How I Almost Became Someone's Sidepiece

This is a story I promised to you all nearly a decade ago. All names have been changed. (I had this mostly typed up before I broke my arm, so I figured I could post it in the meantime while I continue to recover.)

Summer 2018. I auditioned for Mary Poppins -- my favourite film EVER as a child -- and got into the ensemble. This was my first show outside of college, my first step in making my own opportunities (since the college seemed hell-bent on making sure they buried me as deeply as possible). The Angel of Death had been in the rearview mirror for over three years. I thought I was safe.

 

I was having the time of my life.

 

It was the happiest I'd been since 2011-2012. I was genuinely in love with life. I was performing full-time for the first time ever in a show I had loved my entire life. The joy in my heart knew no bounds.

 

The cast gelled well, despite the director's attempts to divide us into 'haves' and 'have-nots.' Often at least a handful of us would go out to a restaurant or a club after rehearsal.

 

On one of these nights, maybe opening week?, a dozen or so of us went to a tiny club. Franz, our Bert, went up to the DJ and asked for '90s music. Since we were quite literally the only people there, he got his wish. Many of us went up and danced, several rounds were bought (I didn't take any, as I had a twenty-minute drive home and absolutely zero alcohol experience). I danced a lot -- a lot of these were quite literally songs I grew up dancing to: dance recital staples of the late '90s and early 2000s.

 

Carl, the pianist/music director for the show, had joined us for this outing. When I returned to the bar to catch my breath, he complimented my dancing. I thanked him. We exchanged a couple sentences, but it was too loud to have a real conversation. We all had a great time; I didn't get home until after 12.30am, completely sober, but high on life.

 

Several days later, as we all left the theatre after a show, I turned left toward where I parked while most of the others turned right. No plans had been made -- a larger-than-usual percentage of the cast had said they were too tired to go out. Carl caught up to me.

 

"Are you going anywhere?" he asked.

 

"Probably just home, unless others are going somewhere," I said. "I haven't heard of anything though."

"Oh. Well, I was thinking of going to Brown's" -- he nodded at the bar and grill across the street -- "if anybody wants to join."

 

"Sure, I'll join," I said.

 

He called down the sidewalk to some of the others, extending the invitation. They declined. Carl and I crossed the street and got a table. I seem to remember that two others from the cast joined us there, but left after one drink. I was starving, and ordered myself a plate of nachos -- the only thing on the menu that didn't involve chicken (a protein I was famous for hating).

 

We sat there talking for probably two hours. I believe I paid for my own meal, though I'm not entirely sure.

 

Two days later, he arranged another late-night dinner in a similar way. This time, it was definitely just him and me, and we were sitting in a booth in Boston Pizza.

 

This one felt different. He asked, casually, if I was single, and I said I was. We chatted some more, and a little later, out of absolutely nowhere, he said, "So I'm divorced."

 

That was the moment I realised what was happening.

 

He went on to give a brief overview of what happened -- apparently she cheated and left him. We talked for an hour or two. I'm almost sure he paid for the meal. I drove back home deep in thought.

 

First was the age gap. He was eleven years older than I was. I was not yet 25. While I knew an age gap was workable -- my parents' age gap is even wider --  it wasn't something I had seriously considered for myself.

 

Second was I had no idea how to date. I didn't mind the idea of getting married, I had just never pursued anyone, or had anyone pursue me. I had a couple things in mind that I was looking for in a husband, but I had thought very little about the actual, real possibility.

 

The next morning my roommate got the story out of me. She asked me if I had a picture of him, so I showed her his headshot in the program. She gushed about how cute he was.

 

I told a small handful of other friends, and they all encouraged me to see where things went. By now Carl and I were messaging each other on Facebook (quite formally). At the closing night for the show, we chatted about where to go from here. I said I was going back home (out-of-province) to work for a week between shows but would be back for the start of the school year. He was also going on vacation for a few days, so we arranged to text and meet up once we were both back.

 

After the first week of school, I messaged him, letting him know I was back and settling into the semester. I was a little confused that he hadn't messaged me yet, but he did strike me as a bit shy so I figured I could get the ball rolling just as well.

 

This went on for two more weeks. I'd message him once or twice a week with my upcoming availability, and he wouldn't commit to a firm plan.

 

Finally, at the end of September, as I was warming up for dance practice, my phone finally dinged.

 

He explained, very politely, that there were suddenly some sparks flying between him and a different woman and he wanted to see where that went as they had been friends for a long while already. It was genuinely the gentlest let-down possible, given the circumstances.

 

I was hurt but also not fully surprised, given the long silence that preceded this explanation. I responded equally politely, though I did make it clear that I would have preferred to know that he had a second potential romance brewing so I knew where things were at. I think I even wished him and the other woman well.

 

Then I set the phone down, scrolled to the Steve Scott section of my iPod, and accidentally choreographed three-quarters of Emotional Tourist in one go.

 

M died days later.

 

In the wake of such a devastating loss just when I thought I was finally safe, I had no heart left with which to miss Carl. He passed very quickly into my personal history (quicker than I could do with M, if we're honest).

 

Until November 2018 -- two months later.

 

One of the freshmen at the college, who I had worked with during Mary Poppins, got chatting with me in the hallway one day. She point-blank asked me what I thought of Carl. I said he had kind of pursued me for a bit, then told me something had started with someone else and broke it off, and that I hadn't talked to him since.

 

She said he did that same thing to her and told her story. But as she was telling the story, she gave dates.

 

Carl had asked her to start dating in June 2018 -- actually dating, actually put a name to it. They continued dating through the entire Mary Poppins production, and had continued going out as she started college. But then he started asking her for sexual favours, which she refused on religious grounds. This was something they had discussed early on in the relationship and initially agreed on, but now he was changing his mind. He kept pressuring her, and eventually she broke up with him rather than surrender her principles.

 

I agreed with her that that was weird and not a great situation, but my mind was racing. They started dating in June and broke up in October. Carl first took me on a date at the end of July. She was the 'other woman.' What was more, they had already been actively dating when Carl started pursuing me.

 

I was Carl's side piece. I was supposed to be the affair partner. He had been trying to cheat on her with me -- and I had no idea.

 

I did not tell her any of this. She seemed to be quite over him, as was I. I decided it was all in the past, and we continued to be decent friends until the end of the school year, when I graduated and moved away.

 

It was as if the floodgates opened. Suddenly random guys were taking an interest in me. A boy who had liked me in youth group before friend-zoning me started messaging me out of the blue whenever he saw I was online. We had not spoken in ten years. I was polite but aloof, and he never did come out and say what he wanted. I knew exactly what type of woman he was looking for, but I was definitely no longer that woman. I knew I would suffocate with his family as in-laws (little did I know what the future held for me...). The advances kept coming, and I blew them all off. It wasn't worth the hassle. I kept going to class, choreographing, writing when I could, auditioning for shows.

 

The following spring, I submitted for an audition call for Chicago. They accepted my submission and sent me a time slot. In this email, they also included a list of who was going to be in the audition room -- something that's not usually done. It's generally understood that there will be the director, the producer, an accompanist, and possibly a associated people like the stage manager, choreographer, wardrobe, or music director (if not the same person as the pianist). But this theatre, this time, included a list of names.

 

And Carl was the accompanist.

 

I started laughing.

 

Most of you know what kind of show Chicago is. I had no feelings for this man, positive or negative, but I knew he had tried to have his cake and eat it too and lost both of us in the process. He may well have gotten a woman by now if he didn't try so hard to maximize his chances. I decided to show him exactly what he had lost through his inability to commit to one person.

 

I had already planned to wear a silver sparkling ruffled dress with jeweled spaghetti straps and a hemline that reached all the way down to my mid-thigh. I had also planned to wear my recently-acquired fishnet tights because why not? My theatre shoes were already elegant and fetching. But knowing he was going to be there, I did my hair and makeup and added a fringed, sparkly scarf with which I could use my ADHD fidgeting habit for good. This was nothing at all like how I usually dress.

I didn't even care about being Roxie anymore. I just wanted to see his reaction.

 

I entered the audition room on the fifth floor, greeted the directors, handed my sheet music to a wide-eyed Carl with a neutral but friendly smile, did my monologue and song, took my sheet music back, thanked them all, and left.

I was not even back to the stairwell entrance when my phone dinged. Carl was messaging me.

Hey, it was super nice to see you again! It's been a while. You want to get coffee sometime this week?

I don't remember exactly what I said, but I did have the decency to outright reject the offer rather than ghosting him. I was not going to settle for 'side piece.'

 

I am married now to a different person, and the other woman is too. As far as I know, Carl's still single... or maybe still pretending to be, when it's convenient for him.