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"You've been directing this outfit?" Ritchie asked. "About as well as Ed Wood," Tom scoffed. The Director reddened. "Hold on, let's remember why we're here," Justin began. "Where's Kurt?!" Ritchie shouted. "I'm right here," Kurt said, stepping out of the doors that led to the bigger screen. "Kurt!" Alona said. "Alona!" Kurt said, almost simultaneously. "Butthead!" Julia said.
"Julia?" asked a voice. "Rhonda?" Julia whispered conspicuously. The restroom door quickly closed and Rhonda scuttled into the stall next to Julia. "Quick! Give me a drag!" Julia, heretofore holding her breath, exhaled in relief and passed another cigarette and the lighter into Rhonda's hand hovering under the partition. "I thought you were Butthead looking into the restroom again," Julia said.
Butthead, hadn't replaced the dead bulbs yet, so Julia sat on a toilet lid inside a claustrophobic's nightmare of a stall with only pale, yellow light keeping her from absolute darkness. And the brief flame of the lighter, which she snapped closed as she took a strong, slow drag.
Julia heard Rhonda inhale and exhale in rhythmic, sage-like fashion. "No," Rhonda finally answered, "somebody said he called in sick." Rhonda's hand appeared under the stall again holding the lighter. Julia took it from her as they both heard a man's voice from outside the door. "Rhonda? Julia?" "That ain't Butthead!" whispered Rhonda.
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