by Thea Dawson
“Okay.” Chris nodded. “And you are?”
“Wyatt Winter, sir,” said the muscular young man Chris had pegged as ex-military. “Any role would be fine.”
He was good looking and had excellent posture; like Doreen’s, his voice carried well, though Chris found it even more disconcerting to be called “sir” than “Mr. McPherson.”
“Thanks, Wyatt. Okay, you two, start reading your scene when you’re ready.”
They read Oberon and Titania’s dialogue from Act two, Scene one. Doreen stumbled over some of the unfamiliar words, but her timing wasn’t bad. Wyatt was a little stiff, but his voice was clear and confident. Could be worse.
“Thank you, Wyatt and Doreen.” Chris jotted a few notes. “Okay, next up—”
“Wait!” Simon called. “Doreen darling, would you be willing to dye your hair for the play?”
Chris shot him a surprised look. Did he really see a role for Doreen?
Doreen shrugged. “Sure. I draw the line at anything crazy, though, like shaving it all off,” she warned.
“Don’t worry, dear, that won’t be necessary,” Simon assured her, making a note on his clipboard. “Back to you,” he nodded at Chris.
“Sure.” He consulted the forms in front of him, choosing the next male and female. “Tracie Ellington and Brice Dunkley.” He smiled a little at Brice’s name. The man who lumbered onto the stage was considerably heavier than the one he remembered. Brice had always been beefy; now he was decidedly stout. His dark beard was fuller and streaked with grey, and there were heavy pouches under his eyes. He had the look of a once-handsome man gone to seed.
“Brice Dunkley,” said Brice in an impressive baritone. “I am auditioning for the part of Oberon.”
Chris grinned at him. The part was his, as far as Chris was concerned. Brice was pompous and pedantic and often as not stoned, but he was a good actor. And the nostalgia factor was in play as well; Brice had played Don John, the villain in Much Ado About Nothing.
Hippie Girl followed him onto the stage. “Hi, I’m Tracie.” She smiled cheerfully and shrugged. “I dunno. A fairy, maybe?”
Tracie was nervous and giggled more than Chris would have liked, but she had a sprightly energy that made him think she would, indeed, make a good fairy. Maybe even Puck—if they could get her to stop giggling. Brice was comfortable on stage and read well.
“Thank you, Tracie and Brice. Okay, next!”
“Rob Short.”
Appropriate, Chris thought, a little uncharitably. Rob wasn’t short, but he wasn’t tall; maybe about five foot ten. He was disproportionately muscular, though, and his bulging shoulders had displaced much of his neck. His low forehead and eyebrows that almost met in the middle gave him a somewhat Neanderthal look that was contrasted by a dark crew cut and sharp eyes. He looked extremely serious.
“I’d like to be considered for one of the male leads, but I’ll take any part that you feel I’m a good fit for, sir.”
Again with the “sir.” Chris tried to remember if he’d ever called anyone “sir” in an audition. He was pretty sure he hadn’t.
Maybe he should have.
“Okay, Rob. Thank you.”
Rob had been called up on stage with Krystal, the reporter. She looked confident and relaxed and moved gracefully despite her size.
“Krystal Winston. Any part’s fine.”
“I’ll need you to be a little louder, Krystal. Okay, go ahead and start.”
Rob’s delivery was loud but wooden; he read each line with the same stiff cadence. Krystal, on the other hand, spoke eloquently and moved around the stage with graceful steps and fluid gestures—a little quiet, but that could be fixed.
Some of the younger kids went on. A gangly youth named Bryan who reminded him a little of himself in college, Charlotte’s girlfriends who giggled as much as they spoke, and Goth-type girl with black hair, black eyeliner and black lipstick.
Charlotte herself auditioned well, he was relieved to note. She’d be fun to have in the cast, and giving her a role would make Joy happy.
It took almost three hours, but eventually, everyone had tried out. He’d seen more enthusiasm than talent, if he were being honest, but he was determined to make it work. He gave an encouraging speech, promising that they’d send out a cast list no later than Sunday night, signed several dozen autographs, and the hopefuls began to file out.
Joy was talking to Brice, Simon and Luke. He shook hands and greeted Brice, then looked around the small group.
“Here’s where I throw myself on your mercy.” He looked at them hopefully. “Anyone want to go out for a drink and talk about the cast?”
10
“To you, Mr. Movie Star—for making the rest of us look good!”
Luke clinked his pint of Brewing Goose beer against Chris’s glass in salute and gave him a big grin. The others joined in with their glasses.
Simon had opted for a Manhattan, Joy for a vodka tonic, and Brice for a soda water. He remembered that about Brice; he smoked pot like it was going out of style, but never touched alcohol.
Chris looked around the Courier, a campus-town bar where he’d hung out on occasion back in the days when he’d needed a fake id to get in. It had been established back in the 1950s when the owner of the Courier, Silverweed Falls’ original newspaper, had been bought out by the Silverweed Sentinel. Bored without a newspaper to run, he’d bought a bar instead and decorated it with headlines and photographs from his now-defunct paper. The five of them sat beneath a framed front page proclaiming the end of World War II.
“All right, after removing anyone younger than high school age and anyone who couldn’t commit to at least being at most of the rehearsals, this is what we’re left with.” Joy placed a thin stack of papers on the table between them, then took her clipboard and a pen out of her bag and sat poised to take notes.
Chris looked at the small stack of papers and wished—again—that Victor hadn’t gone with a play that had so many characters.
Might as well start with the easy ones.
“You’re Oberon, if you want him,” Chris looked at Brice, who looked up and pretended to be surprised. “And I want you to ham it up, go for every laugh you can, high-brow, low-brow, and everything in between.”
“Done,” pronounced Brice, a satisfied smile on his face.
“And no pot.”
Brice’s smile fell. “I take it for medical purposes. Arthritis.”
“Toke up when you’re at home, then. Just don’t bring it to the stage. We’ll have at least a couple of underage actors, and maybe a cop.”
“It’s legal now in Oregon you know,” Brice hastened to assure him.
Chris did know, but he’d forgotten. He frowned. “That’s not the point. Point is, no drugs, no alcohol. We’re trying to get as much attention from the press as possible on this and I want absolutely no scandal. No possibility of scandal. Like a 45-year-old actor sharing a joint with a 20-year-old. That would be a scandal.”
“I don’t recall you complaining at the time,” Brice observed archly.
“I didn’t. And if I forgot to say thanks, I apologize. But for this production, no drugs on the set. Can you promise me?”
Brice stared cooly at him.
“We’re doing this for Victor, remember?” Chris reminded him.
Brice pulled in a deep breath and straightened his back, his expression one of long-suffering nobility.
“For Victor. No marijuana on the set.” He sighed.
Chris noted that he hadn’t said no marijuana off the set, but he’d take what he could get. “Thanks.” Having wrung that particular concession out of Brice, he decided a little flattery might be in order. “You’ve been involved with the Players a lot longer than I have. I’d really like to get your thoughts on casting the rest of the characters.”
Brice brightened up. He loved being asked for his opinion, and was never shy about giving it. “That reporter girl, the young Anita Ekberg type. Cast her as Helena. She’s
perfect.”
“Geez, a cop and a reporter,” Chris muttered. “I liked her, but for one of the romantic leads? She’s a bit ...” he wasn’t sure how to say it, and he was suddenly and awkwardly conscious of Joy staring pointedly at him. “A bit ...”
“Spit it out, silver-tongue,” said Joy.
“Fat, okay? She’s fat.”
“She’s fat the way a woman should be fat,” Brice pronounced. “All curves and softness. Can’t you imagine sinking your fingers into those—”
“Dear God,” Joy interrupted. “Simon, say something so I don’t have to listen to these two.”
Luke looked away, studying the wall.
“I agree with Brice,” Simon said. “Not so much about the fingers, of course, but she’s pretty, she moves well, she read well, and the fact that she’s voluptuous works with the character. Helena is jealous and insecure. It wouldn’t be hard to play that off as being about her weight.”
Chris shrugged. Krystal had read well, and just as importantly, she’d moved comfortably around the stage. She’d be fine. “Cool. Any other strong opinions?”
“The police officer would be good for one of the leading men, Lysander, I think,” offered Brice, now getting into his role as senior advisor.
Chris nodded. Wyatt was young, handsome and earnest. “I agree. Luke, you want Demetrius? I think you’d be good in the role.”
Luke’s good-natured smile widened. “I’m flattered. It would be an honor to be in your production. Let me just make sure I can clear a couple of commitments, but I think it’ll work out.”
Chris grinned. With Brice and Luke on stage, and Simon and Joy behind the scenes, he felt like he had the beginnings of a team he could trust. “Okay, other major roles.” He cast his eyes down the list. We need a Hermia, a Titania, a Puck and a Bottom. C’mon, Joy ...” He’d decided to give it one last shot. “You could be a great Titania ...” He looked at her with exaggerated hopefulness.
“I didn’t audition, remember?” She took a prim sip of her cocktail.
“Who cares. You’d be perfect for the role.” In addition to her elegance and grown-up good looks, she also had the chops to go up against Brice in Titania’s spats with Oberon and to make the most of the fairy queen’s comic infatuation with Bottom, the donkey-headed townsman.
But Joy didn’t even hesitate this time when she turned him down. “No—again—I think I’m going to stay behind the scenes for this one.” She raised her glass to him. “But thanks for asking. I appreciate it.”
Chris nodded, disappointed. “Okay. Who for Titania, then? Most of the girls who tried out are just too young.” He didn’t point out that Brice already came across as a lecher; casting him opposite someone a third of his age would look more creepy than cute.
“The bus driver,” said Simon unexpectedly.
The other four looked at him doubtfully.
“Doreen?” asked Joy, looking at her notes.
“I don’t know ...” Chris stared at Simon. “She’s more lumberjack than fairy queen.”
Simon looked at him pityingly. “I’ve turned lumberjacks into fairy queens before, darling. You let me worry about what she looks like; you just get her to say her lines well. Besides,” he gestured regretfully at the forms laid out on the table, “in all honesty, you don’t have many options.”
Chris frowned at the lists again. Simon was right; of the women who weren’t too young, only a few were any good. Doreen at least was ... loud.
“Maybe she could be Hippolyta, the Amazon Queen?” he suggested. It was a smaller role, and one in which they could carry off Doreen’s heftiness as comic.
“You could double up those roles, have Brice play Theseus as well.” Simon pointed out. “It would work nicely, actually, having the same actors who play the earthly rulers play the fairy king and queen. I think there’s one scene where they come on right after each other, but I’ll make the costumes a quick change.”
“Huh. Well ... okay. Um, other roles. Hermia? That hippie girl looked the part. I’m just not sure about the giggling.”
“At the risk of being accused of nepotism, how about Charlotte?” Joy suggested.
“She’d be good as Hermia, but I think I’d rather save her for Puck,” said Chris. Charlotte’s quick wit and cheeky temperament would work well for the errant sprite. Joy looked pleased. “I guess Hermia could be a giggler.” He shrugged.
“Tracie Ellington, Hermia,” Joy muttered as she took notes.
“Okay, smaller roles—we also need four fairies and five townsmen, Hermia’s father, Theseus and Hippolyta, if we don’t double up Brice and Doreen, and this Philostrate guy, who has like, two lines. Maybe one of the fairies could double up and play him?”
The fairy servants were quickly divvied up between Cat, Zena, and a couple of other young women.
“What about Rob Short as Bottom?” Simon suggested.
“That guy with the crewcut?” Chris shuffled through the papers with his notes on them. On Rob’s, he’d written, Reads like his shorts are too tight.
Joy glanced over at the notes and suppressed a laugh. It came out as a snort.
“That was very unladylike,” he told her.
“And that was very unprofessional,” she retorted, not bothering to suppress the laugh this time.
Simon glanced at the paper. “I see your point,” he conceded. “But he’s been involved with a couple other productions, mainly back stage. He’s a very hard worker, and he’ll do whatever he can to improve. And honestly, I think his very lack of natural ability could make him quite funny, if it’s used right. He is a donkey for half the play, after all.”
“And check out all the additional skills he has.” Joy tapped the form. “Riding a unicycle, woodworking, juggling, Java programming, basic Japanese—”
“All right, all right.” Chris looked at Simon dubiously then glanced at the others. Brice’s expression mirrored Chris’s doubts; Joy just shrugged. “He’s in the running for now. Okay, we need someone reasonably strong for Quince, as well. I liked that skinny kid—Bryan, I think his name was?”
“Oh, right. Yeah, I liked him too.” Joy shuffled through the papers and handed him Bryan. “He took Charlotte to the prom.”
“Boyfriend?” he asked.
“She says they’re just friends,” Joy answered, though she didn’t sound completely convinced.
“Well, any friend of Charlotte’s is a friend of mine.” The four remaining townsmen were assigned, quickly and somewhat randomly, to four young men. “Okay. I guess that’s it. Joy, will you send out an email to everyone who auditioned?”
“Looks like you’ve got it all covered,” said Simon with barely concealed relief. “I’m going to have to head home. The nurse’s shift is over soon. I’ll be there for the first rehearsal to talk about costumes. See you then.”
“I should probably head out myself.” Brice pushed his chair back and got ponderously to his feet.
Chris frowned in consternation. He wasn’t looking forward to a Saturday evening alone in Silverweed Falls. “Hey, anyone want to go get dinner?”
Simon was already halfway to the door.
“I’m afraid my arthritis is bothering me,” Brice said with a significant look.
Joy stood up. “I have plans, I’m afraid.” She didn’t volunteer any more information, but gathered up the papers and the clipboard.
After the shuffle of goodbyes, Chris was left with Luke.
“A good looking guy like you doesn’t have plans for a Saturday night?” he asked.
Luke smiled and shook his head. “You know, the Courier is okay for the campus kids. What say I take you to where the grownups hang out?”
Chris grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”
11
Chris followed Luke’s pick-up truck to Angel Ray’s on the western end of town. It was a little louder, a little older, and a little scruffier than the Courier. Chris liked it immediately.
Luke sent the waitress off in search of two draft
beers and handed Chris a worn plastic menu.
“You like buffalo? They’ve got good buffalo burgers, fresh off a ranch near town.”
Chris studied the menu. “Sure, why not? Never had buffalo before.” He put the menu down decisively.
A middle-aged waitress thumped their beers on the table and took their order. Luke studied Chris.
“So, Mr. Hollywood comes home. It sure has been fun watching you rise to the top, my friend.”
Chris shrugged modestly. “I got lucky.”
“Sure you did.” Luke chuckled. “How does it feel to be back visiting the old stomping grounds?”
“I was only here for three years, and it was a long time ago. It’s a little weird being back, but kinda fun.”
Luke took a sip of his beer. “You didn’t grow up in this area?”
“Nah, grew up in Hillsboro. But my mom got remarried and moved to Phoenix my sophomore year, so there’s not much reason to come back to Oregon these days.” He smiled reminiscently. “That’s why I was here for the Much Ado summer. I didn’t get along with my stepdad, and I didn’t want to live with them in Phoenix for the whole summer, so I stayed here.”
“You still on bad terms with your step dad?” Luke asked.
Chris shook his head. “Nah, he’s okay. He tried a little too hard to be a replacement dad, and I was a jerk kid who resented it. We’ve made up since then. He’s really good to my mom. I can’t complain.”
“And your dad? Where is he?”
“Died in a plane crash when I was twelve.” Chris took a long, slow sip of his beer to cover his feelings. Even twenty years later, his dad’s death, and all it represented, still felt like a knife in his heart.
“Shit, man. I don’t think I knew that. I’m really sorry.” Luke had put down his beer and was looking at him, his bright eyes suddenly soulful and serious.
Chris shook his head and managed a smile. “I didn’t talk about it much.”
He remembered talking to Joy about it that summer though, confiding in her one evening after rehearsal, and being grateful for the way she just listened. Without trying to advise or comfort, she’d simply given him the space he needed to say what he felt.
