Lincoln City Community Theatre Presents: Operation Smoking Dragon!

The fishmonger at the theater’s bar had a point. If you want a happy ending, conclude the story after the first act. Romeo & Juliet discover each other at the ball. XOXO. The end. 

Addition by way of subtraction. Joy via omission of the sad bits. Directing a play, however, is simpler than editing a memory; especially a memory haunted by loss. How do you crop such a picture? Perhaps the memory could be reframed on stage. Recreate the past as theater. Play-out the glorious first act. Hold-fast those cherished moments. Then: quickly close the curtain before the future shits in the punch bowl. 

It is worth a shot. 

Twenty minutes until we take the stage. I left the crowded bar to continue searching the theater for Wara. He’s likely 4 or 5 lagers deep, smoking in a far corner of the theater with other weekenders from the city: Isy Badger, Ginger Hustle, Todd the Marauder, Todd’s girlfriend Betty Fang. Wara, dressed in my linen suit, is cast as the protagonist for tonight’s play, “Ric Everyman”. A character confronted with office politics. Desire. And a barely formed frontal lobe. Opposite of Wara, in the role of Ric’s love interest, I have cast Southeast Portland’s dive bar darling, Maggie. Instead of slinging drinks at our favorite bar, Morrison Hotel, Maggie is playing the role of “the Cheetah” in the opening night presentation of Operation Smoking Dragon!. While Wara has gone rogue, I find Maggie in the green room, anxiously running through her lines. 

Describe to me again, Vic, Maggie says to me. Tell me what the Cheetah was like…

I think back to the corporate jungle where I would watch the Cheetah stalk the halls. My breath held as she passed. The Cheetah moved with effortless grace. The contrasts of light & dark – blonde hair with dark roots, golden-tanned skin with black dresses – the Cheetah was this marbled feline of exquisite beauty. And the first thing I ever heard her say, when she witnessed my microwaving a lunch of meatloaf in the break room, was “I would do anything for love, but I won’t do that…” I knew right away this woman would be my one true love. Of at least October. But she was forbidden fruit. Cheetah was the administrative assistant to the tyrannical Executive VP. And fraternization was verboten!, per company policy. & no room for error. The Cheetah’s space-filling boss, Fat Tony, would fire employees as casually as he’d clip his fingernails in the elevator. He was a tyrant. He didn’t like anyone using their cell phone. He didn’t want to see it. All correspondence had to be within the corporate comms. Email, messenger, interoffice envelope. It was a toxic work environment. 

Fuck Fat Tony, Maggie says into her mirror as she touches-up her eyeliner. Yeah, I say, and Fat Tony was a fucker. Despite the corporate no-fraternization policy, he had 3 to 4 sexual harassment lawsuits pending at any one time. One of the harassed was Cheetah’s best work friend. Cheetah had no loyalty to Fat Tony, but she had to operate under his large shadow. And here you have to admire her grit. Cheetah was given tasks well beyond her pay-grade which she executed effectively with self-assured confidence. 

Were you two?, Maggie asks, I mean, how serious were you two? Fairly serious at the time, I tell Maggie. Hell, Cheetah even met mum. How’d that go?, Maggie asks with her twin moon irises wide with anticipation. I laugh. Cheetah asked my mom what I was like as a kid. Mum clapped her hands once and said, “oh Vic was such a very good boy!, I’d leave him alone in his room and he’d play with himself all day!” 

Maggie bends over as if she’s going to sneeze. Instead, she laugh-snorts. Oh Vic, I am sorry…, she laughs.

The relationship had its moments, I say. But there was never a happy path forward. That’s the whole subtext of the play. Our differing values. Affections were limited as she didn’t believe in sex until marriage. Which… I was fine with as I thought she was worth it. We were both young & idyllic. It blows my mind, Maggie says, she’d be so virtuous and also a pothead. I laugh. Yeah, we wouldn’t have a story if her character didn’t possess contradictions, would we? 

The door to the green room opens and Wara charges in. He’s full of Cascadian hops and is holding a cocktail muddler. Lookie here!, he says, I found a prop! A prop for what?, I ask. Wara demonstrates by sticking the muddler down the waist of the linen pants. A prop, he says, to give young Ric Everyman a giant erection! Let the people know how Ric really feels about the Cheetah!

Wara’s childlike enthusiasm is contagious. But. But it might dilute the corporate noir of the byzantine workplace I am attempting to recreate. Remember Wara, I say to him, the character of Ric is in a very paranoid place. Backstabbers and snakes in the grass everywhere. A competitive environment with the highest employee turnover in the industry. There is no place for water-cooler gossip. No place for shenanigans. Ric is a funny protagonist, but he is not having fun. He is not relaxed. He knows every word he types in the company messenger to Cheetah could spell his doom. 

There’s a knock at the door. It is Ginger Hustle. It’s time, playas, he says.

Backstage, I watch as the play is performed. Maggie is goddamn sexy in her corporate costume of black heels and matching skirt suit. She has become the Cheetah. Wara is animated, a caricature of the skittish Ric Everyman. He draws laughs from mere expressions. His erection prop is a hit. The only thing dragging the play down is the writing. The first act has too much exposition. I can feel the crowd losing interest. It’s only the stage actors’ performances which retains their attention. 

On stage, we have built a minimalist office space. Wara as Ric & Maggie as the Cheetah are at their respective desks, working at their computers. Imagined walls between them. Wara and Maggie pretend to type as they speak out-loud the messages passing back & forth. 

Seeing Maggie onstage, I am able to relate with what Cheetah must have felt. Watching Wara act the fool, I realize the schmuck I had been. Impatient. Easily frustrated. Quick to burn it all down. The relationship with the Cheetah had rocketed, sputtered, stopped, reignited, sputtered again, so on & so forth, and on one fateful Tuesday, the Cheetah changed her mind on meeting for drinks after work. In fact, she decided, for the fourth time, she couldn’t go forward with this relationship. I was used to it. But this was it. I refused to allow for another reignition. I had to burn the bridge. Fine, I said through our company messenger. And then I suggested a new plan. Operation Smoking Dragon. 

It was a bad joke. One I knew she would find offensive. Instead of dating outside of work, I was suggesting we only have a mid-day rendezvous for lunch-break sex. Operation Smoking Dragon.

But… of course… we couldn’t use our cell phones in the office. There was no privacy in the break rooms. All correspondence between us was via company messenger where we absolutely could not speak directly of the subject matter. Innuendo was everything. If I typed out “let’s get naked”, I’d be red-flagged and Human Resources would be calling security to open the 7th floor window. Innuendo it had to be. My proposition of afternoon delight sexy-time had to be disguised. As Operation Smoking Dragon. We’ll give up on dating and just have casual sex over our lunch break. I thought my intentions were clear.

They were not. 

I explained everything to Maggie & Wara months ago when they joined me at a Portland dive bar to go over the script. Maggie was diligently paying attention while Wara cuddled-up to a friendly dog lounging on the outdoor patio deck. I explained to them how my innuendo had been completely mistranslated. Sex was furthest from the Cheetah’s mind, I told them. Wara stood up, brushing his hands off on his pants and said, well that’s on you pal. You should have done the old trick where you forget to put on pants before answering the door. That would put sex on her radar, Wara said. 

Wait!, Maggie half-heartedly shoved Wara, that was a trick? 

I continued the explanation to my actors: Cheetah may not have been thinking about sex, but what was front & center for her, at all times, was smoking marijuana. In her mind, what else would Ric be suggesting when speaking of “smoke” & “burning” but a joint session? Cheetah thought my reference of “Smoking Dragon” was about us getting stoned together. 

As I watch Wara’s slapstick comedy antics elicit laughter from the audience, I realize how much of a villain Ric Everyman is. He is not the protagonist. He is the antagonist. Purposely offending his innocent colleague’s adopted morality. Or at least believing he is as he types away. 

Wara plays this out on-stage, speaking the words as he playfully taps the keyboard. He says, Operation Smoking Dragon: let’s get hot & heavy on our lunch break. Let the dragon of our passions burn!, then get back in time for my 1pm conference call. Wara turns to the audience and shrugs, saying, wishful thinking. Maggie acts surprised to see a message pop-up on her computer. Oh!, what now Ric? “Smoking Dragon”? So now all of a sudden Ric wants to smoke weed?, Maggie says and gives a dramatic sigh. 

The crowd begins to ahh as they see where all this build-up has been leading to. 

Wara as Ric fake types with a smug grin, saying, I don’t know if we’ll be able to bring the dragon out in my office. When he says “dragon”, Wara makes an exaggerated quotation mark gesture to draw attention to the bulging prop in his pants. He rubs his hands deviously waiting for her response. Yeah, Maggie types from her desk. Probably not a good idea, she says. Wara looks at his computer. Leans closer. Leans away. Turns to the audience. “Not a good idea”? He laughs, that’s not the immediate rejection I was expecting. Wara types, saying, fortunately, I live only 15 minutes away! Maggie responds, is our hour-long lunch break enough time? Wara immediately spins to the audience. His jaw hangs low. Enough time? Is she actually considering having lunch sex? With me?

My attention turns between the actors on stage and the dark faces in the audience. The crowd is leaning-in with Ric Everyman. 

I don’t know about you, Wara says as he types, but I only need 5 minutes. Wara laughs. His smile fades and he quickly types, J.K., just kidding, I can smoke the dragon longer than that. But, yeah, half an hour is certainly enough time…to… Wara’s fingers become shy. He types, enough to finish. Maggie reads this message and begins typing her commentary on post-toke energy, I just don’t know if we’d want to go back to work afterwards. And we’d stink, she says. 

Wara gives his goofiest grin to the audience who eat it up. Yeah, we’d stink!, he winks at the crowd, we’d reek of sex!

Turning back to this computer, Wara says as he types, we could always give the dragon a quick rinse! And throw our clothes in the dryer if they are wrinkled. Yeah, I guess, Maggie responds. But we’d be so tired, she says. You must not have much stamina, Wara says, but you’re right… smoking the dragon does make me want to nap afterwards. Maybe I could put a pot of coffee on during foreplay… – whoops!, Wara hollers, backspace, backspace, backspace, …pot of coffee as we begin warming up the dragon. That might work, Maggie says to the suggestion. 

Maggie turns to the audience. She says nothing, but provides the crowd a furrowed brow. She is confused. She types a message to Ric Everyman, I thought you said you never do this? Wara turns to the crowd and vigorously shakes his head, what? He types, I smoke the dragon! I just haven’t with anyone from work before. 

Rising from her chair, Maggie takes a slow, deliberate walk around her half of the stage, clicking a pen off of her lower teeth. She sits back down and types, I thought you said you don’t do this – period. Wara is serious as he responds, don’t do what?, smoke the dragon? I don’t do it at the frequency I would like, but I definitely will under the right circumstances. 

Crossing her arms, Maggie studies the message on her computer. She uncrosses and types, didn’t you tell me it had been a long time since the last time you smoked the dragon? Did I?, Wara responds with a growing frown. It has been a while, but… I can’t believe I told you that. Yes, Maggie replies, on our first date. You said you weren’t interested in smoking the dragon anymore.

Wara leaps out of his chair and jumps in the air. He paces around. Heated, he takes off the linen suit coat. He cracks his fingers while Maggie pretends to file her nails. Maggie soliloquizes to them, Ric must really be infatuated with me if he is willing to risk a positive drug test. Maggie says this stoically. The Cheetah isn’t amused. She’s more confused by Ric’s behavior than delighted by his sacrifice. 

Typing, Wara says, I don’t know how I bungled the message, but I am definitely all-in-favor of smoking the dragon. Especially if I can smoke the dragon… Wara pauses and looks at his keyboard. He takes a deep breath and writes: with you… The Cheetah isn’t taking the bait. Maggie says, yeah, you told me the whole story of your last dragon visit. You said how you were really drunk and while you had a good time smoking the dragon, you said you didn’t feel right about it. 

Disheveled after rubbing his face, Wara’s hair is on end. He turns to the audience looking forlorn. He turns back to type sadly: yeah, that sounds about right. Something was missing, he admits. Which is why I don’t want to smoke the dragon with just anyone. I want the dragon to mean something. I am sorry I went into such detail with you. 

It’s okay, Maggie says as she types. Her voice is playful as she delivers the punch, it’s okay, you were just explaining why you didn’t want to smoke the dragon with me.

Ahh!, Wara let’s out a scream and falls backwards out of his chair. He crawls to his desk to hurriedly type from his knees. Oh, I want to! I definitely want to smoke the dragon with you! Very, very much! You must have misunderstood me. In the past I smoked the dragon with the wrong women, but I can’t believe I was talking about those details on our first date. 

Maggie reads the response with a raised eyebrow. Suspicious, but unsure what to suspect. Maggie smirks with a lark of an idea. She types, since it has been so long for you, it will be interesting to see how you handle the dragon. Wara looks at the message while still on his knees. He turns to the crowd. He picks up his chair and sits down. Funny? It hasn’t been that long, he says. She says, I just can’t wait to see your face as the dragon is smoked. My face?, Wara types. To having the dragon smoked? I mean… it has been a longtime since my last partner, but… there shouldn’t be any surprises. I am well-rehearsed if you know what I mean…

I don’t know what you mean, Maggie says. She and Wara turn to the crowd. Wara types back, do you want me to spell it out? I guess so, Maggie responds. Wara speaks to the crowd, oh I hope IT isn’t watching every keystroke. Would they send this to HR or just blackmail me themselves? Ric types to the Cheetah, I don’t know how appropriate it is for me to say this, but, from time to time, I smoke my own dragon… 

The actors on stage are quiet as they wait for the audience laughter to subside. Maggie breaks the silence, typing, what?, I can’t believe you haven’t told me this! Wara responds, I did not know it was relevant. 

Maggie turns to the audience and yells, how is it not relevant? Smoking the dragon by yourself is the same as smoking with everyone in town!, she says as she types. Wara shakes his head. Oof…, he says, uhh, do you mean all sins are created equal? Maggie responds, I’m confused. And. Really, I don’t think we should do this. I do not want to be a bad influence on you. 

Wara turns to the audience and yells, bad influence! He spins back to the computer and types, but it was my idea! Maggie responds, I just don’t want to. Okay, Wara says with a whimper, I understand. Besides, Maggie types with renewed strong posture and a smile. Besides, my friend is coming from California and he smokes more dragon than anyone I know. He is going to be a bad influence on me. 

Holding his stomach, Wara looks distressed. He types, your friend smokes his own dragon or he smokes your dragon? Both, I guess, Maggie types with a bemused expression. I wish you hadn’t told me this, Wara types slowly. I’m confused, Maggie says. Wara stares at the computer. He looks to the audience. He looks back. He types, I think we are talking about two different things. 

The lights dim and Wara stands in the lone spotlight. He says, everything eventually becomes clear to me how the Cheetah and I were speaking different languages. She thought I was attempting to woo her with smoking weed. I thought she was receptive to having sex with me, only to learn she expected to have a lot of sex with her California fuck-boi. The next day, in the parking garage, I explained everything.  

The spotlight shifts to Maggie who stands from her chair to scream at Wara, you’re so full of shit! She storms off stage and the lights go out. The spotlight comes back on, focused on Wara. And those were the last words I ever heard from the Cheetah, Wara says.

Lights… curtains… applause… Isy Badger streaks across the stage, screaming a war-cry, wearing nothing more than a sock over his genitalia. It was bound to happen. 

The actors come back out on stage. They take a bow. Smiling. Blushing. They take another bow.

This is the scene I want to remember. When I think back. A snapshot preserved. Framed to ward off corruption of a tragic future. Focus on this scene. This is the way I remember Maggie.