“S-sure,” I stammered.
“Thanks, darlin’.”
Belinda flashed her signature smile, squeezed my shoulder, and gave me a little push, indicating that I should return to my seat. Kids were filing back into the auditorium. I felt a rush of excitement as I made my way up the aisle. Even though I’d only danced and read one scene, even though I hadn’t sung a note, it was looking like I had a pretty good shot at playing Adelaide! Inside I was doing cartwheels and jumping up and down, but on the outside I was simply walking toward my seat, squeezing my hands together in an effort to contain my elation.
“What were you talking to Belinda about?”
Jack was eagerly awaiting my return. Why did he still look nervous? His audition had gone just as well as mine.
“She’s gonna have me read with a bunch of the boys,” I said, “so they can read with a girl who’s had some experience, I guess.”
“Oh. That’s cool,” said Jack, though he sounded a little skeptical. As I looked at him I realized what exactly I was feeling: satisfaction. Yesterday Jack had been the hero, teaching the soccer boys how to dance. Today, in my way, I got to be the hero and teach the soccer boys how to act.
I knew I shouldn’t feel like I was competing with my best friend. But Belinda’s asking me to read with the other boys made me feel like I was just as talented as Jack. Maybe she’d ask me to stay behind after class one day; maybe she and I would get to swap stories.
Belinda’s voice once again came blasting through her bullhorn.
“Okay, everybody! We’re back! Let’s continue with Louisa Benning reading Adelaide and Martin Howe reading Nathan!”
Both Jack and I looked up, startled.
“Nathan?” I blurted out, fortunately out of Belinda’s earshot. When she’d asked me to read with the other boys, I had naturally assumed that they would be reading other roles. After all, there were so many to be cast: Nicely Nicely, Benny Southstreet, Harry the Horse, Big Jule, just to name a few. As far as I was concerned, Jack had just set the bar impossibly high for the role of Nathan Detroit. But who was I to question Belinda’s audition methods? She was a pro. Jack was still looking concerned as I made sure my sides were in the proper order.
“Hey, no one will be as good a Nathan as you,” I assured him. “Plus Belinda worships you. You seriously have nothing to worry about.”
“Yeah,” he said, forcing a smile. “I hope you’re right.”
There would be time later to convince Jack that his role was safe. Right now, I needed to prove to Belinda that everything she’d said about me was true. I took a deep breath and headed toward the stage.
-JACK-
The cast list was posted first thing Monday morning. Belinda had told us at the end of our auditions that it would be on the bulletin board outside the music room as early as eight a.m., which meant that at 8:03 a.m., I found myself hesitating in the stairwell and worrying about what I might find once I arrived in the basement. I wasn’t worried about Lou. Belinda had practically hung her name on the marquee, making her read with more than a dozen Nathans. But with only one time up at bat, would Belinda even remember me?
“Time to rip off the Band-Aid,” Lou said as we trudged down the stairs.
“Look at that!” Lou squealed as she pointed to the printed names on the yellow bulletin board. “I got Adelaide and, phew, you got Nathan,” she said over the sound of excited castmates. “See, I told you. I knew we had nothing to worry about.”
Lou gave me a big hug, and there it was. The stars had aligned after all. Jack and Louisa were back at it again, playing opposite each other in an exciting musical classic. Our production was sure to be the biggest ever to hit Shaker Heights Middle School. Everything was going perfectly. So why did I have a feeling it was all about to come tumbling down?
Lou clapped her hands together. “I’m going to go find Jenny and tell her our fantastic news.”
I watched as her pink Converse shoes pranced up the stairs, leaving me alone in the basement.
“Congratulations,” a woman’s voice called from behind me.
I spun around to find Belinda standing against the wall, arms crossed.
“Glad to see you took our little conversation to heart,” she said softly.
“Yeah . . . thanks,” I muttered.
I knew I should have been excited, but underneath Belinda’s “congratulations” I sensed something threatening.
“Now, you know that I’m going to be expecting a lot from you,” she said in a firm voice. “Some would argue that Nathan Detroit is the biggest role of the show, and given your pedigree, I’m really going to need you to lead by example.”
“Of course.” I nodded.
“I’m going to be a lot harder on you than the rest of the cast, but that’s only because I know you can handle it. Think of yourself as . . .” Belinda hesitated. “The star quarterback. If I were your coach, I’d push you to your limits knowing what you’re capable of. Do you follow?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, darlin’. See you in rehearsal.” She winked, nodding toward the cast list. “We’ve got a great team.”
Belinda was right about one thing—she had assembled a pretty amazing group. Sebastian Maroney had surprised us all with a rich baritone voice in his audition for Sky Masterson, singing “Luck Be a Lady” like a teenage Frank Sinatra. Bridget Livak, a shy, mousy eighth-grader, had gotten the role of Sarah Brown. I’d sort of dismissed her when she struggled quietly through the dance call, but when she opened her mouth the following day, a beautiful high soprano rang through the auditorium. Jenny was cast as a Hot Box Girl and the lead dancer in the Havana sequence (a scene in which Sarah, having agreed to accompany Sky down to Cuba, finally lets her hair down). In a true stroke of genius, the role of Big Jule, the meanest, scariest of all the gangsters, went to Tanner Falzone. I’d have no trouble pretending to be terrified of him during the crapshooter scene in Act 2. Best of all, Lou and I would get to spend the next two months playing the great comic duo. It seemed like we’d hit the jackpot.
The first day of rehearsal we circled around the piano, separated into vocal sections. Mr. Hennessy began teaching “Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ the Boat,” the biggest production number in the show. I watched as boys flipped through their music, struggling to follow along as each section was taught a different line of harmony. As Mr. Hennessy plunked out the soprano line, Adam, an eighth-grade soccer player who’d been cast as Harry the Horse, leaned over to me.
“Where the heck am I supposed to be looking at?” he said, pointing to the many staffs of music notes on the page. “It’s like it’s Chinese!”
“Don’t worry about sight-reading,” I whispered back. “Just make a voice memo on your phone the next time Mr. Hennessy plays your part. That way you can go home and listen to it later.”
“Jack,” Belinda’s voice shot across the theater, causing Mr. Hennessy to fumble his piano playing and the entire room to fall silent. Her voice softened. “Did you have a question, hon?”
I opened my mouth, ready to explain that I was just helping to clear something up, but suddenly remembered the conversation I’d had with her about authority just a few days ago.
“No, ma’am,” I called back. “Sorry to disturb the rehearsal.”
Belinda wasn’t joking when she said she’d be hard on me. And to be honest, I was cool with it at first. She’d obviously been in the business a long time, and perhaps her feedback would help me down the line.
The next week we began staging. First up was the scene where Adelaide runs into Nathan the evening of their anniversary. Belinda had directed us to play the scene sitting on a rehearsal cube.
“Look, honey—about your present,” I said, wringing my hands. “I was going to get you a diamond wristwatch with a gold band and two rubies on the side.”
Lou gasped. “Nathan, you shouldn’t
have.”
“It’s all right,” I replied, swinging my legs and facing away from her. “I didn’t.”
“Stop!” Belinda barked, waving her arms like a crossing guard. Lou and I peered out into the audience.
“Jack, sweetie, correct me if I’m wrong,” Belinda said calmly, “but didn’t I already explain? The cube is just a stand-in. The real park bench will have armrests on the sides, so you won’t be able to move your legs like that.”
“Oh, okay.” I swallowed.
“I’m sure it was the same when you were on Broadway, honey,” Belinda said, chuckling to herself. “I can’t imagine you rehearsed on the set the whole time.”
I forced an uncomfortable laugh.
“I’m going to need you to really try to stay focused,” Belinda said. “I can’t keep stopping rehearsal to give you these technical notes.”
“Sure thing,” I said with a nod.
I looked over at Lou, who eyed me with slight concern, but I shrugged it off, signaling that I was fine.
“Okay, let’s take it back to Adelaide’s entrance,” Belinda called out to the room. “Oh, and, Lou,” she said, smiling broadly, “I love what you’re doing with the voice. It’s just adorable!”
Week two was under way, and even though I continued showing up prepared and ready to work, it felt like I had a giant “kick me” sign on my back. When I would try to land a joke: “You’re playing for laughs. On Broadway, don’t they want you to play the honesty?” If I would enter from the wrong wing: “Didn’t they teach you on Broadway to write down your blocking as soon as it’s given to you?” Even if I tried to get an early start on memorizing: “I’d rather you hold a script than be sloppily off-book. I don’t think Abe Burrows would appreciate you fudging his dialogue.”
I knew that Belinda was going to treat me differently, that she’d be harder on me if I made mistakes, but I didn’t realize I’d be the only one scolded for making them. When we got to the scene where all the gangsters entered with carnations, Tanner was nowhere to be found.
“I happen to be entertaining a very prominent guest tonight. I think you might have heard of him,” Adam said in a thick, nasally voice. “I would like you to meet Big Jule from Chicago.” He gestured over to a spot onstage where a tough-looking Tanner was supposed to be standing.
Instead, Tanner was goofing off in the wings, trying to make the Hot Box Girls laugh by stuffing a pillow under his soccer jersey. Lou, ever alert, pushed him onstage, the pillow still spilling out the bottom of his shirt.
“Well, look at you,” Belinda guffawed.
“Haha, yeah sorry, I forgot I was in this scene,” Tanner mumbled, red-faced.
“Oh, don’t worry, honey.” Belinda giggled. “We still have more than a month left to rehearse.”
Even though my scolding sessions with Belinda were becoming more and more frequent, I was at least able to find comfort in the fact that the soccer boys were being nice to me. And they were pretty good in the show, too. While their singing left a little to be desired, and their accents wandered from New York to Alabama to Great Britain and back again, their energy onstage was infectious. They worked like a team, slapping each other’s backs and hamming it up. It was hard to imagine that just a few short weeks ago these guys were scary to me. One afternoon Coach Wilson popped in as we rehearsed “The Oldest Established,” a song that involved me being lifted up and flipped over the soccer boys’ shoulders. As the song drew to a close, I stepped forward to begin the dialogue back into the scene.
“Gentlemen, do not worry. Nathan Detroit’s crap game will float again.”
“Stop!” Belinda cried out from the front row. The room went silent. “Jack, I can’t hear a word you’re saying!”
The boys turned and shielded their eyes from the lights, looking out into the audience.
“I know on Broadway you’re used to having microphones and amplification, but here in Shaker Heights I’m going to need you to PRO-JECT!” she yelled.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “You got it.”
“See? Even now,” Belinda said, flinging her hands in the air. “I need you to SPEAK. UP.”
My face got hot. I tried to hide my frustration. I wasn’t an idiot. I understood the need to be heard, but wouldn’t I seem like a crazy person if I just shouted every line at the top of my lungs?
“YES, MA’AM,” I said in my most resonant stage voice.
“Thank you,” she said, taking a seat in the squeaky auditorium chair. “Once again from the top . . . for Jack.”
As we got back into place I looked at the guys, but they avoided my gaze, not wanting to be associated with the kid who’d messed up, again. I peered out into the audience, where Coach Wilson was leaning over to Belinda, whispering something in her ear. She looked directly at me and gave a dry laugh, swatting him away. Mr. Hennessy began plunking the intro as Coach Wilson got up to leave. Just before exiting, he turned and gave me a little salute, an apologetic look in his eyes.
Oh, but the worst thing? The thing that made the experience all the more frustrating? Even though I was miserable, Lou could not have been happier. Belinda doted on her like a proud stage mom, throwing compliments like roses and clapping extra hard after every one of her songs. We’d do scenes where Belinda would laugh after every Adelaide joke but sit there stone-faced through all my Nathan punch lines.
I’d show up early and ready to work but immediately get yelled at.
“You know, for a guy with multiple Broadway credits, you really ought to remember to bring a highlighter to rehearsal.”
Meanwhile Lou would stroll in and be congratulated for something like, I don’t know, remembering to breathe oxygen.
I began feeling that emotion I hated, that toxic green blob that I could feel in my stomach. It was something I’d felt a few times for people back in New York but never toward my best friend: jealousy.
“You hangin’ in there?” Lou asked me after rehearsal one day. “It seems like Belinda’s pretty tough on you.”
“No, it’s fine,” I replied.
“Really?” Lou asked.
“Yes, really,” I replied. “Just leave it, Lou.”
Lou looked at me for a few more seconds, and then shrugged her shoulders. “Okay, if you say so.”
Of course it wasn’t fine, but how could I expect Lou to understand when she was having the time of her life?
I’d been managing to keep it all together until exhaustion got the better of me toward the end of our fourth week. I’d been up the night before studying for a science test.
We began blocking the scene before Lou’s big number, “Adelaide’s Lament.” Lou and I set our scripts down on the edge of the stage.
“I couldn’t be engaged for fourteen years, could I?” Lou squeaked in her perfected Adelaide voice. “People don’t do that in Rhode Island. They all get married.”
A raspy laugh heaved from the audience, obviously Belinda’s.
I cocked my head and delivered my next line. “Then how come it’s such a tiny state?”
Lou wasn’t even able to get her next line out because the sound of Belinda’s voice rang through the auditorium like a fire alarm.
“Stop!” The room went deadly quiet. “Jack, the line isn’t ‘Then how come it’s such a tiny state?’” Belinda said stiffly. “It’s ‘Then why is it such a small state?’”
“Oh,” I replied quietly, “yeah, sorry.”
Belinda scowled at me, a fiery look shooting from her eyes.
“Louisa, hon, would you mind taking five?” Belinda said with a big fake smile.
“Um, sure,” Lou said, looking over at me hesitantly as she walked to the wings.
“Jack, can I speak with you downstage?” Belinda said firmly.
What now? I wondered as I trudged forward. Belinda took a deep breath.
“What’s going on
with you, Jack? Your focus is really off, and I worry we’re not on the same page. I’m doing this for you,” she said with earnest. “So I can get the best work out of you. I can’t be the only one invested.”
But I didn’t believe her anymore. I didn’t know why she was treating me this way, but I knew that we were definitely not on the same page.
“I’m sorry,” I said, staring down at my dress shoes. “I’ll do it better the next time.”
“You know, it’s always the next time with you,” Belinda said, narrowing her eyes. “The next time you’ll say it right. The next time you’ll pick up your cues. I’m not sure what kind of directors you’ve worked with on Broadway, but the next time doesn’t get you very far; it gets you fired.”
A list of angry questions began to form in my head. Why was Sebastian allowed to call “line” every three minutes, but I’d get a tongue-lashing for rephrasing one tiny bit of dialogue? Why could Bridget perform an entire scene facing upstage, yet if I did it once, I’d be told off? Most of all: Why did Lou have to tell Belinda about my Broadway past? I cringed every time Belinda brought it up, knowing it would probably be used to emphasize a stupid mistake I’d made. Why couldn’t I have just been another theater-loving local? But I didn’t say any of these things. I just let her words gush over me like hot tar.
“All right, take five, kiddo,” Belinda said, glancing at her wrist. “I’d suggest you spend that time rereading your script.”
I didn’t even wait for her to finish speaking before charging offstage and into the wings.
“Jack,” I heard Lou call from behind me.
“What?!” I said loudly, not even bothering to turn and look at her.
“Whoa,” she replied. “You okay? You seem kind of upset.”
“Oh really?!” I shot back, whipping around to face her. “I’m glad you’re noticing all the things wrong with me, too.”
“What are you talking about?” Lou said, taking a step back. “I was just seeing if you were okay. You don’t need to yell at me.”
Act 2 Page 10
