Curtain Up (11 page)

“The sound situation?”

I motioned for Deon to explain.

When he'd heard the options, Austin took a minute to consider the problem. “I think maybe we should just skip the PA entirely,” he decided. “Handheld mics can create feedback. And if we amplify the singer but not the piano, it'll be really hard for the audience to hear the music.”

“So no sound at all?”

He grinned. “Just the kind the actors can make on their own.”

“In other words, ‘sing out, Louise'?”

Austin laughed at my
Gypsy
reference. “Exactly, Mama Rose.”

I turned back to D, who looked disappointed. “Maybe next time,” I told him. If he only knew how much I was hoping for a next time.

“Let's hear from our wardrobe mistress,” I said, smiling at Maxie. “Now that you've read the script, do you have any ideas for costumes?”

“Lots,” said Maxie. “I see black leggings with sequins for the dance number. Tons and tons of sequins. Multicolored. And wigs! You've got wigs, right?”

Sure. I keep them with my sound equipment.

No spotlights, no microphones. And where was I going to get tons and tons of sequins on our all-but-nonexistent budget?

“Make a list of everything you're going to need,” I advised, handing my pad and pen to Maxie. “Wigs, Christmas lights . . . all of it.” Then I patted them each on the shoulder. “And keep up the good work.”

Sighing, I went to join Austin at the keyboard. It was time to hear what kind of vocal talent we had.

“Okay, everyone,” I said, waving them over. “We're going to begin the singing auditions. Please hold your applause
until everyone's had their chances. Now . . . let's do this!”

Mia and Sam were every bit as amazing as I'd expected them to be, maybe even better. Mia sounded like a young version of Idina Menzel, the actress who originated the role of Elphaba in
Wicked
. And Madeline, Teddy, Gracie, Eddie, and Spencer surprised us with their strong voices. Mackenzie and Elle were a little bumpy but not awful.

Then there were Jane and Travis . . .

Yikes!

Yikes
wasn't
my
word; it was Susan's. Unfortunately, she made the mistake of saying it out loud.

Travis was only a few bars into his song, “Happiness,” when Susan gasped and blurted out the
y
word.

Travis stopped singing abruptly. Everyone froze, wide-eyed . . . especially me.

I knew Susan hadn't meant to be rude; she just couldn't help herself. Travis really was
that
bad. Still,
yikes
didn't exactly fall under the heading of “constructive criticism.”

As soon as she realized what she'd done, Susan's face crumpled into an expression of absolute regret. “Oh, Travis! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to say that. Honest! It just kind of
slipped out.”

To my shock, Travis didn't seem in the least bit bothered by Susan's outburst. In fact, he laughed. “I know I'm not a singer,” he said, with a careless shrug. “I can't carry a tune to save my life. Nobody in my whole family can. We think it's a DNA thing.”

Austin cocked his head. “You're okay with that?”

“Sure,” said Travis. “I'm only singing now because I thought it was a mandatory part of the audition process. Like the dance lesson.”

“Well,” I said, “technically, it is. And I appreciate you giving it your best shot.”

“I know my singing needs work,” said Travis with a laugh. “But I more than made up for it in the dance auditions, didn't I?”

“You did,” I agreed. And it was true. After Mackenzie, Travis might have been the best dancer we had.

“Who's next?” said Austin.

“Me,” said Jane, hurrying across the floor to stand beside the keyboard.

“Which song will you be singing for us?” I asked.

Jane gave me a confident smile. “ ‘Maybe.' From
Annie
.”

One of my favorites. I settled back in my folding chair and listened as Austin played the intro. Jane pushed back her
shoulders, lifted her chin, and began to sing.

Uh-oh.

What had Travis said about his singing difficulties running in the family? I found myself wondering if perhaps he and Jane were distant cousins.

I snuck a look at Susan, who was, for once in her life, speechless. And I knew why. This went way beyond
yikes
.

Then I caught Austin's eye; he looked as uncomfortable as I felt. I allowed myself to glance at the rest of my actors. It was clear that Mia and Sam knew Jane was off-pitch. Even Travis, who was basically tone-deaf, knew Jane was off-pitch.

In fact, it seemed that the only person who didn't know how unbelievably off-pitch Jane was . . .

Was Jane!

Because she was belting out those lyrics and smiling as though she'd already won the Tony award.

“Maaaaaaay-bEEEEeeeeeee!” she finished, her arms outstretched and her eyes shining.

Silence.

Then I guess Mia remembered what I'd said about holding the applause till the end because she began to clap. As the others joined in, Jane thanked Austin and came over to where I was seated.

She beamed at me. I managed a smile.

“So?” Jane was practically glowing with pride. “Do you think I'll be able to sing ‘Maybe' in the revue? Do you think I have a shot at doing a solo?”

“Um . . . well . . .” I gulped again and said the only word that came to mind: “
Maybe
.”

Once again I stood in front of my actors in their folding chairs, Austin by my side.

“I just want to say,” I began, “how happy I am that all of you have decided to be part of Random Farms. Now that I know what you can do, I'm more certain than ever that we're going to put on an awesome show.”

I nodded for Austin to take over.

“Anya and I are going to cast the show and post the list on that bulletin board over there.” He pointed to a corkboard near the entrance. “So please be here tomorrow morning at ten o'clock, ready to learn your parts.”

Susan reminded everyone to bring their dues money—ten dollars each—and suggested they pack a lunch and a water bottle as well. I was glad she'd thought of this; nourishment hadn't even crossed my mind.

As everyone got up and shuffled toward the door, Susan let out a heavy sigh and grabbed the broom.

“What's that for?” asked Travis.

“This place isn't going to clean itself,” said Susan. “We promised Mr. Healy we'd tidy it up—inside and out—in exchange for letting us use it as our theater.”

“Oh,” said Mia. “Well, I've got nothing to do for the rest of the day. I can help.”

“So can I,” said Teddy. “I'm great at yard work.”

“I'll dust,” Maddie offered. “But I don't do windows.”

“I'll do the windows,” said Jane.

The next thing I knew, my cast was hard at work inside and outside of the clubhouse. I was thrilled because it had never even occurred to me to ask them, let alone that they would offer! This seemed like a good sign. They were already taking pride in this endeavor. Deon said he should leave to go find our footlights, and Sam apologized profusely for having to head home to work on his curveball. Still, we had all the help we needed, and that freed up me and Austin to work on the casting.

“Thanks, guys,” I said. “It would have taken Austin and Susan and I forever to do this ourselves.”

“We know,” said Teddy with a big grin. “But now you can get right to casting the show. And the faster you do that, the
faster we find out what parts we're getting!”

“We should do this in private,” I suggested. I didn't want anyone to know what parts they were being considered for until we'd finalized our decisions.

I led Austin outside (where Teddy was already making tremendous progress with the dandelions), and we took a seat under the tall oak tree. He was holding the script; I had my legal pad.

“First things first,” said Austin, flipping the pages of
Random Acts of Broadway
with a practiced eye. “I'm going to have to add a few scenes to accommodate everyone, since, ya know, you decided we were keeping them all.”

I frowned slightly. “Is that a problem?” I asked.

“No, not really.” He held out his hand for my pen. “I just wish you had given me a clue that you were planning to do that.”

“I would have,” I said, sounding more defensive than I'd meant to. “But I didn't have a clue myself until it happened.”

I watched as he made a few notations on the script. “We can use the dance they learned at auditions,” he said. “Mackenzie can help take it up a few notches. And I think if we add these acting roles, there'll be a part for everybody.”

He showed me the script, where he'd written in the titles of four new numbers:

“Speaking of ‘a part for everybody . . .,' ” I said. “What was that all about with Sophia?”

“What do you mean?”

“You promised her a lead.”

“Technically,” he said, leaning back against the tree trunk, “
you
promised her a lead.”

“I did not!”

He laughed. “Oh, c'mon. This is Sophia we're talking about. You promised her she could be in the show. We should have read between the lines and known she would demand something big. Did you really think she'd be okay with some little background role?”

I scowled. “Okay, first of all, in my theater, background roles are not going to be considered little. I know some people think actors who don't have lines or solos are less important
somehow, but did you see how much talent we have? I think we should do everything we can to make even the smallest roles stand out. Then no one ever has to feel like a . . . a . . .”

“A chorus orphan?”

I gasped, because that sounded an awful lot like an insult. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” said Austin. “I'm sure you were an awesome chorus orphan.”

“Okay, just to be clear, I worked really hard at it.”

Austin shook his head. “I'm not saying you didn't. But there are leads, and there are supporting characters, and then there are the ensemble members. It's a hierarchy. Plays are stories, and stories can't be about
everybody
.”

Did he think I was an idiot? I
knew
that. Of course I knew that! But as I'd watched all those kids working so hard and doing so well, it had occurred to me that maybe in this theater, we could do things differently. Maybe we wouldn't have to divide actors into “stars” and “background” in a way that was so black-and-white. I had loved every minute of my role in
Annie
. I'd done my best and I knew I'd made an impression. Okay, fine, so maybe Rooster and FDR had had the chance to make a bigger impression, but that didn't take anything away from me. Stars couldn't
be
stars without a cast full of supporting characters. In fact, one of the things
I'd learned was that it was often more difficult for an actor to figure out how to react nonverbally in a scene than it was to deliver dialogue. Or, as the director had put it, “A good actor can respond with lines, but a great actor can react without saying anything at all.” That was an important lesson.

I wished I could express this to Austin in a way that would make sense, but he was the one who was so good with words—not me. I would just have to wait and show him what I meant . . . and I couldn't do that until we had our revue up and running.

So I took a deep breath and made myself calm down.

“Fine,” I said. “Sophia is a talented girl. It won't hurt the theater to showcase her a little bit.” I nodded toward the script. “So what do you have in mind?”