by Lisa Fiedler
Eww. I pushed the thought out of my head.
“It’s the last big solo in the show, and it’s a crowd-pleaser,” Austin explained.
Deep down I knew Austin was right. She was perfect for that song, even if she hadn’t had to audition for it.
“We should probably give her a speaking scene too,” I said, resigned. “How about the Wicked one? If ever anyone was born to play a witch . . .”
Austin laughed. “Done!” He wrote Sophia’s name in the two appropriate places. We spent the next hour debating which roles should go to whom. Mostly we agreed, but there were a few parts that tripped us up. For example, I thought Eddie would make an amazing Oliver, but Austin saw him more as Charlie Brown. I wanted the Fantasticks dance to be a solo for Mackenzie, but Austin suggested (now that we knew that Travis could dance) we make it a pas de deux—a dance performed by two people.
“I can get on board with that,” I said, watching as he added it to the list.
We went on making our casting choices without any more squabbling. Austin was just writing in the last name on the cast list when the clubhouse door swung open and our dusty, dirt-smeared but smiling troupe came out.
“Can we see the list yet?” Travis asked.
I smiled at him. “I’d rather unveil it officially tomorrow morning,” I said. Secretly, I wanted a little more time to think about it. Maybe I’d get a great idea for a casting change in the middle of the night.
Eddie frowned, but Mackenzie gave him a friendly elbow to the ribs. “Quit sulking,” she said. “The suspense makes it more exciting.”
“Thanks, everyone,” I called as the Random Farms actors began to disperse. “See you tomorrow. And please don’t be late. We have a lot to do. This show goes up in three weeks.”
This stopped them in their tracks. Suddenly twelve astonished faces were staring at me. I felt my face turn red. “Uh . . . did I forget to mention that?”
“Yes, you did,” said Maddie. “Three weeks?”
“Seriously?” said Teddy.
“We can do it,” said Austin in a tone that was both confident and authoritative. “As long as we work hard and focus.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “If you say so.”
Again, the kids headed on their way.
“I’ll e-mail them the rehearsal and performance schedules tonight,” Susan promised as she, Austin, and I headed back to our house. “How’d the casting go?”
“Excellent,” I said. “I think they’ll all be happy with the roles we gave them. How’d the cleanup go?”
“It looks brand-new in there,” Susan announced. “Not a dust bunny or a cobweb in sight.”
“Better not tell Mom that,” I warned.
“Why not?”
“Because if she realizes you actually know how to clean, she’s going to expect you to do something about that room of yours!”
Susan gave me a look. Then she burst into “It’s the Hard Knock Life” and belted it out all the way home.
We arrived in our driveway to see our neighbors’ garage door going up and revealing Mr. Quandt dressed in overalls and Mrs. Quandt in an old smock with a scarf tied over her hair.
“Hello, girls,” said Mrs. Quandt. “Your mother tells me you’ve taken on a theater project.”
“Not a project,” I corrected politely. “An actual theater.” I eyed her sloppy clothing, which was so unlike the crisp, tidy manner in which she usually dressed. “What are you up to?”
“Just a long overdue cleanup,” she said, picking up a bulging garment bag and dragging it down the driveway. “So much clutter. So little room!”
Austin, a true gentleman, immediately took the bag from Mrs. Quandt. After he’d deposited it at the curb, he hurried back to the garage and offered to help Mr. Quandt lift a heavy table.
“We’re simplifying,” Mr. Quandt explained. “These things are still useful, they’re just a little too worse for wear, so they’re all going to the donation center. Healy should be by any minute to haul everything away in his pickup truck.”
I examined the overstuffed garment bag. “What’s in here?”
“Oh, just a lot of outdated things. Some old business suits, a couple of prom gowns from when my daughter was young. I think there may even be a few dresses that belonged to my grandmother.”
“In the olden days?” asked Susan.
Mrs. Quandt laughed. “Yes, Susan, in the olden days.”
I followed her back to the garage where she lovingly ran her hand over an old cabinet-model sewing machine. “I do wish this didn’t have to go. It’s the machine I learned on. But it hasn’t worked in years, and the company no longer makes replacement parts. Besides, I have a brand-new portable model Mr. Quandt bought me for our anniversary.”
I had forgotten how much Mrs. Quandt loved to sew. When Susan and I were little, she used to help Mom with our Halloween costumes. And one summer she made us matching terry cloth beach cover-ups.
Austin was now assisting Mr. Quandt in carrying a flowered love seat to the curb.
“You know,” I said, “I bet those old suits and gowns could come in really handy for costumes. And all this furniture would make terrific set pieces.”
“You really want all this old junk?” asked Mr. Quandt, eyeing the worn love seat and battered chairs.
“Not junk,” I corrected politely. “Props!” I turned to Mrs. Quandt. “Do you by any chance happen to have any wigs?”
“As a matter of fact . . .” Mrs. Quandt pointed to a large box.
Susan opened the box and gasped. She pulled out a blond pixie-cut wig, a sleek black one cut into a bob, and a long wavy auburn one. From where I stood, I could see that there were still plenty more in the box—white curls, long sandy tresses, and even a silver one with purple streaks. Susan and I both turned slowly with wide eyes to look at our neighbor.
Mrs. Quandt laughed again. “What can I say, dears? It was the seventies.”
“What’s in here?” asked Susan, opening an old trunk.
“Just a bunch of mismatched bed linens,” said Mrs. Quandt. “Sheets, quilts, pillowcases.”
When Mr. Healy pulled up in his truck, Mr. Quandt and Austin began loading things into the back.
“Change of plans, Healy,” said Mr. Quandt cheerfully. “We’re donating these to Anya’s project. These theater types here have agreed to take all this junk off our hands.”
“Not junk,” I reminded him with a big smile. Then added in a whisper, “Magic!”
RANDOM FARMS THEATER SCHEDULE
WEEK ONE
Monday, June 21–Friday, June 25: 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m.
WEEK TWO
Monday, June 28–Friday, July 2: 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m.
Monday, July 5: no rehearsal because of the extended holiday weekend
HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!
WEEK THREE (TECH WEEK)
Tuesday, July 6–Thursday, July 8: 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m.
DRESS REHEARSAL
Friday, July 9: 10:00 a.m. to AS LONG AS IT TAKES!
OPENING NIGHT
RANDOM ACTS OF BROADWAY
Saturday, July 10: 7:00 p.m.
Call Time: 5:00 p.m. (entire cast and crew)
When I entered the theater the next morning, I had to catch my breath.
Streamers of sunlight filtered in through the sparkling windows. The floors had been scoured and polished until they gleamed. According to Susan, both restrooms had been scrubbed and sanitized by—to my great shock—Eddie Kim, who’d volunteered after everyone else had flat out refused to have anything to do with cleaning the long-untouched “facilities.” Eddie had worn rubber gloves and wielded his toilet brush like a pro.
During the cleaning, Susan had discovered a deep storage closet backstage, which she and Maxie had cleared out to create an instant wardrobe department. It was just waiting to welcome all the Quandts’ old clothes, hats, and, of course, wigs! When Maxie arrived, I would have her start emptying the boxes and garment bags (which Mr. Healy h
ad left rather unceremoniously in the middle of the stage) and arranging them in the closet.
Behind me, the door opened.
“Good morning, Madam Director,” said Austin.
I smiled, momentarily dazzled by a slant of sunshine that flashed off the lenses of his glasses. He was carrying a pile of scripts and songbooks from his own personal collection. He placed these on the Quandts’ former kitchen table, which had replaced the old rickety one by the door.
“Mr. Playwright,” I said with a formal nod and a little giggle.
We had agreed to meet here early to post the official cast list. I hadn’t made any midnight changes to it after all. I realized that my gut instincts (and Austin’s) were spot-on, and the choices we’d made were perfect just the way they were.
I opened my backpack, took out the two-page list, and approached the large cork bulletin board that had once held neighborhood notices about bake sales, bridge tournaments, and babysitters needed. Two shiny little thumbtacks remained pushed into the otherwise empty board, which seemed like a very good omen to me. It was as if they’d been waiting there all this time for me to do what I was about to do.
As always, Austin seemed to be reading my mind. “Feels pretty official, doesn’t it?”
I positioned the pages in the center of the corkboard and inserted a thumbtack into the top of each page.
And there it was!
RANDOM ACTS OF BROADWAY CAST LIST
OPENING NUMBER
“Comedy Tonight” from A FUNNY THING HAPPENED
ON THE WAY TO THE FORUM
Full Cast
“Anything You Can Do” from ANNIE GET YOUR GUN
Madeline as Annie Oakley
Teddy as Frank Butler
“Seize the Day” from NEWSIES
Dance solo: Travis
Vocals: Full Cast
Scene from PETER PAN
Jane as Wendy
Spencer as Peter Pan
“Maybe” from ANNIE
Soloist: Mia
Monologue from YOU’RE A GOOD MAN, CHARLIE BROWN
Teddy as Charlie Brown
Scene from WICKED
Sophia as Glinda
Elle as Elphaba
Scene from OLIVER!
Sam as Oliver (soloist: “Where Is Love?”)
Eddie as Dodger
Monologue from WILLY WONKA AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY
Gracie as Veruca Salt
“Try to Remember” from THE FANTASTICKS
Dance duet: Mackenzie and Travis
“Castle on a Cloud” from LES MISÉRABLES
Soloist: Sophia
“Brotherhood of Man” from HOW TO SUCCEED IN BUSINESS WITHOUT REALLY TRYING
Dance: Full Cast
CLOSING NUMBER “There’s No Business Like Show Business” from ANNIE GET YOUR GUN
Full Cast
CURTAIN CALL
Full Cast
“I hope Jane won’t be too upset about not singing ‘Maybe’ in the show,” I said.
“She’ll be okay,” Austin assured me. “And she’ll be great as Wendy.”
Austin went over and sat down at the piano. He plinked out a few notes, then a few more. Then he added chords. It was a melody I’d never heard before, upbeat and very catchy.
“What is that?” I asked. “It’s really good.”
Austin smiled and played the notes again. “Oh, it’s just something I’m working on,” he said. “Just . . . ya know . . . our theme song!”
My eyes went round. “Did you say theme song?”
“Yep!”
“Austin, that is so cool!” I went over and slid beside him on the bench. I’d never even thought of having a theme song, but now I couldn’t imagine not having one. “Play it again.”
He did. If joy had a sound, this would be it. The notes swirled and bounced and tickled the air of the theater like laughter. The song went straight to my heart.
“Let’s hear the lyrics!”
“They aren’t finished yet,” said Austin. “Still a little rough. But I’m working on them.”
I let him play the song through another time. “Austin, we have to use this in the show!”
He beamed. “That’s sort of what I was hoping for. I mean, I compiled the script, but there really isn’t a lot in it that’s mine. I figured this would be the best way for me to put my own stamp on the revue. Like you’re doing with your producing and directing. But I don’t know if I’ll be done in time.”
“Sure you will,” I said breezily. “Look how fast you put together the revue. And you’ve got the music nearly completed.”
“Yes, but I’m thinking there should be some awesome harmonies, and that’ll take a while for the kids to get right. Teaching it to them might take longer than writing.”
“It would be amazing if the cast could sing it during the curtain call.” I turned to frown at the stage. “Speaking of which . . .”
The ceiling above the stage was equipped with the necessary hardware for a simple proscenium-style stage curtain that could go up and down thanks to some pulleys that dangled in the wings. But there was no actual curtain in place. I supposed we could make do without one, but the thought of seeing a real curtain go up on opening night gave me chills.
Maybe Deon could figure out a way to rig up something. I’d have to work on that.
Austin continued to fiddle with the theme song until Susan arrived and showed us her design for the program. “We can have the kids write their bios during the lunch break,” she suggested.
“Good thinking,” I said.
At ten o’clock on the dot the door swung open and all eleven actors rushed in, anxious and excited.
“Where’s the list?” asked Madeline.
Austin pointed to the bulletin board; the kids stormed it like a stampeding herd. “Now I know where the term cattle call comes from,” Austin quipped.
For the next few minutes there were shouts of joy, shrieks of excitement, and high fives and hugs all around. The only person who looked a little unhappy was Jane, but to her credit she didn’t sulk, and she was the first to congratulate Mia on getting the solo. I decided I’d have a quiet word with Jane at the end of the day. Exactly what I would say to her, I had no idea. But something told me this was what a real director would do. I hoped Austin would offer to join me for this discussion, but if he didn’t, I decided I wouldn’t ask. No reason for both of us to be uncomfortable.
Deon and Maxie came in while the cast was still scanning the list. Maxie was holding a large expandable makeup case. Deon was draped with electrical cords and carrying a toolbox.
“Hey,” said Mia, “why does Sophia Ciancio get the final solo?”
“Yeah,” said Spencer. “She didn’t even stick around long enough to sing.”
“It’s a long story,” I said. “But she’s very talented, so she’ll be a wonderful addition to our cast.”
Mackenzie, who knew Sophia as well as I did, looked skeptical. I knew it wasn’t the “talented” part she was questioning. . . . It was the “wonderful.”
First I had everyone give Susan his or her dues money. It felt weird asking kids for cash, but we had expenses. Programs and tickets would have to be printed, and paper and ink weren’t cheap. In addition, Jane had blown through an entire economy-size bottle of my mom’s Windex yesterday, which I fully intended to replace.
Once that task was handled, I told everyone to spread out across the floor for some warm-up exercises, and then I stood in front of the group. I was familiar with a few from my rehearsals for Cinderella and Annie. But last night I’d googled “acting warm-ups” and, with the help of wikiHow and YouTube, I’d added a few more exercises to my repertoire. I invited Mackenzie, possibly the most flexible human being on earth, to help me lead a stretching routine.
We had just begun the first simple stretch when Sophia strolled in.
“Good morning,” she said, dropping her pricey tote bag by the door and looking totally bored with life. “So, where�
��s the cast list?”
Both of my arms were above my head, so I motioned toward the bulletin board with my chin. Sophia examined the list, then turned to me with a smug smile.
“I’m singing ‘Castle on a Cloud’ and Mia Kim isn’t?”
I nodded, gritting my teeth as I reached outward with my left arm, then my right.
“Mia’s singing ‘Maybe,’ ” said Jane.
“I can read,” snapped Sophia. She turned back to the board. “Oh, and I’m doing a scene from Wicked with Elle.” She glanced around the room until her eyes fell on her partner. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said. “I refuse to work with amateurs.”
“We’re all amateurs, Sophia,” said Austin firmly. “Well, except for Teddy.”
“Teddy’s done TV commercials and even had a small role on a soap opera once,” said Madeline.
“Well, then I want to do my scene with him,” said Sophia, crossing the floor to take a place right at the front of the group.
“Keep stretching,” I whispered to Kenzie. “Ignore her.”
Kenzie dropped her chin to her chest and began slowly swinging her head from shoulder to shoulder, then in a full circle. “Head rolls,” she announced.
“Oh, heads are gonna roll all right,” Sophia muttered, “if I don’t get to do my scene with Teddy.”
It was then that Susan marched right up to Sophia and cleared her throat loudly. “Ahhhmmm.”
“What do you want?” sneered Sophia.
“Ten bucks,” said Susan, holding out her upturned palm. “Dues money. Everyone paid. Now it’s your turn.”
Sophia rolled her eyes. “There’s money in the outside pocket of my tote. But I only have a twenty.”
“No problem,” Susan informed her, skipping toward the tote bag. “I can make change. Do you prefer a ten or two fives?”
“Time for some tongue twisters,” I said brightly, “to warm up your . . . um . . . well, your tongues, I guess.”
A ripple of laughter floated through the theater.
“Really use those cheeks and lips when you say the words,” I explained. “Use your whole face and pronounce the words as clearly as you can. Here we go . . . red leather, yellow leather . . . red leather, yellow leather.”
