by Janice Hanna
Blossom made her way to Amy’s side, beaming ear to ear. “I fixed my hair just like Vanessa Redgrave wore it when she played Guinevere in the movie version.” She patted her beautifully coiffed updo. “What do you think?”
“Well, I—” Amy never got a chance to respond, though she had to admit, Blossom’s auburn locks looked pretty amazing in that style. And from what she could gather, there was enough hair spray holding things together to keep it looking good for months to come.
“I think there’s more to the part of the leading lady than just her hair, for heaven’s sake.” Gwen pushed past Blossom and clutched her hands to her chest. “The real Guinevere wasn’t middle-aged, ya know. She was young and beautiful.”
Amy swallowed a bite of her cookie, preparing to take Gwen down. How dare she say such a thing?
Blossom’s happy-go-lucky expression faded. “Oh, well, I—”
Prissy Parker, the town’s homecoming queen, pressed her way through the crowd; her shimmering crown caught the light from the fluorescent bulb above. It, however, was nothing compared to the glittering ball gown she wore. “I say we go with someone really young for Guinevere. Beauty before age.” She giggled then clamped a hand over her mouth. Removing it, she whispered, “Did I really just say that out loud?”
Amy sighed, already troubled by the direction this conversation seemed to be heading. She shoveled the rest of the first cookie into her mouth to keep from responding. Apparently Steve had the same idea. He took a couple of cookies from the tray and swallowed them in rapid succession.
“Actually,” Amy’s dad interrupted as he forced his way through the crowd, “Vanessa Redgrave was thirty years old when she played the part of Guinevere. And Richard Harris was no spring chicken when he played Arthur. I rather think we’ll be better off casting older, more experienced folks in the roles.” He narrowed his gaze in Amy’s direction. “Don’t you agree, honey?”
“Oh, well, I…” Thank goodness for the peanut butter in the cookie. It seemed to have glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth.
“I think we’ll figure it all out after we’ve listened to everyone audition,” Steve said. He flashed a desperate look Amy’s way then drew near, lowering his voice as he spoke to her. “Are we ready to start? If so, I’ll usher these folks into the sanctuary. Putting them up on the stage will give us a chance to see if they can handle the heat.”
“Handle the heat. Hmph.” Prissy’s mother grunted from behind Amy. “Just wait till you hear my girl sing. Then you’ll know she can handle the heat. And you’ll rethink that age thing, too. You’ll want a young, pretty Guinevere, I guarantee you.”
Steve cleared his throat and addressed the crowd. “Let’s get this show on the road, folks.”
“Get it? Show on the road!” Grady laughed as he entered the room. “That was a good ’un, Steve! Maybe we really will take this show on the road someday. Maybe we’ll go all the way to Broadway!”
Amy glanced at the clock on the wall and shrugged. So much for having time to reflect and pray before kicking this thing off. She grabbed her script and the audition forms, which she quickly passed out to all in attendance. Then, after nibbling on the second cookie, she headed into the sanctuary, where Steve gathered the crowd into the first ten or twelve rows. Amy brushed the cookie crumbs from her hands and did a quick head count. Thirty-two people. Thirty-two! And Steve had been worried that no one would be interested. She smiled, relieved at the show of support from the community.
Until the questions began.
“How do I fill out this paper, Amy?” Blossom asked, looking more than a little confused. “It’s all Greek to me.”
“Just mark down any acting or singing experience you might have had in the past,” Amy said. “And add your contact information. Hand the forms to us when you’re done. We’ll pull them in random order and call you up to the stage to audition.”
“But I haven’t had any experience.” Blossom bit her lip. “Well, except for that time I played the role of Mary Magdalene in the Easter play, but I only had one line.” She giggled. “And I forgot it.”
“My Prissy has starred in several school productions,” Ellie Parker said. She brushed her daughter’s bangs out of her face. “And she played Mary, the mother of Jesus, in the church Christmas pageant. We might need two forms to list all her credits.” She reached into her bag and came out with a photo. “Oh, and we brought a professional headshot, of course. Wouldn’t go anywhere without it.”
Amy did her best not to roll her eyes. She gave those who were auditioning a few minutes to fill out the form and then glanced at her watch. “Okay, if I can get someone to move the pulpit off the stage, we’ll get started. Woody and I are going to sit in the front row so we can take notes, and Eula Mae is available to run sound or accompany you on the piano. Steve has agreed to take on the role of production director, meaning he’s the one you go to with any big questions related to funding the project. He’ll also help us out by overseeing the various departments involved, like set design, theater construction, and so on. Does anyone have any questions before we begin?”
Annabelle’s hand shot up in the air. “Can we stay in here while the others audition, so we know what we’re up against?”
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Amy said. “Might be unfair to those who go first.”
Steve drew near, whispering in her ear, “Still, it would be nice to give folks an audience to perform in front of. That way we’d know if they could handle the pressure of being in front of people.”
“True.” She turned to the crowd. “Okay, it’s fine if you stay. But keep your comments to yourself. Understand? Absolutely no interruptions will be tolerated.”
“Good luck with that,” Steve whispered. He followed his words with a wink, which almost made her forget they were in a room filled with people. In that second, she only saw him. Only felt the familiar lurch of her heart as she pondered her ever-growing feelings toward him.
“Wow.” Gwen rolled her eyes. “Amy’s really letting this director thing go to her head. Give a girl a little bit of power, and she wants to rule the world.”
“I heard that,” Amy said. “And just for the record, I’m not trying to be bossy. I’m attempting to keep things orderly.”
Steve snickered then walked to the stage and, with Grady’s help, moved the pulpit off to the side. Amy took a seat in the front pew of the church, less than eight feet from the stage, and Woody sat beside her, fidgeting with his hearing aid. She thumbed through the audition forms, pulling one out.
“Prissy Parker,” she called out.
Seconds later, the teen bounded onto the stage, giving a flirtatious curtsy. Her beautiful smile offered a glimmer of hope.
“Which part would you like to read for?” Amy asked.
“Mama says I’m supposed to try out for Guinevere.” Prissy brushed back her hair and fluttered her eyelashes.
“Is that the only part you’ll take?” Amy asked as she scribbled some notes.
The teen giggled. “Mama says it’s the only role I’m suited for. Anything less would be, well, you know…less.”
“That’s right,” her mother called out.
So much for no interruptions from the crowd.
“I see.” Amy swallowed hard. “Well, Eula Mae will give you a copy of the audition script.” She rose and turned to face the crowd. “Those reading for Guinevere will turn to page twenty-seven and read the monologue they find there.”
Prissy accepted the offered script then read the appropriate lines. Not bad, though she did sound a little young for the part. Still, she had clearly prepared herself for the audition, memorizing several of the lines.
As soon as she finished, Ellie Parker cheered. “That’s my girl!”
Woody cleared his throat and then looked Prissy’s way. “Are you prepared to sing for us?”
“Of course. I brought a vocal track for The Simple Joys of Maidenhood!’ Prissy passed off the CD to Eula Mae, who put it
in the player and pressed the PLAY button. Seconds later, the teen dove into the song. In the wrong key.
“Oh, sorry.” She giggled. “Must just be nerves.” She tried again, this time coming in on the right note. Unfortunately, it happened to be the only right note in the song.
Someone in the audience snorted, and before long, folks were doubled over in laughter. Steve turned and gave them a warning look.
“That’s enough, folks. We need to treat others the way we want to be treated.”
They settled down in short order—all but Prissy’s mother, who rose, fuming. “This is clearly a case of sabotage. Someone must’ve done something to the CD.” She glared at Eula Mae. “I’m completely sure the song was in a different key when we—I mean, she—practiced it at home.” She gestured for Prissy to come down from the stage, and the two left together in a huff.
Amy drew in a deep breath and counted to ten before pulling out the next audition form. Thank goodness. Someone reasonable.
“Blossom, it’s your turn.”
The sweet-hearted beautician took her place on the stage, looking a little nervous. As she began to read Guinevere’s lines, she stumbled and bumbled, finally giving up altogether. “Guess I’m not supposed to be an actress,” she said at last. “Maybe I should offer to do the hair and makeup? What do you think?”
Amy nodded. “That would be nice. We’ll definitely need someone to fill that role, and I can think of no one better suited than you. But I think you could play a lady-in-waiting too, Blossom. You wouldn’t have any lines, and the costume would be beautiful.”
“Perfect!”
Next came Annabelle, looking a little green. She, too, wanted to try out for Guinevere. “I’m so nervous,” she whispered as she untied her Sack ’n Save apron and tossed it to the side of the stage. “But I’ve been practicing.”
After a little prompting from Amy, she did a fine job with the lines. More than fine, actually. And her rendition of the show’s theme song sounded pretty good. Not particularly strong, but her beautiful pitch surprised Amy. The bubbly clerk didn’t exactly fit the part from a physical standpoint, and her nerves might be a bit of an issue. Still, she received high marks from Amy, who felt a wave of relief wash over her. Thank goodness someone in Camelot could act and sing.
Amy squinted, giving Annabelle another glance. If they didn’t come up with anyone else, she could play the part of Guinevere. Maybe. Amy scribbled a few more notes onto the page then raised her head, ready to move on.
Grady Knowles entered the stage next. “Whul, here I am,” he drawled. “Ready ta read them-there lines from that play you’ve been talkin’ ’bout. Wanta try out for that-there King Or-a-thur part, cuz he’s the King o’ the castle.”
Wonderful.
Eula Mae handed him a script, and he tried to conquer the British accent. Butchering it might be a more apt description. Still, he seemed rather proud of himself at the end, and all the more as he attempted to sing. Well, not really sing, exactly, but lip sync. Turned out he was pretty good at mouthing the words to Richard Harris’s version of “I Wonder What the King Is Doing Tonight.” The whole thing would’ve made a great Internet video.
The audience cheered at the end, and Grady gave a deep bow. “Thank you,” he said, offering an over-the-top Elvis impression. “Thank you very much.”
Amy glanced at Woody, who shook his head and put Grady’s audition sheet at the bottom of the pile. “Might make a good knight-in-shining-armor,” Woody whispered. “With some work. And a really great costume.”
Amy nodded then pulled out another form. “Sarge?” She rose and faced the audience. “I didn’t realize you were auditioning.”
“Yep.” He took a few hobbling steps toward the stage. “Soon as I heard about the jousting scene, I hurried right over.”
“Jousting?” Amy couldn’t believe her good fortune. “You know how to joust?”
“One of the advantages to spending years in the military,” he said. “I can joust with the best of ’em. Give me a sword and I’ll show you I’ve got the goods.”
Woody tossed his fake sword Sarge’s way and the older fellow began to swing it this way and that in an impressive show. Not bad, considering his arthritic condition. He wielded the sword in several directions, nearly losing it once or twice in the process. But the joyous expression on his face captivated Amy. She’d never seen him more in his element. Yes, things were certainly looking up.
“Can you ride a horse?” she asked when he finished.
“Can I! Haven’t you seen my mare?” Sarge asked. “She’s a fine specimen.”
Woody looked puzzled. “Your hair is a fine specimen?”
“His mare, Woody,” Amy said. “His mare.”
“Perfect.” Woody adjusted his hearing aid then turned to Sarge with a grin. “Would she like to audition too? We need horses in this production.”
“Well, sure.” Sarge beamed. “I’d love to see old Katie Sue play a role. Maybe B-52 would like to participate too.”
“B-52?” Amy gave him an inquisitive look.
“Must be another horse,” Woody whispered. “We can use more than one for the jousting scene.”
Pete took the stage next, still wearing his pest control uniform and smelling of pesticide. He looked more confident than most. “I’ve been working on my lines.” He held up several pieces of paper. “I found the script on the Internet.”
“Awesome.” Amy nodded. She appreciated an actor who took an audition seriously. “Which part?”
“Lancelot.” His cheeks flushed. “I know I’m a little older than the guy who played the role in the movie, but it’s the part I feel most comfortable with.”
“Fine,” Amy said as she nodded. “No problem.”
Pete began to quote from the scene where the handsome Frenchman sang his own praises. The whole thing was a little over-the-top. Still, he did a decent job. Not bad at all, in fact. And the crowd apparently found him humorous. They cheered when he finished the soliloquy.
“Do you sing?” Amy asked, feeling more hopeful by the moment.
“Hmm.” Pete stared at his feet. “In the shower. That’s about it.”
“Lancelot has a couple of really great songs,” she explained, “so he has to be a strong singer. One of the strongest in the show, in fact.”
“That might be a problem.” He wrinkled his nose.
“Well, let’s try it and see.” She rose and walked to the stage. “Eula Mae, can you play the opening lines from ‘If Ever I Would Leave You’? Pete, I’ll sing a few of the opening notes to help you out. Just follow my lead.”
“O–okay.” He managed the words but did not look convinced. In fact, he looked downright terrified.
Eula Mae’s gaze narrowed as she looked at Pete. “Sure hope you’re up for it.”
His cheeks reddened. “I’ll give it my best shot.”
“You can do it, Pete!” Grady hollered.
Pete offered a weak thumbs-up but still looked unnerved.
Amy sang the first few words of the song to offer a demonstration. As the familiar romantic lyrics rang out, she found herself glancing at Steve. The lyrics seemed to fit their budding relationship. From the moment they’d met as kids, she’d been drawn to him in such a strong way.
“If ever I would leave you,” she sang out, her heart motivated by the lyrics, “it wouldn’t be in summer. Seeing you in summer, I never could go…”
Her gaze shifted again to Steve. She couldn’t leave him…or this town, even though she’d tried. No, she couldn’t leave him in springtime. Or in summer, when afternoon sun shimmered through the trees on the bluff, bringing the whole place to life. Or in autumn, when the leaves turned from orange, to red, then brown, finally releasing their hold on the trees. Or in winter, when pristine layers of snow covered everything in sight, creating a magical wonderland. And judging from the pounding in her heart right now, she could never leave him even if the town of Camelot drifted away into the hazy mist, like the fabled
town of lore.
After a couple of lines, she stopped, embarrassed. A roar went up from the crowd. Well, from her father and Sarge, anyway. Lucy Cramden didn’t look terribly happy, and neither did Gwen.
Steve, on the other hand…well, he offered a comforting smile and then approached the edge of the stage, where he led the audience in a round of applause.
“How is it possible that I didn’t know you could sing like that?” he asked.
“Oh, I, well…” She felt her cheeks grow warm as she struggled to find the right words.
“He’s right, Amy,” Pete said. “You sound great. But I’m going to be gut-honest with you here. I’m not sure I can sing like that. Ever. In my wildest dreams. So playing the role of Lancelot is completely out of the question for me.”
“Just try.” She gestured for the music to begin again. As Eula Mae played, Pete attempted to eke out the notes but couldn’t. He tried a second time with no luck.
“Steve, come and help him.” Amy turned to her best friend, desperation creeping in.
After a few words of complaint, Steve entered the stage looking a little weak in the knees. Still, when the music began again, his voice rang out in perfect pitch. The words resonated across the sanctuary with such beauty that Eula Mae stopped playing and stared at him.
“Well, for Pete’s sake,” she said.
“Yes?” A look of confusion registered on Pete’s face.
“Oh, I wasn’t speaking literally,” Eula Mae said. “I just meant I’m surprised Steve can sing like that. I’ve heard him belt out a worship song or two, and he’s great with a hymn—but never a Broadway ballad. It’s remarkable.”
Amy narrowed her gaze, sizing Steve up. Yes, indeed. Remarkable would be an understatement. Her thoughts wandered to the lyrics, and she found herself forcing back a smile.
Somewhere in the middle of her pondering, they lost Pete. He slinked off the stage. Only the clanging of the door at the back of the sanctuary alerted her to the fact that he’d disappeared.
Not that it mattered. Eula Mae started playing once more and Steve managed the first few words of “If Ever I Would Leave You.” Amy followed suit, adding her lines to his. And by the time they reached the chorus, the audience members—well, most of the audience members, anyway—were on their feet, cheering.