I could sense everyone glaring at me. Doris was the first to vocalize her feelings. “That girl is more trouble than a two-year-old in a china cabinet. Are you sure you want to take on that mess of trouble?”
“Yes,” I said decisively. “She has a great attitude and a lovely smile. And I promise I won’t put her in charge of the props or anything breakable.”
Before Doris could continue to voice her disapproval, the next person was making their way onstage. It was a scruffy-looking woman wearing a beige raincoat and carrying what appeared to be a big brown plastic shopping bag. She was the complete opposite of Tanya. She looked positively depressed. She walked to the center of the stage, put down her bag, and blew her nose loudly on a Kleenex.
We all just stared at her, and she just glared back. I decided to break the ice. Maybe she was just really nervous. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Janet, and you are . . . ?”
She blinked twice and said, “I am what?”
“Your name,” said Doris, curtly.
“My name?” She paused, as if she were about to make one up. Then she said, “My name is June Horton.” She nodded her head, as if she were sure that was her name.
“What are you going to do for us, June?” Doris asked, obviously starting to lose her patience.
“What do you mean?” said June, matching Doris’s pitch of annoyance.
“Sing!” shouted Stacy from my side. “Doris is asking you what song you’re going to sing.”
“Sing?” She recoiled, appearing disgusted with the mere thought. “Well, I don’t really sing,” she mused to herself.
“Do you dance?” I asked, trying to encourage her.
“Dance?” she said, screwing her face into a ball. “No, I don’t dance, not unless someone is shooting at me.”
Stacy turned to me and raised her eyebrows.
Doris was apparently done with going around in circles. “Just sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ then, so we can hear you.”
June placed a hand to her brow to shade her eyes from the blaring stage lights and looked down at us intently. “Is it someone’s birthday?” she asked.
“Crazy lady,” Stacy said in a singsong voice under her breath.
“No. It’s not, but we have to hear you sing if you want to do this,” I stated gently.
“Oh,” she said with a look of incredulity. Then she shrugged her shoulders, saying, “Okay.”
She coughed twice, took a deep breath, then started a dirge of “Happy Birthday,” which started out quiet and low, somewhere in the vicinity of her boots, and just got worse as she got louder. It was very slow and excruciatingly painful, a wounded animal begging to be put out of its misery. She had obviously missed her vocation as chief wailer following coffins in funeral processions.
When she finished she just stood there, blinking, and we were all speechless. I saw Doris suck in breath and knew whatever was about to come back out wasn’t going to be good. So I quickly said, “Well, that was an interesting version of that song.”
But Doris’s comment was on top of mine. She appeared to not want to be saddled with any more of the people I couldn’t help but feel sorry for. “It was awful,” she blasted.
“I thought so too,” said June. “I told you I don’t sing.”
“So why are you auditioning?” Stacy asked what everyone was thinking.
“I’m not auditioning,” she scoffed. “I’m here to see if I can help out backstage or with the costumes or something.”
I breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Great!” I said. “Yes, we need lots of help. Sorry, there was no need for you to come out on the stage at all. You could’ve just filled out a form and left your name.”
June nodded. “I must admit, I did think it was a little strange, but I have never worked with artsy-fartsy people before, so I didn’t know what to expect. I saw your poster in the florist’s window, and I love making costumes for Halloween and thought I might be able to lend a hand.”
“Absolutely,” I said. “We’re so grateful for any help we can get.”
June mumbled back, “Is that it, then?”
“Yes, that’s it,” said Stacy impatiently.
June nodded her head, bent down, picked up her shopping bag, and shuffled off the stage.
Doris turned to Ethel. “Go and tell Annie to make sure she only sends performers back here to the audition.”
Ethel nodded and left to do her bidding.
I started to snicker, saying, “Well, anyone is going to look better compared to that.”
Lottie nodded her head, adding, “I’m just glad I’m not celebrating my birthday during the run. I don’t think I could have gone through that twice.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
JESSICA RABBIT & A BATTERED TOP HAT
We were all laughing heartily when Marcy walked onstage. She was glowing. A perfect goddess. Her blonde hair was coiffed into a shiny bob, and she wore a figure-hugging leotard, footless tights, and a large patent leather belt cinched at her waist. She tottered onto the stage on four-inch leopard-skin pumps.
Doris noticed them right away and announced, “She’ll never perform in those. She’ll break her neck.”
Marcy continued to swagger like Jessica Rabbit to the middle of the stage, then carefully placed her iPad and speakers on a stool that she’d demanded Dan bring on the stage for her. Flora, who was seated a row in front of me, visibly tensed up. We continued to watch Marcy as she swaggered off the stage one more time and made her way back on with a music stand, which she took time putting up in her own sweet way. She seemed completely oblivious to the fact that she was keeping everybody waiting. Doris shouted up to her on the stage, “Are you ready, young lady?”
Marcy was having none of it. She held up a perfectly manicured finger at Doris, as if she were asking her to wait one minute, then she sauntered off the stage one more time, brought onstage a music book, and placed it carefully on the stand. Then she took her time finding the right page.
I could tell Doris was starting to boil. “Really,” she said. “This is too much.”
But Marcy just tottered off again and returned with a water bottle and a large designer bag in her hand and placed them carefully on the stool next to her. She finally looked up and appeared to be ready. She was totally unruffled.
“Hello,” she said, her tone sweeter than apple pie. “My name is Marcy, and I would like to sing”—she paused for effect, reached into her bag, and pulled out a cowboy hat, setting it gently over her silken blonde hair—“a country western oldie for you all today.”
Stacy slumped down in her chair again, saying, “God help us.”
Then, from her bag, Marcy pulled out a shiny stack of photographs. “But first, I would like to give you my headshot.”
Doris dismissed her. “We don’t need that here. You can give that to Annie in the foyer when you leave.”
Marcy did not look happy, stating, “If you’re talking about the knitting woman with the tight perm wearing a nylon leisure suit outside, she didn’t seem to know a lot about talent or show business for that matter.”
Now my daughter’s dander was up. The one person she had a soft spot for was Annie. She sat upright in her chair and snapped back, “I’m sorry. The auditions for the Broadway show are down the road.”
Marcy ignored the comment and walked off the stage one more time, and a minute later, Dan hurried down the stage steps with Marcy’s photo stack in his hand. He gave them out to us, saying, “These are from her ladyship.”
We all peeled off a copy and had no choice but to sit there with an eight-by-twelve black-and-white gleaming Marcy on each of our laps.
Marcy stepped back out of the wings and took a leisurely sip from her water bottle. Once Dan returned up the stairs, she coaxed him to join her with a head motion. Dan didn’t respond, so she extended a long, pink fingernail toward him and beckoned to him again. Flushed, he came back on. It was obvious to us he was not at all happy playing Marcy’s lap dog. Even sitting a row behind Flo
ra, I could sense her discomfort.
“Are you going to sing something anytime in our future?” shouted Doris.
“Prima donna,” sang Stacy in the chair next to me.
I liked to think I have the patience of Job, but even I was starting to get a bit irritated. I added my own voice, “You really need to move on, Marcy. We have a lot of people to see today.”
Marcy seemed unmoved by our discomfort. This was her moment, and she appeared to be milking it. She whispered something to Dan and then giggled, throwing back her head in an exaggerated fashion, causing her blonde bob to bounce around her head like a shiny, golden slinky. Dan nodded, though his expression registered annoyance as Marcy took center stage and motioned to him again.
He pressed a button on her iPod. It erupted into life with the introduction of Tammy Wynette’s song, “Stand by Your Man.”
As the music started, Marcy entered a different world. She locked eyes intently with our group and started singing fervently, “Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman.” Then, with dramatic intent, she turned her full attention toward Dan, who was still on the stage, waiting for what appeared to be his next cue. Staring straight at him, she barely whispered her next line, “Giving all your love to just one man.” As she continued to perform at him, it became obvious this display was as much for his benefit as ours. The stage was hers, and it was clear she intended to savor every moment.
Stacy leaned toward me. “She’s totally flirting with Dan. I thought he and Flora were dating?”
“They are,” I responded. Stacy looked aghast.
Doris leaned toward me from the other side, saying, “She’s not half bad.”
“Hussy,” snapped Ethel, the pitch and fervent delivery of her comment causing the rest of the group to nod in agreement.
Marcy hit perfect high notes with, “But if you love him, you’ll forgive him. Even though he’s hard to understand.” She moved from her stool toward Dan, singing, “And if you love him and are proud of him.” Then, placing a hand on his shoulder, she threw back her head and sang out with passion, “’Cause after all, he’s just a man.”
Stacy turned to me again, her mouth open.
“How does Flora feel about that vixen in leopard skin?”
Before I could answer, someone hurried past us up the aisle, a flash of layered clothes and long hair. It was Flora. I nodded toward her, saying, “Like that.”
Onstage, Marcy continued as she belted out the chorus, “Stand by your man.” By the time she’d finished the song, no one appeared to know what to say. There was no way around the fact that she had an amazing voice, but I wondered if anyone wanted to deal with all that came with it.
Apparently, Doris did. As soon as Marcy finished, she jumped to her feet, shouting, “Bravo. Welcome to our show.” The rest of the group just looked at Doris, but Marcy just nodded as if she’d expected it and strode catlike back to her stool. She then took away her props, peeling them offstage in the same slow, deliberate manner she had added them. Instead of picking up her stool, she nodded at Dan, apparently expecting him to carry it offstage for her. Dan did it, but even from my seat in the auditorium, I could tell he wasn’t happy about it at all.
The rest of the morning, the auditions continued, and they were pretty predictable. The Beanie Baby–juggling clown wasn’t half bad. He managed to limp onto the stage and perform, even though he was obviously recovering from his encounter with the crazy twirler. The woman in the flowery hat sang opera to shatter glass but was as blind as a bat and nearly fell off the front of the stage. We decided to give her a chorus part, way in the back. Other people auditioned—some who could sing but couldn’t dance, others who could dance but couldn’t sing. I watched, taking notes and reminding myself and Stacy, who was getting more and more heated beside me, that this was all just a community event. After all, we were helping Annie, not putting on a West End hit.
At about one p.m., we took a lunch break. James had a treat waiting for us in the foyer. He’d asked the Crab to put together some salads and cold meat trays. Once the group finished the morning’s audition, it was a welcome sight to all of us as we walked into the foyer to see him and Annie laying out the food.
“What’s all this?” Doris asked, appearing suspicious as she arrived in the foyer beside me.
“James ordered food for us all,” Annie said.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he commented, piling up napkins on the plate.
We gathered around the table, and Flora finally joined us. She still seemed shaken, but she had put on a cheerful air, obviously not wanting to talk about it.
“There’s a few people who wanted to come back after lunch,” said Annie, joining us at the table. “And there was this one girl. She auditioned this morning. She wanted to do a dance audition this afternoon. She said she didn’t have the right clothes and needed to get the right music.”
“Marcy,” we all said together. Our attention settled uncomfortably on Flora, who visibly squirmed.
“She was great,” Doris added clumsily. “You also need to audition this afternoon, Flora. We could put you on right after Marcy.”
You could have heard a pin drop. Everyone at the table seemed aware of what that would mean to Flora, except Doris.
I jumped to her defense. “Is that really necessary? After all, it’s Flora. We know she’s reliable, and I don’t think we need to have her audition, do we?”
“Nonsense,” responded Doris. “We don’t want it to look like there’s favoritism. I’m sure you’ll be just fine, Flora.”
James placed a large apple pie in the center of the table for our dessert. We all offered our thanks. He dismissed it with a wave of his hand, saying, “It’s the least I can do. I’m so happy to see the old place up and running again.” He was just starting to launch into a story about the last time it had been used when the main doors opened and a bright shaft of sunlight cut across our conversation.
I turned to see who it was, but with the light streaming in from the outside, all that was visible to me was the outline of a man. As the door closed behind him, my eyes started to adjust, and as the man swaggered over to the table, I recognized him instantly. It was Ernie.
I couldn’t believe it; he was a welcome sight! We had met Ernie on our road trip, at a jazz band dance in Medford, and he had not only been able to cut a rug but had also given the infamous Doris Newberry a run for her money on the dance floor, calling her “his little chili pepper.” We had all liked him so much that we had even invited him to have breakfast with us the day before we left Oregon.
As he made his way toward us, I took in what he was wearing: a battered top hat, a set of tails that appeared to be a couple sizes too small for him, and a pair of spats. In his hand was a silver-tipped cane. I rushed forward to greet him with a hug.
After we all had greeted him, he approached the table with a happy expression and surveyed the spread of food before him.
“I see I’m just in time for pie,” he announced, showing all of his pearly white teeth and two of his gold ones. “I have an uncanny knack of knowing when someone’s about to serve it up. It’s my superpower.”
I was intrigued about his appearance. “Ernie, how wonderful to see you again—and looking so dapper. Please join us and tell us what you’re doing so dressed up.”
Ernie found a seat next to Doris. She looked Ernie up and down, taking in his odd appearance. “Where did you spring from? The 1920s?”
Ernie flashed Doris another cheeky grin and grabbed her hand. “My day wouldn’t be complete without a word or two from my own little chili pepper.”
Doris appeared to balk at the word “own” and instantly pulled her hand away from his. He seemed oblivious to her brush-off, as all of his attention was focused on the pie in the center of the table.
“Are you going somewhere special?” inquired Annie, knitting a row of stitches.
“I’m taking myself to a very special event,” he said with enthusiasm. “I’m going to a
udition for a show that serves pie to the people who turn up.”
James was jubilant. “Let me get you some coffee to go with that pie.”
“Now you’re talking,” Ernie responded as James went off to organize the coffee.
Doris just continued to stare at him. “You’re here to audition for our show?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” he answered with conviction.
“How did you find out about it?” she continued.
“Oh, a little bird told me all about it,” he said mysteriously.
Annie giggled, adding, “Ernie and I are pen pals.”
“But you don’t even live here,” snapped Doris.
“Not yet,” he said contentiously. “But this looks like a mighty fine town. Who knows what might happen? I’m retired and can afford to stick around for a month or two if I want.”
Doris raised an eyebrow. “So, why are you dressed up like a dog’s dinner?”
“Because,” he said with emphasis, “this is my costume for the turn I’m going to perform.”
“You brought this costume on a vacation?” I required incredulously.
“Absolutely,” he said assertively. “You never know when you might need to sing for your supper. You should see the rest of what’s in my suitcase.”
Doris did not look impressed. Neither did Stacy, who had just returned from the bathroom.
“And you’re going to perform what, some sort of a magic trick?” Flora asked hopefully, her eyes twinkling.
“No,” he said. “I’m going to sing and dance. This is my costume for the soft-shoe shuffle I’ll be performing.”
“Wonderful,” said Flora, but by her tone and expression, it appeared she had no idea what that meant.
Stacy groaned under her breath.
“A soft-shoe shuffle,” said Dan, upbeat. “Sounds great.”
James arrived back at the table with a knife and a hot coffeepot. Doris sliced and handed out the pie to everyone, including Ernie, who beamed, saying, “Now, this is my kind of audition.”
Rejected Writers Take the Stage Page 16
