A/N: Thank you to everyone who's read this far! I really appreciate it! This is the last chapter for this story, but there will be one more in this series, which I'm planning to post around late February/early March! Check out my Tumblr ( maliciousbubbl3s) to stay up-to-date on upcoming fics (because there are several) and check out other stories that I've only posted there! Thank you all for your support, and I hope you enjoyed the story!
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The morning of December 30th brought a similar reluctance to get up, get ready for work, and get to the theatre that they'd had the day after Christmas. However, while the feeling had faded at least a little bit on the 26th, today it refused to leave, instead seeming to almost get worse. By the time Jack, Crutchie, and Elaine got to the theatre, it was almost like a pit in their stomachs. Even Albert, Race, and the others on the crew, most of whom had spent the last week, talking about how excited they were to end the show, seemed somewhat sad to see the show end. A few of the performers were in early, continuing to clear personal belongings from their designated spots in the dressing rooms, and saying preemptive tearful goodbyes.
Most of the cast arrived well before their call time, and spent the extra time chatting on or around the warm-up carpet in the wagon house, expressing mixtures of joy at the end of such a rough run and sorrow at the loss of such a huge part of their lives. It was almost like they were putting into words exactly what the crew was feeling but didn't want to say out loud.
The show was faster than anyone wanted it to be. Most of the children and teens were in tears by the end of the second act, along with several of the adults. Elaine and Sarah—along with Carol, who was back only to help sort laundry and bag up dry cleaning and mostly confined to a chair—were working double duty; not only were they dressing and getting people changed, but they were starting laundry with discarded costumes (mostly Elaine since her track was on stage right with the washers anyways), sorting items to be washed vs. dry-cleaned vs. just sprayed with vodka before storage.
As soon as the show came down, while the performers were still standing around and laughing and crying and talking with each other, the crew jumped into action to start dismantling the set. There was only so much that would be done that night; a lot of the large set pieces would have to wait until they had a truck available to load them onto directly, but they got started on the smaller pieces. Weisel collected props, Finch and Elmer struck the audio setup, and Mike, Ike, and Buttons got started taking down the strands of carnival lights that had been hung from the catwalk to the top of the proscenium. Crutchie was left in charge of changing loads of laundry and hanging not-machine-dryable items on a z-rack tucked as far out of the way as possible, while Carol continued going sorting discarded costumes and Elaine and Sarah dragged z-racks full of costumes to be sorted later and wheeled bookshelves lined with wig heads into the elevator and into the rehearsal room in the basement.
To Jack's surprise, the strike wasn't a long one. For the most part, they focused on getting things off of the stage and ready to be moved to the warehouse instead of actually ripping things apart like they had for Les Mis. At some point, Crutchie stopped putting new loads of laundry into the washers and Carol vanished as Elaine and Sarah lugged the bags of dry cleaning and z-racks full of damp shirts and dresses into the basement to be dealt with later. By the time they were all done, the rolling dumpster was full—for the third time of the night—and Jack and Albert and Finch dragged it out to the actual dumpsters on the far side of the parking lot.
When they got back inside, Weisel and the stage manager had everyone in a circle, which the three of them joined, and were going over the schedule once they came back after New Year's. As soon as they were done, the crew scattered, half-running to go downstairs and clock out and get out of the building for the next few days. Despite their hurry, however, they all conglomerated in the parking lot after clocking out, Race and Elmer smoking and all of them chatting quietly, reluctant to leave despite being so happy to have the show down. Elaine, Crutchie, and Sarah were only a few minutes behind, and stood in the parking lot with the rest of the boys, as Weisel, Medda, and the stage manager drove off.
"It's weird to think we'll never do this show again," said Crutchie. "Like, Les Mis, there's always a chance we'll do or see it again somewhere, but this one is technically over forever."
"I mean, since we're repeating Christmas shows now, we'll be putting it on again in five years," said Albert.
"Yeah, but it won't be the same," said Crutchie. "Although, technically a different production of Les Mis would be like that, too."
"There will never be an exact copy of any show ever again," said Elaine. "I remember one of my theatre professors in college saying something like that. Even if it were the same show, with the same costumes, set, crew, cast, and everything, it wouldn't be the same, no matter what. And it shouldn't be. That's the beauty of theatre. It's always something new. That's why shows like Les Miserables and Annie and Sound of Music and Shakespearean plays and Waiting for Godot are classics, because we can see them over and over again and always love them."
"Who loves Waiting for Godot?" Albert grumbled.
"I do. Shut up." Elaine glared at him. "But that's why bringing a show down is so hard. Because no matter how hard you try, it'll never be the same ever again. You'll never replicate the experience. It's the end of an era, for lack of a better term. And it's beautiful and sad and relieving and hard all at once, but that's okay. It teaches us to let go in order to create something new the next time around. It gives us space for that." She shrugged and stuck her hands in her sweatshirt pockets, scuffing her toe against the asphalt.
"Well," Race sighed, tossing his cigarette butt on the ground—and ignoring Elaine's glare at the action—"we'll be back before we know it for tours, and we'll be getting ready for the spring play soon enough. It'll be back to 'creating'—at least for Spice—before we know it, so let's take the next few days to catch our breath and relax before we're thrown back into it. January and February are a little crazy for concerts, so we won't have time to catch it then. Gotta do it over the next few days."
In ones and twos, they began to drift away, calling out farewells and joking about seeing each other in a year. Jack, Crutchie, and Elaine climbed into her car and reversed the silent drive that they had taken that morning, feeling hollow. Jack tried to pinpoint the feeling—did it come from not having to be at work for the next few days, from closing the show, from losing one of his roommates in a week, from saying farewell to so many people over the past few days, even if he wasn't particularly close to most of them? He thought about Elaine's words. No matter how hard you try, it'll never feel the same ever again. He nodded to himself. I guess that's it.
Six months ago, if someone had told Jack Kelly he'd be working in a theatre and be this sad and torn up over closing a show, he would have laughed in their face. I really have changed since coming to Santa Fe, he mused. But that's not such a bad thing. He found himself thinking forward to the next show, a play he couldn't remember the title of, set to open in mid April. I guess that's something to look forward to. Another thing he never would have anticipated doing: looking forward to opening and running a new show. Well… here's to 2020. Let's make these shows as good as the last two.