by Alex Bledsoe
We clapped. Even Stella smiled her approval. Ray stepped off the board and said, “Okay, who wants to try now?”
“Everyone,” Stella said. She indicated two more identical boards propped against the wall. “Get those out here and get up on there. Ray, you got some more music for us?”
“You bet,” he said as he picked up his banjo.
6
“Well, that was … lacking,” Neil said to us the following week, after our first complete off-book run-through with full band and choreography. We all knew it, too. Ray sat on the piano bench with his arms folded, not looking at us.
“Anyone want to hazard a guess as to what went wrong?” Neil continued. “Because I don’t really have a clue. Yes, there were some missed cues, but this isn’t exactly a complex show, staging-wise. What happened?”
He looked to the side of the stage. “Stella?”
The choreographer also had her arms tightly folded. “They know their steps,” she said, defending her dancers while still agreeing with Neil.
“So that’s not it. Ray, any trouble with the orchestra?”
Ray shook his head. We all knew that, too. The musicians gazed at their instruments, their sheet music, or the floor.
Neil cupped his hands and shouted to the back of the theater. “Ellie! How’s the tech crew?”
“Sharp as a laser,” she called back.
“Well,” Neil said, pretending to be perplexed. “What could it be, then?”
The pieces had all been polished, but when they were linked together, there was no life to it, no spark. Even the songs, those gorgeous and beautiful songs, didn’t properly work. We all looked anywhere but at Neil, whose searching gaze fell on each of us like a prison spotlight.
Finally he said, “Okay, then. Perhaps we’re just all tired. We’ll run it again, and see what happens. Pick up your cues, put some energy into it, and give it a little heart, okay?”
“It’s not about ‘heart,’” Julie said suddenly.
We all turned to look at her. She seemed both angry and scared.
“What, then?” Neil asked.
“We’re supposed to be telling a mystery story,” she said, her voice shaking with the immensity of confronting Neil. “Who or what is buried in the chapel of ease? That’s the hook, right? And none of us knows the answer. It’s like doing Ten Little Indians without knowing who the killer is. We need to know so we know how to play it.”
Several of the other cast nodded or made little gestures of agreement. I was careful not to respond, but I did watch Ray. He scowled.
Neil turned to him. “Ray? Any comment?”
He got up and without a word stomped from the orchestra pit into the lobby. When the door closed behind him, the drummer added a rimshot.
Neil rolled his eyes, said, “Everyone, take a break,” then followed.
We milled about, except the ones who made a beeline for the backstage window and the alley smoking area. I sat on the edge of the stage and, when Julie sat down beside me, I wished I smoked.
“Do you think that was too much?” she asked me softly.
“It was kind of blunt,” I agreed.
“I yelled at Neil Callow.”
“That wasn’t yelling. That was … emphasis.”
“But isn’t it how you feel, too?”
“Ray said he’d tell us on opening night,” I said. “I can wait.”
“But what if it changes everything about what we’re doing? Maybe we’ve all been approaching our characters the wrong way?”
“I think, if that were the case, Neil or Ray would’ve said something.”
“But they’re not actors,” she said passionately. “They might not know how it would affect our performances.”
“That doesn’t give Neil very much credit.”
“Oh my God. Do you think that’s what he thought?”
“I think he was probably more worried that we were all looking at him and expecting an answer.”
She sighed and nodded. “You’re right, I suppose. But I’m up there playing a woman with a secret, and damn it, I want to know what the secret is. And so does everyone else.”
I said nothing. Through the open lobby doors, I watched Ray and Neil in animated conversation. Was Neil trying to pry the secret out of Ray for the good of the show? Or was Ray decrying the immaturity of the performers he’d trusted with his masterpiece? Both had valid points.
At last Neil returned. Word reached those outside, and they joined us on the stage. Neil looked up at us from the audience as if we were a misbehaving preschool class.
“I spoke to Ray,” he said. “I explained, as I understood it, the situation.”
“Did he tell you what was buried?” Ryan asked.
Neil fixed him with a look that, were it a bit stronger, might’ve frozen off Ryan’s face on the spot. “No, Ryan, he did not.”
The response was a wave of exasperation and annoyance.
“Stop that!” Neil barked. “This is not some community theater in Wisconsin or someplace. You have a perfectly acceptable—no, a goddamned brilliant show in front of you, and you need to suck it up and appreciate that. I tell you, I’m close to canceling this whole thing if we get another rehearsal like that last one. I’d rather the backers take a loss up front than be humiliated when we open.”
I glanced at my fellow performers, and saw a fair share of blushes.
“Now, I don’t want to hear anything about the goddamn ‘mystery’ again,” Neil continued. “Ray said he’d tell us on opening night, and that’s good enough for me. So let’s take another half-hour break, then come back and run this fucker like we’re getting paid for it.” With that, he turned and strode out of the theater.
* * *
I had a half hour to kill, so I went for a walk, not wanting to hang around with my fellow chagrined actors. Shame, unlike misery, doesn’t love company. The streets were crowded, and I decided I needed a latte to perk up for the next run-through. I stopped in at Think Coffee; the place was crowded but there was no line at the counter. Just as I was about to order, I spotted Ray at a table, all alone, speaking on his cell phone. I intended to look away and pretend not to notice, but he spotted me and waved me over.
There was no graceful way to get out of it, so I got my drink and joined him, ready to take my medicine. He finished his conversation with, “Yeah, I’ll see you tonight. Thanks, sweetie. Bye.” Then he looked up at me, smiled sadly, and said, “Is the mutiny averted?”
“There was never a mutiny. Just pressure that needed to be let off.”
“You know, I had no idea that people felt so strongly about this. I thought it was all just some kind of extended joke.”
“Some people fixate on things,” I said diplomatically.
“I guess the bulletin board should’ve told me that. What about you?”
“Well, sure, I’d like to know, but you’d already promised to tell us, right? I was willing to wait for that.”
Ray chewed his lip thoughtfully. I’d never seen him this serious. “Matt, do you know the song ‘Ode to Billie Joe’?”
“No.”
“It was a big hit back in the ’60s. About these two teenagers. The boy kills himself. People had seen him and his girlfriend throwing something off the Tallahatchie Bridge. The song never tells you what. Was it flowers, a ring, a baby, what? You never find out.”
“Is that what you were going for?”
“Not at first. I mean, when I first started writing this, I figured I’d reveal what it was, and that would be it. But no one remembers a mystery once it’s solved, and I wanted people to remember this.”
“I’m sorry it’s become such an issue.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m just a temperamental artiste.” He smiled wearily. “But I promise, I will tell you guys. Then you’ll see that it doesn’t really matter.” He looked around wistfully at the coffee shop. “I used to work here, did you know that?”
“No.”
“Yeah, I on
ly quit a month ago, when Neil got me on the payroll.”
“He must be really sure about you.”
“He seems to be. Hope it all ends up being worth it.”
At that moment a beautiful blond woman did a double take as she walked past our table with her takeout. “Ray?” she said with a dazzling smile. “I haven’t seen you here in a while. Are you on break?”
“Honey, I don’t work here anymore,” Ray said with a grin. “I am a gainfully employed com-pose-er.”
“Are you really?” she said with delight. “That is so awesome! Where are you working?”
“Right now at the Armpit around the corner. Oh, Delilah Ross, this is Matt Johansson. He’s starring in my show.”
I stood politely, and hoped I didn’t turn too red when he described me as his “star.” “Nice to meet you,” I said to her.
She turned her formidable beauty on me. “Likewise.” Then she went back to Ray. “Well, be sure and send me tickets to the opening. I wouldn’t miss anything you were involved in.”
“I’ll do it.”
When she left, I said, “And who was that again?”
“She’s a model. Lingerie, mostly. We went out a few times.”
I made no effort to hide my surprise. “You dated an underwear model?”
“Lingerie, son, lingerie,” he said in an exaggerated hick accent. “Underwear is what men wear.”
“Why aren’t you still dating her?”
“Are you kidding? Guys with yachts want to date her. Men who wear tailored socks. She thought the whole starving-artist bit was romantic, but that wouldn’t last. So we broke up while we were still friends.”
His skittishness about dating Emily now made sense. And somehow it made me like him even more.
He turned sharply away and whispered urgently, “Don’t look!”
“At what?” I whispered back.
“There’s a girl by the door. She’s got dreads. I keep seeing her.”
I turned just enough to see the girl standing in the doorway. I recognized her from the first day of rehearsal. “Yeah, I’ve seen her lurking around outside the theater before, too.”
“Do you know her?”
“No, I figure she’s either a theater groupie or a reporter. Why?”
“She’s creeping me out. She followed me home last week. I ended up riding the subway for two hours just trying to get rid of her.”
“Well, let’s ask her what the hell’s going on,” I said, and stood up to confront her. But as soon as she saw me, she turned and dashed out the door. I thought about chasing her, but decided against it. Too many people might read the situation wrong and decide to intervene.
“Naw, don’t worry about it,” Ray said. “You’re right, it’s probably just somebody trying to work up the courage to ask for a part, or a recommendation or something.”
We finished our drinks, then walked back to the theater together.
* * *
When we got back to the Armpit, though, Ray motioned for me to follow him into the stairwell just off the lobby. We climbed all five stories up to the last exit, where the door had been propped open by a copy of the tenor edition of Musical Theatre for Classical Singers. The door squeaked as he pushed it aside, and we stepped out onto the tarry roof.
Most of the surrounding buildings still towered over us, but we were high enough to see the streets stretching off between them, and feel a little of the isolation you get when you’re far from the ground. We traversed the sticky roof on a series of boards and pieces of old metal, and I followed Ray over to the edge. He got right up to it and peered down; I stayed a bit back. I wasn’t afraid of heights, but I was afraid of deaths.
“You like being up high?” Ray asked.
“I don’t mind it,” I said.
“Do you ever get right on the edge and think about jumping? Not because you’re suicidal or anything, but just to see if you can fly?”
“Er … no.”
“You reckon I could?”
“No,” I said more firmly.
He laughed. “That means you’re sensible, I reckon.” He looked back at me, and the wind tousled his hair. “You remember that speech I gave at dinner the other night? About family?”
“Yeah.”
“I wasn’t kidding. I do think of the cast, particularly you, as my new family. The problem is, I don’t think I’m entirely shed of my old one. I mean, if they knew the story I was telling with this play, they might be pretty mad. No, I take that back; it wouldn’t be my family that was mad. It’d be…”
He trailed off and fell silent, so I prompted, “Who?”
“Well, there’s people … The Tufa have sort of an ‘elder’ system. We have people who set the rules, and then make sure they’re followed. They don’t like it when we sing songs out of school.” He looked back at me. “You know that expression?”
“But you’re not home. Surely they can’t bother you here.”
He chuckled. “It does seem unlikely. But you never know. They can fly a long way if the reason’s good enough.”
“You really think you’re, like … in danger?”
His grin grew wider. “Not now that I’ve told someone about it. You know how things percolate in your head when you keep it to yourself, and then sound silly when you say ’em out loud.”
“Is it because you saw that girl who’s been following you?”
He shrugged a little. “Maybe. She ain’t a Tufa, that’s for sure. We can always tell each other, no matter where we are.”
I tried to sound as reassuring as possible. “Then maybe you’re being a little paranoid.”
“You’re probably right. Manhattan is a hell of a long way from Needsville.”
He stepped back from the edge, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I didn’t truly think Ray was suicidal, but it would be mighty easy for him to fall accidentally, and then I’d have a lot of explaining to do. We went back into the building and down to the theater.
* * *
Our second run-through was much, much better. Humiliation is a great motivator, and none of us wanted to continue to be pointed out as a slacker. We put some ferocity into it, to the point that by the time we were done, I was totally worn out. Or, to borrow one of Ray’s lines from the show, I was “rode hard and put up wet.”
So, of course, Neil pulled me aside and said, “Listen, don’t say anything to the others, but will you meet me for a drink in about an hour?”
I stared at him. We were both gay, but there had never been a spark between us.
He sighed. “No, not that kind of drink. I just want to talk to you privately, all right? About the show.”
“Sure. Where?”
“At the KGB.”
I went to clean up. In the dressing room, Ryan and Jason were both as tired as I was, yawning as they changed into street clothes.
Jason’s transformation was especially marked. As himself, he had a loose, rangy way about him, the epitome of a hip urban dude from this era or any other. But as soon as he put on the jeans and flannel shirt of his character, Lucas, he seemed to grow straighter, and stiffer, his natural friendliness replaced with the character’s reserve. Lucas wasn’t stupid, but neither was he tuned in to those around him; it was one reason Crawford, my character, felt he wasn’t right for Jennifer. At least, that was how I played it.
I waited until they left, then went onto the stage to look out at the empty theater. It really was a small room, but I had faith in this show: I never got tired of both singing my songs and hearing the others’. When the cast doesn’t get bored, it’s a good sign. I couldn’t help but think bigger venues, on nearby bigger streets, were in our future.
From the stage, I could see through to the street when the inner theater doors were open at the back of the house. As I glanced up, I saw a slender figure standing immobile outside them. Although the distance was too great, something told me it was that same dreadlocked girl. When she saw me looking, she quickly scurried
away.
* * *
I met Neil at the appointed time. The KGB Bar had appropriately red walls and curtains, with stained glass windows behind the bar. It was crowded and poorly air-conditioned, so the dried sweat from rehearsal quickly returned. It was also dimly lit, so it took a few moments for me to spot Neil.
When I joined him, he said at once, “I saw you and Ray come back to the theater together today.”
“We ran into each other at the coffee shop.”
“Did you talk about the show? Go get yourself a drink, and we’ll talk.”
He didn’t offer to buy, which annoyed me. When I returned with my gin and tonic, I said, “What’s the agenda here, Neil?”
“Look, I know Ray has some problems, and if they’re getting worse—”
“What problems?”
Neil tapped his forehead.
“Mental problems?”
“No. Health problems. With his brain.”
“He didn’t mention anything to me.”
“He didn’t?”
“No. We talked about the show, like you said.” Then I wondered if Neil had just manipulated me into confirming his suspicions. But what was he suspicious about?
Neil sipped his martini, then said, “Ray’s been having headaches. Worse than migraines. I had to take him to the emergency clinic twice because he couldn’t stop throwing up. They want to send him for tests, but he doesn’t have insurance, so that’s out.”
“What do they think it is?”
“They mentioned a tumor as the worst-case scenario.”
Fuck, I thought. “He didn’t say a thing about it.”
Neil nodded. In the dim light, I couldn’t really read his expression. “Okay, then. Did he mention anything else? Or did you notice anything … unusual?”
I thought instantly of the dreadlocked girl, but it seemed far too insubstantial to add to a list that included possible brain tumors. I shook my head.
“Keep this to yourself, Matt. This show is going to be terrific. It is terrific. I don’t want gossip getting in the way.”
