Alex Ko

by Alex Ko

  I tried to push other thoughts out of my mind, but I couldn’t find the peace that I needed in order to let go. Worries about the show kept intruding. What if it never got any easier? What if I was just no good at dancing on a raked stage? What if I could never forget about the audience and the cameras? I had only another month—one month—to get ready. Sometimes, when I wasn’t doing anything, I felt a tickle of panic in my stomach when I thought about how soon it was.

  “Ouch!” I exclaimed as I fell on my butt again. “Sorry.”

  “Yaaaah, that was awful,” Kate said, but with a smile that softened the blow. “Let’s try one more.”

  But no matter how many times we tried it, I couldn’t get the tap numbers down. It was like my tap shoes had been dipped in oil.

  “I think we have what we need,” said the cameraman after my four-thousandth fall. It was a nice way of saying there was no point in trying anymore. I just couldn’t get it, which is why the Meet the Billys video about me on YouTube doesn’t have a single tap step in it.

  “Tomorrow, you’re going to pretend this never happened, right?” Kate said as the cameraman packed up.

  “Yeah,” I said glumly. Everyone I knew was coming to the opening in a few weeks . . . what if I wasn’t good? What if I embarrassed myself, or worse, Mom and Dad?

  Kate must have read my thoughts.

  “Come on now,” she said. “You had a bad rehearsal. It happens. It doesn’t mean you’re bad—it just shows what you’ve got to work on. Think on it this way: would you rather this happen now or on opening night?”

  “Now, I guess.” Frankly, I’d have preferred it never happen.

  “See, it’s a blessing in disguise.” Kate clapped me on the back. “Now come on, no time for moping. You’ve got an acting session to get to.”

  “Anybody seen a Broadway star up in here?” John called from the audience with perfect timing.

  “Hey, John!” Half a dozen voices echoed back the words. I didn’t even think to look up, because I didn’t see myself as a star—especially not today.

  Everyone at the show loved John. He was preparing to go to college at the University of Iowa in the fall, but he was here for the summer. While Mom started her new job, he volunteered to watch out for me. I was running all over the city multiple times a day, and someone needed to make sure I didn’t get lost.

  Yesterday, Meet the Billys had filmed us dancing on Chelsea Pier, which is an old shipping dock along the Hudson River that had been converted into a beautiful park. Being near the water reminded me of Dad, and it felt less crowded and noisy than the rest of Manhattan. The city had all kinds of interesting parts. We’d discovered that we could even take the subway to the beach. Nearly every weekend, we headed to Coney Island, a beachfront amusement park complete with roller coasters, a boardwalk, and Friday-night fireworks. It was my favorite part of the city so far.

  “How was rehearsal?” John asked as we headed on the C train to upper Manhattan to see Ann Ratray.

  “Terrible,” I grumbled.

  “How bad could it have been?”

  “You remember that scene in Bambi, on the ice?” I asked.

  “The one where he keeps falling?”

  “Yup.” I nodded. “I must have eaten stage at least ten times today.” I stared down at my shoes, wishing I could ride the subway all the way back to Iowa.

  “Ouch,” John replied. “Well, at least it wasn’t the part with the hunters.” He cocked his finger at me. “Pow! Pow!”

  “Ya got me!” I moaned. I grabbed my chest and laughed out loud. John always knew how to cheer me up.

  “How’s the acting?”

  “Good!” I perked up. I’d never really had acting lessons before, and I enjoyed working with Ann. Her class was very informal. A small group of us met in her living room, which was huge. It was seriously the biggest apartment I ever saw in Manhattan. Every week we each practiced a monologue, or part of a scene. We all watched and critiqued one another, and Ann gave us specific notes to work on for the next session.

  Even though Julian had said the key to being a great actor was not to act, I still needed to be comfortable onstage. Every week, Ann helped me become a more forceful, honest presence, while Julian and BT helped me be more relaxed and natural.

  “Today I’m supposed to get angry,” I told John.

  “Angry?”

  “Ann’s helping me work on being bigger onstage. I need to get over being shy.”

  “How?” John asked.

  “Well . . .” I blushed.

  “Tell me!” John blurted out as soon as he realized I was embarrassed.

  “Last week she made me stand on a chair in the center of the room and swear as loudly as I could!” I felt my cheeks go red. “She made me say every curse word in the show, and more.”

  Although some of it has been rewritten, when I first started the show, Billy had to say a bunch of curses. Some were just British slang, which sounded worse than they were. But there were some words in the show that I never would have said in real life.

  “It’s not you, Alex,” Ann told me when I confessed that I was having a hard time. “It’s a character. You’re not saying these things. Billy is. Don’t forget that.”

  I guess that’s the heart of acting: learning to be natural while being someone else. It’s a strange road to walk. Too far to one side, and you seem fake. Too far to the other, and you’re not acting.

  “Here we are,” John said as we got off the subway by Ann’s building. “Mom’ll be waiting when you’re done. Good luck!”

  The other actors were sitting on the couches in Ann’s bright yellow living room when I entered.

  “Let’s get started,” Ann said, pushing a stray strand of red hair behind her ear. “Alex, you’re working with Mike today. I want you to get in a fight.”

  Class always started with improv, to get us warmed up. After that, we worked on our scenes. I liked improv a lot. In fact, it was probably my favorite part of the class, because we did something new every week.

  Mike was a big guy, like six feet, and he was probably around my dad’s age. I eyed him as we walked to the center of the room. Without a word, he jumped into the scene.

  “What’re you doing here, huh, kid?” he said. Mike was usually a nice guy, but tonight his voice had a mean, ugly edge to it.

  “None of your business! I’m—uh—you got a problem with me?”

  “Yeah, I got a problem with you!” Mike stepped closer. He towered over me, much like my dad in the show did. I forced myself not to step back. “You need to get the hell out of here.”

  “Why should I listen to you?” I said. To my left, I could see Ann waving her hands. More energy, her gesture said. Bigger! “You get out of here!”

  “Oh, so you want to take this outside, huh?” Mike roared.

  “Stop it!” I yelled back. “You don’t scare me you—you—you butthead!”

  It was the only bad word I felt comfortable saying in public, but I yelled it as loudly as I could. Mike actually stepped back.

  “Well done, guys!” Ann interrupted us, putting a hand on each of our shoulders. “Good job, Mike. Alex, you really pushed through tonight.”

  “Thanks, Ann,” said Mike, turning back into the nice, quiet guy I knew from class. “That was great, Alex.”

  “You too,” I told him. “You really committed to it.”

  Commitment was one of the things we talked about a lot in acting class. If you’re going to do something, don’t go halfway. In live theater, the audience could be all the way up in the balcony, so you have to be big.

  For the rest of class, I practiced a few of the angriest scenes from Billy. At the end, Ann pulled me aside.

  “You open in a month, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Scared?”

  “A little,” I admitted.

  “Don’t be.” Ann smiled. “You’re doing great. Tell BT I think you only need to come once a week from now on.”

  “Really?
” I said. I’d been seeing her three or four times a week since I got back to New York. If she thought I just needed one session a week, maybe I was more prepared than I thought. Maybe this day wasn’t a total failure after all.

  “But I want you to continue working on your cursing.” She smiled. “Now go on—your mom got here early and she’s waiting.”

  Ann had a sitting room that doubled as a waiting area. When I ran out, Mom was there, tapping away on her phone—she rarely wasted a free minute, and with her new job, she was constantly busy. We had that in common.

  “Hey, Alex!” Mom looked up from the screen as I ran in.

  “How was your day?” I asked.

  “Long,” she replied. “But good.” Her new job was tough, but she loved a challenge. “How about you?”

  I sped through everything that had happened, eager to tell her what Ann had said.

  “And I only have to come once a week!” I said with a smile. “I think I’m getting it.” After the disastrous dance rehearsal, this was exactly what I needed.

  “That’s great . . .” Mom paused, a mischievous smile on her face. “. . . Butthead!”

  I blushed. “You got here really early, huh?”

  “Yup,” said Mom. “Early enough to hear you be excellent. I’m so proud of you Alex, and I know your dad would be too.”

  I smiled the whole way home. Bring on Broadway. I was ready.

  Well, almost.

  Chapter 20

  In and Out

  Little by little, opening night crept closer. I was fitted for costumes and had publicity photos taken. The summer ended. John went off to college, and I entered tutoring again. For the first time in a while, I was in “school” with other people—the other Billys in the show. To meet our educational requirements, we had to do a certain amount of tutoring per month, so company management provided us with teachers and space at Ripley-Grier Studios. Given our packed schedules, it made sense to do as much as we could in the same place where we rehearsed.

  At one of the first sessions in September, I arrived at Ripley-Grier to find the room empty except for a guy about my age who had dusky skin and thick, curly black hair. He slouched comfortably in one of the chairs, tapping a pen on the arm.

  “Hi,” he said, leaping up to shake my hand as I entered. “I’m Liam Redhead.”

  He said it as though he expected me to know who he was, but I had no clue. My eyes drifted up to his hair, which was anything but red.

  “You’re—”

  “Not a redhead.” He smiled. “I know.”

  “I was going to say, you’re in the show?”

  “I’m playing Billy!” he responded proudly.

  “Me too.” I smiled. I’d heard there were new Billys coming, but I didn’t know they’d already been cast. It would be nice not to be the new kid anymore. “I’m—”

  “I know you!” Liam interrupted. That’s how he was, always full of energy and bursting in a million directions. “You’re Alex Ko! I watched the Meet the Billys video on you.”

  I blushed. “Ugh,” I said. “I was a mess that day!”

  “What what?” Liam laughed. “You were awesome! So what do I have to look forward to?”

  For a second, I had a weird feeling of déjà vu. This was just like me with Trent two months ago, except now I was the one answering the questions. How quickly things change around here! I thought. One minute I was the new kid, and the next I was the old hand.

  “It’s intense,” I started. “Really intense.”

  I told Liam all about the rehearsal process, or what I knew of it so far. In return, he told me that he was from Canada, had never been on Broadway before, and was mostly a dancer, not an actor. I was excited we had that in common. At first, I found Liam kind of pretentious, but within minutes I realized he was just excited and nervous. By the time our tutor showed up, he and I were fast friends. Of all the Billys on the show, he was the one I was closest to.

  I never knew who I would run into while doing things for the show. Once, in between rehearsals, I heard some of the ballet girls whispering backstage.

  “She was the voice of Princess Jasmine!” said one of the younger girls, giggling.

  I looked where she pointed. A tiny, beautiful Filipino woman stood serenely talking to one of the male dancers. If she really was Princess Jasmine, I had to go introduce myself. I’d grown up watching Aladdin!

  “Hi,” I said to the woman’s back, “Excuse me, but—is it true? Were you Princess Jasmine?”

  The woman turned and laughed. “Yes,” she said. She stared at me for a long moment, then broke out a dazzling smile. “I’m Lea. Lea Salonga.”

  “Alex Ko,” I said, and shook her hand. “I play Billy.”

  I didn’t know it at the time, but Lea Salonga was a huge deal. She’d been in everything—Miss Saigon, Les Mis, you name it. She hadn’t just voiced one Disney princess, she’d done two, Jasmine and the title role in Mulan. Meeting her was an honor.

  “That’s a tough role for someone as young as you,” she said, giving me an appraising stare.

  I nodded, suddenly bashful.

  “Something tells me you’re up for it, though,” Lea continued. She reached out to stroke my hair. “Here,” she said suddenly. “Let me give you my number. I have a good feeling about you.”

  From that moment on, Lea became a huge supporter of mine. Though she was incredibly busy and frequently traveling, she made a point to see me every time she was in New York, and she made sure to come to my opening night.

  Not long after meeting Liam and Lea, I had my first dress rehearsal and started getting ready for my put-in. A put-in is the first time you do the full show, with all the real actors, musicians, and lights—everything but the audience. That’s why they call it a put-in, because they literally put you into the existing show. Mine was scheduled for the last day in September, exactly one week before I opened.

  The night before the put-in, Kate called me at home.

  “How’d you feel about dancing at Lincoln Center?” she asked without preamble. My heart skipped a beat.

  “Great!” She didn’t have to ask me twice. “Why? What’s up?”

  “You and the other Billys are getting the Arts and Letters award from the YMCA on behalf of Billy Elliot. We want you to dance ‘Electricity’ at the reception. It’s two weeks after you open.”

  That meant it was in . . . three weeks! I couldn’t believe it. In the space of a month, I’d be dancing on Broadway and at Lincoln Center. Now all I needed was Carnegie Hall!

  When I told Mom, she called everyone we knew in Iowa. Most of our friends and family had arranged to see my opening night, but this was a great alternative for those who couldn’t make it.

  “It’s like I get two opening nights,” I told Dad in my prayers. “And you get to see both of them.”

  Buoyed up by Kate’s call, I sailed through my put-in. By the time my first performance rolled around, I was nervous but confident. Kate, Stephen, Julian, BT, Joan, Ann—everyone did an amazing job of preparing me.

  Opening night was fantastic. Absolutely, positively one of the best nights of my life. Not just because I was dancing on Broadway, or because all of my family and friends were there, or because I’d mastered tapping on a raked stage, but because I’d made good on my promise to Dad. I had found the best teachers, studied as hard as I could, and finally, I had made it.

  But that’s not to say it was all fun and games. Immediately after opening night—while I was on my way to meet my great-grandmother and the rest of my family and friends at a nearby restaurant to celebrate—Stephen grabbed me.

  “I hate to do this to you,” he said, “but Trent is sick. He was supposed to go on in tomorrow’s matinee, and we need you to replace him.”

  Of course, I said yes, which meant I had to go to bed immediately. I was at my own party just long enough to drink a cranberry juice, order a Caesar salad to go, and thank everyone for coming. They were disappointed, but they understood. The show, as
they say, must go on.

  So I danced in the matinee the next afternoon, and in the Friday-night show after that. Mom came to every one of my performances, and each felt easier and more natural than the one before. I spent the weekend rehearsing, training, and trying to beat Matt at Wii Sports. On Sundays, Mom, Matt, and I always got bagels from our favorite bakery. As I sat at our small dining table smearing cream cheese on a toasted cinnamon-raisin bagel, Mom looked at me.

  “You’re scheduled for the Wednesday matinee this week,” she said. “How do you feel about it?”

  “Great! They’ve been giving me notes, but so far everyone says I’m doing really well.”

  “That’s awesome!” said Matt. “I liked it.”

  “If you’re feeling comfortable, I might not come to this performance,” Mom said. “But only if you feel okay with that.”

  “That’s cool,” I told her. I’d known it would happen sooner or later, and I felt ready.

  Mom looked at me with a doubtful eye.

  “No, really, Mom. It’s fine.”

  “If you say so,” she replied. “But call me as soon as you get out. I want to hear all about it.”

  “Break a leg.” Matt laughed. “Or, well, don’t.”

  Mom rubbed Matt’s head as I devoured my warm, freshly baked bagel.

  It was the little moments like this that made me miss Dad the most. Sometimes I dreamed he was just in the kitchen pouring himself some coffee. I’d catch myself listening for his footsteps, or wondering why he was taking so long, and then I’d remember. If someone had told me two years ago that one day I’d forget that he was gone, I’d have thought they were crazy. But you can’t stay sad forever. At some point, the huge ball of hurt and loss that I carried inside me had dissolved. It was only after those moments when I entirely forgot Dad had passed that it all came rushing back.

  “You miss him, don’t you?” Mom said quietly, her bagel forgotten on her plate. She put her hand on top of mine. “Remember, he’s always with you. Whether things are at their best or at their worst. He’s here.” She tapped my chest, right above my heart.