“Let’s get back to the play,” I plead.
“OK, the play,” says Cynthia. “So if you would hate me for dating Roger, wouldn’t Aggie hate Suzy for dating that French exchange student kid she has the crush on?”
“Jean Paul?”
“Yeah,” says Cynthia, “Jean Paul.”
“Suzy could go out with Jean Paul right after scene three,” I say. “That would make Aggie furious!”
“Exactly,” says Cynthia.
“But why would they get back together? I don’t really see Aggie forgiving something like that.” This is true, but I’m also hoping Cynthia will take it as a veiled threat — still, I can’t imagine her dating Roger after this conversation. I mean, she likes me now.
“What if Aggie needs Suzy to give her singing lessons?”
“Like you and me,” I say.
“Why not?” says Cynthia, and now she’s getting really excited.
“That might actually work,” I say, and then it suddenly hits me. “Oh my god!”
“What?” says Cynthia.
“You remember how David wanted me to not sing so many songs?”
“Yeah, but that was before you got your brilliant vocal coach,” says Cynthia.
“True,” I say, “But what about this. What if Aggie can’t sing? I mean, the play is called The Fat Lady Sings, so what if the whole point is she can’t, but she wants to. So she’s entered in the talent contest, just like she is now, only she practices and practices and she doesn’t get any better. And then she sees Suzy in the musical and she decides to swallow her pride about the whole Jean Paul thing and ask her for lessons and they become friends again and then in the final scene — “
“The fat lady sings!” shouts Cynthia. “That’s amazing.”
“And it’s the first time we hear her sing in the whole show,” I say.
“But that means you’d give up two whole songs,” says Cynthia, “plus all the solo parts you have in the chorus numbers.”
“Right, so I can concentrate on ‘Defying Gravity,’” I say. “If I’m in a musical that I wrote, and I don’t sing anything, and then at the end I sing one song and sing the crap out of it — that would blow people away. And Cameron wanted me to take a risk with the script — well, what bigger risk than having the lead in a musical not sing until the final number?”
“And then the whole play makes sense,” says Cynthia. “I mean not just the second act, but all the set up in the beginning, too. It’s all leading to the moment when — “
And we say it together, practically shrieking, we’re so excited. “The fat lady sings!”
“Can I borrow your computer,” I say, and two minutes later I’ve plugged in my flash drive and I’m at work.
Cynthia calls Dad and explains that I’m sleeping over and then she stays up half the night making me coffee and grilled cheese sandwiches and at ten o’clock the next morning I fall asleep on the bean bag chair to the sound of her printer humming away as it spits out a whole new play.
OK, maybe “whole new play” is a bit of an exaggeration. I cut one of my songs from Act I and gave the other one to Suzy. Other than that, I only changed about three lines of dialogue in the first act. Even the first half of Act II is pretty similar, but the last twenty pages or so are completely rewritten. I know that’s a lot of new material to learn and block and rehearse in two weeks and we need to get started right away, so when I wake up at three in the afternoon I hug Cynthia and thank her and then head out for the biggest session of pride swallowing I’ve ever had in my life. I keep thinking, if Aggie in the play can do it, then so can I.
Cameron is in his editing studio writing a history paper and Taylor is with him, reading Pride and Prejudice. I have two copies of the new script, so I hand one to each of them without saying anything.
“Listen, Aggie,” says Cameron.
“Just read the script,” I say. “Then we can talk.” I try not to sound angry, because the truth is I really want him to read it and respond to what’s on the page, without worrying about my feelings. Of course if he hates it, I might not feel that way anymore.
Cameron and Taylor both start to read, so I pick up Pride and Prejudice, which I read last year for English and again over the summer, and turn to the chapter where Eliza meets Darcy at Pemberly. I get so caught up in my favorite part of the story that I almost don’t notice the laughs and sighs and little sounds of surprise and delight coming from Cameron and Taylor. Almost.
Cameron puts his script down first, but as soon as he does, Taylor says, “Wait! Six more pages,” and Cameron just crosses his hands on his lap and sits quietly. I take a quick glance at him to try to read his face, and it looks like he could be trying to hold back his excitement about the new and improved script. Then again I get the same look on my face when I have cramps, so I go back to Longbourne, where the newly married Lydia and Wickham have just arrived.
“OK, I’m done,” says Taylor a few minutes later.
“So what do you think?” I ask.
“Don’t you think we should talk about yesterday?” says Cameron. “I mean, listen, I’m really sorry that we — “
“Look,” I say, “yesterday was yesterday. We open in less than two weeks. I don’t have the luxury of holding a grudge.”
“So are we OK?” he says.
“I just wish that if you have anything to say about the script, you’ll say it to me, instead of getting together behind my back.”
“Yeah,” says Cameron softly, “that was wrong. And I’m sorry.”
“I have something to say about the script,” says Taylor. “Don’t change a single word.”
“Really?” I say.
And Cameron finally cracks a smile and says, “God, I’m glad you think so, too. This is freaking brilliant, Aggie. But are you sure you’re OK with it — giving up those songs?”
“Trust me,” I say. “It’ll give me a chance to really work hard on that one.”
“Say, did anything ever happen with that whole voice lesson idea?” says Cameron. “I mean, you have sounded a lot better the last few rehearsals.”
And here is my chance to confess all. I’m secret friends with Cynthia Pirelli. My nemesis is now my voice teacher. The girl I hate above all others is the person I turned to when I was mad at all my friends, she’s the person who came up with the idea of Suzy dating Jean Paul, she’s the one who made me coffee and sandwiches when I was writing all night, she’s the reason you just read a second act that actually works.
And I don’t do it. I betray Cynthia for a second time.
Because how can I explain? How can I tell them that the foundation of this whole production — my hatred for Cynthia — is an illusion?
“Thanks for noticing,” I say. “I’ve been working at home.”
Scene 5
Cameron calls an emergency rehearsal for that night and then heads out to Kinko’s to copy the script. I know I should probably go home and do some homework, or sleep, but I end up staying at Cameron’s and talking to Taylor about Pride and Prejudice. It’s her second time reading it, too. Her English teacher told her that if she’s going to take the AP exam it would be a good idea to be “intimately familiar” with at least one classic novel, so she chose this one. After the past twenty-four hours, slouching on Cameron’s couch and gossiping about the Bennets is exactly what I need. I’m expecting everyone to be pretty ticked off at rehearsal — first that they suddenly had to give up their Saturday night and next that most of them have to learn a lot of new lines and forget a lot of old ones — but everybody is really nice about it. More than nice — downright cheerful. It makes me wonder if Cameron warned everyone to behave so I wouldn’t go all diva on them — because honestly, if I were Cameron, that’s exactly what I would have done.
I go to church again with Taylor on Sunday morning and it’s fine, except one of the stories they read (the only one I understand, to be honest) is about this guy Peter who I guess was a friend of Jesus. Anyway, after Jesus was
arrested Peter claimed that he didn’t know him three different times, which was kind of a crappy thing to do. The thing is, it’s sort of what I’ve done twice to Cynthia, and so now I feel even more guilty, especially since the sermon is all about standing by your friends. I try to tell myself that I didn’t deny being friends with Cynthia, I just didn’t volunteer the information, but even in my head that sounds pretty lame.
We have a marathon rehearsal Sunday afternoon and evening, and I forget all about Jesus and Peter and Cynthia because, honestly, there’s just no room in my brain for anything other than The Fat Lady Sings. I love that, when a show just takes over your whole mind and you get so involved in the rehearsal it’s like the show is reality and it’s the world outside the theatre that’s make believe.
And so, for a week, my life is great. We’re rehearsing like crazy to incorporate all the changes and Taylor is doing a super job on her new song. I would feel guilty throwing all this new material at people with so little time to learn it, but everyone seems to love the new version — even techies are coming up to me and saying how good the second act is now. I’m everybody’s favorite person again.
Elliot can’t come to our rehearsals this week because Hello, Dolly! is having evening tech rehearsals, but he calls me every night when he gets home to ask how everything is going. I tell him he should call Cameron since he’s the director, but Elliot says Cameron is too stressed out to be bothered with reports to the producer. The thing is, Cameron is actually more relaxed than he has been since we started rehearsals. He keeps smiling and leaning way back in his chair and saying things like, “Now we’ve got a show.” So I think Elliot just likes to talk to me, which is nice. Honestly, I come home from rehearsal so keyed up that I have to talk to somebody and Karl is working nights this week and of course Dad is asleep before I get back.
My vocal work with Cynthia is going really well, especially now that we can concentrate on one song. And she’s doing great with her scenes, too. Of course, now that they are into dress rehearsals she can’t really change her performance (that would so not be cool), but we’re polishing and mostly just making her more confident.
Midterms come out on Wednesday and I get two As, two B+s and a B (in math, of course). So if I don’t get into the School of the Arts, at least it’s not because of my grades.
By Thursday I’m feeling so good about life in general that when Taylor asks me if I want to go with her to see Hello, Dolly! I say yes. It’s the perfect solution, really. I mean, I want to see my student in action, and of course I want to see Elliot, and of course, of course I want to see Roger Morton, but I can’t sit with Cameron because I’d have to be catty about Cynthia Pirelli and I can’t sit by myself because that would look super pathetic. Showing up with a friend on my arm — a friend that nobody knows — solves all my problems. Of course Taylor just wanted to see the show. She had no idea what a drama she was getting into.
Thursday night is final dress for Hello, Dolly!, so it’s pretty late when Elliot calls me. For the first time he wants to talk about Dolly more than about Fat Lady, but I can understand that. After final dress is your last chance to let out all your anxieties before you go into the theatre the next night all cheerful and positive (no matter what happened at the dress rehearsal). It turns out most of tonight’s Dolly rehearsal went pretty well. The biggest problem was that the hat shop was supposed to rotate and become the Harmonia Gardens restaurant and it got stuck halfway around, but Elliot says the technical director called Suzanne and she’s going to take a look at it tomorrow morning, so it’ll be fixed.
Finally I can’t resist asking the question I’ve been dying to ask all week. I try to sound as snooty and aloof as I can, and I wonder if Elliot can tell it’s an act. “How was Cynthia?” I say.
“Do you really want to know?” says Elliot.
“I believe I’m mature enough to handle the news,” I say.
“To be honest, I was worried,” says Elliot. “I mean, she’s always had the singing down — that was never a problem. But her acting wasn’t much and it wasn’t getting any better. But then sometime last week, I don’t know, I guess something just clicked. In about three days she went from being Cynthia Pirelli to Dolly Levi.”
She did it! We did it! This is amazing. I want to scream and jump up and down on the bed. It feels so incredible to succeed at something, even if I can’t tell anybody about it. If I really am too fat to be an actress, at least I know I can be an acting teacher. Of course I have to remain calm on the phone with Elliot, so I just say, “I guess Mr. Parkinson picked the right person after all.”
“I don’t know about that,” says Elliot, because, of course, he has to.
“Anyhow,” I say, “I’m glad your show is going well. Taylor and I are coming tomorrow night.”
“That’s awesome,” says Elliot. “It’s really nice of you to come.”
“Don’t be silly,” I say. “I wouldn’t miss anything you’re in.”
“Thanks,” says Elliot.
“And tell Roger I said to break a leg.”
“Sure,” says Elliot. “Of course I will.”
We have no rehearsal on Friday night because it turns out we’re all going to Hello, Dolly! Cameron says that’s good because it will make it look like our show isn’t some sort of “antitheatre department” production if we all come and support Dolly. Whatever. I just want to see Elliot and Roger and Cynthia. I could care less about the theatre department.
Taylor’s really sweet and patient when I’m trying to figure out where to sit. I mean, if I sit near the front it will look like I’m trying to make some sort of statement — like I’m just waiting for Cynthia to screw up or I want to remind everyone who could have been Dolly. But if I sit in the back, that will look like I’m making a statement — like I really don’t want to be there or I’m not paying attention or I’m gonna sneak out halfway through. So I opt for two thirds of the way back, near the side aisle (but not on the aisle, because that would look like I’m keeping an escape route open). Of course we have to arrive at exactly the right time — too early and I look over eager, too late and I look callous. It’s a balancing act, but Taylor is nice about everything and never once says, “Let’s just go to the stupid theatre and sit down,” which is what I would have said if I were with someone acting like me.
The show is not bad. I mean, it’s not great, either. It’s not one of those that people will still be talking about next year, and it’s definitely not like Godspell, when complete strangers were coming backstage afterwards sobbing and hugging everyone in sight. It’s not that the cast isn’t good — they are. But they’re working so hard and there just isn’t really a spark.
My first thought is that I’ve just outgrown the material. I mean, it is a little dated. But then I start to think it’s the direction. The choreography is OK, but not particularly clever. The set is fairly boring (with the exception of the Hat Shop/Harmonia Gardens turntable, it’s nothing but rented drops). But most of all I get the sense that Mr. Parkinson spent more time blocking crowd scenes than he did working on the subtleties of the relationships. Still, Elliot is hilarious as advertised, Roger is gorgeous as always, and Cynthia — well, I think Cynthia surprises everyone in the audience except me. Her songs are wonderful and her scenes are the only ones that completely come to life. I’m so proud of her I can hardly stand it, and being all nonchalant around Taylor is one of the hardest acting jobs of my life.
Of course at intermission everyone is talking about how good Cynthia is, and I want to hear the details of what they’re saying, but whenever I drift towards a group of people they immediately change the subject. I guess everyone still remembers what I wrote on the cast list and figures the last thing I want to hear is how great they think Cynthia Pirelli is in my part. Boy, are they wrong.
Things pick up in the second act, and even though it’s still no Godspell, the show is working better now. I guess part of the problem in the first act was having to set everything up — believ
e me, as a playwright, I know how hard it is to make exposition interesting. The whole melee at the Harmonia Gardens is hysterical — Roger plays incensed about as well as I’ve ever seen him play anything, and the last scene with him and Dolly, when they finally get together — well, don’t tell anybody this, but it actually makes me cry. God, I hope nobody notices.
The audience loves it, and at curtain call there are hoots and yells, and when Cynthia comes out to take her bow everyone stands up. I’m careful to be neither the first nor the last one standing, but you bet I’m on my feet. She deserves it, and nobody knows that better than I do.
Afterwards, I want to go backstage and congratulate Elliot and give him flowers, which I know will make me look like a good sport. I get Taylor to come with me, because, again, I have to choreograph everything perfectly. It can’t look like I’m intentionally shunning Cynthia, but I also can’t tell her, right now, how great she did. So I have to be sure to find Elliot when he is nowhere near Cynthia.
We get backstage and Cynthia is right at center stage in the middle of a bunch of people handing her flowers and hugging her and Elliot is on the other side of her and I’m trying to figure out how to get to him gracefully when the circle around Cynthia opens up and she sees me and we lock eyes for a second and we smile at each other and I decide right then and there to do it. I decide to go give Cynthia a hug and congratulate her and let people think whatever they want to think. I am just so proud of her — how could I not?
I start to cross to her and I guess Taylor thinks I’m going to pick a fight or something, because she grabs hold of my arm and holds me back, and in that second Roger Morton steps between me and Cynthia and the next thing I know she’s hugging Roger and then she kisses him on the cheek and he’s whispering into her ear and she’s whispering into his ear and he takes her by the hand and then she’s sort of nodding towards me and he’s looking at me and they’re both laughing and I can read the whole story in an instant. She and Roger are now an item and she actually told him that I like him. “You want to hear something deliciously funny,” she probably said. “Agatha Stockdale, that fat girl — she likes you.” “How droll,” said Roger. “Now lets go out to my car and make out.”
The Fat Lady Sings Page 14
