Fame

by Karen Kingsbury

  “Yes.” Ashley held Landon’s hand as they followed Jenny to where Jim and Cody were barbecuing. “You can never be too careful.”

  Jenny introduced the Blakes to everyone, and she stifled a smile at Cody’s reaction to Ashley. As Jim chatted with Landon and finished cooking the burgers, Cody didn’t take his eyes off Ashley. The kids changed into their shorts and T-shirts and hovered near the barbecue.

  Cole fit right in with their four younger boys, and Bailey worked herself into a conversation with Ashley about the music in Tom Sawyer. The group was about to move inside for dinner when the phone rang.

  “I’ll get it.” Jenny jogged back to the kitchen and caught the phone on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

  “Yes, hi.” It was a man’s voice, and the connection wasn’t great. “This is Mitch Henry. I’m a casting director in Los Angeles.”

  Jenny held the phone away from her face and studied the caller ID. Probably one of the CKT kids playing a trick. She returned the receiver to her ear. “I’m sorry. Could you say that again?”

  “Yes.” The static grew worse. “Does Katy Hart live there?”

  “She does.” Jenny pressed the phone to her ear, trying everything possible to hear the man. She moved to the built-in desk, pulled a notepad toward her, and grabbed a pen. “Can I take a message?”

  “Please. Tell her Mitch Henry called.” Every few words, the signal cut out. Jenny struggled to make sense of the man. “I’m a casting director . . . Los Angeles. Please have her call me.” He rattled off a phone number, and Jenny had him repeat it. She promised to pass on the message.

  They were halfway through the meal when Katy came in through the side door and peeked her head into the dining room. She waved. “Hi, everyone.”

  Jenny lifted her napkin and wiped her mouth. “Katy, come in. I want you to meet our new sets committee members.”

  “I heard you’re a real live actual artist.” Katy entered the room and stood near the head of the table, her eyes on Ashley.

  “Yes.” Landon answered for her. “Real, live, and actual.”

  “Mommy’s a good painter.” Cole nodded, the beans on his fork falling to his plate in his excitement.

  “Well, good.” Katy grinned at Cole. She took a step back. “I have to finish blocking the script, so . . .” She waved again. “Have a good dinner.”

  She was halfway toward the side stairs that would take her up to her apartment when Jenny remembered the message. “Wait! Someone called for you.” She excused herself from the table and went to the kitchen desk.

  “Someone from CKT?” Katy turned back and came closer.

  “No.” After a few seconds Jenny found the note she’d written. She held it out to Katy and gave her a curious look. “Someone from Los Angeles. Says he’s a casting director.”

  “Great.” Katy made a face. “Probably Sarah Jo Stryker’s agent.”

  They both laughed, then turned and went their separate ways, Katy to her apartment, where she stayed the rest of the night, and Jenny back to the table and company. Cody was asking Ashley if she’d ever sold a painting, and Landon was gushing about the numbers she had indeed sold.

  The rest of the evening was comfortable, easy conversation and a few rounds of the ABC dinner game—a favorite of the Flanigan family. They talked about Ashley losing her mother and the declining health of Jenny’s mother.

  “She’s in a retirement village, but she’s going downhill.” Jenny had a catch in her voice. “We might need another level of care—maybe assisted living.”

  “If you get to that point, let me know.” Ashley’s voice was kind, understanding. “I worked at Sunset Hills Adult Care Home. It’s a wonderful option when it comes time.”

  They talked about the sorrow of watching parents age and fall ill. After that the conversation switched to the Flanigans’ home and the busy lives they all led. Finally they discussed the upcoming theater production.

  By the time the Blakes left, they’d agreed that Tom Sawyer needed a full-size backdrop, a landscape that would lend the feeling of the small Missouri town where the play was set. Also they would need buildings, a house for Aunt Polly, and a fence for the famous whitewashing scene.

  “I can take care of that part,” Landon chimed in, and they all laughed.

  It wasn’t until she was getting ready for bed that Jenny thought back to Katy’s brief appearance that night. Until that moment, Jenny had almost convinced herself that the strange tension she felt around Katy lately was all in her mind.

  But something hadn’t felt right about their conversation, even the part when Jenny gave her the strange message from the casting director in Los Angeles. And as she was brushing her teeth, Jenny realized she’d been right. Things really did feel strained between them. She knew for sure it was not because of something Katy did—her tone had been friendly enough. No, it was something Katy didn’t do. Something she hadn’t done since the auditions, not with Jenny or with Bailey.

  Katy never once made eye contact.

  The first day of practice for any CKT show was always the most chaotic. That Friday night, excitement ran at a record high as kids milled about the Bloomington Community Church sanctuary, moving in hurried, boisterous circles, congratulating each other, and guessing at costumes and solo numbers.

  Katy was glad for the distraction.

  Things around the Flanigan house had been tense since she’d posted the cast list, and she understood why. Bailey had gotten the short end of the deal—there was no way around it. Everything about the Flanigan girl was perfect for the part of Becky Thatcher, except one thing.

  No one at CKT could sing like Sarah Jo Stryker.

  With all her heart, Katy wanted to relegate Sarah Jo to the role of a townsperson. Not because of anything the girl had done—in fact Sarah Jo proved to be even more polite and talented on the second day of auditions than she’d been on the first. But Katy hated the fact that the girl’s mother had known her daughter would get the part, hated the fact that she’d already made Sarah Jo a Becky Thatcher dress.

  Of all things.

  Before the second day of auditions, Katy convinced herself that Sarah Jo hadn’t been that good, that no one but Bailey Flanigan could play the part of Becky. Bailey had earned it with her patience and with the effort she’d given to every minor role she’d played.

  Besides, Sarah Jo wasn’t a Christian. Her mother told Katy as much the morning of the second day of auditions.

  “We don’t believe in God.” Alice Stryker set her purse down on the table where Katy was stationed. “I just want to get that out in the open before it becomes an issue.”

  Katy did what she was supposed to do in that situation. She assured the woman that faith was not a requirement for participation in CKT, and it wasn’t. Still, a girl like Bailey Flanigan—a teenager with a love for Christ and an ability to share God’s truth with the younger kids in CKT—was a much better choice for a lead part, right? Same as Tim Reed was a wonderful choice for the male lead.

  After Bailey sang Becky Thatcher’s solo on the second day of auditions, Katy was sure she had the cast all figured out. But all of Katy’s reasoning flew out the window the minute Sarah Jo Stryker took her turn singing the part. The girl’s voice was golden, no question. And even though it meant letting Alice Stryker think she’d called the shots, Katy had no choice.

  Sarah Jo had to be Becky Thatcher.

  But ever since then she’d doubted her decision. Even worse, she felt tension between the Flanigans and herself, as if maybe they were holding it against her that Bailey didn’t win a major role.

  Katy organized her stack of scripts on the table in the lobby and motioned for her creative team—Al and Nancy Helmes and Rhonda—to join her. Whatever the Flanigans were thinking, she couldn’t let it bother her today. She wouldn’t live to be thirty if she didn’t stop feeling so stressed about her casting decisions for each show.

  Besides, if ever she had to be on her game it was now, trying to rein in sixty k
ids and block the show’s opening number, all while assigning scripts and solos to the various leads.

  She huddled with the others for ten minutes; then she stood on one of the chairs. At five foot five, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, Katy easily blended in with the kids. When she wanted to be heard, she stood on a chair and did her series of signature hand claps. No whistling or shouting at CKT practices. Katy had her special clap, and as the kids heard it they instinctively turned to her, quieting their voices. When Katy stopped, the kids clapped out the same rhythm in response, and as they finished, the talking had stopped, all eyes on Katy.

  “Congratulations to everyone who earned a part in Tom Sawyer.” The palms of her hands were damp, and she rubbed them on her jeans. She looked around the room at the clusters of kids and made eye contact with Tim Reed and Ashley Zarelli, standing next to each other on one side of the room. “Lead parts are a precious thing in CKT.” She shifted her attention to Sarah Jo Stryker. “I’ll expect you to learn your lines in a week and give me your best effort at every practice.”

  Nancy Helmes motioned to Katy, and Katy nodded. “Take a seat. Mrs. Helmes has something for you.”

  “Yes.” Nancy had a strong voice, and it carried easily through the sanctuary, where the kids quickly sat down. “Al and I’ve heard that some of you aren’t happy with your roles or your friends think less of you because you won the part of a townsperson.” She raised a finger. “We have one cast, ladies and gentlemen. One cast. And we perform for an audience of One.” She paused. “There are no small parts. In fact, we’ll need each of you doing his or her personal best if this show is to shine for Jesus when we take the stage eight weeks from now.”

  Katy nodded. “Mrs. Helmes is right.” For an instant, she met eyes with Bailey and caught the hint of a smile. Warmth filled Katy’s soul as she continued. “Okay, here’s the plan. If I read your name, go with Mr. and Mrs. Helmes to the chorus room at the end of the hallway. You’ll be working on the solos in the first act.” She winked at Nancy. “And if I know Mrs. Helmes, she’ll have a box of Cinnabon rolls ready for break time.”

  She read a list of seven names, and one by one the kids peeled away from the group and followed Al and Nancy. Cara Helmes tagged along at the back of the line, beaming, probably at the thought of hearing the first songs come together. Again Katy noticed Tim Reed and Ashley Zarelli looking friendly as they walked together, their heads bowed close, whispering. Katy looked at Bailey and saw that she was watching the twosome. Katy forced herself to stay focused. She wasn’t responsible for Bailey’s social life.

  With the soloists gone, Katy continued. “If I didn’t call your name, I want you to line up shortest to tallest.” She looked over the bunches of remaining kids. “Ready . . . go!”

  Katy watched from her place on the chair as the kids began running in different directions. Someone took the smallest CKT kid and put her at the far end of the stage. A minute passed while children tried to figure out where they belonged, and at one point Katy winced as one of the big boys collided with a littler one.

  She turned to Rhonda. “You sure you wanna teach this group to dance?”

  “Yes.” Rhonda gave a tired laugh. “But I think we’ll be here later than eight o’clock.”

  “Me too.”

  It took four minutes for the kids to put themselves in a line that was close to organized. Katy walked over to the smallest one and patted her on the head. “Okay, everyone look at who’s in front of you.” Katy waited while the kids followed her order. “Now look at who’s behind you and remember their face.” The kids did as they were told. “Tomorrow morning I want us to make this line in fifteen seconds. Got it?”

  A couple of weak “Got it” responses came back at her.

  Katy slapped her knee and laughed. “No.” She looked back at Rhonda. “They can’t answer that way, can they?”

  “Not at CKT.” Rhonda smiled and came a few steps closer.

  “Let’s try it again.” Katy looked at the faces up and down the line. “Fifteen seconds flat tomorrow, okay, guys?”

  This time the line of kids practically shouted, “Yes, Katy!”

  “That’s better.” Katy tried to give them a stern look, but she could feel her eyes dancing. “Now . . . I want four even lines of twelve to thirteen kids, with the tallest kids in back. Ready . . . go!”

  The kids moved much quicker and more efficiently this time. They formed four rows in no time.

  “Better.” Katy looked at Rhonda again. “I think we might even finish early.”

  A few of the older kids giggled, and Katy grinned at them. Then she asked Rhonda to move to the nearby piano and play the opening number. She wasn’t as strong with music as Al or Nancy, but she could give the cast a melody to work with.

  “All right, here’s what’s going to happen.” Katy’s voice was animated and upbeat. This was the part she loved, making a story come to life. “This song is the opening number, and it’s about the arrival of the Big Missouri—a boat that came into the city of Hannibal only once in a while. Everyone in town is thrilled that the big boat’s coming, because it carries mail for some people, friends and relatives for others, and sometimes a family that might be relocating to the area. That’s the case with this story. The Thatchers are moving to town, arriving on the Big Missouri.”

  One of the smaller kids raised his hand. “Katy, why didn’t they just take a U-Haul?”

  “Good question.” Katy gave a pointed look at the older kids who were snickering in the back. Then her eyes found the young boy again. “Because U-Haul wasn’t around back then. For that matter, roads weren’t really around back then. Not the way they are today.” She took a deep breath. “The point is, the people of Hannibal, Missouri, are very, very excited.”

  She took a few running steps and did a sideways bell kick. “That’s how excited they are.”

  “So—” Rhonda was at the piano—“the music is strong and steady, like this.” She played the opening notes of the song.

  “And what Rhonda and I want you to do is pump your arms like this . . .” Katy looked like a mechanical jogger running out of batteries as she pumped her right fist straight forward, paused, and then pumped her left fist straight forward. She repeated that several times. “I want you to pump your arms like that and stomp your feet forward until you’re near the front of the stage. Then I want everyone to spin to the left, make a sharp U-turn, and head to the back of the group where you’ll form your line once more.” She paused in midpumping motion. “Got it?”

  “Yes, Katy.” Their voices were loud and together.

  “Okay, let’s see what it looks like.”

  Rhonda played the music while the first row marched forward without incident, spun to the left, and moved to their spots at the back of the line. Not until the last line, the oldest, tallest kids, did three of them turn the wrong direction and smack straight into the person next to them.

  The music stopped.

  Six kids were holding their heads, and the others looked nervous. One girl raised her hand and said, “Katy, do we need a medical release for this dance?”

  “Yes.” Katy crossed her arms and nodded. “I think after tonight we might consider that. Definitely.”

  The injured dancers were stabilized, and Katy ordered everyone to line up again. “Okay, let’s set a goal. Only two injuries this time.” She shot a look at Rhonda. “Ready . . . go!”

  This time the blocking worked without a hitch. One line after another the kids marched and stomped to the beat, spun around to the left, and returned to the back of the pack. All in unison, and almost all in time with the music.

  “Yay!” Katy raised her hands in the air. “Let’s do it again!”

  By the break, they had most of the song choreographed, and Katy felt her heart dancing along. At this point in putting together a show, God always gave her a glimpse of what was to come. This time the glimpse gave her chills.

  She pulled herself away from the craziness and went t
o her car for her water bottle. On her way back to the sanctuary, she stopped. She’d forgotten to call the California guy. All day she’d been meaning to make the call, but she’d met with Rhonda and they’d become absorbed in blocking out the first number.

  Now she checked her watch and saw it was seven o’clock. That meant it was only four in LA, still early enough to call. She stepped inside the church’s front doors, found a quiet corner in the vestibule, and pulled the message from the inside of her checkbook, where she’d placed it the night before.

  Mitch Henry, the message read. Casting director.

  She still believed the guy must’ve had something to do with Sarah Jo Stryker. Who else would have connections with a casting director in Hollywood?

  There were five minutes left in the break, so Katy pulled her cell phone from the front pocket of her purse and dialed the number.

  A man answered almost immediately. “Mitch Henry.”

  “Uh . . .” His hurried, clipped tone took Katy by surprise. “Hi, this is Katy Hart.” She hesitated. “You left a message?”

  “Katy Hart!” His voice became instantly warm. “I was hoping you’d call.”

  “Yes, well—” she looked at her watch again—“I just have a few minutes.”

  “Right.” The man cleared his throat. “I’m the casting director for an upcoming romantic comedy called Dream On. You may have heard of it.”

  Katy hadn’t. “Okay . . .”

  “Anyway, we’d like to fly you out to Los Angeles to read for the female lead in the show.”

  Her first instinct was to laugh, and she did, but not loud enough for Mitch Henry to hear her. “I’m sure there’s some sort of mistake, sir. I’m not an actress, not anymore.”

  “We, well . . . we think you are.” There was the sound of rustling papers. “We can fly you out Sunday afternoon, put you up at the Sheraton Universal, and have a car pick you up and bring you to the studios. The audition is at nine o’clock Monday morning. You could fly home late that afternoon.”