Lakambini.”

  Ramon Figueroa only smiled as he walked in stride with Teatro Lakambini director Milagros Espeleta. Fondly called Mamu by her peers and protégés, the fifty-something year-old woman had been the unwavering force behind Lakambini’s steady success despite numerous financial challenges as well the blossoming of new, better-funded theatre companies.

  From her office at the second floor where Ramon had his final interview, they walked up a flight of stairs that led to a spacious, almost bare corridor. She kept walking, stopping only when they reached a door which had a piece of bond paper stuck on it with scotch tape. The scribble on the paper read: Hanggang Ulap Workshop.

  A playful smile appeared on Mamu’s face after she gave Ramon a once-over. “Something tells me you’re not here just for the love of the art.”

  Ramon’s lips parted as if to protest, but nothing other than nervous laughter came out.

  The woman waved a sheet of paper—his resume—in the air, as though telling him to stop racking his brain for a response. “I would be very happy to consider you part of our family, Ramon.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “You can call me Mamu,” the director said and held her hand out to him. “Welcome to Teatro Lakambini.”

  An unbelievable feeling of triumph filled Ramon’s chest as he shook Mamu’s hand. Overwhelmed, he stumbled on his words as he reassured her he would be doing his best for Lakambini. Mamu laughed and let his hand go.

  “I will hold you to that promise, Ramon. But for now, I need to announce something to the kids.” Lifting a hand to the side of her lips, she whispered, “We just received funding for the next Lakambini musical.”

  “Oh, that’s great, ma’am! I mean M-mamu…”

  “I know! The Alvez Foundation for the Arts is a godsend. They’re giving us a hundred percent!” Mamu put her hand against her chest and let out a relieved sigh. “You stay here. I’ll introduce you to the kids after this.”

  He took a seat on a nearby wooden bench when Mamu disappeared into the room. Drumming his fingers against his knees, Ramon wondered where this new journey would take him.

  His decision to apply as Lakambini’s in-house choreographer wasn’t made on impulse; he wasn’t wired that way. Every step he took in his life so far had been a result of calculated choices, and this was no exception. When Mamu supposed he wasn’t here only for the love of the art, she wasn’t entirely off the mark.

  Boisterous cheering from inside the room disrupted Ramon’s thoughts. He smiled, thinking they sounded like they just won a trophy from Gawad Lagablab, the most respected award-giving body in the local theatre scene. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to single out a voice he dearly missed from the mishmash of voices that now flooded the entire hall.

  “Hijo…”

  He looked up to see Mamu peeking out of the door, beckoning to him with a gentle nod. Ramon took a deep breath and sprung to his feet, both thrilled and anxious to meet everyone.

  To meet Erin again.

  “There’s someone I’d like you kids to meet…” he heard Mamu say. Silence began to settle inside the room as he stepped inside, cautious, as though expecting an attack in case they didn’t like him. His eyes scanned the room and the faces that looked up at him in anticipation, each of them unfamiliar.

  Save for one.

  “Go ahead, hijo…introduce yourself.”

  Ramon clasped his hands together to keep his anxiety at bay, but his eyes were trained on Erin Javier, who was seated at the back of the room. They might have been a few feet apart, but he recognized the uncertainty in her eyes when she saw him. He couldn’t blame her.

  “Hi, everyone. I’m Ramon Elias Figueroa.”

  “Oh my god, Ramoncito!”

  The smile on his face grew when his college moniker flew out of Erin’s lips. Everyone else in the room turned their heads to look at her. Ramon found it difficult to hold back a grin when she fumbled for an explanation.

  “I’m sorry, we—Ramon and I—”

  “—went to school together,” Ramon finished. He waved at her awkwardly. “Hi Erin. It’s nice to see you again.”

  A collective “Yihee!” filled the room, and Ramon waited for it to die down before he continued his introduction.

  “So...yeah. I’m Ramon. I spent the last two years in Singapore, working with a group of entertainers at a theme park. I just got back a few weeks ago. I was also part of Green Room Productions, my—our—” he corrected, making a gesture toward Erin at the back of the room. “—university theatre group. I mostly did choreography, and that’s why I’m here today.”

  “Ramon is going to be Lakambini’s in-house choreographer from now on,” Mamu offered. “I believe he will be of great help to our future productions, so children...play nice.”

  “We always do!” a guy in front exclaimed. As if to prove a point, he got up from his seat, patted his unruly curls down, and extended a hand to Ramon. “Mark, pare. Mark Basco. Welcome to Lakambini. I’m one of the stage managers here.”

  Ramon shook his hand, repeating Mark’s name in his head. As everyone else took their turn in introducing themselves, Ramon felt as if he was drifting aimlessly in a sea of information.

  “I wondered what had happened to you!”

  It was Erin, the anchor that kept him in place. She strode over, threw her arms around him, and squeezed him tight.

  “This and that,” he replied, returning the affectionate gesture. “Glad to see you again.”

  “You already said that.” Erin pulled away, but didn’t let him go just yet. Ramon was left with no choice but to stand there while she took a good look at him.

  “What happened to your hair?” she asked, catching herself too late. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

  Right. The Ramon Figueroa she knew in college had a full head of hair—or at least that was what she thought. He flashed her an embarrassed smile and ran his hand over his clean shaven head. “It’s okay. It was something I decided to do.”

  “Tell me everything,” she demanded, hand latching onto his wrist. “We’ll play catch-up after the workshop.”

  * * *

  “Ignore them.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Them, of course, referred to the Lakambini kids who teased them endlessly when they saw Erin and Ramon around the building. After Mark officially adjourned the day’s workshop, Erin took it upon herself to give Ramon a tour of the place. And because no one really went home right after workshops end, the two kept on bumping into basically everyone.

  “Are they always this…spirited?” he asked as Erin showed him into the theatre through the main door. He had been here a couple of times before, but as an audience member experiencing the performances, not as a company member who now had the privilege to imagine potential
in its nakedness.

  And it was completely naked, from one corner to the other, on all four sides. Unlike the traditional proscenium theatre, Teatro Lakambini’s set-up was more of a black box. Ramon had seen previous production sets that mimicked a proscenium-style stage, while some used thrust stages. Small as the space was, he had nothing but respect for the creativity of the set designers who made sure audiences always had a different viewing experience every time. It was part of what he loved about this place.

  “Kinda,” Erin replied, taking a few steps ahead of him. “We did get two pieces of good news today, so we’re running on extra adrenaline, I guess.” She then threw her arms wide open and began a rehearsed spiel about the history of this performance space. Ramon pictured her doing the same for the occasional workshoppers who came to Lakambini during the summer for the theatre’s enrichment programs.

  “I’ve been here before, you know,” he offered, smiling. “To see your shows.”

  “What? When?”

  “Chronicles of a Breakup, Sa Kanto ng Kaimito at Santol,” he recounted. “Minsan Tayo…”

  The expression on Erin’s face went from curious to maybe a little upset. “Didn’t you leave after graduation?”

  “Not right away. I stayed for a bit and tried auditioning for some shows.” The farthest he got was a callback for Jumpstart Productions and nothing else. “I was going to audition for Chronicles, too. But that was the same week I got a job offer from Singapore. Whenever I came home for a vacation, I tried to catch whatever shows were running.”

  Erin frowned. “You didn’t even say hi after every show you’ve seen!”

  “Why are you mad?”

  “I’m not mad. I’m just—seriously? You came to watch my shows and didn’t even say hi!”

  Ramon shrugged. “I wanted to, but there would always be a mob wanting to take photos with you and stuff. And then you’d get ushered backstage, and I lost my chance.”

  “Not even a peep on social media!”

  “I…liked some of your photos on Facebook? I think I sent a message too, but…” Did he? Maybe he typed something up and deleted everything before he even hit Enter.