“Well, how wonderful!” Belinda clapped her hands together, the warm smile returning. “Two gypsies in one school district. Imagine that!”
“Yeah, he was in Mary Poppins and A Christmas Story,” Lou said, looking over at me.
Oh boy.
“No kidding.” Belinda wrinkled her forehead.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “I was a lot younger, though.”
“Oh, please,” Lou teased. “Jack’s just being modest. He was the lead in both of those shows. He’s pretty much the Best of Broadway.”
“Ha!” I laughed uncomfortably, elbowing Lou. “She’s definitely exaggerating, but hey, that’s cool that we’ve both been on Broadway,” I said hurriedly. “We probably know some of the same people.”
“I bet you’re right,” Belinda said. “What’s your last name, Jack?”
“Uh, Goodrich,” I replied. “Jack Goodrich.”
Her eyes flashed. “Oh,” she said with boosted interest. “I think I know who you are.”
I bit the inside of my cheek.
“We’re going to have all kinds of things to talk about,” she said, crossing her arms.
I looked over at Lou, but she just stood there, grinning. She probably couldn’t believe her luck that in the past week her number of Broadway pals had somehow quadrupled.
“Well,” Belinda said, breaking from our little triangle. “It was so nice meeting you two.” She began packing up her purse. “I can tell this is going to be so fun! Oh, and Jack,” she said throwing me a sideways glance, “I look forward to trading some war stories.”
-LOUISA-
“Way to embarrass me, Lou,” Jack grumbled as we ascended the stairs to the first floor.
“What are you talking about?” I asked in a shocked voice. “How did I embarrass you?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said sarcastically, “maybe by giving Belinda my entire resume?!”
“Oh, c’mon,” I said, “she already knows who you are; she said so herself!”
Jack snorted.
“You certainly gave her enough clues to figure that out.”
“She would have figured it out eventually,” I countered, “and just think—now that she knows you’re, like, the real deal, she’s more likely to give you whatever part you want!”
“Ugh, you’re worse than my mom.”
I ignored his dig and began to sing the title song of Guys and Dolls:
“When you see a guy
Reach for stars in the sky . . .”
I bounded up the remaining stairs, my voice bouncing off the concrete walls and making Jack cover his ears.
“Okay, I get it, you’re excited, Lou!” he shouted, trying to quiet me.
“Excited?!” I squealed. “Excited is an understatement. I’m . . . ecstatic.”
Meeting Belinda Grier had left me feeling giddy. I let out another squeal, thinking about how Belinda was living proof that a girl from Shaker Heights could make it on Broadway. I burst through the double doors into the first-floor hallway, launching into “Adelaide’s Lament”:
“The average unmarried female,
Basically insecure . . .”
The first time I’d ever heard “Adelaide’s Lament” was at a restaurant on Cape Cod that featured singing waiters and waitresses. I was eight years old, and as the song began my mom whispered in my ear, ”Oh, I love this one.” By the time the number was over, I loved it, too—so much so that I forced my mom out of her beach chair the next day so we could search stores for the cast album. There are a few recordings of Guys and Dolls, but the one I chose was the celebrated 1992 version starring Nathan Lane, Faith Prince, Peter Gallagher, and Josie de Guzman—the same production that Belinda Grier had joined later in its run. I listened to it nonstop for weeks, mimicking Faith Prince’s hysterical squeaks and her nasal delivery of lines like, “Nathan. This is the biggest lie you’ve ever told me!” I knew that I had to play Adelaide someday. Maybe—hopefully—that day was coming soon.
“What are you doing now?” Jack said as he caught up to me.
“Huh?” I said, startled.
“You’re muttering to yourself, but in a weird voice. Like an old-fashioned telephone operator.”
As he tried to replicate the sounds I’d been making, I blushed, realizing what I must have been doing. It didn’t take long for Jack to figure it out, either.
“Wait . . . are you already working on Adelaide’s lines?” He started to laugh. “You don’t even know which sides Belinda will pick for the audition!”
“Whatever, I was just reminding myself . . .”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh, like you’re not gonna go home and YouTube ‘Nathan Detroit Guys and Dolls’ later.”
“Maybe I don’t want to play Nathan Detroit,” Jack replied coyly. “I mean, Nicely-Nicely Johnson is a pretty great part, too.”
He was right—Nicely-Nicely, who’s kind of Nathan’s right-hand man, was another great part, and Jack would do a great job with it. But in my fantasy, we’d play Nathan and Adelaide. That would just be perfect.
Much to my chagrin, Jack was reading my mind.
“Me playing Nicely-Nicely isn’t part of your ‘master plan,’ is it?” He teased, “You’re already designing our Nathan and Adelaide costumes, aren’t you?”
Embarrassed, I elbowed Jack in the ribs.
“I knew it!” He laughed triumphantly.
“Whatever—you were thinking it, too!”
“Yeah, but in a ‘Wouldn’t that be cool if’ kind of way. You’re, like, staging our curtain call already.”
I clenched my fist, ready to go with my elbow again, but Jack ran ahead of me to avoid a second jab. Rounding the corner into another hallway, he nearly collided with Coach Wilson, whose soccer tryouts Jack had escaped to audition for Into the Woods.
“Whoa, there,” he said, lifting up his hands, which each held a full cup of coffee.
“Oops, sorry, Coach Wilson,” mumbled Jack. It was his turn to be embarrassed. I smiled, feeling smug.
“That could have been pretty messy, huh?” Coach Wilson said, though he didn’t seem angry. In fact, he seemed pretty happy. Maybe it was because he was about to drink two cups of coffee. Adults were weirdly enthusiastic about their coffee.
“Where are you two coming from?”
“Music,” I replied, relishing my role as the good student who didn’t run carelessly in the halls.
“Oh! So you met Belinda!” he exclaimed happily.
“Yeah, we did,” confirmed Jack.
“It’s real exciting that she’s back,” said Coach Wilson, beaming. “When she was in school here, she was the talk of the town. Everybody knew that girl was going places.”
“Yeah,” said Jack, a mischievous glint in his eye, “sounds like she hasn’t been back here in a really long time.”
I shot him a look.
“I’ll admit I’m surprised to see her,” confirmed Coach Wilson, “but it sure is a pleasant surprise.”
“Yeah, we’re psyched,” I said. “She seems really neat.”
“She is neat,” Coach Wilson said, nodding. He looked down at his two coffee cups, then back at us. I wasn’t sure if we were supposed to say more, so I just smiled and nodded back. I guess that was enough for Coach Wilson, because he went on, “You know, it’s terrible news about Mrs. Wagner. But she’s a tough ole gal; she’ll pull through just fine. In the meantime . . .” He paused, as if searching for the right way to be sympathetic but also optimistic. “In the meantime, you kids are in for quite a treat!” Winking at us, he turned around and headed toward the double doors we’d walked through moments before.
The rest of the school day dragged on as teachers outlined their remaining curriculum with about as much enthusiasm as I had for gym class.
“Civil War leading into Reconstruc
tion . . .”
“Positive and negative integers . . .”
“The ecology surrounding the Great Lakes . . .”
“Homework for tonight . . .”
“Homework for the week . . .”
“Homework for the month . . .”
Needless to say, I raced to catch the bus as soon as the final bell rang. Jack, Jenny, and I had some homework of our own that demanded our immediate attention.
“She said it feels like ‘destiny’?” Jenny’s mom asked once we’d relayed Belinda’s introductory speech. “She really said that?”
We were gathered around the Westcotts’ kitchen table, ready to interrogate Jenny’s mom about Belinda Grier as we nibbled on snacks she’d laid out.
“Uh-huh,” said Jenny, reaching for an apple slice and popping it into her mouth. “She talked about the stars aligning.”
“That is so surprising to me,” Mrs. Westcott said. “I didn’t think she’d ever come back; I mean, she hasn’t been back in a really long time.”
Jack and I exchanged a look, trying not to giggle.
“So,” I ventured, “what was Belinda like when you knew her?”
“Determined,” Mrs. Westcott said without hesitation. “Incredibly confident. A force of nature, really. She just knew what she wanted and wasn’t going to let anything stand in her way. Oh, and she had legs that went on for days.”
“She still does,” said Jenny. “I can tell her turn-out is amazing.”
“She also has a perfect bevel,” added Jack.
“Totally,” I chimed in. “Her overall posture is just fantas—”
“Wait!”
Mrs. Westcott’s hands suddenly slammed down on the table, making Jack drop the pita chip he was about to dip into a container of hummus.
Mrs. Westcott leaped from her chair and ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Jenny, Jack, and I exchanged confused glances as we heard a thud above us.
“It sounds like she’s digging around in her closet,” Jenny guessed. Moments later, we heard Mrs. Westcott’s muffled “Found it!” followed by the soft thumps of her footsteps on the carpeted stairs.
Breathing hard, she appeared back in the kitchen holding a black VHS tape.
“I knew I hadn’t thrown this away,” she gasped. “This is our high-school production of Once Upon a Mattress. Belinda and I were both seniors. She played the lead. You wanna pop it in and take a look?”
I wasn’t sure what was more astonishing—that Jenny’s mom had been able to find the tape so quickly or that her family still owned a VCR—but the answer to Mrs. Westcott’s question was a definite yes.
The quality of the tape was pretty poor. The camera kept wobbling and the sound was uneven, but one thing was unmistakable: Belinda Grier was indeed a force of nature. With her long, thin legs, curly red mane, and brassy voice, Belinda stood out in a sea of shuffling, out-of-tune teenagers. They were doing a production of Once Upon a Mattress, which is a musical retelling of The Princess and the Pea, and the lead character of Princess Winnifred is a loud, unapologetic, lovable goof who captures the heart of Prince Dauntless much to the dismay of his mother, the Queen. Leaning forward on the Westcotts’ couch, Jack, Jenny, and I watched in wonder as Belinda nailed every joke, sailed through every note, and mastered every dance step.
“She’s incredible,” I said, mesmerized.
Jack and Jenny nodded in unison.
“Fierce,” said Jenny.
“Stupid fierce,” said Jack.
“See if you can find me!” Mrs. Westcott stood behind the couch, watching over our heads. Jenny hopped off the couch and scooted on her knees toward the television screen, peering closely. She pointed to one of the dozen ladies-in-waiting, standing in a clump upstage.
“Is that you, Mom?” Jenny asked.
“That’s me, Lady-in-Waiting Number Seven.” Mrs. Westcott laughed. “I did the musical more for social reasons, not for stardom.”
“Why does that kid look familiar?” Jenny asked, squinting even more closely at the screen. Both Jack and I joined Jenny on the floor to see who she was talking about, and we followed her pointing finger to the lanky boy playing Prince Dauntless. He came nowhere near the level of Belinda’s talent, but there was something charming about him—mostly because he seemed to be having a lot of fun onstage. And Jenny was right—there was something oddly familiar about him. I turned to see Mrs. Westcott giggling.
“He should look familiar,” she said, grinning, “though he’s filled out a bit since 1991.”
We inched even closer to the screen. Jack let out a small gasp.
“Oh my God,” he whispered, “it’s Coach Wilson.”
Jenny and I squealed.
“Oh my God, it is Coach Wilson!” Jenny screamed. “Look at how skinny he was!”
“Well, back then he was Mike Wilson,” Mrs. Westcott corrected, “and he was our star soccer player. But he got hurt during practice early in our senior year, so he had to sit out the season. In high school they do the musical in the fall, so our drama director recruited him for Once Upon a Mattress.”
We stared at Jenny’s mom, our mouths agape.
“I have to say,” she said, “he started out really shy in rehearsals, but by the time we opened he’d turned into quite the ham.”
As if to illustrate Mrs. Westcott’s point, we heard a shriek from the television screen, only to catch Coach—I mean, Mike—Wilson executing a pretty decent pratfall, his gangly limbs flailing.
“I think Belinda brought out his inner clown,” Jenny’s mom continued, “or forced it out, really. She wanted to look good on that stage, you know? So she worked with him a lot to make sure her leading man was up to snuff.” Suddenly our run-in with Coach Wilson earlier that day took on a whole new meaning.
“You kids are in for quite a treat!” he’d said, then headed toward the double doors leading to the basement stairwell, carrying two cups of coffee. One of those cups must have been for Belinda, who did mention that she’d run into “an old friend over the holidays.” Watching the two of them in Once Upon a Mattress made it clear why he was so excited—his leading lady had returned home.
“Well, I’m psyched,” declared Jenny, hitting the pause button on the VCR. “Belinda seems awesome.”
I looked at Jack, who sat nodding enthusiastically in agreement.
I suddenly had an image of poor Mrs. Wagner laid up in a hospital bed, encased in a body cast. I felt bad that no one, not Coach Wilson, not Mrs. Westcott, and certainly not Jack, Jenny, or me, seemed too upset that she’d been replaced. But I felt good knowing that we would probably not be standing in a straight line anytime soon. Not with Belinda Grier running the show.
-JACK-
“Have you memorized your lines yet?” Lou asked the next day, slamming her locker shut.
“What are you talking about?” I laughed. “Belinda hasn’t even announced what scenes we’re doing for the auditions yet!”
“Right,” Lou said, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. “But I’ve narrowed it down to the scenes before ‘Sue Me’ and ‘Marry the Man Today.’ They show off both dramatic and comedic range and only have two people in each scene, making them prime audition options,” she said, following me to homeroom. “I figured I’d look at them both; that way no matter what she chooses, I’ll have a head start.”
We walked down the hallway past the nurse’s office and the giant trophy case. As we turned the corner we were met with a vision of Belinda perched on a ladder, a roll of tape around her wrist, plastering audition posters to the wall.
“Well,” I whispered to Lou, “why don’t you just ask her yourself?”
Even while taping up posters, Belinda seemed to be striking a pose. She wore a pair of leopard-print leggings, a bright orange top, and a cropped leather jacket. Her shoes, I recognized immediately as LaDucas, a fa
ncy brand of dance heel often worn by Broadway chorus girls. Her knee was bent, her foot pointing out like someone being kissed in a 1940s romantic comedy.
“Well, if it isn’t my little minions,” Belinda said, throwing us a wily smile.
“Hey, Belinda,” we sang in unison.
“I’m just finishing up with these audition announcements,” she said, slinking down the ladder. “What do you think?”
The wall was plastered floor to ceiling with rows of brightly colored paper. It looked like a downtown Manhattan construction site, the kind always lined with band posters.
“They look awesome,” I said enthusiastically.
“Speaking of which,” Lou cut in sneakily, “do you have any idea what the audition material for Nathan and Adelaide is going to be?”
“Oh, so you’ve decided to go for the comic duo rather than the pair of ingénues,” Belinda said, lifting her chin. “Wise choice. And, yes, I do have an idea, but you’ll have to wait until music class to find out.”
“You got it,” Lou cheeped, her disappointment well hidden. “Oh!” she blurted, causing all of us to jump a little. “You’re never gonna believe this! My other best friend, Jenny, she’s a ballerina actually, but that’s not the point. The point is, Jenny’s mom went to school with you and was actually in your senior year musical!”
Belinda gasped. “Once Upon a Mattress,” she said, a proud look taking over her face.
“Yeah,” Lou continued. “And Jenny’s mom still had a recording of the production and showed it to us, and omigosh”—Lou sighed—“you were so amazing.”
“You really were,” I added truthfully.
“You know, they pretty much chose that show for me,” Belinda said, gliding up to us like a kid eyeing the last slice of birthday cake. “See, I played Bianca in Kiss Me, Kate my sophomore year, so everyone assumed I was just a dancer, but then I surprised them all by getting Audrey in Little Shop of Horrors the next year. See, I could do comedy, too,” she said, nodding eagerly. “So when they announced Mattress, it was pretty much understood that I’d be playing Winnifred.”
Act 2 Page 6
