“Yes.” The mom nods. “Stay very blessed.”
“But don’t count your blessings before they hatch.” I laugh. They only stare quizzically at me. “It was a joke.” I shrug. “So smile while you still have teeth?”
They don’t smile. Instead, they exchange expressions that both seem to say, What a weirdo, quickly turn, move down the hallway, and disappear around the bend.
“I thought it was funny.” I turn to Mom. “I’m funny, right?”
“‘I like, love Greece’?” Mom rolls her eyes. “Who says that?”
“People who love Greece?”
“Jerzie?”
I look up.
Nigel, one of the production assistants who’s been helping to facilitate auditions, is standing in the doorway to the rehearsal room.
“They’d like to see you again.”
Of course this is the moment that I realize my bladder is about to explode. I stand so quickly that the metal chair wobbles beneath me. “Would it be okay if I ran to the bathroom?”
Nigel slides off his cap and runs a hand through his matted mess of dishwater-blond hair. “Uh. Yeah, I guess. Hurry up though.”
“I will!”
I’m almost at a dead run as I make my way over the linoleum flooring of Beaumont’s rehearsal studios. The bathrooms are at the opposite end of the hallway, so I’m a bit out of breath as I push open the heavy door that leads into the ladies’ restroom and move into one of the bathroom stalls.
It’s my seventh audition for Roman and Jewel. Is this what all Broadway stars have to go through?
I still have the Playbill for the very first Broadway show I ever saw. It’s stored safely in a Ziploc bag in the top drawer of the tall dresser in my bedroom, where I keep all my stage memorabilia. Phantom of the Opera was celebrating its twentieth anniversary at the Majestic Theatre, and Mom and Dad had scored third row center seats. They both graduated from the University of Rochester in New York and have always been big theater nerds. Which explains why, at six, I was listening to things like Lin-Manuel Miranda’s In the Heights instead of “the wheels on the bus go round and round.” That song makes me so dizzy.
Anyway, on the drive up to see the classic Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, as we got closer and closer to the city, giant billboards started lining the freeway.
Wicked.
The Lion King.
Hairspray.
The Little Mermaid.
Each billboard seemed to be welcoming us, like giants with rectangular-shaped hands pointing toward the promised land. Right this way to glory, they all seemed to say. My face was pretty much smooshed against the glass as I gazed up at the signs, imagining what it would be like to be connected to something so otherworldly. And then, when we came out of the Holland Tunnel and rolled into New York City, I seriously started crying. I didn’t even care that my brother, Judas, who’s two years older than me, was laughing and calling me queen of the drama dorks. Seeing those skyscrapers reaching over the horizon for the first time, driving down tree-lined streets with beautiful brownstones, the hordes of pedestrians rushing under covered walkways... Don’t ask me how I knew (I mean, I was only six), but I knew I belonged.
I was home.
* * *
After emptying my bladder of the near pitcher of water I ingested, I rush out of the stall to wash my hands and give my natural hair, which is pulled on top of my head in a high ponytail, a quick fluff. I twisted it last night, so it’s all coily and full the way I like it. I splash a bit of water on my face and watch the droplets slide down my cheeks and drip back down into the sink. Should I be wearing makeup? That other girl was wearing a full ton of it. My skin is dark brown, like Lupita Nyong’o’s, which Mom says is gorgeous and I want to agree cuz like, Lupita is ridiculously pretty. But sometimes I have my doubts about what I look like and how people perceive me.
Blotting my face dry with a paper towel, I can’t help but wonder what sort of privileges could be awaiting me backstage at a Broadway theater. I hear the stars of the shows have their own personal dressers. I’ve done theater my whole life; at school, local city theater, I even did a show at Aunt Karla’s church. She goes to one of those megachurches in Brooklyn, so it was kind of a big deal. Still, no matter the show, I’ve never had anybody help me get dressed and undressed. That’s rock star status.
I yank open the heavy bathroom door, toss the paper towel into the trash, and rush back down the hallway. Nigel is leaning against the wall, staring at his phone.
“Hey.” I’m all outta breath. “I’m ready. Sorry about that.”
Nigel nods. “Come on in.” He motions to my mom. “You, too, Mrs. Jhames.”
“Me?” Mom stands. “You sure?”
“I don’t give the orders, I just repeat them.” He pulls open the door.
Mom stuffs her cell into her purse, and we follow Nigel inside the rehearsal space.
At the far end of the room, three people sit behind a long, rectangular folding table. The casting director, Sandi Finn; the director, Alan Kaplan, and... When did he get here?
“Have a seat, Jerzie,” Sandi says.
Sitting beside Sandi is the writer and creator of Roman and Jewel. Robert Christian Ruiz! What the...? When—I mean, how did he get here? Did he sneak in while I was in the bathroom?
I pull at my ponytail and smooth out my T-shirt. Maybe I’m literally shaking, because Mom places a hand on my shoulder and whispers, “Relax, Jerzie.”
I nod in reply.
Robert Christian freakin’ Ruiz studies me as I approach the folding chairs like a timid bride headed to the altar.
“Hello,” I squeak as I slowly take a seat.
“Jerzie Jhames.” Robert Christian Ruiz speaks. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“It is?” I reply breathlessly.
They all laugh.
“I mean.” I take a moment to compose myself. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Mr. Ruiz.”
“God, am I that old?” He leans back in his chair. “Call me Robbie.”
“And don’t you dare call me Mr. Kaplan.” Alan runs a hand over his bald head. “I am old. But I don’t take kindly to reminders.”
“Stop.” Robbie laughs. “You’re not that old, Alan.”
I love Robbie’s accent. It’s super Bronx. Plus, I know from reading all about him that he was born and raised in East Tremont. I don’t have a Jersey accent. Some words, I guess. Actually, when I’m visiting my aunt in Brooklyn, her friends always say, Girl! Where you from? Jersey? So whatever. Fine, I have an accent. I grip my water bottle and exchange a nervous glance with Mom.
Nigel is kneeling beside Robbie now, typing something into his phone as Robbie speaks softly to him. Nigel speaks to Alan. “You want anything?”
“Coffee. Black,” Alan replies without looking up, deeply engrossed in his own phone. I’d guess he’s typing up an email. Probably so much to do when you’re a director on Broadway.
“Got it. And just the espresso for you.” Nigel nods to Robbie. “Sandi?”
“I’ll take an espresso, too. And one for Mae. She’s stuck in traffic.” Sandi pulls her long brown hair into a bun on top of her head. “Bring the raw sugar please. And stirrers.”
“Copy that.” Nigel stuffs his cell into his front pocket and rushes from the room.
“We have another set of auditions in a half hour,” Sandi explains to us. “We’re pretty much stuck in these seats till sometime tonight.”
“We’ve got so many people to hire over the next couple of days.” Alan scratches his bald head, and I notice his eyes look tired. Like he could use a nice long vacation that he’s not gonna get anytime soon.
Something seems weird. Like, why is Mom in here with me? And why is the pianist packing up all her music and closing the piano? Shouldn’t I be getting ready to sing again?
Alan lean
s back in his chair and crosses his legs. “I wanna apologize for the insane amount of auditions we’ve put you through.”
“It wasn’t bad.” My voice echoes in the large rehearsal space. “I had fun learning the songs.” I twist the cap off my water bottle and take the tiniest of sips to show Mom I got this and will not injure my bladder or choke on any more ice cubes.
“I know Jewel’s songs are intense.” Robbie slides his baseball cap off, revealing a head full of salt-and-pepper gray hair. He definitely doesn’t seem like a fancy New York type at all. Maybe that’s because he’s from the Bronx for real. He’s dressed in simple jeans, sneakers, and a faded Journey T-shirt, and his face is showing signs that he hasn’t shaved in a few days. Little sprouts of unkempt fuzz. You’d never guess he was a millionaire playwright, composer, and actor.
“Yeah. Jewel’s got some tough songs,” I agree.
“You make them sound easy,” Robbie replies. “I watched all the recordings of your auditions. I was captivated. You’re captivating, Jerzie.”
“Thank you!” I scoot to the edge of my chair. “Super confession? I used to think Bernstein wrote the trickiest arrangements. Some of those songs in West Side? Can barely sing along to. But, man, Bernstein’s got nothing on you.”
“You just compared me to Bernstein?” Robbie laughs. “Bless you, child.”
“And Sondheim,” I add.
“Oh, now you just tryna humor me, Jerzie.”
“Are you kiddin’?” I lean forward. “‘Getting Married Today’? It kinda reminds me of the reprise of ‘I Defy’ when Jewel finds out she’s not allowed to see Roman again.”
Alan and Robbie both sort of smirk.
“What?” I lean back now. “I say somethin’ wrong?”
“Not at all, honey.” Alan smiles. “I literally said the same thing a few days ago.”
Robbie holds out his phone and loads his Spotify app. “And look what I was listening to on the way here.”
I squint to see what’s on his screen. “You were listening to Company?” I grin.
“Always gotta check in to Stephen’s arrangements,” Robbie says. “Unspoken Broadway rules.”
Did he really just call Stephen Sondheim Stephen? Like they were old friends or something? Were they? My cheeks are hurting from smiling so hard.
“Jerzie, I think you’re a rare and amazing talent,” Robbie adds.
“Voice lessons twice a week since she was seven,” Mom cuts in. “Piano, too. She knows more music theory than I do. And I have a BFA in music.”
I turn and blink in her direction. I was so focused on the people in front of me, I forgot Mom was even sitting here.
Alan nods. “Her knowledge of music shows. We’ve been searching for Jewel for a long time. We’ve seen hundreds of girls.”
“Must make it hard, huh?” I take another sensible sip of water. Oh, God, now’s the time. I think they’re about to deliver my verdict.
“Yes and no.” Alan runs another hand over his bald head. “Jewel’s a tough character. She has to have the classic Broadway belt.”
That’s me. I’ve got the classic Broadway belt! I taught myself to belt by singing along to Liza Minnelli and Bernadette Peters when I was little. The showstopper, “Maybe This Time,” from Cabaret? I can sing that song like nobody’s business.
“She has to carry the show,” Alan continues. “But also be young and innocent enough to be endearing and believable.”
Young, innocent, endearing, and believable? Check, check, check, and check! “Kinda like Kim from Miss Saigon,” I add.
“Yes,” Alan agrees. “Exactly like that.”
“Well, not exactly like that,” Robbie adds with a chuckle. “Jewel’s gotta be able to rap.”
I can rap! I mean, I’m no hip-hop diva, but I can hold my own with the arrangements. Which are similar to Angelica’s songs in Hamilton.
“You’re the best we’ve seen,” Alan says.
I am?
“You really are. By far,” Robbie adds. But he sounds so sad when he says it. Why does he sound sad?
Robbie slides his Giants cap back on, casting shadows over his dark eyes. “You’re probably too young to be a fan of Patti LuPone—”
I sit up. “Oliver, Anything Goes, Gypsy—”
“She’s like a Broadway encyclopedia,” Mom cuts in again.
“I’m up on the newer stuff, too,” I say sheepishly. “Like, Dear Evan Hansen, Mean Girls, Six...” I trail off, and there’s another moment of silence. What is happening here? “Is everything okay?” I finally blurt.
Now the casting director speaks up again. “Jerzie...” Sandi says. “How would you feel about joining the cast as Jewel’s understudy?”
Understudy? Wait...what? Did she really just ask me to be an understudy? I look at Mom for a reassuring expression, but her face is straight-up lacking in the comfort factor. She’s lookin’ a mixture of shocked, confused, and heartbroken, which is probably how I look, too. My gaze shifts back to Alan and Robbie, and for a second I wait for them to say, Sandi’s just kiddin’, gotcha! But there’s only silence. Painful silence.
“If it was up to us...” Robbie’s Bronx accent pierces the quiet “...you’d be our girl. But there are the powers that be.”
“You’re not the powers that be?” Mom asks.
“In this case,” Alan replies, “the powers that be are the producers who are putting up the millions it takes to fund the production. They want a big name. They’re convinced the show needs it.”
Is that true? I’ve been so excited about possibly joining the cast, I didn’t think about things like ticket sales and whether or not the show would do well. To me, Broadway has always been entertainment. To them, I guess it’s business. An opportunity to make lots of money.
“So I’d be the understudy for that other girl? The one who just left?” Maybe she is a big name, but I’ve never seen her before today. I force a smile, even though the thought of being that girl’s understudy is making me wanna run from the room screaming nooooooo at the top of my lungs.
“It’s not her,” Alan says. “She’s not our Jewel.”
“She’s not?” I’m not sure I wanna know the answer, but I ask anyway. “Then who is?”
“Cinny.” Robbie says it with about as much excitement in his voice as the worker at the movie theater who tells you that if you get the bucket-size popcorn instead of the size you ordered, it’s only a dollar more.
“Cinny?” Mom exclaims.
“Cinny?” I repeat. “Cinny is Jewel? Cinny the singer? Cinny?!”
There’s a strange and eerie synchronization as they all nod their heads in reply. So this wasn’t the final audition to be Jewel. This was the final audition to be Jewel’s understudy.
“Two of the girls in the chorus will be covering Jewel as well,” Sandi says. “So Cinny will have two understudies and a standby. You will, of course, be the standby.”
“What’s the difference between the two?” Mom asks.
“An understudy is typically somebody already cast in the show,” I explain glumly.
“Right,” Sandi adds. “As chorus or another small part. A standby has only one job. To stand by and replace the lead in the event something happens. Sickness or otherwise.”
Exactly. Which means I’m not cast as chorus or another small part. They just wanna pay me to stand around the theater. The job shouldn’t be called standby, it should be called Stand Around And Do Nothing. How do you even brag about this? Sorry, I can’t come to the party, guys. Flip of the hair. I gotta stand around backstage at a Broadway theater and stare at Cinny in case she literally breaks her leg.
Alan sighs. When I met him during the beginning of this audition process, there was a light there. He seems dim now. Like someone blew out his flame. This is not what he wants. I sense it. I feel it. (I mean, I know it, since he
did just tell me. But regardless.)
It is what it is. I didn’t get the part. I’m just an understudy. Heck, I’m not even an understudy. I’m a Stand Around And Do Nothing.
I turn to my mom. “Can I do it?”
“What does being a standby entail?” Mom asks, her voice calm and composed, though her brow is furrowed.
“Rehearsals start right away for the principals. Jerzie will join the cast in a few weeks, but will practice privately right away, here, to learn the songs.”
I tune out as Alan, Robbie, and Sandi explain the particulars to Mom. Nod every so often so it looks like I’m paying attention. Throw in a smile here and there so it appears I’m grateful and enthusiastic. By the time Nigel returns with everyone’s coffee orders, they’re wrapping up the conversation.
“This is gonna be a good opportunity for you, Jerzie,” Robbie says almost apologetically.
“A lot of the Broadway greats started out as covers,” Sandi adds. “You’ll learn so much. You’ll get your Broadway feet wet.”
“Who’s Roman?” I’ve found my voice again.
“Zeppelin Reid.” Alan picks up his buzzing phone to silence it. “Don’t try Googling him. He’s a rare breed of kid who’s not on social media. He’s new. Nineteen. This will be his Broadway debut.”
And it’s official. My heart has shattered into a million pieces. The boy who’s playing Roman gets to be an unknown, not-even-on-social-media debut, and the girl has to be an international superstar. How is this fair? It’s not FAIR! I want to stand on top of my chair and shout, What’s happenin’ here is some serious BS!
But rather than make that dramatic proclamation, I pull my shaking hands apart, grab my water bottle, and take another sip.
“We’re thrilled to have you in whatever capacity we can, Jerzie.” Robbie smiles. “You know, when I wrote these songs so many years ago, it was your voice I heard in my head. Jewel came to life because of you. Not often that happens.”
I know that’s a compliment. But for some reason, it just makes me wanna cry. I swallow to hold back the tears. “Thanks for this opportunity,” I say as evenly as I can manage. “I’m grateful to be joining the cast.” I look at Mom. Her shocked expression has been replaced with the classic, all-knowing Mom look I was hoping for earlier.
Roman and Jewel Page 2
