Screen Play (14 page)

“What do you think about this, Tabby?” I asked. Tabby leaned against the high back wall of the booth. A hanging table lamp tossed its light on her face in a way that reminded me of the first time I’d seen her at the Carney.

“Helen had to go. You made the right call, Ben. Ultimately, all that matters now is whether or not the production will survive without her.”

“And the cast?”

“I spoke to Marshall and Melissa after last night’s show, before Ben made his decision, and they were open to the possibility then, although no one thought it was likely to happen.”

“Who all knows about this?”

“Everyone in the cast knows now. Helen and Maureen, obviously, and it wouldn’t surprise me if they were contacting everyone they can to try and spin the story their way.”

“Ben already received a call this morning from a
Post
reporter asking for a statement, so it’s out there.”

The front door of Midtown Deli opened, and Avril entered, unhurried and haloed in a splash of sunlight. I signaled to her with a friendly wave, and she waved back, dropping her cell phone away in her shoulder bag and joining us in the open seat next to Tabby.

“Sorry I’m late. Did I miss anything?” Avril said, unruffled by the conspicuously solemn mood.

“We’re talking about the fallout.”

“I think it’s best thing that could have happened to the show. I’ll never say Helen wasn’t a great actress, but there’s been this
tension
in the cast since day one. I think we’ve all been trying to dance around it,” Avril said. “But with Harper playing the lead, that’s not a problem anymore. It’s a whole new ball game.”

“Exactly right,” Ben said, refreshed by Avril’s point of view. “I’ve been feeding this fantasy of doing a more modern production. Well, here’s our chance. Honestly, it’s the only part of what’s going on that really excites me. I’ve been dying to bust out of the conventional wisdom of
Apartment 19.
I’ve got Mark working on a slightly hipper variation on our apartment set, and Harper’s demonstrated she can step outside the lines we’ve chalked for blocking.
So, are we all in agreement?”

Avril said, “Heck, yeah. This is going to be the real premiere.”

“Tabby?”

“It will certainly be an adventure.”

I looked into Ben’s eyes when he turned to me. He was no longer just a boy from Northwestern with dreams of shaking up the theater world. He was the Broadway director making a run for it.

“Harper, normally when an understudy goes on, the play has been running for months and months, and everyone knows how the whole thing works. Nobody knows what tonight is going to look or feel like, because there isn’t time to rehearse with the cast. Are you ready?”

I thought about how Tabby’s taskmaster approach, so unpleasant at the time, had accelerated my readiness to perform. It couldn’t have happened any other way. “I’ve been through the show three times, Ben. I’m ready.”

“Harper, it might be good for you and Avril to walk through the play once—at least selected scenes,” Ben said. “Let Avril get a feel for where you’re taking Audrey. Could you do that?”

“Sure,” I said. Avril nodded in agreement.

“And, Harper … I want you to trust your instincts tonight. Do what they tell you.”

Ben shook his head like even he couldn’t believe we were doing this. “I once thought it’d be nice if Helen took a night off so we could experiment and test this direction for the show. I guess we don’t have to wonder about that anymore.”

~
Fifteen
~

At 6 p.m., Tabby greeted me at the foot of the Carney stage, clipboard checklist close at hand. It was a moment of calm before the storm of the coming performance. I saw something in Tabby I’d missed before, something that can only be revealed through crisis.
She was good at this stuff
, wired for emergencies. In the hours since our lunch meeting, fear had coiled its sinewy vines around from my feet up to my head, threatening to choke the confidence out of me. Tabby expected her back to be against the wall, and she channeled her pragmatism into a practical plan.

The dim houselighting quieted the large, empty room, transforming it into a tranquil world, serene until the evening’s performance when the audience was seated and the actors used their gifts to bring a mirage to life.

“Are you ready for tonight?” she asked.

“I think so. Are we the only ones here so far?”

“Ben’s in his office. Phyllis is here. She wants to make sure all your costume changes are ready. Can I show you to your dressing room?”

We hiked up the loading ramp through the exit door at the left of the stage, fondly referred to as “The Tunnel” by actors, to the backstage level, past two lighting fixtures upended on the floor and old show posters autographed by leading actors and pinned up on the walls. I read the titles and gawked at the names of Broadway and Hollywood stars who had dazzled Carney Theatre audiences decades before us.

Tabby stopped at Helen’s dressing room door.

“I think you’ll be comfortable in here.”

She stepped into Dressing Room
1, flipping on the overhead lights as I trailed in behind her. In a single day, Helen’s dressing room had been swept clean of every remnant belonging to her. Among the missing were Helen’s ergonomic makeup chair, the full-length wardrobe rack that lined the back wall, her cosmetics and personal photos, and the vases of red roses.

In their place, a modest chair with armrests, two Monet prints displayed on opposing walls, a fake ficus tree that I liked for some reason, and a new Bose stereo, factory fresh from its box.

“Ben said you liked music.”

“It’s wonderful, Tabby. Did you do all this today?”

“Most of the items were already here, but Helen had replaced them.”

“Right.”

Tabby moved toward the door, clutching the knob in one hand and supporting herself against the jamb with the other.

“I’m going down the hall to the office. Reporters have been ringing the phone off the hook. Nothing for you to worry about. Be sure to check in with Phyllis right away, in case she needs to alter anything. And, Harper, if you need anything for tonight’s performance or have any questions, just ask.”

“I will.”

Tabby showed her smile to me for the first time; it was a sad but sweet smile. Then she left, pulling the door closed behind her.

A funky floor lamp stood next to the chair. I pulled the dangling chain cord, upsetting the tassels hanging along the bottom of the colorful orange and red shade, which was hand stitched with sunsets, globes, and horizons. A single red rose in an etched crystal vase smiled at me from the makeup counter.

Leaning against the vase, there was a card in a pink envelope, which I assumed was from Ben. The front of the card showed an aerial photograph of a snow-covered mountain. A female climber carrying a hiker’s pack stood atop the summit, beholding its magnificent view. The note inside read:

Climb every mountain.

Love, Avril

Who said God didn’t have a sense of humor? Or the power to move mountains when His timing was right?

I closed my eyes to meditate and pray, letting the room burn away until there was nothing left of it in my concentration but the floor beneath my shoes. God built me a bridge to New York, blew away the smoke of Tabby’s rebuff, and snuffed out the heat from Helen Payne’s fire. I didn’t have the words to express gratitude equal to what He’d done for me, but I could at least be still in His presence.

Lord Jesus, I know this is Your doing, and not my own. Help me play my role well, onstage and in life.

I wanted to speak more eloquently, but the words didn’t come. On the other side of the door, I could hear the muffled sounds of other cast members milling through the hall on their way to makeup and wardrobe.

There were two short knocks at my dressing room door, then Avril showed her sparkling, sunny face.

“Are you ready for tonight?” she asked, as if all life’s best moments should be this surreal. I didn’t have words for Avril either. I only held out my arms, and she entered, her own outstretched. We held each other in an embrace, reminding me of scenes we’d shared on the stage at Northwestern, almost ten years earlier.

She spoke in my ear. “I’ve always believed in you, Harper. You break a leg out there tonight.”

Avril exited, and I left to find Phyllis. Harriet was in the wardrobe room, already in her costume, the dandy-man suit she wore that gave her landlord character. Phyllis looked up from her work.

“Harper, I was planning to come after you if I didn’t see you here in the next minute.”

“Sorry, I came in early, but time is flying by.”

Phyllis ran a sticky lint roller over Marshall’s detective sport coat. His expression was serious—it rarely was anything else. My Audrey clothes were hanging from the rack, face out and dangling over every pair of shoes I’d slip on or kick off during fast costume changes. Belts, jewelry, hats, and a pricey watch were laid out across Phyllis’s alterations table. She made one final pass on Marshall’s coat before coming over to dress me.

“Here, put this one on. I’m normally not the harried type backstage, but we really should have had you in here an hour ago.”

“I’m sorry. Avril and I were rehearsing in the apartment this afternoon and …”

Phyllis smacked at her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Oh, I just realized you probably don’t know the dressing assignments! For tonight, you’ll just have to watch for Tabby’s instruction as you come offstage. Between the two of us, we’ll make sure you get in and out of the right costumes.”

I nodded, trying to keep track of last-minute backstage directions while I tested myself on two hours of memorized dialogue Avril and I had rehearsed.

Marshall left the room for makeup, and I stepped behind a Japanese rice-paper screen to slip into my first costume. How quickly the mood backstage had morphed from “empty and quiet” to circus-like. But instead of the excitement present on opening night with Helen, I saw uncertainty on the faces of the actors and even some of the crew. Our championship team had lost its star player. Reality was sinking in. Helen Payne was a legend. I was a nobody.

“All right, let me take a look.”

I stepped out from behind the screen, and Phyllis spun me around, tugging at my hems, swiping lint off my sleeves, grooming my costume to perfection.

“After makeup, come back down here so I can go over this one more time. And remember, watch Tabby and me for changing cues.”

I responded with a nod of my head before stumbling down the hallway to the makeup room, breaking in a new pair of heels and more than a little concerned about tripping. I looked at the backstage clock. It was already six forty-five. The curtain would go up at seven thirty, ready or not. I could already hear voices out front. It was too early to open doors for audience members, but maybe Ben and Tabby had allowed critics in. I imagined them discussing among themselves how we had ruined a perfectly good show. Other negative voices inside my head were talking too, and I just turned each irritant over to God, yet another pinch of wisdom I’d learned from Bella.

It was seven fifteen when I opened my eyes in front of the makeup mirror to see the new, sophisticated Audrey Bradford staring back at me in lighted reflection.

Laura whisked off the trimmer’s apron, and I slid off the barber’s stool to see my character for the first time in full wardrobe. Slightly spiky hair, dark red lipstick, and penetrating eye shadow to complement the exquisite dress, Laura had somehow pulled off making me look like a fashion model. I was about to say something when Tabby’s voice rang out in the hall.

“Come on, Harper. We need you down front.”

I followed Tabby’s voice down the long production hallway. My hands were sweaty and shaking, my heart drumming so loud I was sure everyone could hear it beating. I could only think about the next step. My legs felt numb and weightless. Turning the corner for the greenroom, I caught a glimpse of the packed house through a gap in the side curtain, the faces of those who would judge my performance. I tried to shake off the mental image and focus on remembering my first line of dialogue, but failed.

Ten minutes before curtain, the quiet cast gathered outside the door of my dressing room. Ben and Tabby offered last-minute instructions and reassurance that the show’s magic hadn’t exited the theater along with Helen Payne.

“Okay, five minutes before curtain,” Tabby said.

Then words spilled out of my mouth before I had a chance to consider them.

“Could we all just join hands and pray for the show?” I asked, lousy at hiding how nervous I was.

I expected eye rolling or disappointed sighs, but the actors gathered backstage at the Carney grabbed hold of each other’s hands and formed a circle. Ben invited those in the crew to stop what they were doing and join us, like we did back at Northwestern when the show was about and included everybody. The circle grew larger to accommodate the crew. Avril squeezed my hand on the left side, and I noticed a smile from Harriet, my protector, supporting me on the right.

“Dear Lord, we love You for the work You’ve called us to, and the talents You’ve given every member of this team. Help us tonight to make use of these gifts and to bring glory to Your name. Amen.”

We broke, and Harriet said, “Helen Payne never did nothing like that.”

Immediately, the backstage lights dimmed.

“Shhh …” Tabby silenced the cast.

The reality that I’d walk onstage in mere minutes fell upon me like a sticky web of fear and heat. I heard Tabby whisper into her headset microphone, “We just finished cast prayer, and we’re running one minute behind.”

Avril said, “Break a leg,” and disappeared stage right for her entrance. A man’s voice came over the house PA.

“Ladies and gentleman. For tonight’s performance of
Apartment 19,
the part of Audrey Bradford will be played by Miss Harper Gray.”

An audible groan of disappointment rose from the Carney Theatre, jeers of dissatisfaction from the balcony, booing from the lower seats.

A rush of fear rippled through my body, making me sick to my stomach. A tear flooded my eye, and a sudden, overpowering grip of panic seized my nervous system. My adrenaline pulsed, my breathing constricted. I couldn’t remember a single word in the script! Phyllis took a tissue from her pocket and dabbed my eye with it, careful to not smear Laura’s makeup.

I closed my eyes and repeated to myself over and over again, “Get a grip, get a grip.”
I heard the whirring sound of the rotor opening the stage curtain. The full lights came up, and I realized Avril had already stepped onstage. She was no longer my friend, but Roxy Dupree, my other roommate. Audrey Bradford’s roommate.

I closed my eyes.
Fix this, fix this. Please, fix this!
Prickly sweat rolled down my back, and I worried about what my costumes would look like after an hour of sweating like this onstage.

When my eyes opened again, I was staring into the face of a concerned Tabby Walker, the woman who told Ben Hughes there were twenty other actors who could walk in off the street and nail the role I was about to play. She took hold of me by the shoulders and looked me in the eyes.

“Harper, get a grip,” she said sharply, but without anger. “You are going to succeed tonight. Listen to me. I can’t do it, but you can. You are a great actress. You’re going to go out there tonight and make this role your own. So let out what God has put inside you.”

Tabby stepped behind me. She laid her hands on my shoulders and literally pushed me toward the wings at stage left.

The stage went dark at the end of the first scene, and in pitch blackness, the grips rolled out the props and scenery for Scene 2. Backdrop number one rose high into the ceiling, coming to rest against the railing of the catwalk. Tabby poked me gently in the back with her finger, and I stepped onstage in costume.

Anyone could ask God for a favor in a prayer circle, but only a real God could answer back. I took my mark at the fireplace, the set decor obscure in near, total darkness. The audience couldn’t see me.

Transform me, Lord. Make me into another person.

Isn’t that what He’d done all year? The spotlights and ceiling cans flooded me from above and behind. I could feel their heat on my body. The eyes of the audience were watching me now.

I was onstage. I had to
do
something.

In front of me, I saw that the mantelpiece was dusty. I was sure the grips had wiped it down prior to opening night, but stored backstage, it had gotten dusty all over again. A cleaning rag and green feather duster were lying on the stage to the right of me, so I reached down and picked up the cloth, running it through the crevices, stripping off dust particles and watching them somersault through the beams of the bright stage lights.