Screen Play (12 page)

“But Ben and I had a meeting earlier today, and I want you to know there’s no way that’s ever going to happen. I wish you no ill will, because that’s bad luck in the theater, but I won’t have you shadowing me around in costume every night hoping that I somehow fall off the stage and break my neck so you can go on in my place. Is that clear?” Her voice rose slightly in pitch and volume.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, confused by Helen’s suspicions, the boiling paranoia now seeping through her fractured thinking.

Helen turned back to face her reflection in the mirror, dabbing on powder, and I thought of a wicked queen in a Disney fairy tale who looked to the mirror’s image to tell her future.

“Helen, I’ve never once wished you any ill will. I’m
your
understudy. It’s my job to be here for you just in case …”

“I know all about why you’re here,” she said, turning her half-powdered face in my direction, snapping at me like Audrey Bradford
.
“Don’t waste my time with your explanations. I’ve already discussed it with Ben, and it’s decided. From now on, I’d like you to be where I can’t see you, preferably not in costume, and definitely not backstage. Don’t you have a cell phone or something? I don’t know why you couldn’t be outside the theater entirely. Why not sit in a coffee shop across the street? You can be wherever Ben wants to place you, but for the good of this show, you can’t be where I don’t want you.”

She turned one more time to face me, peering out of the tops of her eyes as if staring over the rim of bifocals. I stood up, since I couldn’t think of a reason to stay any longer. This woman was nuts. She was a lioness killing off any competition who threatened her.

“Unbelievable,” I said, dumbstruck. I moved toward the door to leave.

“Now, don’t pout about it. Being understudy for me in this show is the biggest break in your career. We’re all called upon in life, and especially in the theater, to do things for the good of the show. I’m sure you will have your day in the sun, but this is mine. And
this
is how it has to be.”

Helen shifted gears on a dime, going from demanding diva to sweet as a grandmother.

“There, there, I hope you don’t think me too harsh. I do like you, Harper, but I must put my performance and this show above all else. You do understand that, don’t you? Good.”

I closed Helen’s dressing room door behind me and stood there, stunned. I felt a presence watching me from down the hallway, and I turned to see Ben standing outside his office.

“Please don’t tell me Helen just had a word with you?” he said, though it had to be obvious by the look on my face. He stepped closer, placing his hands on my shoulders, then held me, his compassionate face inches away and bathed in backstage lighting.

“I specifically told her I would be the one to talk to you about this,” he said with a measured tone.

Ben escorted me to the office, shutting the door behind us. He wore a haggard expression I didn’t expect to see on a Broadway director with a hit play. He gestured for me to take a seat and took his on the corner of the desk.

“Helen called me this morning and told me she didn’t want you around the production any longer. I asked her why, and she told me you were bad luck, which doesn’t make sense, but that was her reasoning.”

Ben blew out his frustration and anger.

“I think this is all about jealousy,” he continued. “She had a fit when she saw there were different Audrey Bradford
costumes for the two of you. She demanded I explain why her understudy should have a better wardrobe than the star. Then her agent-slash-pit-bull, Maureen Burns, read me the riot act for twenty minutes over the phone asking why I would want to
purposely
aggravate the star of the show.”

Ben closed his eyes, massaging his eyebrows with his thumb and forefinger. “Helen is a legendary actress, but she’s also one royal pain in the backside.”

Ben stood. “I’ve been working on this show every day for a year and half. Suddenly, we have an overnight hit on Broadway. We just got word that
all
the tickets have sold out, but I’ve got a leading lady who knows she’s a star and she wants to push it as far as she can.”

“It’s all right, Ben. I understand.”

“This isn’t even the show I intended to direct. But we had to have a ‘Helen Payne’ if we hoped to make any money, and we had to stay inside the box creatively and do things old school.”

Ben continued talking, and I realized he wasn’t consoling me anymore, but popping the cork on something that had been bottled up inside him for months.

“She also called Tabby this morning demanding a new makeup stool be installed in her dressing room before tonight’s performance. The other chair hurt her back. Then that Burns woman called to tell me
I agreed
to pay Helen a percentage of the box office receipts should the play sell out. She said that’s a standard part of all of Helen’s agreements. Funny how I hadn’t heard about this until now.”

“It’s a wonderful play, Ben. I’m sorry it can’t all be about the acting and the story the way it used to be.”

Ben stopped pacing and sat in the chair next to me, placing his hands on mine, searching my eyes for an answer or perhaps a simple peace. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I don’t mean to burden you with all this. It’s just a little insight into the magical world of theater production. Seems like the longer I do this, the less it’s about art and the more it’s about the business.”

He looked at me without speaking for a moment. “It
was
all easier then, wasn’t it? The rush was bigger, the egos were smaller. It all made sense.
Love
made sense.”

“We were young and romantic, all of us were, Ben. We studied acting, lived it, breathed it. The passion poured over into everything we did.”

He was quiet.

“Do you remember?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“What happened to us?”

I snorted. “You know what happened. You went to London to work in the National Theatre. It was the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“Indeed, it was. I got a chance to direct for money, and never looked back. Maybe that’s my problem, Harper. I never look back, and I lose focus on what really matters.”

Neither of us spoke. His words resounded in the room, impossible to ignore. I felt angry, hurt, and wanted to quit. To escape someplace where life was easier, but I couldn’t imagine anywhere fitting that description.

“Which sadly leads me back to Helen’s third demand of the day.” Ben shook his head, exasperated. “I hate doing this, Harper. It goes against everything I stand for, and you know I hate the politics. But I’m going to be honest enough with you to say this to your face. I am going to do what Helen wants because I’ve got two business partners who backed me on a risky venture and I owe them my loyalty, and because there are only forty-one shows, but I won’t do it without apologizing to you. Professionally, you’re a talented actress. Personally, well …”

“I understand. I can’t say I like it even a little bit, but your hands are tied. I’m not sure what my role is here anymore.”

We stood and embraced in another awkward silence. It was a lingering hold on each other that reminded me of the Ben Hughes I knew at Northwestern, when we were both acting students and starry-eyed boyfriend and girlfriend.

“Harper, you’ve always been a genuine person,” he said, his mouth next to my ear. “It’s your heart, I guess. You seem even more real to me now.”

We stepped apart, not knowing what it meant.

“So, as much as it pains me, it would probably be best for you to just find a seat with George and Perry at the soundboard. Tabby or I will let you know from night to night what’s going on.”

Ben’s tone was beleaguered, defeated. He’d never treated actors this way.

“It’s okay. Looks like I’m going from understudy to undercover.”

That brought a smile to Ben’s lips, but it soon faded along with any remaining hope I had of rediscovering my career as an actress.

On the night of the second performance, I sat in the sound booth with George and Perry. I didn’t see Ben again that night, or Helen, or even Avril, except for watching them perform Act 1 under the bright lights onstage. At the beginning of Act 2, Tabby sent a text message to my phone that read:

You can leave now.

I stood up from my seat, grabbed my leather jacket from the back of the chair, and left quietly. Except for ushers and a man leaving the restroom, the lobby was empty.

I let myself out through the front door.

~
Thirteen
~

Back in the quiet apartment I took a long, hot shower. The tears didn’t come until after I’d slipped into my pj’s and curled up in bed with the lights off, my comforter pulled up to my chin. I must have cried for half an hour, wiping away tears of confusion and rejection with tissues I found in the bathroom. I set the box within easy reach on the nightstand.

An hour later, I went into the kitchen in stocking feet, poured a bowl of Cheerios, and carried it to the alcove. I pulled the tasseled chain on the desk lamp and felt its heat instantly warming the back of my hand.

I logged onto LoveSetMatch.com to search for life in cyberspace. There were two new messages, each bearing its own intriguing title.

LIFE IN CALIFORNIA

LEAVING TOMORROW

I opened “Life in California” first, from James.

Dear Harper,

I’m glad you wrote back. I’m not sure what I’m doing in an online dating service either. Some people are able to pick up the pieces and move on more easily, I guess, but for us, it’s been very slow going. My friends worry that after two years, I’m just not getting back on the relationship horse fast enough, so to speak. So, at their well-intentioned urging, I’m finally interacting with the opposite sex. Believe me when I say, I’m fine with you being in New York City. That’s as close as I can possibly handle.

–James

I shifted in the chair, lifting my foot to the pillow on the seat and resting my heel there. I didn’t know what to write, but I wanted to say something.

Dear James,

I know what you mean about enjoying the distance. What I’ve gone through this year doesn’t compare with your loss—not by a long shot, but it’s given me a new compassion for people facing adversity. Just a short note to say I’ll be praying for you, for peace in your life, as well as healing. I won’t pray for the dating and marriage stuff. That’s all too crazy anyway.

–Harper

Seeing that Luke hadn’t taken my hint and closed our match, I opened his message hoping for something to cheer my mood.

Hey Harper,

Close us out? No way! : ) This is my main line of communication when I’m clearing land in the Northeast Territory. It’s my social network when I come back to the cabin after work and cook dinner. Tonight’s menu? Canned stew and dinner rolls.

My ten days is almost up here, then it’s back to civilization: Wasilla, Alaska, population 9,000. I’ll have to tell you about my other job sometime—bush pilot and delivery guy. I fly supplies to missionaries in remote regions.

So, I’m not planning on closing our match, at least not until I get to Wasilla. : )

–Luke

Our lives couldn’t be more different. Not only was Luke three thousand miles away, he lived in wilderness. He had to drive for days to see another living soul. I had to take the train to Central Park just to see trees.

My cell phone rang. I slid back the desk chair and dashed to the bedroom to answer it.

“Harper? It’s Avril. The show’s over, and I just now heard what happened to you. I can’t tell you how disgusted I am with you-know-who. I about lost it with Tabby when she told me.” The crowd noise behind her made it difficult to hear. “The whole cast knows, and they aren’t too crazy about it either.”

“They’re not angry with Ben, are they?”

“Go higher up the food chain. I love actors. They’re totally self-focused half the time, but some things will definitely pull them together. The star kicking out the understudy is one of those things. It’s ticked off a lot of people.”

“Like who?” I asked, covering my ear to better hear her.

“Well, Tabby’s not real thrilled. Marshall wants to file a grievance with Actor’s Equity. My gosh, Harriet said—and this is an exact quote—she said, ‘I’m gonna go in there and strangle that woman.’ She was obviously joking, but I think you get the picture.”

“I knew I liked Harriet.”

“Oh, Harper, this whole thing stinks. How about I bring you some of those Chinese egg noodles you love?”

“And maybe some hot and sour soup?”

“Yes, definitely. I’m super pumped from the show, so I hope you aren’t planning on going to bed anytime soon. We can stay up all night talking, eat Chinese food, and I’ll fill you in word for word on what everyone said tonight. It probably won’t change things, but it might make you feel better.”

Avril was right; talking wouldn’t change my situation, but her call did make me feel better.

I closed the cell phone and set it on the desk. Luke’s message stared at me from the computer screen. For a second time, I thought about shutting down our online match because of the distance, and yet a part of me agreed with his line of reasoning. What harm was there in just having fun with it? I’d paid for the membership.

Luke,

Life in New York couldn’t be more different from where you live. The only trees here grow in Central Park, and I’m fairly certain even the governor can’t cut them down.

You’ll have to tell me more about piloting goods to missionaries, unless Wasilla proves too great a distraction for you.

–Harper

By 10 p.m., Avril had returned home bearing gifts: Chinese carryout boxes, one with curry chicken, another with brown rice, and an extra-tall container of hot and sour soup. I peeled open the lid with my thumb and inhaled the comforting aroma.

“Fill me in on everything that happened tonight,” I said, getting two soup bowls from the cabinet behind the island.

“No one likes seeing a member of the cast mistreated, even if that someone is the new understudy,” she began. “You don’t know Marshall very well, do you? He’s a by-the-book kind of guy when it comes to this stuff. Actor’s Equity union member. If anyone does something wrong to a fellow actor, Marshall’s right there. Tabby’s like that too, but you have to know Helen hasn’t exactly been kind to Tabby either.”

“She hasn’t?”

“Are you kidding? Helen will only talk directly to Ben about things, even small matters. She considers Tabby to be of no importance; she won’t even acknowledge her. Harriet’s just on your side. I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but she made that very clear in her own outspoken way.

“And I spoke with Ben after Tabby told me what happened, and he’s just down. He should be basking in the show’s success, but it’s only made Helen harder to work with. To make matters worse, Ben told me Helen’s agent, Maureen Burns—whoa, is she one scary broad—insisted on dinner with him and Helen after the show, which Ben was looking forward to like a root canal.”

“Poor guy.”

“It’s a ruckus, but you know how the winds can shift with a cast. They can be standoffish about accepting a newcomer, but you were definitely getting some good vibes backstage tonight.”

“I’ll take what I can get. There’s been such a rivalry hanging over this cast. Helen’s against Tabby, Tabby’s hostile to me, Helen and her agent are going after Ben. There’s such a spirit of acrimony. It’s not right.”

Avril took a bite of noodles dangling from chopsticks. “I don’t know why it’s that way, but yes, I’ve definitely noticed. As for the show, the audience absolutely loved it. People are so excited to be in the theater because every other Broadway show runs until ticket sales dry up, but with
Apartment 19
, there are only forty shows left, baby, and we’re out.”

“Thirty thousand tickets on an island of eight million.”

“There were actually scalpers outside the theater tonight. Oh, and get this, when I walked out onstage in the first act, I could literally feel the excitement in the theater like it was a rock show. It’s crazy, so crazy I’m actually thinking of inviting Jon to come see me in the play.” Avril smiled at me, her own problem resolved. “Tabby told the cast there are a few Annie Oakleys reserved for us to invite friends.”

“Have you told him yet?”

Avril sighed. “No, and he hasn’t mentioned anything. All the advertisements just mention Helen, not me, and he’s too busy to sit around reading theater reviews. So, it will be a surprise.”

I was tempted to give Avril my disapproving face, but just kept it to myself.

“I was going to tell him yesterday, but it was a timing thing. I mean, I really don’t think it’s that big a deal. So what, I haven’t told him I’m actually a
working
actress. There’s probably things he hasn’t told me, but now that the show’s a hit, I’m sort of excited to tell him.”

“You’d let him know before you walked onstage?”

“Absolutely. I think some fair warning is in order. I’ll just say, ‘Would you like to come see a show I’m in?’ and he’ll say, ‘Of course! What off-off-off Broadway theater are you performing at?’ and I’ll say ‘Brace yourself, Jon. I’m starring at the Carney Theatre in
Apartment 19,
and I’ll leave a ticket for you at the Will Call window.’”

I smiled. “You know, he may actually go for that.”

Avril set her chopsticks across the dinner plate. “It always works out, Harper. You just have to learn to go with the flow.”

At 1:43 a.m. I was awakened by the sound of someone talking in our apartment. A woman’s voice, raspy and low, was coming from the kitchen. Startled, I raised up on one elbow to listen.

I tossed off my covers and jammed my arm into the sleeve of my robe, yanking open the door to find a sleepy-eyed Avril emerging from her bedroom across the alcove and looking like a mirror’s refection of myself. We’d both heard it, the amplified breathing and the woman’s voice.

“Hello?”

The apartment was dark but for the whisper of yellow light coming from a night light next to the sink, and a pinprick ruby dot the answering machine displayed.

“Harper, this is your agent, Sydney Bloom. Will you please pick up the phone? Harper, I realize it’s late, but I have to talk to you. Please call me as soon as you get this message.”

We both charged into the kitchen and pushed the button for the speakerphone.

“Hey, we’re here. What’s going on?” I said, my voice rough with sleep, edgy from the rush of adrenaline.

“Good. I caught you. For a minute I thought you might be out somewhere. I tried reaching your cell phone, but it goes directly to the message. Anyway, that’s not important. Harper, are you sitting down?”

“No, I’m standing in the kitchen with Avril. Sydney, what’s going on?”

“Here’s what’s going on, Ben Hughes has fired Helen from the show. Apparently, her agent requested a business dinner right after the show tonight, or last night, whatever. Anyway, Maureen Burns has been Helen’s agent forever and has a reputation for giving directors migraines. Maureen told Ben they had a right to some of the box office for Helen’s performances. After going back and forth for an hour, Maureen wouldn’t budge, and Ben told Helen she could clear out. He agreed to pay Helen for Sunday and Monday night, but said she wouldn’t be performing on Tuesday. So guess who is?”

“Are you kidding? Ben fired Helen from the show?” I said.

Avril looked at me with an exaggerated look of shock.

“Sydney, this is incredible. But how could Ben do that?”

“Ben had already spoken to his business partners. Apparently, she’d brought this up to him before, and they agreed it wasn’t in her contract. It’s a money issue pure and simple, and I guess Helen’s been making some other demands that haven’t gone over well, and this was the last straw. As for the tickets, the producers are willing to risk that the interest in the show far outweighs the number of ticket holders who will demand a refund. Ben just telephoned me to write up a contract. You’re moving from understudy to lead role. Harper, you walk onstage tonight at the Carney in
Apartment 19
.”