Dorothy on the Rocks (16 page)

“It was a late night and I overslept this morning. Some caffeine and a winning lottery ticket and I'll be fine.”

“You and me both. See you at three.” Dee-Honey indulges me
with a quick laugh and then rings off. Sure enough I see that Friday and Saturday are blocked off in my day planner with
Cinderella
written across them in bold letters.

Also in my bag I find an orange, two apples, and a pineapple. What the hell? I must have gotten them on my way home last night. But did I pay for them? I check for my wallet. It's there with a few nickels and dimes and a couple of singles and my emergency twenty stuffed under my driver's license. It wouldn't be the first time that I've helped myself to fruit from the outdoor bins of the numerous Korean delis along the street. But I had never brought home a pineapple. That's like big game. That's like fishing for trout all your life and then one day harpooning a whale.

Oh well, I peel the orange and slice up some apple. Then I feed Bixby and get out my overnight bag. It's almost one o'clock.

By pickup time I'm bright eyed and bushy tailed. When I get to Ninety-sixth Street, Dee-Honey is already there. The back of the van is crammed with suitcases, and the cast is milling around on the sidewalk with coffees and sodas. Dee and Helen Sanders are discussing sinus remedies.

At this moment Gloria arrives at a trot.

“Sorry, I'm late. Thanks for waiting.”

“How'd it go?” Helen Sanders asks, nibbling on some carrot sticks.

“Gosh, I think they really liked me, but who knows.”

“Well you've hit the nail on the head there,” Helen says. “Who the hell knows?”

Dee-Honey honks the horn and we take our positions in the van. Randall holds the front door for Pauline.

“Your carriage awaits, Madame,” he says as Pauline scoots in next to Dee and Randall assumes his place next to Pauline.

“I'm riding shotgun, kids, so fear no evil,” he says as we take off toward the Westside Highway.

I'm sitting between Helen and Gloria in the backseat. Glo plays Cinderella because she insisted that she get to play at least one ingénue in the Little Britches repertoire even though she is five foot nine and has to sing all of Cindy's songs an octave lower than written. Dee-Honey agreed to her request and sewed a ruffle on the bottom of Cinderella's ball gown. Ron, Mr. Prince Charming, is wedged in with the suitcases in the far back. He falls asleep almost immediately. Helen gets out a crossword puzzle and Gloria puts on her earphones and cues up her iPod. I stare straight ahead. It's a six-hour drive to the Cape. If I had a gun, I'd shoot myself.

We stop for gas near Providence, Rhode Island. Everyone gets out for a bathroom break and some food. Gloria pulls me aside.

“I've got to talk to you. My agent thinks I should move to LA. He says I could really do well out there. They have an office there. What do you think?”

“Glo, I don't know. Would you like to live in LA? Do you have friends out there?”

“Not really. It's just that my agent thinks I'm more of an LA type than a New York type.”

“Well, think about it. You don't have to decide right now, do you?”

“The lease is coming up on my apartment so . . .”

“Then do it. Give it a shot. You're young. You're tall. You've got an agent who's helping you. You go, girl.”

Gloria hugs me. “Thanks. I knew you'd know what I should do.”

People always think you give good advice when you give them
the advice they want to hear, and besides it's easy to be decisive when you're dealing with other people's lives.

I go the ladies' room and then get a fish sandwich, a small fries, and a Diet Coke at McDonald's. I also buy a 3 Musketeers bar and a bag of peanut M&M's.

I switch places with Pauline. Randall takes over the driving and Dee-Honey rides shotgun.

We get to the Cape about nine o'clock. We check into the motel and then all head out to Spanky's Fish Net for lobster dinner. Randall orders a pitcher of beer. He hands me a glass. I consider declining it for a moment, but, instead, I toast my fellow actors and drain the glass. It's only beer. It's only one beer, for heaven's sakes. Besides, it's not the beer that gets me in trouble, it's the scotch.

The next morning we assemble in the parking lot. It's eight a.m. Dee-Honey comes rushing out.

“Oh my goodness. Frank just called. There has been a mix-up and the sponsors think we are doing
Rumpelstiltskin.
I'm sure I gave them the right schedule.
Rumpel
is next week. Oh, dear, Frank said the woman in charge kept asking him where the spinning wheel was.”

We all look at each other and for one moment try to calculate if we could actually do
Rumpel
with this cast. I know Randall has played the king and I've played the princess, of course. Ron has done the prince, and it doesn't really matter because if you've done one prince you've done them all. But no one has played Rumpelstiltskin. I guess Gloria could pull it off if she had to—although she'd have to walk on her knees. But then there is a matter of the costumes and, of course, that damn spinning wheel.

“Well, they'll just have wait until next week for Mr. Stiltskin. Besides
Cinderella
is so much more fun. Don't you think?” Dee
says getting into the car. “But maybe we could do a little preview for them at the end of the show. Randall, you could sing the king's patter song and, Maggie, you could recite a section from the tower scene,” she suggests.

“Dee, the kids are eight years old. They're not going to care all that much,” Randall says.

“Oh, all right, honey. I guess it will work out,” Dee says. I catch Randall's eye, mouth a big thank-you, and off we go.

Frank is standing by the stage door finishing a cigarette. “Can you believe it?” he says. “If one more person asks about that damn spinning wheel I'm going to shove Cinderella's glass slipper up somebody's—”

“Hi, honey,” Dee chirps.

“Ass,” Frank mumbles under his breath and takes a drag on his cigarette.

The Cape Playhouse is reputed to be the oldest summer theater in America. It was built in the 1920s when Broadway actors fled the hot city for the cooler New England summers. The walls in the backstage area and dressing rooms are full of production pictures featuring Henry Fonda, Bette Davis, Tallulah Bankhead, and many more.

I stick my head in one of the dressing rooms. Gloria is wiping off the mirror.

“Anyone claim this other seat, yet?”

“It's all yours,” Glo says. “I don't know what is on this mirror. It looks like someone blew their nose on it.”

“Ugh,” I say unpacking my makeup kit. “I'm going to run downstairs and see if the coffee is ready. Do you want a cup?”

“Please, black with two sugars.”

The staff at the Cape Playhouse always provides a fresh pot of
coffee and an assortment of sticky buns and donuts in the green-room. Eddie Houser, who plays Ashes the cat, is sitting at the table eating a powdered donut. He drove up with Frank in the truck.

“Hey, Eddie, how are you? How was your trip up?”

“Well, Frank drives like a maniac, but aside from that it was fine.”

“But I thought you liked that. Living dangerously.”

“Oh, I do, Mags, indeed I do.” Eddie bites into another donut as Pauline enters in full costume.

“Eddie, dear, do you have any false eyelashes I can borrow? I must have left mine in Yonkers last week. I don't know what to do. I've looked all through my things and they're just gone, gone, gone,” she says. “Oh, are these pecan rolls? They look delicious.”

Pauline takes one and wraps it in a napkin. “Yummy, yum. I'll save this for later.”

“I double lash for Ashes, Pauline, I really can't spare them for you. Just use a lot of mascara. Besides, the fairy godmother is not a beauty queen.”

Pauline purses her lips and takes a deep breath. “I'm not intending to be a beauty queen, but I do think it's important that the children see my eyes when I'm working my wonderful magic for our dear Cinderella, but if you think it's more important that Ashes, the cat, has his lashes, that is fine, but mind you—and I'm sure you don't know this or care—cats don't have eyelashes, so that's how silly you look, and I've wanted to tell you that for years but I didn't want to hurt your feelings, but the truth is, dear, you look perfectly ridiculous in that costume—and you always have.”

“Pauline, for goodness sakes,” I say, trying to ease the situation. “Maybe Gloria has an extra pair.”

“No, I'll go on without them. Maybe Eddie's right, no need to pretend I'm pretty. There is nothing wrong with the children seeing a homely fairy godmother.”

“Pauline, you look beautiful with or without your lashes, doesn't she, Eddie?”

Pauline doesn't wait for a reply. She sweeps out of the greenroom in a huff.

“Eddie, how could you?”

“Really, Mags, how couldn't I? She'll get over it.” Eddie refills his coffee cup and heads upstairs to the dressing rooms.

Frank sticks his head in the greenroom. “Half hour to show time.”

Geez, I haven't even started my makeup. Fortunately I'm not on until the third scene. Gloria is already backstage doing her vocal warm-ups. She really does take this so seriously.

I throw on my costume and start to paint my face. I put on a light pancake base and then draw on arched eyebrows. I make rosebud lips and place a beauty mark on my chin. I pull on my wig cap and then the bright red wig that screams “comedy.” I make it to the stage as the show is starting. I find my hoopskirt positioned on the floor next to Frank's booth. I step into it and tie it around my waist while holding the skirt of my costume under my arms. I can't believe hoopskirts were actually once worn in everyday life. But back then they weren't riding subways or elevators. Dee-Honey is at my side. She is playing the ugly stepmother.

“Remember, honey, you help Frank with the throne right after Ashes enters with the pumpkin.”

“Yes, Dee, I remember.”

The great thing about a theater company like this is you get to do everything. Nobody's a star. I just wish Helen would remember
and, speak of the devil, here she comes. She plays Gladiola, the other ugly stepsister, and no one can flounce a hoopskirt like Helen. The last time we did
Cinderella
she almost knocked me into the orchestra pit when she exited the ballroom scene.

Randall Kent rushes up to Dee with his arms extended. “I can't get these damn cuffs buttoned.”

“All right, honey, relax.”

“I told you the last time I did this show that this costume needed major repairs. The pants are practically falling apart.”

“I'll look at it between shows. There dear—all buttoned.” Dee finishes with the cuffs as the second scene starts. He rushes onstage.

“Do I have lipstick on my teeth, Dee?” Helen asks in a backstage whisper. She peels her lips back in a chimpanzee grin.

“No, none at all, dear, you look lovely,” Dee-Honey whispers back as we line up for our entrance.

In the final scene, Randall, the prince's manservant, tries the glass slipper on the ugly stepsisters in a desperate attempt to find the mysterious woman who left it behind. Oh, you know the story. Gladiola goes first. After much jamming and cramming she gives up and then it is my turn as Tilliebelle. Of course this takes some mighty fine acting from me because Gloria's foot is much larger than mine because she is much taller but there is no rationale in the land of make-believe. So I push and grunt and Randall turns his back to me and straddles my leg and tries to get the shoe on my foot. I put my other foot on his buttocks for leverage and, of course I fall on top of him, which gets a big laugh from the audience. Then I grab the shoe and attempt to try it on myself and at this point Randall is supposed to wrestle the shoe away from me, but at that moment one of the kids in the audience has an accident
(euphemism for vomits) and there is scurrying around and a run up the aisle by the kid and the kid-wrangler. Randall loses his place for a moment and forgets to get the shoe back. So when Cinderella sits down to try on the shoe there is no glass slipper to try on. I have it hidden in my pocket. The children know I have it and I know I have it, but no on else does. The show comes to a standstill. I look at Randall who is blustering about. I can't believe he doesn't know where the damn glass slipper is. I have to admit I'm enjoying this immensely. He blusters a while and I wink at the audience and finally they can't contain themselves and give me away.

“She has it! She has it!” they scream pointing at me.

“Give me that shoe,” Randall booms in his best baritone. And the audience squeals with delight and bursts into applause.

I hand the shoe over and we maneuver our way to the end of the show. I think the bit is very funny and suggest we keep it in. Randall is not amused.

“Dammit, Mags, the show is long enough as it is,” he says the minute we get offstage.

“Yeah, but it was funny. The audience loved it and you should have seen your face.”

“Funny for you, my dear,” Randall snaps.

“Yes, Mags, it wasn't humorous for the rest of us,” Helen says, stepping out of her hoop. “Not at all. Some people get piggy when they get in the spotlight, don't they?”

“Piggy, indeed,” Eddie agrees and snorts a few times for effect.

“I thought it was hysterical,” Pauline says. “I loved it. You were very in character. Feel it, I say, let the moment take you.”

“Well thank you, Pauline, I appreciate that. And fuck the rest
of you if you can't take a joke,” I say heading for the dressing room.

“Temper, temper, Mags. It's not pretty,” Randall calls out after me.

There is an hour between shows. I get out of my costume. Gloria comes into the dressing room with a big grin on her face.