He must have known that such a plan was never going to work, though, not after Belinda had referred to us as her “minions” just days earlier. Sure enough, as soon as all the boys were assembled on the stage, Belinda barked, “Jack! Where’d you go?”
There was a pause, and then a barely audible “Here” rose from behind the clump of tall soccer players.
Belinda, seemingly clueless about the vast differences between jocks and theater nerds, had no patience for Jack’s shyness.
“What are you doing back there?” she demanded. “Come up to the front, since you’ve done this kind of thing professionally.”
“What is she trying to do?” Jenny whispered. “Guarantee that Jack have no friends for the rest of his life?”
“He’ll be okay,” I whispered back, though I wasn’t entirely convinced he would be. I could see Tanner elbowing Martin Howe and stifling a laugh as Jack walked downstage toward Belinda. Jack kept his eyes down, doing his best to attract as little attention as possible. As he settled on a spot just left of center stage, Belinda turned to face all the girls still sitting in the audience.
“Ladies,” she began, “thank you so much for your time today. Come back tomorrow, same time, for the acting and singing call.” Jenny and I exchanged a look as the rest of the girls gathered their coats and bags.
“We’re staying, aren’t we?” she asked, already knowing that I wasn’t going to abandon my friend.
“I have to stay—after he saved me in my dance call, the least I can do is be here for him. But you can go,” I said. Jenny narrowed her eyes at me.
“Oh, no, I can’t. Jack may need you, but you need me. Just don’t get mad if I have to cover my eyes.”
Belinda was already busy assigning numbers to the boys. Upon receiving the number eighteen, Tanner called out happily, “Hey, that’s my jersey number! Sweet!”
“It’s the little things,” deadpanned Jenny, which made me giggle even though I was feeling anxious. Thank goodness she was staying.
“Okay, this is going to be fun! I looove being back on this stage!” Belinda cheered once she’d made it through all the boys. She rolled her shoulders back and shook out her horselike legs.
“Frank, give me a little ‘Luck Be a Lady,’ would you?”
Mr. Hennessy, now fully resigned to being called Frank, began to plunk out the melody on the piano. Belinda bounced on the balls of her feet.
“I’ll dance through it once, then I’ll break it down into sections. Once we’ve learned each section, we’ll put the whole thing together, and then split you up into groups, okay? Okay! Five, six, seven, eight!”
As Mr. Hennessy started the song from the beginning, Belinda launched into the dance combination, once again calling out dance terms as she moved: “Chassé, chassé, chassé, jump! Pivot turn, pivot turn. Chassé, chassé, chassé, jump! Pivot turn, pivot turn. Jeté left, jeté right. Step-touch, step-touch, chaînés, chaînés, chaînés, chaînés . . .”
Behind her, the soccer boys watched in horrified fascination, their faces a perfect blend of confusion, disbelief, and fear. What made Belinda think that any of them would be able to learn this, especially when she was using French ballet terms that none of them had ever heard before? I had barely made it through my own dance combination, and I’d taken a lot of dance classes in my life! If it hadn’t been for Jack’s help, who knows what would have happened.
Oblivious to the baffled boys behind her, Belinda outdid herself with the last eight counts of the routine: ”Kick ball change, kick ball change, jump and lunge, REACH!” On the last note of the music, Belinda, in a deep forward lunge, thrust her right hand toward the floor as if she was throwing a pair of dice. I had to admit, the combination was pretty great. But great for, like, actual dancers.
“Okay, let’s take it from the top—the first eight counts!” Belinda shouted, slightly out of breath. “A five, six, seven, eight!”
Only Jack started to follow along. None of the other boys moved. Belinda, already halfway across the stage, stopped and turned around, bewildered by their stillness.
“C’mon, boys,” she said, “don’t be shy. Five, six, seven—”
“Ahem . . . ?”
Tanner cleared his throat, interrupting Belinda’s count off.
“Yes, what is it, Number Eighteen?” asked Belinda. She looked genuinely surprised that someone might have a question.
“Miss, uh . . . ?”
“Belinda. Call me Belinda.”
“Belinda . . . We can’t do this.”
“You can’t? Why not?”
“Because—” He started to laugh. “We can’t dance. Not like that.”
Belinda pursed her lips and inhaled loudly through her nose, a bloom of crimson spreading across her freckled cheeks.
“But you haven’t even tried,” she said carefully, her voice deepening, “so how do you know if you can or can’t?”
Oh no, I thought, this is where it all falls apart. If Tanner leaves, the rest will follow. That’s how it goes. Then Belinda will say she has no interest in doing “Dolls,” and we won’t have any show at all. I turned to Jenny, who, sure enough, was now shielding her eyes with her hands. Then I turned to look at Jack, whose eyes were darting back and forth between Belinda and Tanner. I could tell he was thinking something—his face was tense, like he had something to say.
“Yeah, but . . .” Tanner sighed, looking at his teammates, all of them desperate to escape. “We just . . . can’t.”
As he took a step toward the edge of the stage, signaling to his friends that they should follow, Jack’s voice cut through the air: “It’s like soccer.”
The boys stopped and stared at Jack, who instantly froze under their gaze. Belinda’s head jerked in his direction.
“What are you talking about, Jack?” she asked, planting her hands on her hips.
“If you think of the moves like soccer moves,” Jack began hesitantly, “then it’s not that hard.”
“I think if you just watch it a few more times, you’ll get the hang of it,” Belinda interjected. “I know I can teach you if you just show a little patien—”
Tanner didn’t let her finish.
“Like what kind of soccer moves?” he asked, stepping so close to Jack that Belinda was forced to take a step backward. Jenny peeled her fingers from her eyes.
“What is happening?” she whispered.
“Shh,” I said, patting her knee to be quiet. I sat up in my seat and leaned forward, riveted by the unfolding scene onstage. Jack shot me an uneasy glance, and in that split second I nodded back at him reassuringly. He turned to Tanner and began to explain.
“Well, like, a ‘fake’—that’s like a ‘pivot turn’ in dance. Think of faking out your opponent by changing directions—that’s basically what a pivot turn is.” He demonstrated. More boys moved closer to watch. Belinda cocked her head, eyeing Jack with curiosity.
“And, like, when you’re moving down the field but you need to keep your eye on the ball, so you’re basically, like, galloping sideways? That’s like a chassé.”
Again, Jack demonstrated by moving across the floor. This time, a few boys followed along—and followed pretty well.
“Okay!” Belinda cheered. “See? It’s not that difficult, right? Want to try to put this all together now?”
“Wait,” said Tanner, not paying any attention to Belinda, “what about those crazy-fast moves at the end, Jack? How were those like soccer?”
“Oh, the kick ball changes?” said Jack. “Think of kicking the ball straight with your right leg but then having to run to the left.”
Tanner mimed kicking a ball and running to the left.
“Exactly! See?” Jack said, pointing to Tanner’s feet. “You naturally stepped back on your right foot first, then stepped with your left. Do it a little faster and closer to your body—and t
hat’s a kick ball change.”
Jenny let out a small gasp. “This is sort of amazing.”
She was right—my friend Jack Goodrich, MTN extraordinaire, was teaching twenty soccer players how to dance. He was patient, clear, confident. And no one, not even Tanner Falzone, was laughing at him. No one was making fun of him, and no one seemed to want to leave—they were totally focused.
“This is cool,” Martin conceded as he tried out a kick ball change with success.
“Yeah, Jack,” Sebastian chimed in, pivot-turning like a pro, “this makes it so much easier—thanks.”
I looked across to the other side of the stage, where Belinda now stood, curious to see what she thought of Jack’s dance miracle. Her hands were clasped tightly together and her eyes looked kind of wild as she broke into an enormous toothy grin.
“All right, Jack, it looks like they’re ready!” she barked, clapping her hands together aggressively. “Thanks for the great tips, kiddo—I’m gonna take it from here, okay?” She sidled up to Jack and gave his shoulder a squeeze. I watched in wonder as all of the boys moved through Belinda’s choreography with increasing ease. Jenny leaned in close to my ear.
“So—what are you gonna do to impress her now?” she asked quietly.
I was thrown by the question.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Like in my audition tomorrow?”
“Well, I just mean . . .” Jenny hesitated, then pointed to Jack as all the soccer boys followed his every move.
“He’s pretty much gonna be Belinda’s favorite now, you know?”
I suddenly felt very uncomfortable.
“Not necessarily,” I said, shifting in my seat.
“I’m not trying to say, like, you should be jealous or anything,” Jenny rushed to clarify. “It’s just that I know you want Belinda to like you, so . . .”
“So?”
“So—” Jenny took in a deep breath, then once again nodded toward the stage, where Jack had just made the seemingly impossible possible.
“So it’s just gonna be hard to beat that.”
-JACK-
“As its name implies, music from this time went through a period of invention, a period of renewal.”
We were nearing the end of music class the following day, and Mr. Hennessy was struggling to hold our attention with a lesson on music of the Renaissance. Though he spoke of lutes and mambas with enthusiasm (which for him meant peeking his spectacles over the piano and speaking in a voice barely louder than a whisper), there was clearly something else on the minds of his students. Looking around, I saw that the eyes of my classmates were completely glazed over. Our shared daydream was not one of minstrels and monarchs but of the audition happening in just a few hours. Although we’d survived Belinda’s nearly impossible dance call, today we’d be singing and reading scenes.
No, I can’t, I read off my audition sides, which Lou had highlighted in purple. (“My audition dress is purple,” she’d said. Leave it Lou to plan her audition outfit days in advance.)
Why not? Adelaide would respond.
Because, well, I mouthed, I have to go to a prayer meeting.
Lou had been right—the scene Belinda had chosen to use was the one before the song “Sue Me,” where Nathan tells Adelaide, truthfully, that he has to go to a prayer meeting—but because he lies to her so frequently she thinks the prayer meeting is his biggest lie yet. Adelaide accuses him of breaking all the promises he’s kept while he keeps insisting how much he loves her. To be honest, I was still pretty shaky on the lines. Before yesterday, I’d had the false confidence that I could read a take-out menu and still land a leading role, but now with the arrival of twenty new boys, I knew I needed to bring my A-game.
“At first instruments were thought to be secondary, used only to accompany dances and choral singing.”
As Mr. Hennessy droned on, my gaze drifted over to Lou sitting next to me. Of everyone in the class, she seemed to be in the deepest of dream states, staring straight ahead, raising her eyebrows and cycling through a series of smirks, apparently solidifying her acting beats, as well.
“Which is why it’s called a bladder pipe,” Mr. Hennessy warbled, causing me to snap back to attention. “Because the wind reservoir containing the reed was actually made out of an animal’s bladder.”
I looked around the room. Silence. Even a teacher speaking of digestive tracts couldn’t break the pre-audition trance of our class. Like a well-timed stage manager cue, the door to the music room swung open, and in popped a haystack of red hair.
“Hey, Frank,” Belinda said as she made her entrance. Suddenly the class perked up. It was astonishing how quickly the energy of a room changed when Belinda Grier walked into it.
“Mind if I take the last few minutes to chat with the kids about the auditions today?”
“Well, I was just—” Mr. Hennessy mumbled, gesturing to his worksheet.
“Thanks, darlin’,” Belinda said, cutting him off and strutting to the center of the classroom. Mr. Hennessy shrugged, reaching for his weathered old briefcase.
“So, as many of you know, the acting and singing auditions for Guys and Dolls will take place at three thirty in the auditorium,” she said as she sat down on the edge of the desk. She flicked one leg up and crossed it over her knee. “Everyone will get a chance to sing thirty-two bars of the audition cut that I posted online, but first, I’ll be breaking you up into pairs to read with each other.”
I looked over at Lou, and we shared a smile. Even with the soccer boys, it seemed pretty inevitable that Belinda would pair us together. After all, she had referred to us as her minions.
“First we’ll be reading the Skys and Sarahs, followed by the Nathans and Adelaides, and lastly the Hot Box Girls and other gangsters.”
Oh good, I thought. At least I’d have a round of auditions to skim through the sides one more time.
“If you haven’t already, please contact your parents after school to let them know that auditions will be running late,” she said, drawing out the l in late for dramatic effect.
“We have far more people auditioning than expected, and I want to give everyone a chance to prove themselves. Please come vocally warmed up and prepared to jump right in,” Belinda said, hopping off the table. “I’ll see you guys at three thirty. Oh, and Jack,” she said, looking over at me. “Would you mind hanging back for a second? I want to speak with you about something.”
My pulse quickened.
“Uh, sure thing.” I nodded confidently.
The bell let out its lunchtime cry and everyone jolted to their feet, cramming their worksheets into their backpacks.
What could Belinda want to talk to me about? I wondered. Between impromptu performances, jaw-dropping anecdotes, and the seeming ability to make an entire soccer team materialize, I’d learned to expect the unexpected from this woman. I looked over at Lou, who packed up her bag slowly.
“She doesn’t want to talk to me, too?” she muttered.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “What do you think it’s about?”
Lou gave me a shrug and walked to the door.
“See you in the lunchroom,” she called back, disappearing into the stream of hungry middle-schoolers. I looked over at Belinda, who was already looking at me with a syrupy smile.
“Thanks for staying to have a chitchat,” she said, walking around the table and grabbing a chair. “Here, take a seat. Okay if you hang here for a minute? You only have lunch, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, lowering myself into the chair.
“Great!” she exclaimed, sitting down in the chair across from me. “Since day one I’ve wanted a chance to talk shop with you. You know, pro to pro. I remember thinking on that first day, What a crazy coincidence, getting to share a classroom with another Broadway baby.”
“Totally.” I smiled politely.
I had a feeling this was what Belinda wanted to talk about. Admittedly, I’d been on a bit of a high since successfully convincing the boys to stay and finish the dance call.
“So I just wanted to have a chance to tell you that in person,” Belinda said. “You know? Face-to-face.”
“Sure thing.” I nodded. “Hey, I was happy to help.”
Belinda sat there for a second just looking at me, which made me begin to feel a little tense.
“So, Jack,” she said, breaking the silence. “Have you ever heard of a show called Top Heavy?”
“Um, I don’t think so,” I replied. It wasn’t often that a musical was mentioned that I hadn’t at least heard of.
“I’m not surprised. Neither has anyone,” Belinda said dryly. “But would you mind if I told you a little story?” she asked, folding her hands on the desk.
“Sure.” I nodded.
“Well,” she began, “Top Heavy was the show in 1994 that everyone wanted to be a part of. It was a new musical directed by Gladys Franklin with a cast of thirty dancers, can you believe it?”
“Wow, that hardly ever happens on Broadway,” I replied. “Not since—”
“A Chorus Line. Exactly,” she said, cutting me off. “So you can imagine everyone in New York was breaking their backs to get an appointment. Literally.”
As she spoke, she began tapping her fingernails against the desk like a metronome.
“After three months of callbacks, they finally chose their cast and shipped everyone up to Boston for the out-of-town tryout. Each dancer was at the top of their game, and the producers began throwing money at it like high rollers at a casino. Everyone kept saying it was a dream job. And perhaps it was”—she leaned back in her chair—“until rehearsals began.”
Act 2 Page 8
