Chapters (30)
- To the Moon and Back
- Reviewers Love Melissa Brayden
- Praise for the Soho Loft Series
- By the Author
- Acknowledgments
- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Epilogue
- About the Author
- Books Available From Bold Strokes Books
- BOLDSTROKESBOOKS.COM
They were so close, Lauren could taste it. Into the Woods was in its final weekend of performances at The McAllister Theater in Minneapolis, where Lauren was one of two resident production stage managers. Her job was varied and intense, but she wouldn’t trade it for any other. It fell to her to oversee the assistant stage managers and keep everything about the production moving forward in a timely, healthy, and organized manner, and that came with a long list of responsibilities. Lauren called each cue of the show personally on the headset from the stage manager’s booth. She worked with actors on any problems, both personal or performance based, arranged for their understudies to step in when they were sick, and made sure the production team was informed about nearly every detail of each performance. She filled out electronic paperwork on every performance. She coordinated with the house manager. She made sure the director’s vision remained intact once the show opened. She booked doctor’s appointments, arranged for rides, and acted as therapist and counselor. In short, there was nothing Lauren Prescott didn’t do in the scope of her job to make each and every performance better, and she did it calmly with a smile.
And while she loved her gig as stage manager, she loved The McAllister even more. With a season of six productions annually, every one had to be top-notch. Lauren generally stage managed three or four of them, making the pace of her life incredibly busy. Sure, she’d love to date, socialize, or maybe make it to the gym on occasion. Hell, she’d settle for time to drink her coffee before it got cold. Yet she didn’t have time.
“And send,” she said, striking the key on her silver Mac with the rose-gold casing that would blast the performance report to everyone who worked behind the scenes in any position of status. They’d run three minutes longer than the night before, which meant that The Baker was milking his dramatic moments again. She’d pass on the note, knowing the director’s wish for him to keep the pace of those emotional moments in act 2 aloft.