Chapter Text
Monday, May 20th, 2019 - seventy four days until opening night
If someone were to ask Paul how many mentions of musical theatre would make his work day a good one, his answer would be zero.
Unfortunately, that number has been exceeded more and more in the last week. Paul blames Ted. And Melissa, but Ted is easier to blame because he’s Ted, whereas Melissa is annoying but generally well meaning. Paul feels a little bad about rejecting her. Not that he regrets it, seeing as he’d finally given Emma his number later that day and secured a date with her, but Sylvia had taken Paul aside and chewed him out for turning Melissa down.
“Now she and Ted are going to that show ‘just as friends’,” Sylvia had scoffed. “I tried to warn her, but the poor girl doesn’t know what she’s in for!”
Paul had rattled off some lame response before making his escape. He does wonder, though. Maybe if he’d responded differently, it would’ve stopped whatever’s been happening with Melissa and Ted. Because they’ve been weirdly friendly—well, Melissa’s always friendly with everyone. Ted isn’t. Or he’s overly friendly, which is worse. Anyway, he and Melissa have been weirdly chatty. And much to Paul’s displeasure, nine times out of ten, the topic of their discussion is musicals. He expected as much from Melissa. Ted’s enthusiasm on the matter is frankly disappointing. Paul had assumed, as much of an asshole as Ted is, they could both agree that musical theatre sucks. Nope. Ted wouldn’t even allow him that one mercy, and instead debates the merit of Cats with Melissa in the break room. Ugh.
But despite the rampant increase of theatre talk at work, Paul is having a good Monday. He took Emma out to lunch on Saturday, and his niece Ruth had interviewed him about CCRP for a school project on Sunday. Which had mostly devolved into him bitching about petty workplace drama and her eating up every second of it. That was fun. And he’d swung by Beanie’s this morning for a coffee and some light flirting with Emma. So, Paul’s morning is going well…
…right up until he steps into the break room, only to be met with Charlotte exclaiming, “The Starlight Theater?!”
Paul quickly attempts to backpedal out the door without being seen.
“I know, it’s—” and of course, Bill just has to spot Paul and gesture him forward. “Paul! You’re not gonna believe this.”
“Actually, I was about to head to Beanie’s,” Paul says, ignoring the fact that he just arrived at work late and is already holding a Beanie’s cup. Very much aware of this, Sylvia grabs his arm and yanks him forward. Paul stifles a sigh.
“How is that even supposed to work?” Ted is asking Bill. “They’re just gonna give a kid free reign over the theater?”
“Alice is a smart girl, she can take care of all that,” Sylvia says, and now Paul’s interested. Because he doesn’t like theatre, but he does like Alice. She’d always been a good kid back when he’d babysat her, and she means the world to Bill.
“What’s Alice doing at the Starlight?” Paul asks.
Bill’s eyes light up. “She’s directing a musical she wrote!”
“Oh… wow.”
“Dude, you don’t get it,” Ted says. “This is the Starlight’s last-ditch effort to bring in enough money to stay open. Alice’s show will literally make or break Hatchetfield’s theatre scene!”
“Wait, wait, the Starlight is closing?”
“They’ve been losing money for months, apparently,” Charlotte says. “Right, Melissa?”
Melissa locks eyes with Paul, before quickly looking away. Her cheeks flush. Oh, right, she’s probably embarrassed about the whole rejection thing—she has been awfully quiet toward Paul ever since. Honestly, he’s been enjoying it. Melissa is so aggressively not his type that he struggles to feel an ounce of, well, anything over this crush of hers. A relationship between them has never been on the table for Paul. He does pity Melissa a little, for having false hope. But he can’t help but think her a little stupid for having it in the first place.
“Right,” Melissa says, refocusing her gaze on Charlotte. “My sister’s involved with a lot of their stuff, and she says Mamma Mia! was the last show they could afford to do before shutting down.”
“And I heard Mamma Mia! wasn’t even that good,” Paul says, immediately regretting it when Melissa lets out a scandalized squeak.
Huffing, Ted points a finger at Paul. “That was a good fucking show.”
“Okay, whatever. I didn’t even see it, my niece did. She wasn’t impressed.”
“Your niece needs to get her eyes checked.”
“Enough about my niece. How is the Starlight shutting down but Alice is still putting on a show there?”
“That’s what Bill was explaining before you walked in,” Sylvia says. “Late, I might add.”
“Come on, Mr. Davidson doesn’t care about that as long as I have my reports in on time.”
“You’re a decent guy, Paul, I don’t want you getting in trouble!”
“Thanks?”
“Seriously, explain to me how this shit’s supposed to work,” Ted is saying to Bill. “Alice’s show brings in enough money, the Starlight can stay open for another season, that I get. But how’s a kid supposed to run a full musical?”
Charlotte pats Ted’s arm, and Ted gives her a look Paul can’t quite decipher. “I’m sure Alice will do a great job.”
“She will! And it’s not exactly a full musical,” Bill explains. “Alice told me that, while she gets the theater and lights and whatnot, she’s gonna have to figure out a set, and people to build it, and all those technical things.”
Paul makes a mental note to tell Ruth this. He’s been dragged to—well, voluntarily shown up to support—enough of the school musicals she’d done various design elements for that it seems right he tell her about this opportunity. Even if it means sitting through another musical. He’ll do it for Ruth.
Oblivious to this, Bill continues. “And she’s the director, but this professor whose been helping her with writing music is also gonna be there to supervise. Because he’s involved with the theatre scene and is, you know, an actual adult. He’s a bit eccentric, but he and Alice get along well.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Melissa says. “What’s the show about?”
As Bill launches into an enthusiastic but vague description, Paul sips his coffee and does his best to tune him out. He likes the Woodwards, but he does not like theatre. And the thought of people jumping around onstage pretending to be… cowboys? (he’s only half listening) creeps Paul out.
His phone buzzes. Good, now he has a passable reason to not know what the hell everyone else is on about—he thinks he hears Ted say something about Oklahoma, but Paul can’t tell if he’s talking about the musical or the state. Whatever. His phone screen informs him that his latest text is from Emma, and Paul finds himself grinning before even reading it. One date, and he’s already smitten.
That’s a lie. He’s been smitten long before the date.
Emma’s text reads, my coworkers exboyfriend just ordered the most complicated drink known to man to piss her off but zoey refused to make it so i had to spend like ten minutes on the damn thing and the asshole didnt even tip
That sucks, Paul types back. Maybe you could sneak something out of the tip jar for yourself when no one’s looking?
lmao good idea
Paul smiles. And looks up to find Sylvia shooing everyone out of the break room and back to work. Charlotte digs into her pockets for a cigarette, Melissa skirts past Paul, avoiding eye contact, and Bill starts fixing himself a cup of coffee. Ted says something about the Donner Party (now Paul is a little curious about the conversation he missed) and Sylvia swats him with a folder before they both exit.
Then it’s just Paul and Bill, the latter of which hums as he punches buttons into CCRP’s terrible coffee machine. Something twinges in Paul’s chest. He can’t actually remember the last time he’s seen Bill this happy.
“It’s really cool that Alice is getting to do this,” Paul says. Maybe that’ll make up for tuning out the theatre talk.
Bill lights up. “I’m so proud of her! And I know her show is going to be fantastic. She won’t stop talking about it. Not the actual plot, because she wants that to be a surprise for me, but all of her plans for staging and audience interaction—”
Paul actively has to fight back a wince at audience interaction. Sitting through musicals is bad enough, performers forcing you into their scenes sounds like his actual hell.
“—and Deb is gonna help paint the sets ‘cause she’s artsy, and you know I’m not crazy about Deb, but Alice is so excited to be able to spend the summer in Hatchetfield—”
That’s when Paul gets it.
“You’ve got custody of her for the summer?”
“I do! It took a lot of convincing on both our parts, but her mom finally agreed. We’ll be back to the usual arrangement once school starts, but I’ve got Alice for the whole summer!”
“Bill, that’s awesome,” Paul says. He’s not the most emotionally intelligent guy, but Paul considers himself fairly observant when he puts the effort in. And one thing he’s observed in the last sixteen months that Bill’s been divorced is that he misses his daughter. Badly.
“She’s visiting this weekend, actually, to get prep done for her show. Then she’ll be in Clivesdale for her last week of school, and then here! For three months!”
“I bet that’s gonna be great. For both of you.”
“It is! I can hardly think straight, I’m so excited.”
That fact is evidenced throughout the rest of the workday when, four separate times, Bill sends his reports to Paul’s printer instead of his own. Paul can’t find it in himself to be more than a little annoyed. There’s a light in Bill’s eyes that even Ted’s snarky remarks can’t dim.
It’s too busy of a day to make another Beanie’s run, but Paul keeps himself satisfied by texting Emma. He keeps a running count of every time his coworkers do something stupid, and she does the same. It mostly devolves into trash talking customers, including a lawyer who wants a latte without milk but doesn’t understand why he gets served an espresso shot, a fidgety schoolteacher who orders nothing but a cup of hot water, and a teenager wearing an honest-to-God bowtie and suspenders. Paul adores reading her bitchy yet vivid descriptions. And when she sends him a selfie of herself standing over a massive milk spill with a complete deadpan expression, he startles himself by actually laughing aloud.
He also startles Melissa, who drops a stack of papers. Paul debates going over to help her, and decides against it. It’d probably just make things between them even more awkward on Melissa’s part. Besides, Ted and Charlotte are coming in from a smoke break, so they jump in to gather papers for Melissa anyway.
Paul’s phone buzzes. Expecting another text from Emma, it takes him by surprise to find it’s Ruth messaging him instead.
hey uncle paul would you be able to pick me up from school today? mom’s working late again and the last time i rode the bus someone put gum in my hair :(
Of course, Paul texts back. Mr. Davidson—and Sylvia, who sometimes acts more like his boss than his actual boss—is pretty lenient about ducking out of the office for family matters. And Paul certainly doesn’t mind an excuse to get out of work for half an hour. Most importantly, it’s Ruth. He’s been helping his sister Heather take care of her ever since she was born. She works some government job important enough that even her daughter and brother aren’t allowed to know the details. All Paul knows is that it keeps her busy. Sometimes he wonders if her wife, Miriam, knew what it was before she died, but that line of thinking gets him nowhere. At least he definitively knows she died from childbirth complications, and wasn’t murdered by the government for some crazy reason. Paul wouldn’t consider himself any kind of theorist, but he gets bored at CCRP, and his mind starts to wander into all sorts of ridiculous speculation.
tysm! Ruth texts back, breaking Paul out of his daze. She’s a good kid. Anxious and theatre-enthused and a bit smelly thanks to an unfortunate antiperspirant allergy, but a good kid. Paul hates to think of her social difficulties, even if bullying is a reality of any high school. So of course he’ll do whatever small thing he can to make life a bit easier for her.
I know summer break is soon, but until then, let me know if you need any rides home, Paul texts her. And then, not to make her feel like a burden, Anything to get out of this stuffy office!
Ruth sends a laughing emoji.
is there still a mystery lunch thief?
Nah, I think one of my coworkers was just really hungover.
geez does that happen a lot?
Paul glances over at Charlotte, who’s unscrewing her flask, and Ted’s closed office door, which means he’s either drinking or jerking off.
Unfortunately, yes.
yikes! how come?
I’m not sure it’s appropriate to say.
come onnn uncle paul you already told me so much yesterday you gotta keep me in the loop!! i want the office tea!!
Fair enough. It’s really just two coworkers. One of them is having marriage troubles and the other is just an asshole.
gotcha gotcha. what kind of marriage troubles?
Okay, now I know it’s not appropriate to tell you that.
aww fine
I’ll see you in a bit, Paul texts, before setting his phone down. Sylvia is marching his way, and he’d like to give off some semblance of professionalism.
“Hey, my niece needs to be picked up from school again,” Paul says, before she can get a word in. “Is it cool if I take off around three-thirty for that? I’ll be back in half an hour, tops.”
Sylvia immediately softens. “Of course! Just as long as you have those reports on Mr. Davidson’s desk by five. Melissa’s been a bit glum today, don’t make her job any harder than it needs to be, ‘kay?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Is this the niece that does tech stuff for Hatchetfield High’s musicals?”
“That’s her.”
“You should see if she’s interested in Alice’s show!”
“I was actually already planning on it,” Paul says, hoping that’s enough to steer them firmly off the topic of theatre.
Thankfully, it is. Sylvia pats his shoulder, says, “Good idea,” and begins marching toward Ted’s office. She’s recently been on a crusade to get him to stop doing… whatever he’s doing in there when the door is closed. It’s mostly consisted of hammering on the door and yelling about how some higher-up wants to talk to him. Paul has no idea whether she’s been successful, and frankly, he couldn’t care less.
Emma is dealing with the lunch rush and can’t chat, Bill is fiddling with his printer, and Charlotte is heading outside for another smoke break. So Paul resigns himself to an afternoon of actual work, which he reluctantly slogs through. Three-thirty can’t come fast enough.
But it does come, and Paul is thrilled for the break from the office. He pulls up in front of Hatchetfield High, spotting Ruth’s curls bouncing every which way as she waves goodbye to her friends. The short boy with terrible bedhead calls something after her, while the much taller boy just waves. Paul squints, and yup. That’s a bowtie and suspenders.
As Ruth plods over to the car, Paul quickly texts Emma, I think I just saw the bowtie kid you mentioned earlier.
the plot thickens, Emma texts back. Before Paul can respond, Ruth is flinging open the car door and flopping down into the passenger seat.
“Hey,” Paul says. “How was school?”
Ruth makes a face. “It’s Monday.”
“I feel that.”
“Do I smell like garbage?”
“…No?” Paul says. She smells like B.O., which is par for the course, but he’s not detecting anything worse than usual.
“Oh, good. Kyle threw Richie into a trashcan and a bunch of stuff got on me and we had to spend second period picking gunk out of our hair.”
“That sucks. Did you tell a teacher?”
Ruth gives him an exasperated teenage look. “Telling teachers doesn’t do anything, Uncle Paul.”
“How ‘bout an iced caramel frap from Beanie’s, then?”
“Will your boss be mad if you’re late?”
“Eh, fuck him.”
That gets a laugh out of Ruth. A real laugh, one that shows off her braces for the brief second before she hides her mouth in her hand. Paul doesn’t blame her for being self conscious. Seems like every time he sees her, she’s got more and more wire and rubber bands on her stubbornly crooked teeth.
“Oh hey, Alice Woodward—you remember Alice?”
“Yeah,” Ruth says. Paul had often babysat both girls together back when they were in elementary school. He doubts they’ve kept up that friendship since, but Ruth does mention Alice on occasion. At least, she did, back when Alice was still going to Hatchetfield High and they both participated in the town's theatre scene.
“Well, I heard from her dad that she’s putting on a musical at the Starlight over the summer. And she’s looking for tech people, if you want to get involved.”
“Really? That sounds awesome!”
“You should reach out to her, she’s gonna be here all summer.”
“Cool. Yeah, that sounds fun. Wait, how come she gets to put a whole musical on in the Starlight?”
“I think it has something to do with the budget,” Paul says, because he honestly doesn’t remember half of what Bill told him. There might’ve been something about the Starlight shutting down, but there’s no need to tell Ruth that. She’s had a bad enough day as it is.
“Huh. It’d be super cool to design lights in the Starlight…”
Ruth begins rambling about technical things Paul doesn’t understand, and he drives them to Beanie’s. One would assume their polar opposite opinions on theatre would divide them, but Paul’s found the opposite to be true. He hates theatre, and will show up to every one of Ruth’s shows to support her anyway. Ruth loves theatre, but accepts that Paul hates it and will never try to change his mind. It’s a strange, mutual respect they share.
Beanie’s is fairly empty when they make their way inside. To Paul’s delight, Emma is behind the counter, reading what appears to be a botany textbook.
“Funny seeing you here,” Paul says, before internally cringing.
Thankfully, Emma just looks up with a slight grin. “Hey, Paul. It’s a good thing you take your coffee black, because we’ve got, like, half a cup of milk left after this morning.”
“That spill looked massive. What happened?”
“Zoey tripped and ate shit. It was actually pretty funny until we realized her knee got banged up pretty bad, and then I couldn’t make fun of her for being a drama queen. Nora sent her home early with an ice pack, so she should be fine. I still had to clean up the milk, which sucks.”
“Seems like everyone is having a bad Monday,” Paul says, pointedly nudging Ruth. “You wouldn’t happen to have enough milk for an iced caramel frap, would you?”
It’s usual to see Emma’s eyes narrow when told to make a more complicated drink, but this time, they soften. “I’m sure I can scrounge something up. You his little sister, or his kid?”
“I’m his niece,” Ruth says.
“Ruth,” Paul adds.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Emma.”
“You’re, like, really pretty.”
Paul silently begs her not to get a crush on his hopefully-future-girlfriend.
“It’s the eye bags,” Emma jokes. “So, a caramel iced frap for Ruth, and a plain black coffee for you?”
“Perfect,” Paul says. He pays, and when Emma turns to start fixing the drinks, slips a five into the tip jar.
“Is she your girlfriend?” Ruth whispers as soon as the blender begins to whir.
“Not exactly. But, uh, we did go on a date a few days ago, so that’s the hope.”
“I like her. She has good vibes.”
“Oh, yeah, she’s awesome.”
Far too soon, Emma hands them their drinks, and Paul finds himself having no further excuse to delay his return to the office. To his delight, she spots the five in the tip jar and pockets it. The wink she shoots Paul as he retreats outside is enough to keep him going for the rest of the day.
He drops Ruth off at home. She’s in much better spirits thanks to the theatre news and coffee, so Paul considers that venture a success. And entirely worth the disapproving look Sylvia gives him when he wanders into the populated break room fifteen minutes late.
“Sorry, Sylvia, I’ll get those reports to Mr. Davidson before the end of the day. I will. It’s just, my niece gets bullied at school a lot, and I wanted to get her a treat to cheer her up.”
That instantly melts Sylvia’s heart. And Charlotte’s, who mutters, “Poor kid.” Bill and Melissa frown, and to Paul’s surprise, even Ted chimes in.
“Fucking Hatchetfield High bullies. I’d kick all their asses if I could get away with it.”
“Ohhhkay,” Paul says, as Ted trudges out of the break room.
“I think he’s drunk,” Melissa says.
Charlotte lets out a strained laugh. “Aren’t we all?”
“Uh, no,” Sylvia says. “What’s his deal?”
“Maybe he was bullied in high school too,” Paul suggests.
Bill shrugs. “Weren’t we all?”
Paul and the three women exchange looks that clearly read, No, we weren’t.
“If he was bullied, he probably deserved it for being a creep,” Sylvia says.
“Aw, c’mon,” Melissa frowns. “Ted can be a jerk, but he’s not that bad.”
“Seriously, Melissa, are you sleeping with him?”
Charlotte chokes on her coffee.
“Because I don’t care how good he is in bed, the personality is not worth it.”
“I told you, Ted and I are just friends,” Melissa insists, while Paul slaps the spluttering Charlotte’s back.
“Thanks,” she gasps.
“He’s a sleazeball, but he has a nice side,” Melissa tells Sylvia.
She shakes her head. “I’m still convinced he’s trying to get in your pants.”
Charlotte, having gone to take another sip of coffee, begins coughing again.
“I don’t think this is a workplace appropriate conversation,” Bill says, thumping Charlotte on the back at the exact same time as Paul. She nearly falls over.
“Shit, sorry Charlotte,” Paul says. “You okay?”
“Yep! Good. I’m good. Coffee keeps going down the wrong pipe, that’s all.”
“I’m just trying to look out for you,” Sylvia says, patting Melissa’s shoulder before bustling back upstairs.
Bill goes to follow her. “He makes you uncomfortable, you let me know, Melissa. I’ll have a word with him.”
“Thanks,” Melissa chirps. And then Paul is left with just her in the break room. Well, her and Charlotte, who’s wiping drops of coffee up from the table.
“That’s, uh,” Paul gestures at the door, “that’s nice of them.”
Melissa nods. “Yeah. They’re kinda like my work mom and dad sometimes! It’s sweet.”
“Cool.”
They stand there awkwardly.
“Um, make sure Mr. Davidson has those reports!” Melissa says, scurrying out of the room.
Paul gives a thumbs up, and then realizes she can’t see him. Eh, fuck it.
“You want some water?” he asks Charlotte, who’s still gasping a bit. She nods, so he fills a cup from the cooler and hands it to her.
She gulps it down. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Sure is one of those Mondays, right?”
“Sure is.”
Thankfully, the work day ends quietly. Paul finishes his reports, drops them off with Mr. Davidson, and surfs the web aimlessly until five o’clock. Bill bids him farewell far too cheerfully for a Monday afternoon, until Paul remembers the whole deal with Alice’s musical.
That should be good for the Woodwards, he figures, settling back into his car. And Ruth, if she ends up working on it. Which she probably will.
…Ugh, I’m gonna have to go see this thing, aren’t I?
Oh well. That’s a problem for future Paul.