Chapter 13 Start Spreading the News

It is a very busy morning for the cast as we prepare to run the show for the department heads. They are here to watch the final run-throughs of what we have learned so far. Everyone is wearing their best dance clothes. The girl’s faces have been painted and most are wearing false eyelashes. 

We are exhausted by all these rehearsals and we push ourselves to the limits. It would really be terrible to be “let go” at this time in the rehearsal process but that is still a legitimate threat. The ‘Company’ posted a list of how we should look for today on the stage managers wall and we are told to follow it to the letter.

We run the three shows back to back for the next two days, at full tilt. The audience is made up of department heads and they don’t react to anything that is being presented to them. When the cast is not on stage you can find people napping in the wings and being woken just in time for entrances.

Our nerves are jangled and frayed. I sit on the steps that lead to the wings and smoke my second pack of cigarettes for that day. There is a mouse stuck to a glue trap that continues screaming as I inhale. It is five feet away from me and doesn’t know what is happening to it. I walk over and pick up a stanchion and bring it down killing the mouse. I can’t stand to hear or see things suffer and this is a quicker death than for the mouse to starve. I end up sticking the stanchion to the glue trap and the dead mouse. I’m too tired to feel really sorry for his death, but I couldn't free him.

Like trained monkeys we smile and nod when the Director or The Department heads address us. The Director and staff are so busy kissing the Department Heads butt’s that they don’t see one of the girls nodding off to sleep. I hope that the director bought a box of depends because if anything went wrong he would mess himself. He almost chokes while laughing at his own jokes in front of the cast. It is clear to us that he is just as nervous at pleasing them as we are.

We are a hit on the first day, and they love us, but there are to be many changes in the show. This comes as no news flash to us. A day hasn’t gone by without major change.

When we leave the theatre the Director pulls me aside and tells me that I looked great today. He was worried because he thought I was looking lazy for the past week. Here’s another place that I have to clarify. I had let my understudy do my role while I taught him and stayed right by his side. That's how I looked lazy.

Tonight the Director is rushed to the hospital with severe de-hydration. We won’t see him again until we get to Italy.

We aren’t nervous to continue the next day without the Director present. Even when we swordfight, we move like a well oiled machine. It feels like a black cloud has been lifted. The Company Heads are happy and the department heads are happy and we are happy because we get the next morning off.

We go home to our condos and drink in celebration of a great run. Soon we will be back on our ways home and points beyond. Or so we think.

To be continued…..

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 12 Ho Ho Horror

The argument is already in full swing by the time we enter the theatre. Several cast members had an early morning rehearsal, leaving the rest of the cast to lounge in their beds one extra hour. 

We arrive at the casino, enter through the theatre doors, and head down the ramp to the stage. We place our dance bags on the tables and everyone pretends that we don’t hear anything. Silently, we all glance at each other.

"Fuck you" screams The Director, "I am senior show director at the parks, and when I give you a direction, you take it, you don’t ask me any questions." The cast member that he is screaming at is in tears, and she has begun to shake. She puts her head down, and quickly walks the ramp at the front of the stage. He follows her as she walks over to her dance bag, pulls out paper and pencil and begins to write. As if in a television episode, she speaks her thoughts out loud as she comically writes with large gestures. “Dear mom this place sucks, the director is an asshole.” With that she glances at The Director and storms up the aisle out of the theatre.

In rehearsal, whenever we ask this director for character development he tells us to watch the cartoon version of the film. As we all know cartoons are all trained in the Stanislavsky method of acting.  Soon the response to his series of questions including “Why can’t you move faster?” “React bigger?” “Jump higher?” is summed up best by a cast member who screams out “Because we aren’t fucking cartoons!” I’m surprised that no falling anvils are placed into the shows.

Another day spent with lunatics. Another cast member and I pretend we are in strait jackets with our arms tied behind our backs; we rock back and forth and sing “It’s a small world.”

The Choreographer doubles over with laughter at another one of his funny ideas, no one else laughs. When he has one of his brilliant ideas, we are in deep shit. He comes up with new dance steps for a part we have already learned, the steps look all too familiar because they are usually taken from a current Broadway show. We find that if he doesn’t take the steps from the show, he steals them from their television commercial.

After two hours of this new idea, someone asks for a break. "I always give breaks”, he responds. "I came from the Equity theatre" and "I will give one when I am ready".

Blue in the face and gasping for air, we move forward. One of the cast members begins to slow down, her face is flushed and she bolts into the wings. I follow. She is doubled over and crying."Two down", I think to myself.

"I can’t do it, I can’t,” she sobs. “I was hired as a singer, and this is putting a lot of pressure on my knee". “You can do it, I say, now get back out there before we get in trouble.” “I won’t go back out there, this is bullshit,” she says.

I go back on to the stage and get The Directors attention. "What now?” he screams at me. I tell him what’s going on and one of the choreographer’s assistant’s walks into the wings. Unfortunately, the cast member in trouble has danced herself right into a meeting scheduled for the next day.

We break for lunch, its pizza again. We all meet at the pizza parlor in front of the theatre, and go over our early morning woes. When we return our flight information for our break has been posted. None of us are leaving on the same day.

to be continued...........


Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 11 Vacation is Rumored Part 2

We finally arrive at the Dolphin encounter. It is a series of wooden floating decks attached to each other forming a corral with one end open to the sea. The trainer in charge is about 18 years old and wears a whistle around his neck. Every time he speaks he lifts the whistle and blows it. I’m not really sure why as we don’t see any dolphins yet.

He asks us to form a line and we are handed life jackets. No one is allowed in without one, even though the water is about 3 feet deep. Slowly everyone creeps down a ramp that leads us into the water.

Now the trainer lifts the whistle and blows long and hard. Two dolphins swim into the coral.

One dolphin named “Jake” swims right up to us but the second dolphin named “The Fatman” refuses to swim over to us and stays at a healthy 20 foot distance. The trainer blows the whistle making Jake “perform” all sorts of tricks. He jumps, he splashes and he humps my friend. I’m not sure that the “humping” was part of the show.

The trainer blows his whistle and “The Fatman” swims up to me. He is balanced on his tail so it looks like he is standing up. The trainer blows another series of whistles and “The Fatman,” begins splashing and spitting water in my face. For this trick he gets a series of fish. It is explained to us that the dolphins are not captive mammals but are free to come and go as they please.

We wrap up the day throwing fish to a baby dolphin that giggles and spits at us.

I return home to find a message on the phone; another meeting is in the works for tomorrow. I climb into bed early, and even the shaking of my bedroom cannot keep me awake, I drift into sleep.

I rise early; the sun still hasn't come up. I go downstairs and spend 45 minutes warming up with a ballet barre. I don’t have a barre, so I keep one hand on the sliding glass door. After eating a quick breakfast, I shower, dress and mentally prepare myself for the day.

The cast have started having secret meetings to discuss meeting about the meetings that we've had before. Then we have meetings to plan about having future meetings. Nothing gets done at these meetings except we agree to meet again. Today we plan to meet to have another meeting and talk about future meetings, and then we meet to get everyone up to date about new meetings. So basically nothing gets done except that everyone is very vocal and complains about our conditions and how we are being treated. When it comes down to meeting in front of the producers, the sound of crickets drowns out our silences. Everyone is afraid to lose their job and no one speaks.

After todays cast meeting we have another meeting with the Producers and the staff. The casting director now stands in front of us.

"Hi, everyone." he says into the microphone. He is met with silence "How is everyone?" he asks hoping to get some sort of response. Everyone grumbles feigned happiness. "What I want to tell everyone is that because of the delay of the product, we all feel that everyone should have a nice break, and be home with their families for the holidays”.

The cast look around and at each other in stunned silence. “Then we will all meet in Italy,” "You all mean so much to us and we feel that a break would be great."

“When?” shouts a voice from the back of the room. "We aren't really sure yet, but we will let you know?" “Why?” shouts another. The Casting Director raises his hand and blocks the lights in his eyes."As soon as we find out,” he responds.

Not happy with the answers another person yells out “When will that be?”  Now becoming agitated he shouts out "I said as soon as we find out." He has become slightly impatient with the group.

The cast agrees to have another meeting soon to discuss this meeting.

The Casting Director taps the microphone "Oh, and one more thing, I have new contracts for you to sign before you leave".

to be continued...........


Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 11 Vacation is Rumored

The cast schedule is hand written on the dry erase board and for the second time since we started, I have the afternoon off. I am very excited because a friend of mine has flown in from New York to visit and I plan on showing her the Bahamas.

I plan for a big adventure; first stop is the dolphin lagoon. Since the vans are busy transporting the cast to and from rehearsal I do a little research about how to get around the island. Right now, the easiest and quickest way is to take the bus. This is the bus that the people who live there take. Basically, they are converted van’s that run the length of the island. To get one, you stand on the road, wave it down and hand the driver a dollar.

There are four of us who decide to take the bus to the dolphin lagoon. Standing out on the road we flag down a bus and climb aboard and ride downtown. This bus is really just a cargo van with seats that flip down.

Climbing aboard everyone stops and stares at us. I smile and nod as I walk the 3 steps to my seat. I squeeze into a seat next to a very large woman and find myself hanging half in the aisle. I smile again and nod; she just grunts turn away and looks out the window. This woman makes the bus lean to one side. Once we get back up to speed we hear the tires make a grinding sound against the metal frame. We pass vendors selling hand painted company merchandise; better start now before the company finds out. Their hand painted version of “The Mouse” is hysterical and decorates everything from handbags to straw hats.

Finally, we arrive downtown where we meet our water taxi and we are off.

The Taxi bounces over the water, sending sprays of it into our eyes and mouths. There is a slight chill in the air as the sun sits high in the sky. 

To be continued…………..


Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 10 The Brit dressed as a Pilgrim- Part 2

Every time we turned around one cast member could be seen collecting bits of string, ribbons and pilfering table cloths from the maid’s closets at the hotel. He was very crafty and would take these little bits of trash and found scraps and turn them into amazing costumes, drapes, renewed table cloths with trimmings and clothes.

Today he was hard at work sewing black table cloths together to make a pilgrim costume. We had talked the only Brit left in our cast to give a speech at our dinner dressed in costume. One cast member asked this Brit if they celebrated thanksgiving in Britain.

Finally the day for our festivities arrived. We pulled out our best clothes, cleaned up the house and prepared for a day together.

Everything looked beautiful. All the hard work had transformed one of the condos into a showplace.  I was on pain killers for my back and legs and drinking wine and vodka at the same time. I had no pain, and I couldn’t stop laughing.

Upstairs while the guests arrived we took our Brit upstairs and turned him into something out of the Crucible. He came down the stairs, his long skirt dragging on the steps. Reaching into his sleeve he read a thanksgiving story to us that he had prepared. The crowd erupted into wild cheers and whistles, flashbulbs went off everywhere. It was a beautiful day that went late into the night. The only person not to join us was our Choreographer; he had a football game to watch.

One of our new cast members that they flew in joined us at the party, she was a tough no nonsense broad, straight out of a dime store novel. She was the sweetest girl with the mouth of a gunslinger. She wouldn’t last long and defect later in the contract.

Everything was beautiful. The house looked spectacular, the dinner was amazing and for the first time we forgot all our problems and celebrated our friendships. And then, the power went out.

To be continued…………..

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 10 The Brit dressed as a Pilgrim- Part 1

I know that at this time you are asking yourself, "Why didn’t they leave?" Looking back I ask myself the same question. I can’t really find an answer but I do have a couple of thoughts.

Performers are whores in a way, we get paid to perform and we love it. We will do anything to get attention and if we believe in a project with all our hearts and souls, we just want to see it through to the end. I guess it’s true that we need love and as they say “Applause means love.”

That is one way to look at it. The other way to look at is to say that we are fools. Either way, you be the judge. It is hard to figure out what everyone needed and why everyone stayed. Some of us had bad home lives, some had great home lives. Some ate garbage and some ate caviar. We came from all walks of life and we all created our own paths.

Pain killers could also be another reason and some of us popped them like candy. They are very easy to get them in the Bahamas along with several other drugs. I'm not saying that everyone took drugs, but some of us took them to help cope. Others ate out every night, or dated within the cast, or went to the movies, or went shopping or cried themselves to sleep. We had been stripped of our emotions and were lead to believe that our fates were in other people’s hands, which they really were at this point.

Thanksgiving is a time for giving, so the company gave us two hundred dollars to feed thirty of us. I volunteered my services along with another cast member to be party organizer.

I put up lists so people could make whatever food items they liked. I then used the money they gave us to by turkeys and bags of potatoes. We took table cloths and napkins from the hotel and pilfered anything we could find that was not nailed down to help in the decorating. We lifted silverware from restaurants and stocked up at liquor stores. We took and took because we had a party to plan.

I bought a set of Christmas lights to create a centerpiece and ripped down palm tree branches to decorate the foyer of one condo. People carried over their tables and we decorated late into the night. The centerpiece was fabulous, it not only plugged in, you had to light it. We were bound and determined to let people have a wonderful holiday because we were so far from our homes and our loved ones.

That night while all the turkeys sat defrosting in peoples fridges, we had another power failure, this one lasting for hours.

To be continued…………..

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 9 A house full of water. Part 3

The day at the beach was what most of the cast needed; it was one of the first days that we had off.  Returning to the condo, I find a note pinned to my door from the Bahamian post office. They are holding a box for me and that I can pick it up tomorrow.

My birthday presents had finally arrived. My birthday was in October, but who cares I could celebrate it now months later.

The next morning, I get up early and I run to the post office. I find out that I had just made it in time. The window at the post or office that you pick up boxes is only open for an hour.

I find myself impatiently standing in a line behind 5 people. The woman in front of me turns and tells me that if “Window closing time comes and you’re still in line, that they will close the window and I will have to come back tomorrow.” “What?” I say a little too loud.  “I am supposed to be at rehearsal in an hour and all day tomorrow.” Everyone in the post office turns their heads in my direction. I look at the armed guard staring at me and decide I need to calm down and adopt the “Who gives a crap” Island attitude before I get shot.

Soon it will be my turn. I am now next in line and I can see the clock on the wall. I have 5 minutes left before “Closing time.” It is finally my turn. “Next!” screams the postal clerk sitting behind the tall desk, he looks great for being 130 years old.

I run up to the window and excitedly hand him the letter that was taped to my door stating that there is a box for me. He slowly reaches out his hand and with his old, dry, broken fingers and slowly takes the note. Scanning it with his red and tired eyes, he pushes back in his chair and lowers his legs to the floor and slowly walks into the back room. The ticking of the clock now sounds like the Telltale Heart to me.

An old man took my ticket but a woman now comes out of the back with a mangled cardboard box and bangs it down on the counter. “Sign here” she says handing me a pen. I sign. I grab the box and turn to walk away. “Open it” she says. “I was going to bring it back to the house, it’s my birthday you see and……” “Open it,” she says again, a little louder this time in case I didn’t hear her the first time. I open it.

Presents though slightly mashed fill the main box. Beautiful bright paper and crushed ribbons cover the different shaped boxes sitting inside. “Open them,” she says. I look at her and she looks right back at me. She slowly spells the word open, just in case I am retarded.  “I will already, gosh give me a minute.” She taps the box with her finger. “Here?” I ask hoping I could do it at home. She begins to spell the word here and I stop her. “I get it, I get it” I say.  So grumpily I open each box while I sing Happy Birthday to myself, tears rolling down my cheeks. That will be 36 dollars she says putting out her hand. I don’t ask why I just paid and left.

I return home to find the phone ringing off the hook. I grab it up and one of the girls is in such a state that I can’t make out what she is saying. I drop the phone and run over to her condo. I open the door to find a waterfall in the middle of her house. The water is about three inches deep and luggage is floating everywhere. The water is pouring down the stairs, leaking from the walls, coming out of the cupboards.  There is water everywhere.

I call the front office and they jumped into action. Five minutes later a woman appears at the front door with a mop.

To be continued…………..

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 9 A house full of water. Part 2

Our daily rehearsals start with a warm up. These warm up’s are conducted by the Choreographers three assistants. This warm up consists of stretching and winds up as an aerobics class. We are told that warm ups are mandatory and we are forced to jump around like lunatics. One day the power blows in the ballroom and we forced to continue in the dark. “This will build team spirit” they tell us

Our rehearsal space keeps growing as we begin to take over more rooms in the hotel. When the hotel is too small for what we need a satellite rehearsal studio is created in the front of an out of the way restaurant. This space is used just for sword fighting.

They now have the rooms split into dance training and character training. Characters were hired to be part of the experience once we are onboard the ship and they also have their own show. In one of our shows the characters appear as part of the story. We are not allowed to refer to them as “characters” but are told to refer to them as “dancers”. This is one of the oldest battles within The Company.

One day an audition is held in the main ballroom for an adagio team that appears in one of the shows. Even though in my contract I had been asked to do it, they feel that it is fair to have everyone audition. There are four couples auditioning and we lift girls over our heads again and again, while the Choreographer looks on. During the audition we are asked to also lift the assistants, lift each other and lift the Choreographer. No one is sure of what the point is but it is clear that we have nothing but time on our hands. Unfortunately all this lifting injures one of the dancers for and he is out for quite some time.

At the end of the day, we limp home. The cast opts not to take the van for two reasons, one to work out our muscle cramps and two because the vans had started to smell like feet.

The next morning we get a phone call in letting us know that they are giving us the day off. As of now, we don’t have an official schedule but we have asked for one for quite some time. There has just never been one and we are at their beck and call, sometimes late into the night. An idea occurs to us and we set up a dry erase board on the front door of one of the condos, with a daily schedule that we create. You are now required check the board to see when you are called for rehearsal and it can change several times in the day. I have been at every rehearsal so far but today I have the day off.

I go back to bed and then wake at the crack of noon, get dressed and head to the beach. It is so beautiful that I fall asleep. The whole cast is there and we adhere to Rule #1, no show talk on our day off.

To be continued…………..

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 9 A house full of water.

We are to start puppet training in the next few days. One of the shows has several “fish” puppets in it so we need to rehearse. We are handed sticks to practice with and pretend they are the fish until the puppets arrive.

It has now been awhile that we have been living in the Bahamas and we are used to their customs. It has its own vibe and way of working. Nothing works out the way that it should. The locals laugh when they see our frustration and say “Welcome to the Bahamas.” There seems to be two speeds to island life. Slow and off.

Days later a slightly unwashed crunchy granola puppet lady arrives to help us put puppets in the show, unfortunately the puppets did not. It seems that they will be held in customs for months because the Bahamian Government doesn’t understand why we need giant fish puppets to make our show work.

One of the meetings we hear through the grapevine didn’t go very well. No one knew the details but it wouldn’t be until several days later that the screaming and yelling would start. Then we would know the full extent.

Before I arrived in the Bahamas I had choreographed two pieces for a showcase in New York. One of these pieces was photographed and appeared in Dance Spirit Magazine. The other had been bought by the city of New York for a performance for First Night.

I hired a friend of mine to work out all the details and make sure that first night was a success. Unfortunately, I would spend a lot of my free time calling and if I was able to get through, e-mailing NYC to make sure that everything would be alright. We were not supposed to be returning to NYC until the next year.

My friend had mailed me a copy of Dance Spirit Magazine with the picture of my piece in it. Excited, I brought the copy of Dance Spirit to rehearsal, there I showed the director and he said "Oh, that’s nice, I didn’t know you had a brain in your head.” I chuckled to myself for two reasons. One was because I don’t know what having a brain in my head had to do with a picture in a magazine and two because his eyesight was so bad that he had to turn the magazine upside down and around to look at it.

"Damn it!" ”How many times do we have to tell you that you're dancing in the pit?” the Choreographer scream’s at us during today’s rehearsal. We are a little confused because the entire space of the stage is now covered with carpet that is supposed to represent stairs, beds, bookshelves and a large wooden box. I understand that they need to be creative because they don’t have tools at their disposal. But using carpet cutouts to represent the set? I don’t need to tell you that carpet on top of linoleum on top of cement made for a great treat. We would land on the carpet and go sliding by.

To be continued…………..

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 8 New Blood Auditions

They now seem very relaxed and excited to get back to work. “Do you have any questions?” the Director asks pushing back in his chair. “Actually I do”, I answer looking at the two of them. Taking a breath, I quietly ask “When do the Broadway auditions begin?” The Directors eyes get really big and he leans in a little. “Who told you that there would be special Broadway auditions set up for the cast?” he asks. Pointing to the casting director I answer “he did.” I explain to The Director that we had been promised several things to get us to sign our contracts and that I am going to do a little follow up on them.

Now I had been in constant contact with the casting director before I was hired and he mentioned these auditions several times. “One of the several perks,” he said.

The Director sighs and leans back in his chair. “There are no special Broadway auditions for the cast,” the Director says shaking his head. “Oh,” I say and leave it at that. I am not going to push it or follow up with a question about a second perk. I will ask but now is clearly not the time. That is how I got a reputation for being hard to work with, asking people to follow through on what they say. I look over at the Casting Director who now has a bead of sweat that is slowly rolling down his face.

The web of promises slowly begins to unwind.

Quickly thanking them for their time, I stand up and leave the room. Several cast members are sitting out in the hallway, they the next victims waiting to enter the room. They quickly gather around me. I tell them that the Director and Casting Director told me that “I’m a credit to the cast.” “Who told you that?” they ask shocked. “They did,” I say tilting my head towards the door, “And oh by the way there are more surprises.” “Number one, there are no special Broadway auditions for our cast” I add. “That we were told when we were all negotiating our contracts.”  “What?” Everyone screams in unison.

“Ta-ta” I say with a wave. I don’t say anything else I just go on my merry way. Let the next victim question them when they enter the room, let someone else get in trouble, I plan on keeping my nose clean. Someone in the group throws a book at my head and it misses by an inch before hitting the floor, I pay no more attention.

It’s time for another explanation, this is the only company that I know of where you can start as a dishwasher one day and become head of casting the next. Literally, that’s what happened to the Casting Director; he told me that during phone conversations. That alone should have been a red flag. It’s great that you can climb the ladder and that you don’t need experience in the field you’re going to enter.

One day when things were getting tough and long in rehearsal, one of the producers gave us a pep talk. He explained that when he starred in community theatre things never went the way they should and that we should roll with the punches. We find it funny that he felt the need to lecture professional actors and dancers on how to do their jobs. See dreams really do come true.

I return to rehearsal where we are told that its audition day for some new lucky victim that they flew in to use as a replacement for one the dancers we lost to the firings. We are asked to leave the theatre so they can audition him without everyone watching, making him nervous. The whole cast gathers up their stuff and heads out into the hallway.

“Run for your life,” I mumble to him out of the corner of my mouth as we pass him on his way in. The whole cast is now standing in the lobby of the casino, and someone gets the idea to run up to the balcony and watch the auditions, only the bravest step forward.

Nine of us crawl on our hands and knees up the stairs at the back of the theatre to the balcony. Staying low we hide below the rail at the back of the theatre. If anyone was to look up we would have been spotted, nine pairs of eyes watching.

They sing, dance and make him read from the script. When they are done, they offer him a job. I can think of no bigger way than to punish him.

To add insult to injury, we would later find out that he was making more money than all of us. In the future he would cower in fear with us, when the second shoe began to drop.

To be continued…………..

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 8 New Blood Auditions

The Stage Manager approaches me to tell me that I have to appear for a meeting with the Director the next day. He looks deeply into my eyes and adds that the company casting director will be there. “Is anyone else going to be there?” I ask, the sweat already forming under my t-shirt. He shrugs. I spend another night of tossing and turning.

I arrive for my meeting and I am prepared for anything, I've already packed my suitcase and several boxes. I have saved all the scripts and script changes that have been given to me, they now total nine. I plan on selling them at a yearly convention in Florida that the company has. I figure if nothing else that I will make a ton of money doing this, even though the first page of the script tells me all about publishing and sales rights. Great I will make tons of money but get a criminal record along the way.

I arrive the next morning for the meeting and I am asked to wait in the hallway, I feel as if I am back in high school waiting for the principal. I wrack my brain trying to figure out what I might have done. Maybe I got caught rolling my eyes or sighing, I gotta watch that.

My name is yelled out and I jump to my feet and grabbing the door knob I whisper a prayer to the Magical Baby Jesus.  “Dear Magical baby Jesus please make this quick and painless, amen.”  With that, I push open the door.

I enter the room, and sit in a chair placed in the middle of the room. There is nowhere else to sit. The director and casting director are sitting in front of the chair but they are looking down and not at me. I feel that I am about to pass out and I can feel my pants sticking to my legs. I clear my throat. The director lifts his head and through his thick glasses, looks at the wall behind me. I look behind me only to once again realize that it has to be me he is about to speak to.

He smiles a pained smile which causes his eyes to get really big and fill up his glasses.”We were worried about hiring you,” he says. “Your reputation for being a problem has followed you here”. I’m not sure what he is talking about. True I did work for the company at one of their theme parks and I found myself always in trouble.

I quickly explain to him that I was an Equity Deputy when I worked at the parks. What this means is that as a performer we are protected by a union called Actors Equity. This union tells the company what they can and cannot do to the performers. It turns out that the chemicals they were using during one of their shows to create fog were making the performers sick. Of course the cast made me go to management and then to Equity, hence a problem employee is born.

"Oh that explains everything”, he says. “I just want you to know that, we think that you are doing a fantastic job and you're a credit to the cast”. My jaw drops open. “That's it?” I think all that packing, sweating and another sleepless night just to receive a compliment? Unfortunately, I would need to remind the director of his words at my hearing months later.

To be continued…………..

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 7 That is the sloppiest Drag Queen I ever saw. Part 2

I am supposed to be at rehearsals today so I am not sleeping as soundly as I would like to. I rise up on my elbows and look at the clock, damn it, I’ve over slept a whole ten minutes, and my schedule will most definitely be thrown off. Panicked, I jump out of bed and peel off my disco clothes, I stink. I make my way to the bathroom and stripping off my underwear, I accidentally drop it into the toilet.

The water wakes me, and I try to hurry up, avoiding a lot of my grooming rituals, trimming off time. I run down the steps in my towel and start the coffee, pour a glass of orange juice and add a little vodka just for taste and to forget, what I’m not sure yet.

Running back upstairs, I dress, run out the door and climb aboard the van. Happy smiling faces have been replaced with bloodshot eyes and grimaces. “Ugh,” I grumble...mmm is everyone’s response. We drive to rehearsal and spend the whole day learning something that might be cut, but might get put into another of our 3 shows, or we might never see it again. Understand? That is how it is told to us as we learn it. Most of the choreography and staging will get dumped when the people from corporate show up again.

Every day I enter the casino or get to take a break, I plunk a quarter into the slots and pull the lever. Hoping for three cherries I get lemons, no win. If I win I plan on leaving, that’s the deal I make with myself. Today, no luck, I’m here for another day. We enter the theatre and the director is walking around the stage with his face pressed up against the script, turning it around and upside down. He doesn’t see us but then again he doesn’t see much of anything. He’s blind and he's been referring to me as George for a week now.

Being on the stage we learn that because we have no mirrors we can roll our eyes as much as we want without getting caught. Crossing the stage, our un-prepared choreographer who blames our director for everything comes up with another brilliant idea; let’s have the boys dance the opening number with swords. So basically the number he choreographed without swords is now going to have swords. He demonstrates the swords by waving it around while he does a few of the steps he can remember.

Let me explain, we have been in sword class learning the art of combat from one of the greatest fight directors in the world, day in and day out we have been learning and after rehearsal we have been practicing in the parking lot. We have even worked at home creating invisible targets to practice on. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5a, cut down. Those are the basic steps of sword fighting then you plot out the fight. The only sharp objects our choreographer has picked up lately have been a knife and fork. The man has gained at least 20 pounds since we got here.

Swing the swords at each other like this he says swinging the swords haphazardly at us. Then do a cartwheel and a handstand and land with a sword slash. Again he slices the sword at us. I get a cramp in my head from rolling my eyes. We work late into the night on this number, changing and re-changing, only to have it cut from the show before we leave that night.

We all stumble out of the van and into the house, no dinner tonight, I’ve lost my appetite. I pick up the phone and dial my subletters in NYC. The phone bill is in and you owe $1600.00, we got an eviction notice and your dog needs an operation. Unfortunately, this is the happiest news of the day, I stumble up the stairs and fall asleep in my dance clothes.

The thunder begins to rumble in the distance and my bed begins its strange rocking that it started a week ago. I'm safe at home I think and fall asleep.

To be continued…………..

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 7 That is the sloppiest Drag Queen I ever saw.

At night we become regulars in the only Bahamian gay bar on the island named “Endangered Species”. There are five of us sitting there on a hopping Friday night. Actually there are only other two people in the bar with us, bringing the total to seven. "It's usually busier in here", says the barmaid.”Funny,” she said that last week and the week before that.

I look across the bar at the leopard prints that cover the wall, chairs, settees and every bar stool. I absently tap my foot to the latest tunes from 1980 that are blaring through small speakers suspended above the bar. An old man winks at me just before his head hits the bar. I sigh and put away my fifth straight vodka.

My five best friends are with me. I raise a glass to salute them. The rest of our cast is asleep, safe at home in the condos. We have all become much closer since the slaughter wiped out so many of us a couple days ago. I become aware that I can hear the ticking of my watch, the needle on the record begins to skip, and the dust from the ceiling fan settles.

Suddenly the front door opens and we can feel a blast of heat from the outside. “Thank god,” I mutter “more people to get this party started.” We crane our necks towards the door with great anticipation and in shuffle two of the worst looking drag queens I've ever seen. Both of them are about 6’5. They are wearing sequined gowns, covered by sweater vests and both their hair is flat to their head and uncombed. One is wearing big thick Mr. Magoo glasses that barely hide the fact that her eyes are crossed; at least they take your eyes away from her large buck teeth. I raise my hand and order another shot of vodka.

I toss it back and we decide that this night has come to a screeching halt. Stumbling out to the van we collectively decide it’s easier to drive on the other side of the road if you're drunk already. Sliding into the front seat I put the key in the ignition and the van roars to life. We arrive back at the condos in record time and I stagger back into the house, climb the stairs to my room and pass out.

The morning comes earlier than I planned. The sun rises and blasts through the windows. I climb out of bed and pad over to the thermostat. I push it as low as it will go. Frost appears on the windows. “It's like a goddamned ice box in here,” my roommate yells from somewhere in the house. “I can see my fucking breath.” “Geoffrey please find a happy fucking medium with the air-conditioner,” he screams. I roll over in bed and pull the covers up; it’s the best way to battle the cold.

To be continued…………..

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 6 The 2:45 prepares for takeoff Part 2.

Rehearsal starts right up the next day, and now the stage is for scenes and dance numbers and the dressing room for vocal rehearsal. We start with the dance numbers and re-learn what we learned yesterday, and change what we learned last week, and then one half of what we learned two days ago gets put at the end of what we learned twenty minutes ago and then we re-learn what we haven’t learned but they meant to teach us. My mind begins reeling; I can’t make heads or tails out of what I've been learning. But we push on and on and...Why are we learning this?

Suddenly a cast member screams out that “They can’t take it anymore,” the music stops and all heads whip around. “Several of our cast members have been fired and no one will talk about it,” she screams tears flowing down her face. Suddenly silence falls across the land, somewhere in America a cow stops giving milk, children stop playing, and our shoulders begin to rise. No one knows what to do and no one will look at each other.

Suddenly Power Suit rises in the audience and walks the ramp at the front of the stage, her heels gliding over the newly installed linoleum placed there by the Cuban cast. “I did all I could do,” she says addressing the cast. “It was beyond my control, we even called on Mr. E and he couldn’t do anything.” With this she looks around at the cast, daring someone to challenge her view of the events she just laid out. I imagine her on her bat phone to Commissioner Gordon trying to save someone’s job. Tears begin to well up in her eyes but no one believes her. We do believe however that she practiced her crying by cutting onions. As soon as the tears appeared they disappear. “We have to just do our jobs and move on,” is her final philosophy. With that she glides back down the ramp, through the entrance and back into the casino.

I’ve heard enough and ask if we can take a break. I walk into the music room which is still a Cuban show girl dressing room, light up a cigarette, and look at my reflection in the mirror. Breathe I tell myself, breathe and relax. I begin to achieve this when a giant rat walks under my nose.

To be continued…………..

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 6 The 2:45 prepares for takeoff.

We had been warned during our meetings about eating poppy seed muffins and that they can cause a reading in your blood that shows you’re doing Heroin. So now we need to come up with another story. “Who is it?” we ask. We have sat through endless drug speeches and seminars put together by the “Company” to show us the dangers of a “wild” lifestyle. I look around the room. No one is munching out of control, no one is laughing repeatedly, and no one is following their fingers with their eyes. All the signs we've been told by the company is a direct result of pot smoking.

We feel as if we are trapped in a Shirley Jackson book, the book where someone has placed their hand in a bag and pulled out the black dot. I'm sure another speech about the dangers of drug use is in the works.

I'm 33 years old and I feel as if I can’t dress myself, feed myself or use the bathroom without a speech on the correct way to do it from the company. They also have rules, so many fucking rules it’s hard to keep track of all of them. The rule book we are given has rewrites of rewrites in it. Point with two fingers we are told when giving directions, so no one thinks you're pointing at them. Only one finger comes to mind when I think of this company today.

At the party for the dead one of my friends stumbles into the room so drunk that he closes one eye to look at me."Oh Christ!" he says falling off his six inch heels. "I knew this would happen". His drink jumps out of the glass and onto the floor as he falls on the couch. I’m not sure why he’s wearing heels today or yesterday or tomorrow but I am an early believer of the “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy.

Once again one of our celebrations turns as sour as the milk in my fridge during a Bahamian blackout. No one feels much like partying but everyone feels like drinking.

The bell at the front door rings and everyone jumps; we are used to people just walking in, so this must be important. A cast member answers the door, standing there is one of our fellow performers his face streaked with tears. Without any warning and without any questions he makes an announcement. “It’s me,” he blurts out, “I’m the one who had a positive drug test.” “I smoked pot two weeks before I came to work for the company.”

“That’s it,” I yell! Two weeks before, Christ, you don’t have to be Colombo to figure this one out. It’s our alibi, the golden clause, the icing on the cake. We are smug in our legal knowledge. “If you smoked pot two weeks before you were hired there is nothing they can do, you weren’t under contract.”

“I already tried that defense,” he says meekly “and it didn’t work.” I envision “Power Suit” sitting on high, a long white wig flapping in the wind of her banging gavel; a lesson must be learned she screams.

We do what we do best, we help him pack.

To be continued…………..

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Chapter 5 Reefer Madness

The holes left in the show left by the dead are enormous, my job originally consisted of understudy to three major roles, now a fourth is assigned and I am in every single minute of all three shows. Understudy rehearsal for me begins in the bathroom, I carry my script and find I do greatest actor among the porcelain. The bathroom becomes my best friend; no one can bother you here. Now in times of stress my body thinks that it has to go. We all deal with the stress differently, my roommate blasts the Spice Girls 24 hours a day. Tell me what you want, what you really, really want? I want to snap that fucking CD in half my mind answers.

Fear has gripped us by the throat and we become smiling zombies eager to please. A change in our contract gets handed to us. We are told to sign it now, by the end of rehearsal day. It takes away what little rights we had. Sign it or leave on the 2:45 we are told. Later when someone messes up a step or flubs a line we mention the 2:45. The 2:45 gets closer and closer.

We have moved out of the carpeted rehearsal halls and into the theatre. We are all excited because Halloween is right around the corner. It is another chance to throw a party and we prepare. One of our cast members has been collecting bits of string and feathers left by a Cuban show that shares our rehearsal space. Our new space is a giant stage covered with a thin board that sits on top of 12 feet of concrete. My shins and back groan when I dance, keep smiling I tell myself.

The drug testing is now in full swing. I get to go in the last group because I tried pot I tell them, I just didn’t inhale it. This last group consists of people who have vigorously been taking Golden Seal; we laugh and wonder if it really works.

The drug testing takes place in the islands hospital. The clinic reminds me of those movies where people sit in a boat fleeing a country of horrible conditions. If I see a chicken sitting on someone’s lap in the waiting room, I’m out of here. The nurse jabs my arm with a needle for the fourth time trying to find a vein. Finally she thinks she’s found one and holds the needle to my arm with a thick band of tape. I haven’t given much blood before, but I’m sure that it's not supposed to hurt this much. When she is finished she removes the needle. I see that here is a giant bruise left on the inside of my arm, it’s actually four bruises that have grown together into one.

I’m supposed to return to rehearsal, but instead I go to the pool and lay in the sun. The waves behind my head crash onto the beach, leaving bits of discarded tampons, all is right with the world I say to myself, and I fall asleep.

I wake to the sound of children in the pool, and I collect my belongings and stumble back inside my condo to lay in the air-conditioning. I'm out of coffee the only thing to keep my wits at a razor sharp jitter. So I throw on some clothes and walk to one of the only coffee stores on the island. Walking up to the counter I order a bag to be ground and a large coffee while I wait. “No coffee” I’m told. The man behind the counter points to a hand written note taped to the register. The sign simply says “No Coffee.” No coffee in a coffee shop I wonder?  “No coffee on the island,” I'm told. I'm sure that I will die when my body finds out what my mind already knows, no matter there is still vodka on the island. I have already reached a point living in the Bahamas that most things make no sense and that’s the way it is.

I go home and prepare for our Halloween party. I dress all in black throw a store bought hood on my head and enter the party as the grim reaper. I look more like a crazy Fosse dancer but who cares.

Little paper tombstones decorate the house, with epitaphs to the dead written on them. Paper bats with the faces of the producers hang from the ceiling. We are in full swing at the party when the news arrives.

Someone’s test came back positive for drugs.

To be continued…………..

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.