Colors (2 page)

The door to the rehearsal hall opens. I jerk my head up, startled. My mental vacation to Satine Land distracted me. Eased me. Billy and I are definitely ready to wow these three somber figures now filing in. Following them, a man walks straight to a piano across the room… the silent guy who’s always in S’s choir room.
Stop it, Neil. This isn’t reality TV. This is
total reality
.

Two of the first three take places at the table. The third heads toward us, his footsteps beating a hollow sound across the dance floor. I recognize him from his pictures. After all, he
is
famous.

“Okay, Billy, come on,” I whisper to myself as I stand.
And help me, Satine.
I can’t help but smile inside.

“Neil Darrien.” The man holds out his hand for me to shake. “I’m Scott Scheer, director of MTM.”

I shake his hand firmly and smile.

“No introduction needed,” I say.
Seven time Tony-winning director. Everyone knows who you are.
“I’ve been a fan of yours for a long time, Mr. Scheer.”

I feel a rush, shaking his hand—it’s like I’ve touched greatness. Corny, I know, but I can’t help it. This man is a musical theater god.

Scheer smiles, the first indication I get the man isn’t all business.

“Call me Scott. I’ve heard good things about you from Carrie Walter. You know, before her marriage, she did three of my shows. I think Carrie could have been quite a star, but she chose teaching and family. My loss, your gain.”

“Ms. Walter is the greatest, sir,” I say, and then I remember how Billy
and Satine
would handle this…. “Scott,” I add, newly manufactured confidence oozing, I hope. I’m hesitant at using this great man’s first name, but my coconspirators aren’t.

“And who is this lovely lady?” Scheer gestures to Aunt Jenny, who stands beside me.

“Oh!” I feel heat rise in my face as I redden, embarrassed I hadn’t introduced the most important person in my life. “This is my Aunt Jenny—Jennifer Hall.”

Get it under control, Neil,
Billy warns. I relax; the tension building in my shoulders releases. I even silently giggle down deep, picturing the lovely Satine massaging my shoulders, like a trainer right before their boxer steps into the ring.

“Good to meet you, Aunt Jenny.” Scheer—no,
Scott
—takes her hand in his and holds it a moment. I like Scott. And I can see why he’s a successful director. He has a
let me guide you, let me protect you
thing about him. Instinctively and instantly, I know I would do anything for Scott Scheer. And anybody that nice to Aunt Jenny is a winner in my book, any day.

Scott points toward the table. “Sam Rollings, our acting instructor, and Mona Tulle, our dancing-slash-movement teacher. They’ll be checking you out today.”

Shuffling papers, the two half wave at me. Lost in the paperwork, they act as if they have no time for me, no business with me.

Tough audience? I hope not.

“Don’t mind them.” Scott winks. “They take their jobs way too seriously. The good news is they know talent when they see it. What did you bring for us today?”

“Billy Bigelow’s ‘Soliloquy’ from
Carousel
.”

Scott raises one eyebrow. “That’s a tall order, but if you think you can pull it off….” His voice trails off as he strides to the table to sit with the other two, the tribunal that is to decide my fate.

It’s make it or break it time. Give me strength.

“Give your charts to Tom there, and whenever you’re ready, go ahead.” Scott nods toward the piano, then takes his seat.

Aunt Jenny squeezes my arm. She leans over, whispers in my ear. “Your parents would be so proud.”

Would they? But I don’t have time to think about that. I’ve got Billy, Satine, and Aunt Jenny on my side. What more can I ask for? I’m all set to wow.

Aunt Jenny sits back down. I smile at her for luck. She mouths “Break a leg,” the traditional theater luck wish, and I make my way over to the piano. After conferring with the accompanist, I take my stance in front of the mirrors.

I morph into character. Okay, I tell myself, Billy has just been told he is going to be a father. At first he is his old self, bursting with sexual confidence, congratulating himself on making a son, but he slowly realizes he could have a daughter. Then he knows nothing will keep him from doing right by her and taking care of her.

Tall
order? We’ll see about that.
I feel Billy Bigelow fill me, tug at me. His fire and passion overtake me, and I’m ready.

I nod to the pianist. At the nod, a tiny moment of doubt. I squash it.
Nothing will stand in my way. I’m the greatest star. Oh, great, now I’m channeling Streisand in
Funny Girl
.

As I begin, it all floods back, my performance in
Carousel
last year. Ms. Walter said I was one of the best Billy Bigelows she had ever seen. And right now, I am definitely
feeling
Billy Bigelow. My body seems to pull itself up, making me taller and more erect, Billy’s bravado, his overwhelming desires filling me, pouring out of my mouth, and erupting into the song.

As Tom rumbles the bass notes on the piano, I finish the last phrase, swelling with Billy’s triumphant declaration that he will do anything to take care of his little girl—that ominous statement that foreshadows Billy’s fate in the show. I hold the last note, like I’m holding on for dear life, not wanting to finish. I fear their reaction. But at the same time, I know I nailed it. If they don’t take me, it’s going to be their loss.

Total silence pervades the room. I hear my heartbeat echo in the cavernous rehearsal hall. Nah. That can’t be. But still, my heart’s racing, and it feels like everyone in that space can hear the
thump-thump-thump
, like a drum. Right now it wouldn’t surprise me if everyone in the room got up and conga-ed around to the beat.

Stop it, Neil. Just keep it together.

The three jurors are buried in paperwork, busily scribbling notes.

I look over at Aunt Jenny. Tears are streaming down her face.

Well, at least she liked it
.

Finally, Scott looks up, a huge grin on his face.

“Fine job, Neil, fine job,” he declares. King Arthur has just tapped me on the shoulder with his sword. I am knighted, Sir Neil, a loyal knight of the Round Table.

“You really captured Bigelow’s character, his heat, his tenderness,” Rollings adds. “I was totally caught up with your Billy.” He adjusts himself in the chair, waves a folder slightly, as if he is trying to cool himself off. Did I just turn this man on with my song?

“And where did you get that body?” Mona Tulle’s question is a bit wicked. Then, I guess, she remembers her role here, to evaluate my physical ability to portray a character. “Total control.”

Thank you, Billy. And thank you, Satine.
Does my face show how happy I am, not only because I wowed these two, but also because I turned them on?
You’ve got it, Neil.

Scott leans in toward his cohorts, and so softly I can’t hear a word, they discuss my performance a bit. When they finish, the three are totally in business mode.

“Pull up a chair—you too, Jenny—so we can discuss this,” Scott says.

I drag two chairs over to the table.

“Okay, kid, tell us what you’ve done. Carrie told me about your school stuff—El Gallo in
The Fantasticks
, Albert in
Bye, Bye, Birdie
, and of course, Billy Bigelow, but surely you’ve done more than that. You don’t get as good as you are after only four roles.”

“At our community theater, I did four supporting roles—Tommy Djilas in
Music Man
, Cornelius in
Hello Dolly!,
Rolf in
Sound of Music,
and Marius in
Les Miz
. And last summer, I was Troy in our community college high school theater workshop production of
High School Musical
.”

“Pretty impressive résumé,” Sam Rollings says, nodding.

“Thank you, sir,” I say.

“Anything before those?” Tulle asks. No trace in her voice that she, just a few moments ago, was a bit
hot and bothered
by me. “You move like you’ve been doing this for years and years.”

I remember the first role I was cast in…. Oliver, the homeless boy. I rehearsed the role three weeks, three of the happiest weeks of my life. Three wonderful weeks realizing I could jump out of my own skin and into a character’s to escape.

But that awful moment came… my parents were killed by the carjacker. If Dad hadn’t fought back… if Mom had just stayed put.

Don’t do it, Neil. Don’t cry. Not here. Not now. Do not come unglued. Professionalism. Hold yourself together. That will impress them.

And what made it worse was Brother Gramm was the one who broke the news to me… and
comforted
me.

Good. Hate the memory; love the way it keeps you from crying. Anger can do wondrous things.

My life came apart. There was the funeral, and Aunt Jenny took me away. Away from
Oliver!
.

“No—nothing earlier,” I lie, signaling Aunt Jenny
Oliver!
is off-limits. Aunt Jenny, in tune with my every emotion, almost imperceptibly nods.

“Well,” Scott says, “I think there is no doubt you would be an asset to our program. You’ve got it all—a strong voice, great acting skills, and your movement is right on the money. I think I can speak for all of us in saying we want you at Midwest.”

OMG.
Do I look the fool I feel right now? A few minutes ago, my mind was racing about how attractive I was to two of these three, a man and a woman, instead of focusing on the task at hand. Now, like a kid, I want to burst into song, tap dance across the room, and hug all three of them, Tom the piano player too. This is my dream, coming true in a giant way. MTM will set me on my path, my path to Broadway, my path to a theater career. I’ve wanted this my whole life. Now it’s happening.

I punch the air above me and shout, “Yes!”

“Well, we can certainly see how you feel, Neil,” Scott says, applauding. His cohorts join him. They even give me a standing ovation. Wow.

“Now.” Scott turns to Aunt Jenny as everything dies down. “I’m sure Neil has told you all this before, but as a parent myself, I would be remiss if I didn’t go over all of it again just to make sure you understand what and who you’re entrusting your kid to.”

“Thank you, Mr. Scheer,” Aunt Jenny says.

“Now, now, now, none of that
Mr.
stuff. I’m Scott, this is Sam, and this is Mona, Jenny. And you too, Neil. If you’re going to join us, you have to realize we are not some
gods
out there. We’re just people who want to help you make good theater—to help you learn how to put on a show.”

I grin. I like Scott. I like him a lot.

“Now, Jenny, Neil,” Scott continues. “MTM is a full, hands-on musical theater workshop. Our students produce four complete Broadway-style shows a year. We are affiliated with the university. Technically, Sam, Mona, and I are adjunct professors. You attend classes in the Rs—readin’, ’ritin’, and ’rithmetic—in the mornings. The afternoons belong to us. That’s when the torture begins.” Scott switches to a Nazi accent. “Ve vill be your vorst enemies!”

“Stop it, Scott,” Mona Tulle shouts, reaching across Sam to slap Scott’s shoulder. “You’ll scare the boy.” I like her. And I tell myself I imagined her reaction to my performance. This woman is a professional, not some horny cougar lusting after a teenage boy.
Brother Gramm really did a number on you, Neil.

“Yeah, Scott,” Sam Rollings chimes in. “Don’t believe him, Neil. Our program is hard, and yeah, sometimes it may feel like torture, but we believe it’s good training for a career in musical theater.” Total professional.
What a fool you are, Neil.

Practice, Neil…. Sam. And Mona.

Scott laughs at his tablemates. “You two spoil my fun.” Then he turns back to me and Aunt Jenny. “Anyway, ours is a complete four-year program. When you finish, you will have completed a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree. And you will have the experience and training you need to wow any theater company I know of—and I know ’em all.”

Aunt Jenny speaks, hesitating a moment. “Ms. Walter said there could potentially be some scholarship money offered.” She pauses. “Neil has the talent, but we’re a little short on the cash.”

“No problem, Jenny. We are blessed with a benefactor who, in large part, funds our program. I can offer Neil full tuition for as long as he stays in the program—which will be the whole nine yards, I’m sure. This boy has talent.”

“Hear, hear,” Rollings—no, Sam—says, raising a can of pop he has in front of him.

“I second that,” Mona chimes in.

“So,” Scott says, “are we all agreed? Neil Darrien will be the next rising star of MusicTheatreMidwest?” He raises his eyebrows and grins at me and Aunt Jenny.

I nod, squashing my urge to scream, jump, whoop.

“Now, my boy,” Scott says, getting all fatherly on me, “all you have to do is graduate from high school.”

He puts his hand on my shoulder.

I flinch and pull away.
Why did I do that?
Quickly. I can’t offend Scott.
Turn on Billy’s charm again, Neil.

“I’ll try, by God, I’ll try,” I say, flashing Billy’s toothy smile, quoting from
Carousel
.

“I like your enthusiasm, Billy.” Scott laughs. “We’ll see
you
in the fall.”

“P
OUND
OUT
that beat, guys,” Ms. Walter shouts above the music. “Ladies, keep the scat crisp.” She points to the altos. “Now, sell it, gals.”

Looking like a crazed traffic cop or a deaf woman on speed, Ms. Walter’s hands fly through the air, one beating out a rhythm, the other coaxing just the right sound.

Like two trains in a head-on collision, the pounding rhythm of the boys and the lightning fast
doodly-atta, doodly-atta
of the girls come together, bringing “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” to a huge finish.