I was astonished. “Did you actually place bets?”
“I wanted to, but none of the others wanted to play along. They thought it might jinx the show. There were a bunch of theater bloggers in the audience and the rest of the chumps didn’t want to risk it.”
“Theater bloggers?”
“Yeah! Who do you think reviews these Off-Off-Off Broadway showcases? If they rave, big time producers, agents, and managers will come sniffing around. If they give us the old thumbs down, you’ll have to hire private jets to get any of the muckety-mucks to journey below Fourteenth Street.”
“How do you think it went?” I asked.
“We’ll soon find out,” Zippy said, shrugging. “I know I got my laughs, though, so I’ll probably get noticed. Maybe I won’t have to give up my tap shoes and become a civilian after all. Toodles!”
As she wandered off, my fingernails started to tingle the way they always did when I wanted to bite them. Now I was worrying about the theater bloggers. I was so glad I hadn’t known they were in the audience while I was still onstage. That would have really made me nervous, and that was not the kind of emotion that would have been good for my character.
When I got to my dressing room, the door was slightly ajar and I was surprised to hear people talking. I paused to listen. “Listen, Mr. and Mrs. Fuller . . . it is Fuller, right?” It was Frances Francisco talking to my parents.
Dada said, “Last time I checked, yes.”
“Great. You’re so handsome. Could have been onstage yourself. Seriously!”
Mom said, “Are you flirting with my husband?”
Frances Francisco snorted. “If I were, my wife would kill me!”
Dada laughed good-naturedly, but Mom’s chuckle didn’t have a drop of amusement in it.
“So your girl, Mango, she’s got it. You know? The it factor. I kid you not. I can spot talent, but talent is not enough. You’ve got to have that light, that sparkle that makes you stand out among the rest. This entire cast is talented, but Mango, and Faustie of course, they’re the only ones who truly shine. She’s got a bright future ahead of her, and I want to be her guide.”
Someone came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. I gasped. It was TJ. I guess Frances Francisco heard me, because she peered out of the door and said, “The adults are having a serious discussion, right now. Go have fun.” And she closed the door to my dressing room!
I was a little stunned and embarrassed that I’d been caught eavesdropping. TJ laughed and said, “Can we have that talk now?”
I said, “Yeah, I guess this is the time for serious discussions.”
He took my hand and led me out of the theater.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The Kindness of Bloggers
We sat next to each other on the steps to the stage door. There was a gentle breeze that reminded me of nights sitting outside back at home, but the scent was pure New York—a mixture of Chinese takeout, fried chicken, car exhaust, and urine. The sounds of the band playing back in the theater mingled with the breeze.
“I thought you’d be jamming with the band all night long,” I said.
“Yeah. It’s been a while since I’ve been in touch with the musician side of me. Maybe I should have been in the pit all along. It was fun playing with professionals.”
“You’re just as professional as they are.”
“But I don’t make a living doing it,” TJ said. “They do.”
“You’re not out of school yet. And I bet none of them is as good a songwriter as you are.”
He turned away, smiling shyly. Then he leaned over and bumped me with his shoulder. “You’re good for my ego.”
“I’m just being honest.” I looked at TJ, and he looked back at me. As I gazed into his green eyes, he leaned in slowly . . . and I wasn’t sure why I did it, but at the last second, I turned my head. His lips landed on my cheek.
“Whoa. Sorry,” he said.
“I don’t know why I did that. I’m . . .” I trailed off.
“It’s okay. Are you . . . is it that you’re not ready to have a boyfriend yet?”
“I’m not sure. I mean, I like you, a lot. A really lot. But . . . if I was ready, would I be wondering if I was ready? We’re friends, too. Good friends. What if this ruins our friendship?”
“Yeah, I worry about that, too. That’s why it took me weeks to tell you how I felt.”
“So . . . what should we do?”
“I guess we could stay friends. Or . . .” It was TJ’s turn to trail off.
He looked off into the night, with a pondering look on his face. I held my breath waiting for him to go on. Finally, I punched him in the thigh and said, “Or WHAT???”
He laughed and rubbed his thigh, “You’re so cute when you take your impatience out on my leg.”
“Ha ha! Go on and finish what you were saying.”
“I was trying to put it into words. I’m a songwriter, right? I’ve got to find the right words.”
As he struggled for the right words, I realized that I knew what needed to be said, so I nudged him with my shoulder. “Listen TJ, we both know how we feel about each other and that’s good, but maybe we should just take it slow.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It just means we’re special to each other and we treat each other that way and give things a chance to develop . . . until we’re sure of what we want to call our relationship. We can hang out. Go to the movies.”
“Your parents let you date?”
“No way! We can go in a group. We’ll sit together and share popcorn.”
“Who’s buying?”
“We’ll take turns.”
TJ laughed. “Good answer!” He held out his palm. “Can we hold hands at the movies?” I took his hand. “Yeah. I guess that’s slow.”
“You can invite me over for dinner, so your parents can get to know me.”
“And you can invite me to dinner at your house.”
“Yeah, but my parents split up a long time ago. My dad lives in L.A. And my mom is about to remarry, and it’s kind of freaking me out.”
“Oh. I didn’t know any of that.”
“I don’t talk about it much. I either squash it or put it in songs.”
“You can talk to me,” I offered.
“Yeah. I know,” TJ said, smiling. “That’s a part of what makes you special to me.”
Was I ready to have a boyfriend? Maybe not . . . but I was maybe ready to see where things could go with TJ. I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. We sat there for a few minutes, holding hands, not needing to say anything.
Our comfortable silence was interrupted when the stage door suddenly banged open. TJ and I scrambled out of the way before we were run over by Frances Francisco. She was shouting into her headset. “Bring the car around. Now!”
TJ and I looked at each other. The music from the band jamming and all the laughter and chatter from the party had stopped. Something was up. We hurried inside to find out what it was.
Onstage, everyone was crowded around Zippy as she read from her phone. “The songs were cute, but unmemorable. The book was perfect . . . for a school play. The squealing girls in the audience were a testament to that. The object of their idolatry, Gabriel Faust, played Romeo with the depth of a piece of wet cardboard and his singing . . . well, luckily his thin voice and flat notes were mostly drowned out by the squealing of his rabid fans. The one bright spot in the show was his Juliet. Mango Delight Fuller, a genuine middle school kid with a cool name, is believable, relatable, and charismatic, and she sings like a dream. Too bad there isn’t more of her and much less of him! Walk, don’t run to catch this one.”
An audible groan went up. Zippy turned to Bob, whose whole essence seemed to be drooping. “Sorry, bro. Better luck next time.”
He asked, “Is that the only one? The only review?”
“Nope, but it’s the kindest.” She turned and pointed to me. “The kiddo over there is the only one who came out sm
elling like a rose . . . or should I say, a mango? They all gushed over her.”
Everyone looked at me. My mouth opened and closed. I wasn’t sure how to respond, especially to their weak smiles and vague nods.
But then my Yo, Shady-O crew came over, giving me hugs and high fives. Hailey Joanne was there, too. She squeezed my hand and whispered in my ear, “Don’t you dare make yourself feel bad about being so good.”
Dada grabbed me in a hug. “My heart is poppin’ outta me chest. I’m so proud of you!”
“I’m proud of you too, sweetheart.” Mom moved Dada out of the way so she could embrace me. All this love was the best feeling in the world. When Mom let go, I saw everyone was picking up their things and heading out. I guessed the party was over. “Let’s find Mr. Versey and head back to the hotel,” Mom said. “Dada and I have an early flight.”
As we were leaving the theater, TJ gave me a quick hug. “I’ll call you later,” he said, and then he winked at me. Winked? Was that a part of the taking it slow thing? We’ve got to wink at each other? If that was the case, I was in trouble. I’d always had a problem winking. Either both my eyes closed or both of them stayed open, so it looked like I was blinking. I had even tried holding one eye open with my finger while closing the other, to build up my winking muscles, but it didn’t work, so I gave up. I’d accepted the fact that I’d be un-wink-able for life.
I was so deep in thought on the ride uptown, I almost didn’t notice someone was missing. “Where’s Aunt Zendaya?”
“She left with Popcorn,” Mom said.
Huh? Oh! “Mom! You mean Acorn!”
“Oh, right. I knew it was some kind of corn.”
Well, that broke the ice and we all burst out laughing. It had been a day with lots of ups and downs and this was the perfect way to end it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
A Farewell to the Parents
Mom and Dada were flying back at six in the morning, because Mom had to show up for work at Target and they didn’t want to be away from Jasper too long. I got up at four to go to the airport with them. Of course, Mr. Versey was there right on time ready to drive us, looking as crisp as a fresh head of lettuce.
When we were on our way, Mom brought up a subject I had avoided the night before. “So, Mango, that woman, Ms. Francisco, she had a talk with us last night.”
“I know and my answer is, no. No way.”
“How can you have answer when you don’t even know the question?”
I knew the question. “She wants to manage me, right?”
“Yes.”
Dada stretched and yawned. “So . . . why so emphatic with the negative response? Don’t you like her?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
I took a deep breath. “She made me lie about why Gabriel Faust wasn’t at rehearsal after he ghosted me at lunch. And she’s really bossy and tricky and . . . I don’t know . . . her hands are huge!”
Dada’s eyebrows lifted. “What the size of her hands got to do with anything?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know . . .”
“I never even noticed her hands.”
“I did!” Mom said. “Her fingers looked like a great, big, bunch of ripe plantains.”
Dada shook his head. “Oh come on, Margie. The woman was nice.”
“You’re just saying that because the woman said you were cute. Please. She was just trying to get in your head so she could manipulate you. You know what they say, flattery will get you when the truth won’t.”
“Flattery? Truth? You trying to say I not cute?”
Mom folded her arms across her chest defiantly, “Cute or not, I don’t trust her, and Mango doesn’t want to work with her, so that’s that.”
“But the woman said Mango could make enough money to pay for college and graduate school in just a few years if she got the right job. Why not take the chance, as long as Mango enjoys what she’s doing?”
“I agree,” Mom said. “But if this woman can see how talented Mango is, other agents and managers will be able to see it, too. She’s not the only bean in the stew.” Mom turned away from Dada and looked at me. “Mango, if you met another agent or manager that you liked, would you want to continue performing?”
“Yes, of course. But I could also go back to school and get scholarships for college or something later on.”
Mom put a hand on mine. “But you absolutely don’t want to work with this San Francisco woman, right?”
I felt uncomfortable choosing when Mom and Dada were on opposite sides of anything, but I really didn’t want to be managed by—“Frances Francisco, Mom, not San Francisco. And no. I don’t want to work with her. She makes me very uncomfortable.”
Mom slapped her hands on her thighs triumphantly. “All right then, ’nuff said.”
Dada shrugged, crossed his legs in the opposite direction from Mom, folded his arms across his chest and looked out the window. Mom smiled at me, shook her head, and winked. (What was with winking all of a sudden?)
She slid closer to Dada. “And listen here, Mr. Man. There is only one woman you need to worry about thinking you’re cute, and that’s me! You’re my husband. I think you’re cute and that’s that, ’nuff said.”
Dada, still looking out the window, smiled, unfolded his arms, and reached a hand to Mom. She put her hand in his and he pulled her close. The argument was over and erry-ting was irie once more. No worries. One love. Peace. ’Nuff said!
The ride back to the hotel was quiet. Saying goodbye to my parents brought back the feeling of homesickness I thought I’d left behind weeks ago. Since Hailey Joanne and Ms. Altovese were checking out of the Saint Voltaire in the afternoon, I was planning on sleeping for a few more hours, packing my things, and then heading to Aunt Zendaya’s apartment before doing the show that night. But you know what they say about the best laid plans? They made the universe ROFL that you thought things would work out smoothly.
Back at the hotel, snuggled in the gigantic, fluffy, king-size bed, I was this close to falling asleep when my phone buzzed. I was going to ignore it, until I realized it might be my parents calling from the airport. Maybe their flight was canceled. Maybe they decided to stay another day. Or . . . maybe they missed their flight!!!
Or . . .
Maybe it was Izzy.
I looked at the caller ID on my phone. It was from Acorn. I had better pick up.
“We’re calling everyone into the theater this morning at ten for rehearsal,” he said.
My mouth dropped open. “Rehearsal? What for? Was the show that bad last night?”
“I can’t say over the phone. You’ll find out when you get here. Do you have a ride?”
“Yes, I’m sure Mr. Versey will drop me off.”
“Perfect. See you at ten,” he said, hanging up. What the heck was going on???
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Bitter and Sweet
The rest of the cast was assembled in the audience when I got to the theater, waiting to find out what was up. Most of us were grumpy at being called so unexpectedly and some were hungover and in pain. Why were we being called so early on a show day? Now that our first show was over, we only had to be at the theater a half hour before curtain—unless something catastrophic happened overnight.
TJ arrived and sat next to me, taking my hand in his and squeezing it. He looked nervous and agitated—agit-ervous. I asked, “Do you know what’s going on?”
He started to shake his head no, then changed his mind and nodded yes. “I do, but I can’t say anything.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t. You’ll find out in a minute.”
He squeezed my hand tighter. I guess he needed someone to hold onto and I wanted to be there for him.
Bob and Larry entered and crossed to center stage. The theater went silent. Bob’s eyes were bloodshot and he looked pale, which was impressive since he’d been getting more and more tan as the summer went on. Larry paced back and forth, his lips a tight li
ne of tension.
Bob took a deep breath and began. “Um . . . Gabriel Faust is no longer in the show.”
The room exploded with gasps. “What! Since when?” I heard Zippy shout. “You’re kidding! OMG!”
Bob held his hand up for silence. “We’ve been informed by his manager, Frances Francisco”—he said her name through clenched teeth—“that her client has suddenly come down with a case of chicken pox—”
Larry butted in. “But we all know that’s chicken poop!”
“Larry, please. She texted a photo of what looked like some kind of rash to me.”
Larry snarled, “Yeah, savage reviews can cause one to break out.”
“Stop it, Larry.”
Zippy stood up and thrust her fist into the air. “Larry is right. This is outrageous. You should sue the jerk!” Her demand was met with a chorus of angry agreement.
“We’re having our lawyers look into it, but lawsuits take time,” Bob said. “And we’re only running a couple of weeks. We’ve got to move forward. So we are going to continue the show with TJ taking on the role of Romeo.”
There was a gasp. The room went silent. I looked at TJ, but he wouldn’t look at me or anyone. No wonder he was so agit-ervous. He was being thrust back into the lead role just as abruptly as he had been tossed out! I felt bad and glad for him at the same time. Bad because he was under a lot of pressure right now. But glad because I knew he’d be perfect as Romeo and this was the entire reason he’d come to New York in the first place. “Don’t worry,” I told him, squeezing his hand. “You’re going to be great!”
After a long day of rehearsing and costume alterations, since TJ was taller and more muscular than Gabriel Faust, it was showtime. About a third of the audience had asked for refunds once they found out the star was gone and his understudy would be stepping in. But that still left us with about sixty people—and the show was amazing! We got a standing ovation that was meant for the entire cast, not just one diva celebrity. When TJ stepped forward to take his bow, the entire company cheered and applauded along with the audience.
Summer in the City Page 18
