"Best lighting design at the Boston Theatre Professionals’ Award is Sawyer Martinez for We Have Always Lived In The Castle at Boston Contemporary Theatre."
Sawyer doesn't blink, doesn't gasp, doesn't cover her mouth in shock. She just smiles, and gets to her feet with regal efficiency. Sawyer wiggles up to the lectern, hitching up the skirt of her dress a bit so she can make it up the step. Natasha feels herself getting lost in how gorgeous Sawyer looks, especially with the warm-white spotlight across her face. The presenter hands Sawyer her award, a plain cube of glass with lettering etched into it.
Sawyer starts her speech with a loud explosion of screeching laughter. Natasha wants to stand and applaud.
Sawyer composes herself a little, "I'd just like to express my enormous gratitude for this recognition of my craft. I'm really lucky to love what I do. Thank you to Irma for inviting me to come on this journey with you. Thank you to all of the Boston Contemporary team, including the stage management team. Lastly, thank you to everyone in Boston that has made me feel so at home."
There's the same polite round of applause for Sawyer as there has been for everybody, but Natasha can't help clapping as loud as she can until Sawyer herself walks back to their table, catches Natasha's hands and stops them moving.
She leans in and whispers to Natasha, "Was that okay? Did I sound like a total nerd?"
"You sounded very sweet. Now kiss me."
By now the room has moved on to listening to the nominees of the award for best make-up and hairstyling, and no one pays any attention at all when Sawyer lightly presses her nude lips to Natasha's bright red ones.
Sawyer draws back after a second or two, but returns to holding Natasha's kneecap under the tablecloth.
The rest of the awards are interminable. The only things keeping Natasha awake are trading heated, secret smirks with Sawyer, and watching Sawyer fingering the etched lettering of her award. The last award is presented, and the lights are turned back up. Sawyer wants to do another round of the room to say her goodbyes, and Natasha excuses herself to go to the restroom.
Natasha swings the restroom door open into a group of laughing girls. Their heads snap towards Natasha and they stop laughing for a split second as they all stare, before laughter bursts out again. Natasha feels as unsettled, as out of place, as she used to feel in the corridors at school. She's about to apologise and retreat out of the bathroom when a girl hidden at the back of the group calls her name.
"Natasha! Come here! We're going to get ready to roll into town," Meghan winks goofily at Natasha and Natasha notices how wide her pupils are, how her fingers reach for the material of Natasha's sleeves and work it between her fingers.
"I hope you have a lovely night, girls, but I'm not going to nick your stash. Thanks though."
Natasha remembers nights like these, tumbling from private view to private view to a live installation in some squat somewhere. They'd all been pumped up on drugs, yes, but also art, and possibilities, and making connections, and a growing awareness of their own gifts.
Meghan pulls on Natasha's sleeve, "It's only Molly, we've got loads. Finn - " She turns to the person nearest her elbow, "Natasha knows Lucia."
"Cool," they nod with the full-bodied movement that seems to indicate a youthful, masculine loucheness. "Lucia's awesome."
Natasha nods back, "she's the fucking Ace of Swords in my tarot deck, man."
Natasha wishes she could stride past them, but she can't properly flex her knees in her dress. She makes her way into the cubicle and twists her arms behind her neck to undo the zip, manages to do it without bashing her arms on the sides of the cubicles. Her piss won't come. She feels like she's in school again; day dreaming on the toilet to pass away the lonely lunchtimes, her sisters too busy with their own friends to come and find her. Eventually, she manages to relieve her bladder in a long, narrow trickle. Outside the cubicle, Meghan and her friends talk about where they could head later. There are several clubs that Natasha can't place, some she knows only as "where Sigma used to be" or "the place where Monkey was." She squeezes past them, rinsing her hands and heading to the door.
"Bye, Natasha," Meghan's voice rings out.
She raises her hand in reply, "Have a good night."
Sawyer is waiting outside, checking her phone on a chair while the staff clear empty bottles and stained, crumpled napkins from the tables. Her little glass award is on the table, her clutch bag propped against it.
"You ready, babe?" Sawyer says, without fully looking up from her phone. Natasha is suddenly full of relief to see her. Sawyer's dress is too slippery. Natasha wants to take it off and press herself against Sawyer's soft skin instead.
Natasha's definitely ready, "Yeah, let's fuck off home."
Sawyer insists they stop at a McDonalds before they make their way back to her apartment.
They don't have to walk further than a couple of blocks to reach one, and as they shuffle in and up to the counter, every head swivels towards them. Sawyer
