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“Nervous?”
Nigel nodded. Nick smiled at him, adjusting his bag on his shoulder and reaching for the door.
“You’ll be fine. I’ll make sure they’re all nice to you.”
“You don’t have to look out for me.”
Nick shrugged. “You’re my little brother.”
“Don’t get sappy.”
“And I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Nick opened the door and stepped in, holding it open for Nigel to roll in.
The rehearsal room was spacious and bright. The morning sun came in through the windows, placing white squares on the hardwood floor. Actors that Nigel had seen before were no longer abstract images moving around the stage but stood for natural conversations and stretches. A few of them turned to Nick and Nigel.
Nigel followed Nick to the table set up next to a wall covered in mirror. Nick sat his bag down on a chair and Nigel took the empty space next to it, assuming it was meant for him. He looked back at the actors, who were starting to settle down and turn to the table. Nigel looked at his lap and smiled. Everything already was just so cool.
“Everyone, this is my little brother, Nigel. He’s finally working with us.”
Nigel waved sheepishly. There were a few waves back.
“He’s a baby!” someone from the back of the group shouted.
Nigel’s cheeks burned when Nick laughed along.
“He’s 19,” Nick said.
“He looks 10.”
“I’m 19,” Nigel said, hands gripping the push rings on his wheels.
Nick put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He realized that everyone in the room was so much older than him, and being the baby brother of the director made it much worse. He looked up again at the group.
“Nigel is going to be assistant director, and he also writes. So, hopefully we can guilt him into writing new material for us soon.”
There was one man that really stood out to Nigel. He had long hair and wore jeans and t-shirt that were probably too tight for a rehearsal. He was very attractive, though, and his outfit showed off his muscular figure. His arms had been crossed in front of his chest the entire time, and his posture was a bit too relaxed. And when Nigel’s writing was brought up, he didn’t look pleased.
“You’ll learn everyone’s names soon,” Nick said to Nigel.
“Can we all go around and introduce ourselves?” someone asked.
“Like the first day of school?” Nick asked. “Sure. Say your name, age, and major.”
Someone took a step forward. He was tall and had a very strong jawline. His hair was a shade of gold that Nigel doubted was real. But, he looked friendly and spoke with enthusiasm.
“I’m Jake. I’m the male lead. Please, hold your applause.” Everyone laughed a bit, and Nigel could tell the ego was feigned. “I’m 31--”
“No you’re not!”
Jake huffed. “I’m 33. And I’m majoring in cultural anthropology and neuroscience with a minor in organic chemistry.”
There were a few laughs. Everyone took a turn stepping forward and making up a fake college major, each area of study getting more ridiculous than the next. Nigel tried remembering everyone’s names.
“I’m Will.”
The muscular man Nigel noticed before couldn’t care less apparently. Maybe he paid too much attention on his muscles. He must have spent a lot of time at the gym.
“And?” Nick asked.
“And I’m playing Evan, and I’m 29.”
Nigel had heard Nick complain about Will before. He was apparently arrogant and cocky, and Nick wanted him out of the group. Unfortunately, Nick didn’t have many choices.
“I’m Nick. I’m 28, and I study zoology with a focus on eastern African species.”
Nigel smiled up at his brother and turned to everyone else. “I’m Nigel. I’m 19, and I study early 20th century British feminist poetry.”
The laughter was reassuring.
“Alright, now that that’s done, and we wasted fifteen minutes.” Nick rifled through his bag. “Let’s start rehearsing.”
He pulled out a couple scripts and sat down. He handed one to Nigel and opened his own. It was filled with notes and post-it notes. Nigel’s was clean and new, and he hoped that his would look like Nick’s by the end of the show.
Nick started calling out scenes to start with, and the actors found their positions. Some sat against the wall where bags had been placed before. Others stood in front of Nick and Nigel, ready to read their lines.
“Just take notes,” Nick said. “We’ll go over them after we’re done with this scene.”
Nigel nodded, grabbing a pen and fiddling with it. By the time Nigel had told Nick he wanted to start working, they were already a month into rehearsals, and he was out of the loop for everything. He had watched Nick work at home--taking notes and writing blocking--and had read the script ahead of time, but he didn’t know the first thing about assistant directing. He didn’t know what he was supposed to look for, what he was supposed to be critical about, or if he was going to be put on the spot for feedback. He knew Nick would never force him into an uncomfortable situation, but he also knew that Nick took work very seriously.
Jake started his lines. Nigel uncapped his pen.
Everyone insisted on eating lunch with Nigel (except for Will, who Nigel supposed only stayed behind so he wouldn’t be the odd man out and look like a dick). So, when the time came, everyone took a seat on the floor of the rehearsal room. They were nervous and surprised when Nigel tipped himself out of his chair to sit on the floor, too. He could tell they were using Nick as a gauge for what their concern should have been. And Nick didn’t seem to care, so neither did they.
There was a little conversation at the beginning. Nigel wasn’t a part of it, but he enjoyed being in the middle of it. He didn’t understand all the inside jokes between everyone, but he laughed along anyways.”
“So,” someone with a name Nigel couldn’t remember said, “do you mind us asking questions?”
Nigel realized all eyes were on him, and Nick had grown a little tense.
“About… my legs?”
The actors nodded.
“You don’t have to,” the same man said. “But we’ve been curious.”
“No, I think that’s a good idea,” Nigel said. He looked to Nick, who still seemed wary. But Nick was always a bit too protective of Nigel when it came too other people. “What do you want to know about?”
“Were you born paralyzed?” Will asked.
Nick tensed even more, but since there was no reason to be mad at Will for the question he didn’t say anything.
“Yeah,” Nigel said. “I was born with spina bifida.”
“What’s that?” a man Nigel was 90% certain was called Tom asked.
“It’s a birth defect where the spine is open. When I was born, part of my spinal cord protruded out and pushed out my back. It was all shoved back in, but it couldn’t repaired.”
“Your spinal cord wasn’t in your spine?”
“Yeah.”
“Did that… That had to have fucked up some other things.”
“It did. I have a shunt in my head. It drains fluid from my brain. And there’s other things.”
“Like what?”
“They’re not important, and they’re small.” And embarrassing, Nigel thought.
Nigel continued answering questions through the rest of lunch. Nick answered a couple about when Nigel was a baby.
“He was so happy as a kid.”
“Then I developed anxiety,” Nigel said.
“Which is unrelated.”
Nick talked about Nigel learning to crawl with his arms, and the futile attempts to get his legs to work by doctors. Nick spouted off medical terms like a pro and told stories about Nigel’s multiple surgeries (the number alone earned dropped jaws) with the latest being less than a year ago. Nigel looked around at the group of actors. They were completely invested and asked question after question.
“Can you feel your legs?”
“No.”
“So if you get stabbed in the legs, you won’t feel it?”
“Why? Do you want to stab me?”
“Can you get out of bed on your own?”
“Of course. I can do almost everything on my own.”
Finally, Nick looked at his watch and gave everyone a look. There were begs for another five minutes, but Nick said that they were all getting paid for a reason, and they wouldn’t want the producer to walk in on them sitting around.
Everyone rose and got back to their scripts. Nigel scooted himself closer to the mirrored wall that had a ballet bar across it. The actors watched him, ready to help.
“You got this?” Nick asked.
“I got this,” Nigel answered.
He pulled his chair close, pushed down the brakes, and grabbed the ballet bar. Within a minute, he was back in his chair and rolling back to the table. He found a little pride in the impressed looks.
“Young Bottom.”
Nigel turned to Will, holding his script in one hand and the other on his hip. Nick had left Nigel in charge until he got back from his meeting with the producer.
“I have a concern about the script.”
It was the first time he had talked to Will one on one that day. He thought about what Nick had said about him. Nick had a tendency to over exaggerate. Will had kind eyes and was a good actor. Great actually. Nigel kinda liked him.
He handed Nigel the script and began explaining what his notes meant. But Nigel didn’t listen. was focused on Will, bending down with his hands on his knees in front of him.
“Uh, Will?” Nigel said, interrupting him. Will raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have to crouch like that to talk to me. It’s okay.”
It was usually something only older people did to him. They were so insistent on meeting him face to face that they didn’t seem to realize how infantilizing it was to have someone bend down like that. Of course, when older people did it they also used a certain tone of voice. Like they were talking a small child or a dog. Nigel was neither.
“Oh.” Will straightened. “Well, as I saying…”
Nigel ignored the lack of apology and happily helped.
“How do you feel about working here?”
“I like it.”
Nick walked behind him through the door of the building. “Good. I don’t think we’re meant to work anywhere else.”
“Because mom said so?”
“Yes, and mom was never wrong.”
Nigel smiled.
The sun was starting to set. It was late. Nigel was tired and a bit sore (he had never used his arms so much in one day--not even in high school going from class to class). He wanted to take a nap and eat dinner and just relax for the rest of the night. But he was happy.
“I’ll race you to the car!”
Nigel took off into the parking lot.
“Nige!”
Nigel didn’t listen to Nick’s refusals to run. He just let the wind hit his face and the sun warm his cheeks until he made it to the car.