Curtain Up (16 page)

Before I went to bed on Sunday night, I made a conscious decision not to say anything to Austin about knowing he'd been invited to Daria's. What would be the point, right? The important thing was that he'd sent his regrets and come to auditions instead. And besides, I wanted to be in the right frame of mind as we began week two of the theater.

Actually, I couldn't wait to start rehearsal on Monday morning, and I was confident that my cast would return from their weekend activities relaxed, refreshed, and ready to get back to work.

I was wrong.

The first hour was spent—or, more accurately, frittered away—on everyone recapping their weekend fun. Jane and Elle had won the three-legged race at a neighborhood barbecue, and Mia had sung the “Star-Spangled Banner” to
open Sam's baseball game (so much for resting her voice!). At that same baseball game, Sam had slid into home plate to score the winning run. Problem was, he'd done it face first, scraping his cheek and giving himself a horrible black eye in the bargain.

“I hope you've got enough pancake makeup to cover that,” I whispered to Maxie.

Teddy's family had gone to Jones Beach on Long Island for the weekend, and they'd brought Travis along. Both boys were sunburned almost beyond recognition, which not only made it hard for them to dance, but made them extremely grouchy as well.

We spent a full hour on the introduction number, “Comedy Tonight,” which was an ensemble piece in which the cast basically marched around and shifted in and out of simple formations with the occasional arm movement. It barely qualified as a dance, it was so straightforward.

The number should have been a breeze, but after a weekend of three-legged-racing, sliding, and singing, everyone was feeling pretty sluggish. Teddy howled in pain when Jane mistakenly flung out her left arm when she should have lifted up her right one, accidentally smacking him on his badly sunburned back.

I decided we should turn our attention to costumes, and
I was delighted with Maxie's wardrobe choices! She'd done wonders with the Quandts' hand-me-downs, which she'd combined with some old costumes and castoffs she'd dug out of her own basement. The fittings were going surprisingly well.

Until Sophia got her first real look at her costume for “Castle on a Cloud.”

“It's hideous,” she spat.

I could see poor Maxie was a little intimidated by our resident diva. “But it's perfect for Cosette's character,” she explained.

“
Hmmphf!
” Sophia turned up her nose. “Cosette's character needs to find a better place to buy her clothes!”

“Sophia,” said Austin calmly. “The song is called ‘Castle on a
Cloud
,' not ‘Castle on Fifth Avenue.' ”

“It looks like rags!”

“That's because it
is
rags,” said Maxie. “Cosette is a servant. She's practically an orphan!”

“I
know
that!” Sophia snarled. “But where is it written that orphans have to dress like slobs?”

“Pretty much everywhere,” I said. I took the flower-patterned dress Maxie was holding and thrust it at Sophia. It was an enormous billowy thing that used to be my mother's. The reason it was so big was that Mom had worn it when
she'd been eight months' pregnant with Susan, but no way was I going to tell Sophia
that
. I was glad Maxie had had the foresight to cut the word
maternity
off the label.

“Cosette is a child,” I explained, trying my best to sound directorial. “She's mistreated and hungry and afraid. But the incredible thing about her is that she never gives up dreaming. Even though she's dressed in rags, she still believes in that beautiful castle. That's what the song is about. Now, either you wear the dress or I give the solo to someone else.”

Sophia glared at me for a long moment. Finally she grabbed the costume, stomped backstage, and returned a few minutes later, wearing it.

“I hate it,” she snarled.

“Good,” I replied. “You can use that emotion to tap into Cosette's feelings. I'm pretty sure she'd have hated living in squalor and being treated like a slave.”

Sophia glowered but said nothing.

“Well done,” Austin whispered, leaning in close so only I could hear. “You turned the princess into a servant . . . and you're not even a fairy godmother.”

“Oh, I'm way more powerful than a fairy godmother,” I whispered back with a grin. “I'm the director!”

On Tuesday a bunch of the girls stayed late to work on the sparkly backdrop for Mackenzie's solo.

On Wednesday, thanks to Susan's efficiency, the piano tuner came and saw to the old upright. This made a huge difference in the music quality. Austin was thrilled. When I asked the tuner how much I owed him, he explained that his accounting department would send a bill. I had no idea what it cost to tune a piano; at home, Mom always handled that sort of thing. I was glad we'd collected the dues money. Even though I'd made the unexpected T-shirts purchase, I was sure what was left would cover it.

The plan for Thursday was to do our first complete run-through of the show, from the opening number to the final bows (otherwise known as the curtain call). I was hoping Austin's theme song would be ready by then so we could rehearse it.

“I think we should take our bows in order of age,” Sophia suggested. “Youngest to oldest.”

This seemed like a reasonable arrangement. I was about to thank her for her input when I realized her suggestion was completely self-serving. As the oldest, Sophia would be the last cast member to bow . . . a spot customarily reserved for the star of the show.

“I've got a better idea,” said Austin, catching on at the
same moment. “Let's go alphabetical by last name.”

Sophia pursed her lips but didn't argue.

So it would be Madeline Walinsky who would take the final bow. “Is it okay if I curtsy?” she asked me. “I've always wanted to curtsy to a crowd.”

“Fine with me,” I said, then turned to Austin. “Maestro Weatherly, our theme song if you please!”

This sent a ripple of curiosity and excitement through the group.

“We have a theme song?”

“That's so cool!”

“I bet Austin composed it himself.”

“Are there lyrics?”

“Is there a solo part?”

That last comment, not surprisingly, had come from Sophia.

Austin, who was suddenly looking very unenthusiastic, motioned for me to join him at the piano.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“The theme song's not finished yet. I'm still working it out.”

I smiled. “That's okay. For now you can just play what you've got. As long as they get the gist of it.”

“I kind of wanted to keep it under wraps until it was all
done,” he said. “It means a lot to me, Anya.”

“It means a lot to me, too,” I assured him. “How are the lyrics coming along?”

“Slowly.”

I sighed. “Well, I'm not worried. You'll get them done in time.”

“So . . .,” said Susan from across the stage. “Let's hear this theme song!”

Frowning, Austin sat down at the piano and placed his marked-up music sheet on the easel. He shot me a look I couldn't read, then began to play.

Of course, everyone loved it! When he finished, the whole cast cheered.

“Can you put all our names in it?” Jane asked.

“It's going to be hard to find something that rhymes with Random Farms,” Gracie observed.

“It's catchy,” said Elle. “But maybe it would be better if it were a ballad.”

“See?” Austin grumbled to me. “
This
is why I didn't want them to hear it until it was complete.”

I felt my cheeks turn pink, realizing he'd been right. I shouldn't have insisted. “I'm really sorry,” I said, and I meant it. “I just really wanted to share it with them. I wanted you to put your stamp on this show!”

His only response was to take the theme song sheet music off the easel and replace it with “Comedy Tonight.”

I figured that was my cue to move on. I sighed.

“Okay, people!” I called, turning back to my cast. “We're going to take it from the opening number. Places, everyone.”

I dropped myself into a folding chair, prepared to watch the show from start to finish. The actors were a little hesitant at first, and very cautious, but as they moved from number to number, scene to scene, their confidence grew and their energy increased.

I was amazed at how wonderful it all looked. Sure, there were a few flubbed lines, a few missed steps, but overall, it was looking fantastic. When it was done, Austin and I leaped to our feet and applauded.

From the way he was smiling, I guessed he wasn't upset with me anymore, which was a huge relief.

“Were we really that good?” Mackenzie asked, flushing modestly.

“You were fabulous!” I said. “All of you. There's still some work to be done, but for a first run-through, it was terrific.”

“Do you have any notes for us?” Teddy asked, sitting down so his legs dangled over the edge of the stage.

“Just a few.” I referred to my legal pad. “Elle, you need to be a little louder. Spencer, remember to wait for the laughter
to quiet down before you start your next line.”

Spencer grinned. “You think I'm really gonna get some laughs?”

“Absolutely,” said Austin. “Your comic timing is excellent.”

“Thanks.”

“Madeline,” I said, wagging my finger. “Gum!”

Madeline looked so guilty, I felt compelled to quickly add that her curtsy was top-notch.

On Friday we ran through the show twice before lunch. Then we focused on wardrobe and makeup. That morning I'd given Maxie twenty-five of our remaining thirty-three dollars and sent her to the drugstore to buy foundation, eyeliner, cotton swabs, and disposable makeup sponges. When Spencer and Eddie heard they would be expected to wear makeup, they got flustered.

“What's the big deal?” asked Sam. “It's just colored powder and some other gunky stuff. It's no different than when football players wear eye black.”

“Yeah,” said Travis. “It's like Halloween.”

Austin assured the boys that every major Broadway
performer and movie star spent hours in the makeup chair. Finally they agreed to let Maxie make them up.

Still, when I surprised everyone by letting them go home early, Spencer and Eddie couldn't get to the restroom fast enough to wash the makeup off before setting foot outside the clubhouse. Elle was also happy to get rid of her makeup, but the rest of the girls were thrilled to be going out in public wearing mascara and eye shadow. Of course, if their moms were anything like mine, they'd be ordered into a hot shower before they could say
lip liner
!

When everyone was gone, I cleared my throat and smiled at Austin. I knew it would be a sore subject, but I was simply too curious.

“So . . . about that theme song. Any luck with the lyrics?”

He gave me a frustrated look. “A little. I managed to rhyme
laugh
with
choreograph
, but I'm not sure it's gonna stick.”

“Well, don't worry,” I said. “You'll get it.”

“I'm planning to work on it all weekend,” he promised. “Like I said, it means a lot to me.”

“You'll knock it out of the park,” I said confidently. “And there's a chance we'll be able to start rehearsing it on Tuesday.”

“No guarantees,” said Austin. “But I'll try. Those harmonies need to be worked out in my head before I can teach the
cast. I don't want to do it until I can do it right.”

“Okay, okay.” I held up my hands like I was on the wrong end of a stickup. “No pressure.”

He smiled, but only a little. “I appreciate that. And I'll see what I can do.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to mention that since he had so much work to do on the theme song, it would probably be in his best interests not to accept any pool party invitations that might come along, but I was afraid he might misinterpret that comment as snarky.