Dramarama (12 page)

He had to reprise it three times before the audience let the show go on.

It was so different doing it in performance. With people responding. Looking up and laughing. Clapping after the songs. Seeing my parents smiling in the middle of the second row.

In dress rehearsal,
Guys and Dolls
had seemed good and clever and bright—but with an audience it became buoyant. Glittering.

There were six curtain calls. And I thought: I have to find some way to stay in this world.

I
CHANGED MY
clothes, said good-bye to my parents, and headed over to the cast party in the black box theater. Curfew was extended. I started out dancing with Demi and Lyle (as far away from Blake and Mark as we could get), then with Iz and Candie, then with Nanette, then with the other Hot Box Girls, and suddenly, someone put his hands over my eyes. Theo? No. James. “You were great tonight,” he said. Covered in butter, I thought. Theo ran away without kissing me, but James is covered in butter. “You were, too,” I said, smiling up at him. Which is rare—when there’s a guy I can smile up at.

“And you look fantastic.”

“Six pounds of makeup will do that to a girl.”

“No, it’s not that,” James said. “Hey, you wanna get some fresh air?”

I looked around. It was Theo I wanted, but all the evidence suggested I didn’t have a chance. I couldn’t even see him anywhere. “Sure.”

We stepped out into the muggy summer night, and James started walking. “Where are you going?” I laughed.

“I don’t know,” James answered. “Walk with me.”

But he did know. We went right down to the beach. The site of “several midnight debaucheries resulting in expulsion,” according to Lyle.

We took off our shoes and waded into the water, chatting about the show.

Then James took off his shirt and plunged in.

He had a good body. Here he was, doing something close to a jumbo-pounce. So I thought, why not?

I’m not Sarah with Lurking Bigness anymore. I’m Sadye, who is Big already. Sadye, who just performed in the most awesome show. Sadye, who is living the way she wants to.

I thanked the goddess Liza Minnelli that I was wearing a bra that matched my underpants, pulled off my dress, and went swimming.

James swam up to meet me, and before I knew it, we were kissing. I had never in my whole life kissed a boy with just my underwear on. In fact, I’d only kissed one boy ever in ninth grade. And now, here was boy with a bare chest. His braces were clunky, but his mouth was soft, and we were floating, and the water made us slippery. “I’ve been looking at you for a long time,” he whispered. “Have you been looking at me?”

“Yes,” I answered, lying a little.

We kissed some more, and part of me was thinking that this felt amazing, that this was what I wanted—but part of me was thinking this wasn’t the right boy. It was all moving too fast.

“I’m cold,” I said, pulling back.

“Let me keep you warm.”

It sounded like such a line.

I didn’t want a guy to keep me warm. I wanted a guy to make me laugh and play songs on the piano for me and debate me and tease me and
then
keep me warm. James and I weren’t at the keeping-warm stage.

I splashed up onto shore, shivering, and pulled my dress on over my wet underwear.

“Sadye, wait!” James followed me out of the water. “What’s up?”

“I’m just cold,” I said. “I think I want to go to bed.”

That sounded wrong.

“I mean, you’re great and all, I just—I just want to go home on my own, okay?

“Hey,” he said, pulling on his dry shirt and shaking his hair around to get the water out of it. “I didn’t mean to be pushy. You—you took off all your clothes.”

“I know,” I said. “I changed my mind.”

“Fine.”

“I know it’s probably not,” I said, putting on my sandals. “I know I’m being a jerk.”

“No, it’s fine, really. Whatever.”

“Okay, then. Good night.”

“See ya.”

I left him standing by the shore, but I didn’t go back to the dorm right away. Instead, I went back to the party, my clothes damp and my hair wet, and I danced the rest of the night with Demi.

Theo turned up later, holding hands with Bec.

* * *

I
N ACTING CLASS
, we began doing monologues. A couple days after
Guys and Dolls
performed, I had to stand up and recite a speech from
Medea
. When I finished, Morales brought the entire group around to look at the way my foot had tensed while I’d been speaking. My toes were curled under, he pointed out.

Then he gave a long lecture on leaving our personal
agita
, our tics and pains—and in essence, our personalities—behind as we stood up onstage. People nodded and looked at my foot like it was some festering disease that they didn’t want to catch.

“What if we want to bring our personalities with us?” I asked Morales. “Isn’t that what people do who are method actors? Stanislavski and Strasberg and all that?”

I had read about the Method in a book, before coming to Wildewood. I had figured that since I had no acting training, I should study up on it so I wouldn’t be behind. Basically, the idea is that method actors don’t try to act like different characters. They try to be themselves and just respond to what is happening. They draw on their own personal memories and experiences rather than inventing ones for their characters, and they speak and gesture as naturally as possible.

“Method is for film acting,” said Morales dismissively. “That’s not what you’re learning here.”

“But there have been method actors on the stage,” I persisted. “What about Marlon Brando?”

Morales snorted. “You, whatever your name is. You cannot argue out of the fact that you have a tense foot. You have tensed this foot all through your monologue for a week now. Forget the Method. Forget Marlon Brando.”

“Why?”

“You are not Brando, and you’re not going to reinvent basic dramatic technique by arguing with me. Just attempt to learn what I am teaching. Do not try to be Brando. The man is dead, anyhow.”

“I—” I struggled to find the right words. “I’m not saying I did a good job with
Medea
, or anything. I’m not trying to say I know what I’m doing. I’m trying to have a conversation about acting. About what it means to be an actor. Aren’t there different methods we should have at our disposal?”

“Get your foot uncurled and maybe we can talk about it,” said Morales. But he didn’t ask me to do the scene again.

(click, shuffle, bang, bang)

Demi:
Is it on?

Sadye:
Wait. Wait. Yeah. Okay,
go.

Demi:
It’s July ninth--

Sadye:
No, it’s the tenth--

Demi:
It is? sorry. No idea what
day it is here.

Sadye:
--and we’re recording our
impressions of Wildewood at a
little more than two weeks in.

Demi:
Oh, let’s sing the Blake
song. We need to lay that down
for posterity.

Sadye:
Okay.

Demi:
Sadye wrote me a Blake song,
more of a rhyme, really, to be
like an exorcism.

Sadye:
To get Blake out of his
system.

Demi:
And it is working, can I
just say? I heartily recommend
the nasty Paulson rhyme method
of recovering from heartbreak.
Ready?

Sadye:
Ready.

Demi:
Five, six, seven, eight!

Together:
Blechy, blondy,

Blake the buff,

Looking good

Is not enough.

You can smile

And bat your eye,

Shake your butt

And flash your thigh.

But until

Your IQ’s high,

You will never

Be my guy!

(self-congratulatory clapping)

Demi:
Oh, that makes me feel so
much better! I don’t know what
I ever saw in him.

Sadye:
Muscles?

Demi:
Besides muscles.

Sadye:
Just call me Love Doctor.

Demi:
Love Doctor! All right. Now,
for posterity’s sake, give us
your report. Acting, Singing,
Restoration-Squash-your-boobs-up,
Combat-with-hunky-straight-boys,
Midsummer Night’s Disaster
--whatever you have to share.

Sadye:
In Acting we are learning,
like, the anti-Method.

Demi:
You don’t think Morales is
brilliant?

Sadye:
I don’t know. I thought he
was. He might still be. But do
you think he should be telling
people who are only seventeen
that they’re not Brando?

Demi:
Oh, you’re mad about the
tense-foot lecture. That was
mean, I give you that.

Sadye:
He acts like he can see
exactly what we’re worth and
that’s the end of it. But who’s
to say that’s the case?

Demi:
He is a Broadway director.

Sadye:
Yeah, but we’re not even
out of school and he’s got
everyone pegged already.

Demi:
And?

Sadye:
I mean, of course I’m not
Brando, because Brando was
Brando. I know that. I’m not
trying to say I’m a genius. I
mean, I basically suck at the
moment. But the point is, I
could
be Brando. I mean, I could
be Brando
ish
. Is he so sure by
looking at me that I’m not?

Demi:
Sadye--

Sadye:
Maybe I have Lurking
Brandoishness that would explode
onto the stage if only my acting
teacher weren’t humiliating me
by having everyone stare at my
feet?

Demi:
He’s teaching us to take
direction.

Sadye:
Why should I forget the
Method if I think it’s
interesting? Lots of great
actors have used it. Don’t you
remember that book I had on it?

Demi:
Part of his point is that if
you can’t take the heat in his
class, you won’t be able to take
the heat in the real world.

Sadye:
But don’t you think there
should be a dialogue? Not just
him yelling at me, but more like
a conversation about what we’re
trying to learn?

Demi:
There are twenty people in
that class, Sadye. Not just you.

Sadye:
Yes, but they’re like
sheep. Like acting sheep who do
whatever he tells them to do.

Demi:
I don’t think of it that
way.

Sadye:
Then how do you think about
it?

Demi:
Like learning from a master.

Sadye:
(pause)
We should change
the subject or we’ll have our
Second Official Quarrel.

Demi:
Fine.
(another pause)
I had
a first costume fitting today.
For
Birdie
.

Sadye:
You did?

Demi:
Yes. And I have one word for
you.

Sadye:
What?

Demi:
Gold lamé.

Sadye:
That’s two words.

Demi:
All right. Two words. But
gold lamé. Tight, tight, gold
lamé.

Sadye:
Speaking of costumes, I
have a word for you, too. For
Midsummer
costumes. Actually, I
can’t believe I haven’t told you
this yet.

Demi:
What?

Sadye:
Unitard.

Demi:
Say it isn’t so.

Sadye:
Unitard. Unitard. Lyle
didn’t tell you?

Demi:
I am sure Lyle doesn’t want
to think about it.

Sadye:
Unitard. Unitard!

Demi:
I love that word.
A Midsummer Night’s Unitard
.

(click)

M
IDSUMMER
rehearsal, three weeks in. Reanne gave Titania this blocking to do that involved her circling me (the tree) in a relaxed, flirtatious fashion, the way someone might do with an actual tree that was round and not person-shaped—and Titania tried to do it, but she ended up feeling my boob by accident and then tripping twice over the balled-up bits of canvas at my feet, and the whole move seemed so wrong; it was an important speech, she was tripping and stumbling during it. I wasn’t stable and so I moved by accident when she hung on me; and the fact that I was a person (and not a tree) was going to end up pulling focus from Titania.

So I interrupted. “Reanne,” I said. “I’m going to distract everyone by accident, here,” I said. “When she hangs on me, I’m going to wobble, and everyone’s going to think I’m coming to life.”

“Thanks, Sadye, but we want to show Titania’s intimate connection to the magical forest here. That’s the reason for the blocking choice,” said Reanne.

“I’m sorry I grabbed your boob,” said Titania.

“S’okay,” I said. “That’s not the point. I just think you’re going to get caught in all this canvas, and I’m going to wobble, and no one’s going to pay good attention to the drama going on with Bottom.”

“Sadye,” said Reanne gently. “We’ve just put this blocking in. If it doesn’t work after we’ve done the scene several times, we can restage it. But for now, let’s try to make it happen.”

“Can’t we try it without the trees?” I said. “Or what if the trees dance some kind of forest fairy dance and then left the stage so as not to steal focus? Like a scene-setting thing?”

“Looking at it from here, I don’t think you’re stealing focus, Sadye.”

“What if we moved Bottom and Titania downstage, to bring the audience’s attention closer to them? And maybe dress the trees in costumes, to make the distinction clearer between trees and characters?”

“Let’s run it, okay, my dear? Give it a try.”

I admit I rolled my eyes a bit when Titania stumbled again trying to swing herself around my trunk.

But honestly.

* * *

A
FTER REHEARSAL
, I was heading off to Stage Combat with some of the mechanicals when Reanne pulled me aside and asked me to stay. “I want to tell you, Sadye, that you’re a more powerful person here than you realize.”

“What?”

“You have a strong personality and a lot of magnetism. I know you’re not too happy with your part, but I gave you that part because I thought you’d have the strength to stretch yourself in ways that not many actors can—and because you seemed to have the confidence to take on a part most other girls wouldn’t want.”

“Oh.” I was flattered, but I didn’t buy it. Honestly, I think they were short one boy, I was the tallest girl they had, and from my audition they knew I could at least speak Shakespearean English, if not actually act it.

“You have the power to make this production as good as it can be,” Reanne was saying. “We’re in your hands. But you also have the power to erode our work with your negativity.”

“What do you mean?”

“The other mechanicals, Titania, their faith in our ensemble is being disrupted by your vocal lack of support for what we’re doing. If you could embrace your part and the world we’re trying to create, I’m sure the rest of them would follow your lead. People will follow you if you get on board, Sadye. But at the moment your interruptions and bad attitude are spreading like a cancer through this production, and I know you don’t want that to happen. Do you want that to happen?”

“Of course not.”

“Then please. Bring a positive headspace to the next rehearsal, and I’m sure you’ll see the play begin to come together.”

“Okay,” I mumbled. “Sorry.”

Reanne hugged me. She was a huggy woman. “You’re more important than you know, Sadye.”

I thanked her, and walked outside, heading toward my Stage Combat class.

I couldn’t help but notice that I’d been told to shut up.

L
ATER THAT
afternoon, I got out of Stage Combat and was walking to the cafeteria when I saw Demi and Lyle ahead of me on the path.

Demi reached over and took Lyle’s hand. Just for a moment—squeezed it and dropped it. Then Lyle leaned over and whispered in Demi’s ear, letting his hand touch the back of Demi’s neck.

There was something between them. I could tell.

“What’s up with you and Lyle?” I whispered to Demi while we were in line for tacos and Lyle had gone to get pasta salad.

“I should have told you, Sadye. I’m so sorry.” Demi looked contrite.

“But what is it?”

He took a plate of tacos and put them on his tray. “I don’t know what to say. It’s only been a couple days.”

“A couple days?”

“I should have told you. My bad.”

“You wouldn’t mess with Lyle, would you?” I said. “Not like, to get back at Blake?”

It popped out of my mouth, accusing without my intending to. Because Lyle looked so happy. In love.

Whatever was going on between them, it was a big deal to Lyle. That was certain.

“Sadye, what are you saying?” Demi stopped halfway to the soda machine and looked at me.

“I hope you’re not messing with him, that’s all.”

“What?”

“I hope you’re not messing with him.”

“I heard you,” Demi said under his breath as people milled around us. “I—where does that come from? No one said I was messing with anyone.”

“I know, but—”

“Really. When have I ever messed with anyone? Tell me.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“How did you mean it, then? Because it sounds to me like you’re saying I mess with people.”

“I—” This was all going wrong.

“Whose side are you on, here?” Demi looked hostile. “Mine or Lyle’s?”

“Yours. Yours. Of course, yours.”

“Then act like it.” Demi turned his back and went to sit with Lyle and Nanette.

D
EMI AND LYLE
fell in love. Real love, based on huge admiration for each other’s talent, passion for the theater, and a hunger for affection, plus a true interest in what the other one had to say. They accepted each other’s faults, and teased each other, and had occasional spats about stupid things, and made up. They found each other beautiful and adorable. They told each other secrets.

Within days they were an established couple, so clear in their connection that even Candie just accepted them as a pair. Lots of nights they held court on the roof of the boys’ dorm. After rehearsal or evening rec, the two of them made the eighteen-minute beer run down to the convenience store off campus, then lay on the roof drinking and staring at the stars, while acolytes like me, Iz, and Nanette basked in the glow of their happiness.

Demi was at home with Lyle at Wildewood. More at home than he ever had been anywhere else in the world.

More at home than he’d been with his parents.

And more at home than he had been with me.

Gone was the straight-boy drag and the drab don’t-notice-me clothes. And gone with them was the urgency of the Sadye/Demi connection, what we had when I was the only one who loved what he was really like.

Demi at Wildewood and Demi with Lyle was Demi freed from the half-closet he’d lived in since long before we met. It was Demi who knew who he was— without fear.

I tried not to be jealous.

I
GOT BACK
into Demi’s good graces two days after our fight by writing a song. Made an early morning run down to Cumberland to buy notebook paper and a hotpink pen, then wrote it out in nice handwriting and passed it to Demi after Acting.

Demi and Lyle,

Yes, Lyle and Demi,

Oh, they will be together

In health and in phlegm-y.

Lyle and Demi,

Yes, Demi and Lyle,

Although I must admit

That their age is juvenile,

Lyle and Demi,

Yes, Demi and Lyle,

Their bond is even stronger than

A hungry crocodile!

They love each other so,

It’s not just about the sex.

Yes, their bond is so much stronger than

Tyrannosaurus rex!

All was forgiven. Our Second Official Quarrel was over.

Still, I think that was when I began to lose Demi.

* * *