“Yes, Mrs. Lamon.” Hilary beamed. She had become important, once again.
“As far as music class is concerned,” Mrs. Lamon continued, “Mr. Hennessy has agreed to take over for the rest of the semester.” I looked across the room at Jack again, and we exchanged more worried glances. Mr. Hennessy was our very sweet, very old accompanist, who rarely said more than “Which measure?” or “All righty” in response to Mrs. Wagner. It was hard to imagine him leading a class. It was even harder to imagine him directing a musical. And that’s what made me raise my hand.
“Yes, Lou?”
“Is Mr. Hennessy going to be directing Guys and Dolls?”
“Actually, no,” she replied, “a Shaker Heights alumna has been hired as Mrs. Wagner’s replacement for the spring musical.” She paused, and it looked like she might be trying to suppress a smile.
“I’m excited to see her again,” she added coyly. “She hasn’t been back here in a really long time.”
Jack and I shared glance number three.
I was about to ask the next obvious question, but Jenny beat me to the punch. Mrs. Lamon’s vague response had clearly piqued more than just my own curiosity.
“Who is it?”
Mrs. Lamon cleared her throat and began shuffling papers on her desk.
“Her name is Belinda Grier,” she said, using her usual teacher voice, “and you will all meet her in music class today. Now, would someone please help me pass out this paperwork? There’s a lot of second semester business to cover.”
The news of Mrs. Wagner and her mystery replacement (not Mr. Hennessy) overshadowed the rest of my morning, and I sat fidgeting through math and geography. But my agitation was nothing compared to Jenny’s. During the four-minute break between geography and music, she ran up to me and Jack in the hallway, practically bursting with news.
“You guys are not going to believe this,” she said, gripping her cell phone and waving it in our faces. “My mom went to school with Belinda Grier.”
“Seriously?” said Jack.
“How did you figure that out?” I asked.
“As soon as Mrs. Lamon said her name, I was like, ‘That sounds so familiar.’ And so in French class I was about to look her up on Google, but then I remembered it was my mom who’s talked about her, so I texted her. Check it out.”
Jenny tapped on her phone, then turned it around for us to read her text exchange as we walked to class.
JENNY: U KNOW A LADY NAMED BELINDA, RIGHT?
MOM: BELINDA GRIER?
JENNY: YA
MOM: I WENT TO SCHOOL WITH HER. SHE WAS THE STAR OF ALL OUR MUSICALS.
JENNY: SHE’S DIRECTING OUR MUSICAL!
MOM: WHAT HAPPENED TO MRS. WAGNER?
JENNY: SKI ACCIDENT. SHE’S OK, JUST OUT 4 SEMESTER.
MOM: OH DEAR.
JENNY: YOU LIKED BELINDA?
MOM: SHE WAS AMAZING. SHE HASN’T BEEN BACK HERE IN A REALLY LONG TIME.
JENNY: THAT’S WHAT MRS. LAMON SAID.
MOM: DOES MRS. LAMON KNOW YOU’RE TEXTING IN SCHOOL?
“Wow,” Jack and I murmured in unison once we’d finished reading.
“I know, right?” said Jenny as she grabbed my hand and steered us to the stairwell that led to the basement, where music was held. We sprinted down the stairs, propelled by our intense curiosity. Who was this lady who had starred in all her musicals? I was stabbed by another pang of guilt as I thought how much more excited I was already about this Belinda person than I ever was about Mrs. Wagner. She had never claimed to be the star of anything, except maybe the star of putting kids in a straight line.
As we neared the basement I heard a familiar tune being played on the piano below us. Jack clearly heard it, too, because he stopped abruptly.
“Is that . . . A Chorus Line?” he asked.
Sure enough, composer Marvin Hamlisch’s iconic intro came wafting up the stairwell.
All of a sudden a woman’s voice, brassy and strong, began to sing along:
“One
Singular sensation
Every little step she takes . . .”
“That’s gotta be her, right?” Jenny asked, looking at us with anticipation.
“I’m gonna guess yes,” said Jack, who followed us hastily down the stairs, close on our heels. The music grew louder as we turned into the classroom to find Mr. Hennessy sitting at his usual post at the piano. Whereas normally he’d be talking to Mrs. Wagner about local politics or that morning’s traffic, he was now plunking out a classic show tune for what could only have been Belinda Grier: a tall, imposing figure step-touching in time to the song.
“She walks into a room
And you know she’s uncommonly rare,
Very unique, peripatetic, poetic and chic!”
Upon seeing us, Belinda grinned hugely and gave us a wave. We each gave a tentative wave in return, then shyly took our seats in the second row of folding chairs. We were the first kids to arrive, so it felt like we were walking in on someone’s private rehearsal. But Belinda didn’t seem shy in the least; she turned back to Mr. Hennessy and just kept singing. With her back turned I was able to get a good look at her.
She wore a pair of purple leggings under a black sheer dance skirt, which I followed with my eyes down to black leg warmers she wore scrunched around her ankles and black booties that peeked out from underneath. On top she wore an off-the-shoulder gray sweater, revealing heavily freckled shoulders. Complementing the freckles was a totally wild mane of curly red hair that Belinda had swept inexplicably into a messy updo—there was so much hair I couldn’t see what was keeping it off her neck. She could have had hundreds of bobby pins stuck in there, and I never would have been able to find one. Her ears featured two dangly, spangly earrings which looked more like fishing lures than jewelry. When she turned back around, I noticed that each eye was heavily shadowed with the same purple color as her leggings.
The rest of our classmates were straggling in as Belinda reached the song’s big finish:
“She’s the,
She’s the,
SHE’S THE ONE!”
There was an awkward pause as each person in the class debated silently whether to applaud, but we didn’t have to think about it for too long because she beat us to it—she just started clapping for herself, laughing and hooting at Mr. Hennessy, “Woo-hoo! I haven’t sung that in forever! Great job, Frank!”
Mr. Hennessy smiled weakly and shifted uncomfortably in his seat—no one, not even Mrs. Wagner, called him by his first name. In fact, I didn’t know it was Frank until this moment.
The bell signaling the start of the period rang, and Belinda scanned the room, taking us all in with her big green eyes.
“Hi hi hi, good morning, guys!” she said, placing her hands on her hips and assuming a wide stance. She looked like a Jazzercise version of Peter Pan.
“My name is Belinda Grier—please do call me Belinda—and it is so exciting to be on my home turf again. I”—here she paused, drew in her breath, and looked around the room as if she were seeing something that was no longer there—“I haven’t been back here in a really long time.”
-JACK-
Belinda Grier stood before us like a Radio City Rockette, or rather, the kooky mom of a Rockette. Her presence was remarkable, the type you’d feel even with your eyes closed. Though probably a few years older, she reminded me of the women I’d worked with on Broadway, the kind you could tell were dancers just by the way they stood in line at Starbucks.
“As you’ve likely heard,” Belinda began in a scratchy but strong alto voice, “your teacher Mrs. Wagner has suffered an injury that has unfortunately sidelined her from directing the school musical.”
Hilary nodded purposefully from the front row.
“As you’ve also likely heard,” Belinda continued, a smile beginning t
o form on her face, “I, myself hail from Shaker Heights and am even an alumna of this very school.” She shifted her weight, bending her knee and pointing her foot in a perfect fourth position.
“Now, before we get down to business,” she said, dropping her voice to a warm hum, “I have to tell you, I’m so happy to be back. Everyone knows New York is where it’s at, but there really is no place like home.”
Lou’s eyes snapped over to mine.
“New York,” she whispered. “She’s from New York, too. You sure you don’t know her?”
“Lou,” I whispered, rolling my eyes, “I don’t know everyone in New York.”
“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” Belinda said, straightening her dance skirt. “What would make a working actress leave the glitz and glamour of New York to direct a show at a middle school?”
I don’t know, I thought to myself. Did your voice change? Did you get fired from a Broadway show? I bet Belinda’s story wasn’t half as awkward as mine.
“Well.” She paused dramatically. She gave her knuckles a little crack and then shook out her hands. “Well, the short answer is that I happen to have a very special connection to the show that you kids are putting on this spring.”
I pushed my elbow into Lou’s arm. She pushed back. Connection? What connection?
“Now I hate to date myself,” she said, looking back at Mr. Hennessy and laughing. “But I was actually in the ’92 Broadway revival of Guys and Dolls.”
Lou’s mouth fell open like a nutcracker’s. Mr. Mistoffelees crashing through the ceiling and sliding down on a rope would have been less surprising than the news that our director was not only a Broadway actress but had actually been in the acclaimed revival of Guys and Dolls. Lou’s reaction didn’t go unnoticed. Belinda looked over and gave a knowing smile.
“It’s true.” She winked. Lou blushed.
“For those of you who aren’t familiar with the show, let me tell you a little bit about it.”
Belinda launched into a detailed description: its plot, the cast of characters, the time period of the piece. Suddenly the musical I’d scoffed at in New York began to seem a whole lot cooler. Sure, it wasn’t new or edgy, but there was a reason every theater kept coming back to it—the show was practically perfect. As Belinda continued talking about the musical style and crafty lyrics of Frank Loesser, my mind wandered off to my first encounter with a classic Broadway musical.
Third grade was a big year for me. After the discovery of Into the Woods during a fateful trip to the library, I decided to learn everything there was to know about musical theater. I began with the music. Each Friday I’d trot with my dad past the fountains of Lincoln Center to check out a handful of Broadway cast albums from the library, five at a time in alphabetical order.
A Chorus Line, A Class Act, A . . . My Name Is Alice, Aida, Annie.
In just a few months I had worked my way up to the Gs, my backpack heavy with scratched cases containing music from George M!, Gigi, Grey Gardens, Gypsy, and the 1992 revival of Guys and Dolls.
I remember popping the silver disc into my mom’s laptop, lying on my stomach as three men with exaggerated New York accents began singing about a horse with the unlikely name of Paul Revere. Although I’d lived in New York, no one sounded as cartoony as these guys. My finger hovered over the eject button as I wondered if any of the other albums had bigger, splashier opening numbers that didn’t require a knowledge of Revolutionary War figures. But I was stopped short when my dad popped his head into my room.
“Guys and Dolls, right?” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
“Uh, yeah.” I looked up, unable to believe my father (a man who enjoyed bird-watching and TV specials about chair making) had known a musical that I didn’t.
“Oh, the movie’s a classic,” he said. “Marlon Brando, Frank Sinatra, that song about rocking the boat, something about a milkshake . . .” He drifted off, his eyes glazing over nostalgically.
“Huh,” I mumbled. My finger edged slowly away from the eject button and over to the one that controlled the volume.
“Luck be a lady tooooo-night,” my dad crooned, walking down the hallway to the kitchen.
Almost instantly, I began hearing the show with a new set of ears. A character named Adelaide sang a song called “A Bushel and a Peck.” She was really funny and sounded like she had a clothespin squeezing her nose shut. Another highlight was a song called “Sue Me” that she sang with her fiancé, a guy called Nathan Detroit, a very cool name. While a lot of lyrics confused me, namely references to “sheep’s eyes” and “licorice teeth,” the melodies were catchy and beautiful, and once my dad explained that the guys singing about horses were in fact criminal gamblers, I was totally hooked.
“At its heart, Guys and Dolls is really a love letter to New York City.” Belinda’s voice fluttered back into my ears, snapping me to attention. I looked around the room. The faces of my classmates bore a wide range of expressions; Jenny: intrigue, Tanner: utter boredom, and of course Lou: in absolute bliss.
“I’ve had a long, long journey,” Belinda said, waltzing over to the piano. “Broadway, national tours, a commercial for Twizzlers . . . But it all began right here in my beloved Shaker Heights,” she said, draping her arms across it like a lounge singer.
“Frank remembers, dontcha, Frank?” She winked at Mr. Hennessy, who shot up on his bench like he’d just had an ice cube dropped down the back of his shirt.
“It was right after graduating from Shaker Heights High that I first auditioned for the show,” Belinda said, strutting back to the center of the room. “They didn’t cast me at first, but I worked really hard and took a lot of classes so when a new role opened up, I made sure they couldn’t resist me.” She grinned. “And now to have the opportunity to return home and share all my experience with you. Well, it’s just,” she said, placing a ruby-nailed hand to her heart, “it feels like destiny.”
The way she spoke made me wonder if she’d rehearsed this at home. She sounded like she was in a nightclub doing her one-woman show, not a middle-school classroom in the basement. I half expected Mr. Hennessy to start playing the intro to “Maybe This Time” from Cabaret.
“You know, it’s crazy,” Belinda said. “I haven’t been back to Ohio in years. And if I hadn’t run into an old friend over the holidays, I’d have never even known you were in such desperate need of a director.” She tucked a stray copper ringlet into her nest of hair. “Sometimes the stars they do align.”
It really did seem like a crazy coincidence. In fact, everything that had occurred over the holidays seemed to be happening for some strange reason. The fact that I’d run into Corey in a city of eight million, the fact that Mrs. Wagner ended up in a body cast right after Lou and I wished for a better director, “it all seemed,” to quote Adelaide, “a horrible dream.” And all the more horrible was the fact that deep down, I knew I was happy with the way things were turning out.
Suddenly the sound of the bell vibrated through the room, startling Belinda, who gave a little hop. “Oh, is it time for lunch already? I’m so used to being in a rehearsal room. This being back in school is going to take some getting used to.” She giggled through the sounds of scraping chair legs. “I’m also going to be substitute teaching, so if you see me in the hallways, throw me a wave,” she said as students began pushing past her.
“Oh, and look for the audition sign-up sheets tomorrow!”
“We have to say hi to her,” Lou demanded, not even waiting for a response before grabbing my arm and dragging me over to Belinda’s desk. As the classroom emptied, Lou and I approached.
“Hi, Ms. Grier.”
“Well, hello there,” she said, looking up. “And darlin’, please, call me Belinda.”
“Right,” Lou said perkily. “Hi, Belinda. We’re Jack and Lou, and we just wanted to give you an official welcome.”
“Oh,” she tit
tered. “Well, aren’t you the sweetest. I hope you two plan on auditioning for my show next week.”
“Oh, we definitely are,” Lou fired back. “We’re kind of the resident theater nerds around here, so we figured we’d introduce ourselves.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, holding out a long, pale arm, giving our hands a little squeeze. I nodded, taking a step toward the door, but was stopped by the sound of Lou’s voice.
“Also, I just wanted to say how cool it is to have a director who’s been on Broadway!”
“Oh, why thank you, darlin’,” Belinda said, tilting her head.
“We were just in New York last week and got to see a bunch of stuff,” Lou continued. “So that ‘stars aligning’ thing you were talking about, we totally get that.”
A tiny “aw” escaped from Belinda’s lips.
I looked down at the floor, trying not to groan as Lou laid it on thick. I must not have done a very good job because when I looked back up, Belinda was staring at me, squinting.
“Yes, totally!”
“He speaks!” Belinda cheered, raising her hands in the air.
I laughed awkwardly, leaning my shoulder up against Lou’s, hoping she’d take the cue and leave this poor woman alone to enjoy her lunch in peace.
“Also, Jack’s been on Broadway, too!” Lou blurted out.
Suddenly the sweet look on Belinda’s face disappeared.
“You have?” Her voice dropped.
A wave of embarrassment rushed through me. Lou still hadn’t figured out that this stuff made me uncomfortable. I knew she bragged because she was proud, but that kind of excitement wasn’t always polite.
Act 2 Page 5