“Mmm. Same,” Lisa said. “What, Mom? Hang on, Sam.”
Sam heard the sound of Lisa’s hand covering the phone and a blurred conversation in the background.
“Okay, Mom,” Lisa’s voice came back loud and clear. “Hey, Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“My mom needs me to help Lawrence Jr. with his homework. And then I have to finish mine. So, uh...”
“You have to go. I know. I have homework, too.”
“The lake weekend was amazing, Sam. I’ll never forget it.”
“Me neither.” Sam didn’t want to hang up, so she listened to the sound of Lisa breathing in the phone.
“Baby?” Lisa said.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll text you tomorrow during school, okay?”
“Okay.”
“And I’ll talk to you tomorrow night? Same time?”
“Yup, and I’ll see you on Saturday. Morning. Sunrise.”
Lisa laughed. Sam smiled at the sound. It had become one of her top ten favorite sounds in the whole world.
“Okay. Yes, yes, Lawrence Jr., I’m coming.” Lisa sighed into the phone. “Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“It wasn’t my idea.”
“What wasn’t?”
“Not seeing you on school nights.”
“It wasn’t?” Sam swallowed against the lump forming in her throat.
“Nope. My parents thought it was best for now.”
“That sucks.”
“I know. And Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“Same.” More.
Sam ended the call with Lisa, and glanced at her math book. She knew she should finish the assignment, but she was way too antsy. She pushed the chair back and looked toward the sheet music on the stand. Why not? It wouldn’t hurt to try some of the pieces.
She stood up, closed the door to her suite, and pulled the Stradivarius out of the locked cabinet. After tuning up and rosining, she opened the sheet music book to a song called Tradition.
She took a deep breath and warmed up with some scales. Once her fingers were loose, she studied the first few measures and then worked her way through them.
Sam wondered how often the fiddler appeared on stage. Was it a small part or a big part? She’d have to ask Mrs. Dickens. If she decided to try out, that is.
Who was she kidding? She was going to try out.
Sam worked out some of the tricky spots in the piece, thoroughly enjoying the challenge. Satisfied with the start she’d made on Tradition, she turned to the next piece and worked out the phrasing for Matchmaker. Once she got the feel for the song, she flung her bow across the strings and danced around the room, picturing herself on stage. She was so engrossed in the music she didn’t notice the door to her suite opening until her mother was all the way in the room. Sam pulled the bow away from the strings and froze. She snuck a guilty glance at the sheet music.
“Samantha Rose,” her mother asked hand on hip, “what is that you’re playing? It’s familiar, but I can’t place it.”
“Just some, uh, sheet music Mr. Auerbach got for me.” She hated lying, but she hadn’t been ready for the question.
“What is it?”
“It’s called Matchmaker.”
“He’s making quite a departure from the classical pieces you usually play.” The disapproval was icy in her voice.
Sam felt bad instantly. She couldn’t let Mr. Auerbach take the fall for her cowardice. “Well, uh, actually, he suggested I get the music from Mrs. Dickens.”
“Who is this Mrs. Dickens?”
“Uh,” was all Sam could manage. She walked over and placed her violin back in its case, her mind racing to find an answer. Her parents would never approve of her participating in musical theater as an actor. They hadn’t liked when she’d played in the pit orchestra the year before. Her mother called it, “music for the masses.” It wasn’t for serious classical music connoisseurs like the well-to-do Paytons from East Valley, New York.
“Samantha Rose? I’m waiting.” Her mother folded her arms. The fact that her mother was even in her suite was weird and awkward. Her mother never came to this wing of the house.
“Mrs. Dickens is the drama teacher.”
“Drama? Don’t tell me you’re in a musical theater class.”
“No, no, of course not. We got our music in Strings today, though. We’re doing the String Sonata in D minor.”
“Vivaldi?”
Sam nodded and almost blew out a sigh of relief. Maybe this would distract her mother from the original question “And we’re doing Tartini’s String Sonata in D major. Mr. Auerbach gave the quartet some music today, too.”
“Good.” Her mother nodded, seeming pleased.
“Ronnie’s excited. The piece has a big part for him.”
“He’s that cute boy who plays the double bass?”
Sam nodded.
“Is he a close friend of yours?”
Sam did her best not to roll her eyes. Her parents had no clue, absolutely no clue whatsoever. “He’s a friend, Mother, just a friend.”
Her mother nodded, and didn’t press it. “Well, how about you? Are you excited for your last year of high school?”
Sam couldn’t help wondering what her mother was up to. She rarely asked questions about school. “Uh, yes, I guess. Susie and I have a class together.”
“That’s nice.”
Sam wasn’t sure if she should invite her mother to sit down. It felt weird to do that, so Sam simply sat at her desk and reopened her math book. Maybe her mother would get the hint.
Her mother broke the silence first. “You and I need to go shopping.”
“We do?”
“Of course. We simply must have new outfits for Switzerland. Don’t you think? Saks is calling me.”
“In Manhattan?”
Her mother nodded.
“That would be nice, Mother.”
Whenever her mother had her shopping whims, Sam was powerless. They’d probably do what they had done in the past. They would fly down to the city on a Friday evening, shop all day Saturday and Sunday, eat at expensive restaurants—or at least push their food around at expensive restaurants—and then fly back on Monday. That would stink because she wouldn’t be able to see Lisa for an entire weekend.
“When would you like to go to New York, Mother?”
“Soon, I suppose. I’ll have Daddy reserve the jet for us. Ooh, let’s stay at the Ritz Carlton again. I love the rooms overlooking Central Park, don’t you?”
“Central Park was beautiful last spring.” Sam secretly wished she could take Lisa along, but knew that would never happen. Not in a million years.
Her mother smiled, obviously satisfied with their plans. “You still need to renew your passport for Switzerland, don’t you?”
Sam nodded.
“I thought so. I’ll remind Helene you need to get that done right away.”
Sam wondered, not for the first time, if Helene would be going with them to Europe. She’d gone every other time before, but something felt different this year. Helene hadn’t talked about the trip at all.
Sam picked up her pencil, hoping her mother would let her get back to her homework.
“Now tell me. What does this Mrs. Dickens have to do with your classical music training?”
Damn. Not off the hook. “Uh...”
Her mother strode to the music stand and picked up the open book of sheet music. She closed the pages and looked at the cover. “Fiddler on the Roof?” She held the sheet music in front of her. “Samantha Rose, are you playing in the orchestra pit for another one of those musicals?”
“No.” Sam hung her head. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the truth either. “Well, maybe. I don’t know yet.” Her mother’s glare bored into her soul. There was no way out of it. She had to say something. ”Actually, I might do the pit again.” That was definitely a lie, but it was far better than the truth.
“I didn’t tell them I’d do it yet,” Sam mumbled.
“Your talents should not be wasted on this. You’re a classically trained musician.”
Sam pretended to study the open math book on her desk.
“Samantha Rose? I’m confused here.”
Sam looked up. “Mother, I thought it would be fun. Like softball is fun. I—“
“Ahh,” her mother said with understanding, “this was Dr. Boyle’s idea, wasn’t it? Like that softball.” Dr. Boyle was the be-all end-all of child psychologists. Her mother didn’t make a parenting move without his approval. “I will speak with him immediately.” Her mother’s face hardened. “I don’t know what has gotten into his head.” She shook her head in disgust. “I’m going to leave you to your studies.” She dropped the distasteful sheet music back on the stand.
“Okay, Mother. Thank you. Good night.” Sam waited until the door closed and then laid her head on her math book. She wasn’t sure what had just happened. Poor Dr. Boyle wasn’t going to know what hit him when her mother called. Sam’s mother had been calling him for advice since forever. With a sigh, Sam went back to her homework. Maybe things would be better in the morning. She grunted. Yeah, right. It would be a cold day in hell when her mother would let her have anything to do with musical theater.
Chapter Seventeen
Mazel Tov
MRS. DICKENS BECKONED Sam onto the stage. “Are you ready, Samantha Rose?”
Sam nodded and grabbed her violin out of its case. It was Friday afternoon and it was her turn to audition.
“Good luck,” Ronnie called to her as she headed up the steps.
“Break a leg,” Alivia added.
Sam flashed them an uneasy grin. She couldn’t believe how nervous she was.
“I’m sorry to make you wait until the end of the rehearsal, but I figured it would be easier for you to audition with only a few people around.”
“Thank you.” Sam smiled at the drama teacher and then took a calming breath. She always got nervous before performances, but this was different. This was an audition for an on-the-stage acting part. Her parents didn’t even know she was trying out.
“Alivia,” Mrs. Dickens called, “would you get a music stand for Samantha Rose?”
“I don’t need one,” Sam said.
“Don’t you need the sheet music?”
“No, I have my audition music memorized.”
The look of surprise on Mrs. Dickens’ face was priceless. She probably never expected Sam to work out and then memorize the Prologue and Tradition in only three days.
“Okay, then. Start whenever you’re ready.” Mrs. Dickens nodded at Sam.
Sam checked her tuning, and then struck her ready pose. The melody was deceivingly simple at first, becoming increasingly intricate as it went. She transitioned from the Prologue into Tradition seamlessly and was secretly pleased. As she played, she pictured the Fiddler on the Roof movie she had downloaded onto her iPad and felt the excitement of the imaginary characters around her. The song grew in intensity and she flung her bow across the strings. She was aware of Ronnie and Alivia quietly singing along, but all that mattered were the soulful notes she pulled out of her instrument. She was prepared to keep playing, but Mrs. Dickens put a hand up for her to stop. Her other hand went to her chest, and at first Sam thought she was having trouble breathing or something, but then she realized Mrs. Dickens was simply moved by Sam’s playing.
“You are amazing, Samantha Rose, truly amazing. Mr. Auerbach knows what he’s talking about.”
“Thank you.” Sam’s cheeks warmed at the praise.
Ronnie and Alivia leaped to their feet and gave Sam a two-person standing ovation. “Brava,” they both called.
Sam bowed her head to them slightly, a little embarrassed.
“Samantha Rose,” Mrs. Dickens said, “the part of the fiddler is yours if you want it.”
Sam’s stomach jumped. Why did it feel like a giant octopus was squeezing the life out of her? Under Mrs. Dickens expectant gaze, Sam found herself saying, “I’d love to play the part of the fiddler.”
“Mazel tov,” Mrs. Dickens said. At Sam’s confused expression, Mrs. Dickens added, “That basically means congratulations or best wishes.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
“So,” Mrs. Dickens said, “by next Friday’s rehearsal, I will need my male lead,” she looked at Ronnie, “and my fiddler to block out the scene after the To Life number in the tavern. This is the scene where the Russian constable tells Tevye he has been ordered to have a pogram— an aggressive demonstration of looting and rioting against the Jews. The constable needs to have the pogram in order to prove to his superiors he has done his duty.”
“That’s barbaric.” Sam frowned.
“Every great story has tension, Samantha Rose, and this play is not only about the tension between the Jews and non-Jews, but also about the tension between traditional values and the ever-changing values in an evolving world. Tevye knows he has to bend, but he’s never sure how far.”
“I get that,” Sam said. Especially because she was trying to figure out how far to bend in her own life.
“You are the fiddler, the one who symbolizes Tevye’s struggle.”
Sam nodded.
“Can I count on you two having this short scene worked out by next Friday?”
Sam and Ronnie both nodded.
THE FIRST WEEK of senior year had dragged a little, but after spending most of the weekend with Lisa, Sam had the lift she needed to get through the second week. She filled her free time learning the music for the play. Even though her parents didn’t even know the truth, her mother had reinstated Sam’s Tuesday afternoon sessions with Dr. Boyle. Sam was bummed because she hadn’t been to a session with Dr. Boyle in over a year and thought that part of her life was over. She wanted to protest because the sessions would be in direct conflict with play rehearsals, but she knew better. She shut herself up, and, as usual said, “Yes, Mother.” Sam rarely disobeyed her parents, but if they denied her the opportunity to play her violin in the musical, she just might have to.
Ah, who was she kidding? She’d never get up the nerve to defy them.
Having made it through the second week of school, Sam sat in the theater and watched the actors read through the To Life scene. She and Ronnie were scheduled to run through their scene for Mrs. Dickens immediately following. Ronnie was perfect for the lead role of Tevye, and Karl was sounding good as Lazer Wolf, the wealthy butcher of Anatevka. Sam knew Mrs. Dickens thought she was right for the role of the fiddler, but she was nervous. This would be her debut in front of the entire cast and crew, and her stomach was doing flip flops. The only thing that had ever made her more nervous was when she had talked to Lisa for the first time. Sam knew she could play the music but was petrified about the whole acting in front of everybody part. Maybe she would suck at it, and Mrs. Dickens would have to politely tell her to take a hike.
Her cell phone chimed in her hand. A text from Lisa. “On the school bus. Heading home.”
Sam texted back, “In the auditorium. Getting nervous.”
“LOL,” Lisa texted. “Can I call?”
“N.” Sam wished she could sneak into the lobby and talk to Lisa for a while, it might help slow her racing pulse, but she couldn’t risk it. Mrs. Dickens could call her up to the stage at any time. “Going on stage soon,” Sam texted back.
“Good luck.”
“Break a leg!”
“?”
Sam laughed. “Bad luck to wish an actor good luck.”
“Geez! Sorry. Brk a leg! :)”
“Thx. You too! J/K.”
“One broken hand was enuff! I <3 U.”
Sam snuck a peek on the stage. They were wrapping things up. “I heart u 2
! Got 2 go. Talk 2nite?”
“Y. C U 2moro?”
“YYYYYYYYY!” Sam remembered that Helene was taking her to the East Valley Post Office the next morning to get her passport renewed, so she added, “CU after PO and lunch with Helene.”
“K. Luv u. TTFN.”
“Ta Ta!” Sam slid the phone into her back pocket. She took a deep breath. Texting with Lisa had happily distracted her a little.
Mrs. Dickens gave the actors on stage some notes and then turned to look for Sam. “Ah, there you are, my dear. Come on up.” She checked something off her ever-present clipboard and whirled her ample girth around toward Ronnie. “Okay, you two. Let’s see what you’ve come up with.”
Sam grabbed her violin and was about to stand up when a girl seated a couple of rows behind her spoke.
“Rich bitch,” the girl with the long blond hair said to her friend sitting next to her. “Her rich daddy probably made us do Fiddler on the Roof so his princess could get the lead part.” She snapped her gum as if to emphasize her point.
Sam hated how people judged her without knowing her. She’d like to say it didn’t bother her anymore, but it did. It always did.
Blondie’s friend laughed. “She probably sucks, too.”
“But Mrs. Dickens will let her stay anyway, because Daddy bought her the part.”
Sam almost burst out laughing. If they only knew the truth. Her father would kill her if he knew she was going to be on stage doing musical theater. Of course, once he found out, she probably wouldn’t be doing musical theater ever again. Sam rolled her eyes and pushed the unpleasant thoughts aside. With new resolve, she hopped up the stairs to the stage.
Both Sam and Ronnie had the last period of the day free, and so for four straight days they bolted from their Strings class to the empty theater and blocked out their short scene.
Mrs. Dickens headed down the stage stairs, leaning on Karl. She turned back to Ronnie. “So you’ll start the scene with your appeal to God asking why he’s made your life so hard. Do you two want to run through your marks without the violin first?”
Ronnie, looking smug, simply shook his head.
“Okay then. Have at it.” Mrs. Dickens reached for the whistle on the lanyard around her neck and blew it. All motion stopped in the theater. It was an earsplitting way to get the students’ attention, but it was effective.
Stealing Second: Sam's Story: Book 4 in the Clarksonville Series Page 15
