Every webinovel worth its bandwidth deserves some savory backstory and a dose of personal philosophy, misguided and uninformed.
In High School, Cal experienced first hand the well known and much analyzed "wife-whore" literary theme. That is not to say he had a wife or paid for sex: it is rather meant to signify that he "fell in love with" a woman and "had sex with" a woman, and that it happened to be two different women. That is not to say that he had actual sexual relations in high school, in the sense that he 'went all the way.' Neither is it to say that he had any real idea what "being in love" meant. High School is one of those proving grounds that suggests the dimensions of the life that will follow. Issues that develop in the halls of learning as a late adolescent shadow the terms of later learning. The curriculum is set at this time. The whole syllabus is sketched out, and it is not a trivial thing.
Cal's love blossomed out of a chance encounter in a theatrical production. He had been rehearsing for months for a concert at which he would present one of his new pieces to a public that included his friends, his parents, the parents of his friends, his teachers, his mentors, his classmates, if any could be persuaded to attend, and such members of the general public that had interest in the doings of a huge public High School. His rehearsals involved getting keys to the orchestra pit where the grand piano was stored, assembling his little band of musicians and working on "the piece." The person 'in loco parentis' for this activity took to calling Cal "Penelope Pit Key." The County had gone big into the spending on this High School auditorium. It featured a deep stage and a full counter-wieght fly gallery so that flats could be built and flown just like on Broadway. The lighting system was not quite state of the art, but it had sufficient room to grow. It was on the sound system that the real corners got cut. Mr. Penelope Pit Key was actually hired as a librarian. It had emerged in faculty discussions about who might be responsible for theater tech, since the County was not going to hire a specialist, that 'Will Johnson should do it.' He'd been the technical director at Arena Stage for god's sake before that venerable house fell on bad times and had its Federal funding cut.
So out of the library and into the theater Will Johnson went. It was a very good fit, except that, well, you know how theater is. It sucks out the lifeblood and becomes an all consuming obsession. Those that signed up for Johnson's Theater Tech course were not just squeaking through French II. No, they were in it for the duration, having the time of their lives. There was a team scouring the city for used but still useable lighting equipment. (The afternoon they hauled that old carbon arc spotlight up into the booth and sat there taking inventory of it was one of those unforgettable times. Many went on to solid careers in theater. Many would later shoot the breeze, recalling Johnson's manner and the magic of the moment that they struck the arc and blazed that cold blue light across the hall. How that instrument smelled as it smoked! How hot it became and how quickly so! How they switched from calling it "Suzy Spot" to the "Cold Frigid Bitch!") There was a team working on the sound system, and this was the team that Cal was on. He was a lackey on the crew, running around on errands for wire, running up to the booth, down the stairs to the backstage wings, and back around to the front of the house for the endless hum check.
It was not all guys in Theater Tech. So it came to pass that during the rehearsal period for the "Magic of Light" show, during the run of "Skin of Our Teeth," that Cal encountered Adelle backstage at the patch panel.
"Hey, Cal."
"Hey, Adelle. Liking that job?"
"It's a job. Ha!"
Awkward staring at anything but that.
"Are you working on the show?"
"I'm working on my show."
"What show is that?"
"'Magic of Light.'"
"Oh that. Pretentious name."
"It's worse than you think."
There's that laugh. It sounds like maple syrup. It could melt through cement.
"How so?"
"I think..."
"'Therefore you are?'"
He was going to say, 'I think that I'm supposed to provide the magic,' but he thought better of it.
"I think I need to find Johnson and see about using the piano tomorrow afternoon."
"Tomorrow afternoon there's a lighting pickup. I have to get out of French to do it!"
"We can rehearse in the pit with the trap doors closed and no one in the house or booth will be the wiser."
"Except for the noise."
"Have you heard my noise?"
"No...hey. Sorry. I...have an...
"Acid tongue?"
Interrupted by instructions over the headset. She turned back to the panel and started patching up the next cue. Cal wandered off, thinking nothing of it. It was not love at first sight.
In High School, Cal experienced first hand the well known and much analyzed "wife-whore" literary theme. That is not to say he had a wife or paid for sex: it is rather meant to signify that he "fell in love with" a woman and "had sex with" a woman, and that it happened to be two different women. That is not to say that he had actual sexual relations in high school, in the sense that he 'went all the way.' Neither is it to say that he had any real idea what "being in love" meant. High School is one of those proving grounds that suggests the dimensions of the life that will follow. Issues that develop in the halls of learning as a late adolescent shadow the terms of later learning. The curriculum is set at this time. The whole syllabus is sketched out, and it is not a trivial thing.
Cal's love blossomed out of a chance encounter in a theatrical production. He had been rehearsing for months for a concert at which he would present one of his new pieces to a public that included his friends, his parents, the parents of his friends, his teachers, his mentors, his classmates, if any could be persuaded to attend, and such members of the general public that had interest in the doings of a huge public High School. His rehearsals involved getting keys to the orchestra pit where the grand piano was stored, assembling his little band of musicians and working on "the piece." The person 'in loco parentis' for this activity took to calling Cal "Penelope Pit Key." The County had gone big into the spending on this High School auditorium. It featured a deep stage and a full counter-wieght fly gallery so that flats could be built and flown just like on Broadway. The lighting system was not quite state of the art, but it had sufficient room to grow. It was on the sound system that the real corners got cut. Mr. Penelope Pit Key was actually hired as a librarian. It had emerged in faculty discussions about who might be responsible for theater tech, since the County was not going to hire a specialist, that 'Will Johnson should do it.' He'd been the technical director at Arena Stage for god's sake before that venerable house fell on bad times and had its Federal funding cut.
So out of the library and into the theater Will Johnson went. It was a very good fit, except that, well, you know how theater is. It sucks out the lifeblood and becomes an all consuming obsession. Those that signed up for Johnson's Theater Tech course were not just squeaking through French II. No, they were in it for the duration, having the time of their lives. There was a team scouring the city for used but still useable lighting equipment. (The afternoon they hauled that old carbon arc spotlight up into the booth and sat there taking inventory of it was one of those unforgettable times. Many went on to solid careers in theater. Many would later shoot the breeze, recalling Johnson's manner and the magic of the moment that they struck the arc and blazed that cold blue light across the hall. How that instrument smelled as it smoked! How hot it became and how quickly so! How they switched from calling it "Suzy Spot" to the "Cold Frigid Bitch!") There was a team working on the sound system, and this was the team that Cal was on. He was a lackey on the crew, running around on errands for wire, running up to the booth, down the stairs to the backstage wings, and back around to the front of the house for the endless hum check.
It was not all guys in Theater Tech. So it came to pass that during the rehearsal period for the "Magic of Light" show, during the run of "Skin of Our Teeth," that Cal encountered Adelle backstage at the patch panel.
"Hey, Cal."
"Hey, Adelle. Liking that job?"
"It's a job. Ha!"
Awkward staring at anything but that.
"Are you working on the show?"
"I'm working on my show."
"What show is that?"
"'Magic of Light.'"
"Oh that. Pretentious name."
"It's worse than you think."
There's that laugh. It sounds like maple syrup. It could melt through cement.
"How so?"
"I think..."
"'Therefore you are?'"
He was going to say, 'I think that I'm supposed to provide the magic,' but he thought better of it.
"I think I need to find Johnson and see about using the piano tomorrow afternoon."
"Tomorrow afternoon there's a lighting pickup. I have to get out of French to do it!"
"We can rehearse in the pit with the trap doors closed and no one in the house or booth will be the wiser."
"Except for the noise."
"Have you heard my noise?"
"No...hey. Sorry. I...have an...
"Acid tongue?"
Interrupted by instructions over the headset. She turned back to the panel and started patching up the next cue. Cal wandered off, thinking nothing of it. It was not love at first sight.
