by Lisa Fiedler
“A full-page ad,” he said, “at no cost to me. And it should identify me as an investor. I think your audience would like knowing they’re doing business with a patron of the arts.”
Okay, A) I loved that Matt Witten could use the term patron of the arts in conversation, and B) it was a brilliant idea and a great compromise! Even if, by some horrible chance, The Odd-yssey didn’t earn enough to double Matt’s investment, he’d still benefit from the free advertising. And it was very professional; Broadway Playbills (like the one I’d sold to Sophia Ciancio) always featured advertisements.
“Done!” I said, reaching out to shake Matt’s hand, and not even minding the smudges of black engine grease on his knuckles. Then I grabbed a pen and quickly jotted down the specifics of our deal: the doubling of his two-hundred-dollar investment, or (should things go terribly wrong) the return of it in full with 10 percent interest, and a full-page ad to be designed by him.
Matt looked over the document, then signed the paper as Susan returned to put her empty glass into the sink.
“So I’m an angel?” said Matt, meeting my eyes and giving me another great smile.
“Oh, I can practically see the wings sprouting between your shoulder blades as we speak,” deadpanned Susan. “Just watch out you don’t damage your halo when you put those headphones back on.”
I was glad she said something because, for some reason, with Matt smiling at me like that, I was having trouble finding my voice.
“We’ll scan it and e-mail a copy to you right away,” Austin promised Matt, then downed the rest of his lemonade.
“You know,” said Matt, “there’s that huge overgrown meadow behind the old clubhouse.”
“Clubhouse theater,” I corrected. “But what about the meadow?”
“I’ve asked Healy a few times if he’d pay me to clean it up. But he says there’s no point in landscaping property nobody sees or uses.” He gave me a grin. “Think you could use your influence to get him to reconsider?”
“Mr. Healy’s got his hands full at the moment, with the water-main break and all,” I reminded him. “But if the opportunity arises, I’ll definitely mention it.”
“Thanks, Anya.”
“Thank you, Matt.”
Austin practically leaped off his barstool to show Matt to the door. When he came back, I poured him a second lemonade and we raised our glasses in a toast.
“To angels!” I said.
“Even the ones who smell like grass and gasoline,” Austin added.
I giggled as we downed our drinks.
CHAPTER
10
On Monday morning the cast of Random Farms met on the steps of the Chappaqua Community Center.
Papa Harold drove Susan and me, as well as Spencer, Jane, and Maddie. The rest of the kids either biked or arranged car pools. Gracie’s big brother, Nick, drove her along with Elle and Travis. I had to laugh because Nick was driving the car he used to deliver pizzas for their uncle George’s restaurant. It had the words DEMETRIUS’S PIZZA emblazoned on the side, and even a loudspeaker attached to the roof!
I was surprised when Nick got out of the car and opened the trunk. He carefully removed something wrapped in a soft flannel cloth, which he handed to Gracie. Then he got back into the car and drove off.
“Does anyone else smell pepperoni?” Susan asked as Elle and Travis joined us.
“That’s what happens when you get dropped off by the pizza guy.” Elle sighed, sniffing her sleeve.
“Could be worse,” Travis noted. “We could smell like anchovies.”
“Look on the bright side,” said Susan. “You’ll never be late for rehearsal.”
“Why not?” asked Elle, scraping a glop of old mozzarella from the bottom of her sneaker.
“Because Demetrius’s promises to deliver in thirty minutes or less!”
“What’s that?” I asked Gracie when she reached the steps.
Gracie unveiled the object. “It was a gift to my dad from his papou,” she explained.
I looked at the peculiar-looking item cradled in Gracie’s arms. It was clearly some sort of musical instrument, like a guitar without a neck, or a baby harp.
“It’s beautiful,” said Susan. “What’s it called?”
“A kithara,” said Gracie. “When I told my dad we were doing a version of The Odyssey, he thought we might be able to use it.”
“Wow,” said Austin. “Awesome lyre.”
Gracie scowled. “Who are you calling a liar? It is a kithara and my dad did say we could use it!”
“I’m not calling you a liar, Gracie,” Austin clarified. “I’m calling the kithara a lyre. It’s just another name for it.” He reached out for the instrument. “May I?”
Gracie handed him the instrument. Austin plinked the strings. It made a sound similar to a guitar, but a little deeper and pluckier.
“Can I try?” asked Joey.
“Wait!” I said. “That thing didn’t, like, belong to Apollo or anything, right? It’s not some priceless artifact unearthed from a Greek ruin, is it?”
Gracie giggled. “It’s just a good reproduction. Not a toy, but not an archeological treasure, either.”
“Well, be careful anyway,” I advised Joey as Austin presented the lyre to him.
Joey examined it. He was at first tripped up by the fact that this instrument had ten strings, whereas his acoustic guitar had only six. But after a minute or so, he was strumming away like an old pro. “I bet I can find a lyre tutorial on YouTube,” he said. “Gracie, mind if I take this home for practice?”
“That’s fine,” said Gracie.
“All right, everyone,” I said. “Let’s go inside.”
We entered the lobby, and I went to the desk to retrieve the key Mrs. Crandall had left for us. Seconds later we were stepping into the theater.
For a moment everyone just stared in silence.
“This is great!” cried Jane at last.
“It’s huge,” said Maddie.
“Check out all the lights!” Deon said breathlessly, eyeing the spots and canisters suspended above the stage. “And there’s a sound system! Man, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of my cast being so awed by this place. I understood that the plush auditorium seating and the gorgeous velvet curtain were impressive. But that didn’t make me feel any better about their excitement level. I didn’t want them to love it more than they loved the clubhouse theater.
“It’ll do for now,” Austin pronounced diplomatically. “We’ll make the best of it, and get back home just as soon as we can.”
“Like Odysseus,” said Teddy.
I smiled, pleased he’d made the same connection Austin and I had.
“Speaking of Odysseus,” said Maddie, “are you guys going to post the cast list?”
“Yes,” I said, turning to Susan. “Did you remember to bring the Scotch tape?”
As soon as I stuck the list to the wall, I stepped back to avoid being trampled by my eager and curious cast. Susan, of course, hung back with Austin and me, as did Maxie, Brittany, Gina, Deon, and Joey.
There were a lot of happy squeals and no small amount of confused whispers. After a minute or so, Travis turned away from the list, wearing a puzzled expression.
“This says I’m playing Athena and a pig. What’s up with that?”
“That’s kind of a surprise,” I explained. “We’re casting everyone in dual roles.”
“Why?” asked Jane.
“Simple math,” said Teddy, who seemed pleased with having been given the title role of Odysseus. “There are more parts than actors.”
“They do it on Broadway all the time,” I explained. “In Peter Pan, for example, the parts of Captain Hook and Mr. Darling are traditionally played by the same actor. But in that case, it has less to do with math than making an artistic statement.”
“It’s going to make for some challenging costume changes,” Maxie observed.
Elle gi
ggled. “Max, that’s not the only challenge you’re going to be dealing with.”
“Whaddya mean?”
Elle pointed to the cast list. “Says here you’re in the show. You’re a member of Odysseus’s army and you’re one of Penelope’s suitors.”
Maxie blinked. “I am? But I didn’t audition.”
“Neither did Deon or Brittany or the rest of the crew,” Spencer pointed out. “But they’ve all got parts, too.”
“We do?” said Gina, sounding nervous.
“You don’t have a speaking part,” I assured her. “Unless you want to try that. But at this point, all you have to do is help fill up the stage. Same for the rest of you.”
Maxie and Deon both looked relieved. Gina’s fellow set designer, Brittany, was clearly excited about the chance to perform, and Joey—typical mellow musician that he was—didn’t seem to care one way or the other.
“Susan, look!” cried Elle. “Your name’s up here, too.”
Susan marched toward the cast list. Upon seeing her name beside the character Zeus, she let out a little yelp. “Me? Play Zeus?”
“You’ll be perfect,” Austin assured her.
“Zeus is a boy,” Susan reminded us.
“And Athena’s a girl,” said Travis with a shrug. “But I’m playing her.”
Susan looked from one grinning face to another, finally meeting my hopeful gaze.
“Will you do it?” I asked.
Susan bit her lip. “I’m not sure about this, Anya. I mean, Zeus is so bossy and intimidating, and really smart and super important. Do you really think I can handle it?”
“Handle it?” I said, approaching her and draping an arm around her shoulders. “You were born for it!”
Susan laughed. “I guess you’re right. Okay, I’m in.”
As the other actors congratulated Susan, I snuck a look at Sophia.
Just as I’d expected, she was fuming over being cast as the Cyclops, as opposed to the female love interest, Penelope.
“This is a joke,” she said, leveling a look at me. “You can’t possibly be serious about me playing a monster!”
“Why not?” said Susan. “It’s not like it’s a stretch.”
“Susan,” I said sharply. “That was uncalled for.”
Then I drummed up my resolve and turned to Sophia, forcing what I hoped was a calm and reasonable expression. “As the director,” I began, “I don’t owe anyone any explanations. But I want you to understand that Austin and I chose to give you this role because we’re confident you’ll do a wonderful job with it.”
“I don’t want to do a wonderful job as a monster,” Sophia spat. “I want to do a wonderful job as a Siren, or as the lovely and loyal wife of the hero.”
“Did you notice you’ve also been given the role of Circe?” Elle pointed out hastily. “According to the script, she’s a real femme fatale. I’m not sure what that means exactly, but it sure sounds like you.”
“It means Circe’s a beautiful goddess who is irresistible to men,” Maxie piped up. “I bet I can make you a stunning toga with marabou-feather trim.”
I knew they were trying to be helpful. But I refused to beg Sophia to play Cyclops. She should be happy to have such a terrific role. She should recognize that a real actor would welcome the opportunity to show she could play any kind of character. Even a one-eyed one.
“Look, Sophia,” I said before anyone else could start offering bribes. “I would like to see you step outside your comfort zone and play Cyclops, but if you aren’t willing to do it, I won’t force you. I can give the role to”—I hesitated only a second—“to Austin.”
“Me?” said Austin.
I gave him a wink, indicating he should just play along.
“Oh, right,” he blurted. “Me! I’ll play Cyclops.”
“But if you refuse to play Cyclops, I’m going to have to rethink your playing Circe.” I shrugged, then repeated something I’d heard my mother say to Susan more than once. “I’m not going to reward bad behavior.”
Sophia was staring at me with such a heated look on her face, I half expected fire to start shooting out of her ears. After a long, excruciating moment, she opened her mouth to speak.
I braced myself.
“Anya?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think I should play the Cyclops more as a big nasty bully, or kind of as a bumbling dolt? I can do either, you know. I’m that good.”
I smiled, trying not to look as relieved as I felt. “That’s up to you,” I said easily.
“I think either choice works,” she went on confidently. “In fact, I bet I could figure out a way to combine them. I mean, he’s a monster, so he’ll have to be all gruff and growly. But he’s also sort of a dimwit, which will give me a chance to show off my comedic talents.”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s exactly what Austin and I were thinking when we cast you in that role.”
“Now …,” she said, her smile widening. “About Circe … well, that should be simple for me. After all, the first two words in her character description are beautiful and powerful. Talk about a role not being a stretch.”
I forced a smile but didn’t comment. This superior, self-satisfied attitude of hers was obnoxious, but since it was easier to deal with than a full-on conniption, I decided to quit while I was ahead.
“All right, people,” I said, clapping my hands for their attention. “Let’s start with a read-through. Everybody, to the stage.”
Obediently, they all shuffled down the carpeted aisle of the theater and up the steps on either side of the stage. Scripts in hand, they sat down, assembling themselves into a wide oval on the black-painted floor.
“Susan—highlighters,” said Austin.
Susan made her way around the oval, handing out the neon-colored markers to everyone who had a speaking part.
“What are these for?” asked Maddie.
“To highlight your lines for easy reference,” I said. “When you’re done, we’re going to start with a read-through.”
“What’s a read-through?” asked Brady.
“Exactly what it sounds like,” I said. “You just sit where you are and read through the script, without any blocking or moving around.”
Susan finished distributing the markers. As the actors began the task of highlighting their lines, she gave me a puzzled look.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“When I put the highlighters in my backpack this morning, I counted out just the right amount,” she said. “One per kid.”
“And?”
She held up a neon-green marker and frowned. “There’s one left over.”
“Maybe you miscounted,” said Austin.
Susan rolled her eyes. “Have we met? I’m an organizational genius. I don’t miscount.”
“Wait,” I said. “You weren’t expecting to need a marker yourself because you didn’t know you’d be highlighting lines of your own.”
“Right,” said Susan. “Which means I’d be one short.”
“Well, even organizational geniuses make mistakes once in a while,” I said.
I waited for the actors to finish coloring their lines. When they were done, there was a rustle of pages as they turned back to the first scene, then a hush fell over the theater. They were waiting for me to start them off. I glanced at Austin, who was standing beside me with our script—the director’s copy—open in front of him.
I smiled and took a deep breath. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Silence.
I tried again. “Start when it feels right,” I said a little louder, in case the acoustics of this huge space were working against me.
Still, nothing.
Heads began to swivel. Kids frowned and whispered.
I turned to Austin. “What’s the first line?” I asked.
He consulted the script. “ ‘ Reporting live from ancient Greece …’ ”
“Who says it?”
“Greek Chorus Number One.”
Greek Chorus Number One: Mackenzie
It was then I realized …
Mackenzie was nowhere to be seen!
CHAPTER
11
“Maybe she had one of those super-special, last-minute New York City dance classes her mother’s always springing on her,” Susan guessed.
Austin shook his head. “I doubt it. She would have texted one of us.”
“No, she wouldn’t,” Maxie corrected. “Her mom took her phone away last week. She said it was distracting her from dancing.”
I reached into my pocket for my own cell. “I’ll call her house phone,” I said. “Maybe she overslept or something.”
“Actors, start looking at your lines,” said Susan. Then she grinned, raised her arms in the air, and said in a deep, booming voice, “Useless mortals, I command thee to start looking at your lines by order of Zeus, father of the gods.”
I gave her a look. “That’s gonna get old fast,” I warned as the phone rang once, twice …
“Hello?” came Kenzie’s mother’s voice through the speaker.
“Hi, Mrs. Fleisch, this is Anya Wallach.”
“Good morning, Anya.”
“Is Mackenzie there?”
“No, she’s not. She’s gone out for a run.”
“Oh. Well, when she gets back, would you tell her—”
“She won’t be home until much later today. She’s meeting her friend Annabelle for a Pilates class at the yoga studio in town, then Annabelle’s mother is driving them to the Dance Warehouse to buy some new tights and leotards. Then they’re going to the dance studio to take an extra ballet class.”
“Oh.” I blinked. “Wait. She’s … what?”
An impatient sigh came through the phone. “Can I take a message?”
“Um, sure. Can you please just tell her—”
At that moment the auditorium doors burst open and a very sweaty Mackenzie entered the auditorium.
“She’s here!” cried Elle.
“Never mind, Mrs. Fleisch,” I said awkwardly. “Thanks anyway. Didn’t mean to bother you.”
I heard a click as Mrs. Fleisch hung up on her end.
