by Robin Talley
“I bet you’re glad you get to skip some of these rehearsals,” Will says to Odile as he pours melted butter into the pan with one hand and stirs with the other. “There are benefits to dying in act one.”
“Actually, I miss it on the days when I don’t have to come.” Odile rests her chin in her hand. “I don’t like knowing everyone else is having fun without me.”
Pops laughs. “Spoken like a true stage actor. You’re sure you want to get into the movie business?”
Odile smiles again, but it’s her wide, sunny smile this time. The one I’ve learned not to believe.
A Hollywood Reporter article came out over the weekend, exclusively announcing that Odile had gotten cast in the Scorsese movie. At school, people came up to her all day to congratulate her and ask if she could introduce them to Leonardo DiCaprio. He’s rumored to be playing the lead, even though Odile told me last week that the rumor was bullshit.
“You can always come work on costumes on your days off if you want,” Jasmin offers.
“Really?” Odile brightens. “I’m off tomorrow. Could I come then? I love costumes. I’ve gotten pretty decent at sewing buttons over the years.”
Jasmin’s smile drops. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting Odile to say yes. “Yeah, um . . . I mean, you should probably check with Rachel first. I’ll warn you, though, the work she’s got us doing is a giant pain in the ass.”
Pops coughs and Jasmin giggles sheepishly. “Sorry, Charlie. Pain in the tushy.”
“She’s right, though,” I say, reaching over to refill Jasmin’s seltzer glass. I’m trying hard to be as nice to her as possible tonight. “I went in to help on Friday after rehearsal and I wound up buried in sashes.”
“Uh, Mel, that’s because you’re the slowest at costumes of anyone on the crew.” Dom takes the bottle from me. “I saw Rachel knock out five sashes before you’d finished one.”
I stick out my tongue at him, but he’s got a point. I’m utter crap at sewing.
The costume demands really are extreme for this show. All the actors playing students have to wear vests with red, white, and blue sashes, all the girls in “Lovely Ladies” need to look like sex workers but without actually showing any skin, and the dance troupe in the wedding scene needs to look like they’re going to a nineteenth-century prom. And then there’s all the regular peasant attire every other character needs to wear, not to mention the accessories—aprons, top hats, shawls, corsets, military jackets, prisoner rags . . . Even with a whole team under her, it’s possible Rachel’s working harder than anyone else on this show.
“But we’re all avoiding the real question, which is, who’s going to help me make two dozen muskets?” Will acts like he’s talking to all of us, but he’s only looking at Dad. “I have my stagecraft classes cutting up scrap shelving, and Estaban and Matt are all set to attach the clamps and paint, but I need a few hours from someone who can handle a sander.”
Dad folds his arms across his chest. “And after the two dozen muskets are ready, I’m sure that barricade’s going to build itself.”
“Doubt it.” Will shrugs a what-can-you-do shrug. “But I was banking on locking in some musket help first, then holding off on asking for more favors for another week or so.”
“Ooh, are you building the barricade, Dad?” I hop up onto the stool next to his. “Can I help? Remember how much fun we had on the sets for Joseph?”
“We made snow angels in the sawdust.” Dad smiles.
“I love doing that,” Odile says. All five of us turn to her at once, surprised. “I used to hang out in the scene shop freshman year. Wes was the set head then, and he taught me how to use the power drill. I’d come home wearing so much sawdust my sister would get sneezing fits, but I liked how it smelled.”
“Ooh, me too. When I was on set crew, I basically breathed sawdust for two years straight, so . . .” I cut myself off before I can say You should’ve smelled me then.
“Well, Odile, if you ever have a free moment in between acting and helping with costumes and waiting to hear back on your college applications, you’re welcome to join us in the shop again.” Will smiles at her and passes me a bunch of parsley to chop. “Especially now that I know you can use a drill.”
“But as for you, Mel . . .” Dad shakes his head. “I know working with the tools is fun, but you aren’t the set head anymore.”
“Come on, I have an excellent barricade design I’ve always wanted to try.” I hold up my hands, trying to act out what I mean, but I’m still terrible at charades, so it probably just looks like I’m waving herb fragments randomly in the air. “We’ll use A-frames with burlap sacks on top and put barrels on the ends, and rip up those old pallets in the garage so they’ll look distressed, and—”
“I need those pallets for work.” Dad shakes his head. “Not everything in this house exists solely for school theater purposes.”
“Your dad’s right. Besides, SMs don’t have time to do construction.” Will tastes a spoonful of something and wrinkles his nose. “It’s the price you pay for getting promoted. Plus, Fatima needs to be empowered to manage her team. If you’re in the shop all the time she’ll feel like she has to defer to you.”
“It’s not my fault you waited until this year to do Les Mis.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“Fatima’s set designs are fantastic,” Jasmin says, popping a mint into her mouth. “We just tested out the LED lights they ordered for the gunshots. They look awesome.”
“Well, that’ll be cool.” I exhale sharply. “I’m still annoyed we can’t have the star drop, though.”
“What?” Odile looks up. “We’re not doing the star drop?”
I purse my lips and fix my gaze directly over Odile’s right shoulder. No eye contact. No eye contact. “It was too expensive. Like, more than our entire budget for the show. I guess it was always a pipe dream, but I’m kind of devastated.”
“Enough complaining. It’s time to eat.” Will waves his fingers at us. “Everybody into the dining room while I put on the finishing touches.”
“Could you use another pair of hands?” Odile studies the various pots still simmering on the range. “I can stir the risotto if you need to finish the sauce.”
“I’m glad we invited you over, Odile.” Pops gathers up the glasses. “This is officially the first time we’ve had a dinner guest who knew how to stir risotto.”
“It’s the first time we’ve had a guest who knew what risotto was,” Dad adds.
“I will repeat my request and make it a command.” Will points his wooden spoon toward the dining room. “I appreciate the kind offer, Ms. Rose, but I still need everyone out, now.”
We shuffle into the dining room. Dad and Pops set the table, and Jasmin and Dom reach for their usual seats—they’ve both been regulars for dinner at our house since freshman year. Odile stands as awkwardly as she’s able to stand, which is to say not all that awkwardly, until Dad directs her to a chair.
“So how’s the acting life treating you, Dom?” Pops asks.
Dom tries to laugh, but it comes out as a mildly strangled chuckle. “It’s a lot of fun. But it’s nerve-racking to think about actually singing in front of a whole auditorium full of people.”
“I always wanted to play Enjolras,” Pops says, staring wistfully toward the dining room window.
Now I start laughing. “You’re making that up.”
“I assure you, he’s not.” Will strides into the dining room with a giant bowl of steaming risotto and platter of fish. Mmm. Dad grabs them and starts passing the food around immediately. “He used to talk about it all the time.”
Will goes back for the carrots and Brussels sprouts while Pops launches into the first chorus of “Do You Hear the People Sing?” I groan, and mercifully he stops two lines in. Jasmin and Odile both clap, but the rest of us react with a variety of eye rolls and embarrassed head tilts. Dom squirms in his seat.
“This looks incredible.” Odile gazes down at the parsley artfully dotting
the risotto and breathes in the smells coming from the roasted veggies. “And the carrots smell divine.”
“Mr. Green’s a cooking wizard,” Jasmin tells her, helping herself to an extra-large serving of risotto. “You remember his special brainstorming brownies?”
“Very much so.” Odile takes a huge bite of risotto and shuts her eyes, like she’s on the verge of moaning.
Too late, I realize I’m staring at her. By the time I avert my gaze, Jasmin’s studying me way too closely.
“Anyway, back to Enjolras.” Dad points his fork at Will as he settles into his usual seat. “Wasn’t that the role you played in that production? The one right after college?”
I assume he’s joking until Will gives him a haughty look. “I’ll have you know, I was Valjean.”
I wait for Dad and Pops to start laughing, but they just nod. “Right,” Dad says.
“Hilarious, you all,” I say.
But Will only holds my gaze and takes another spoonful of carrots.
“Wait, are you serious?” My jaw drops to the floor. “You were an actor?”
“No way!” Jasmin laughs. Next to her, Dom’s still squirming.
“Not only was I an actor . . .” Will grins, clearly delighted at my devastation. “I was the first black Valjean in a summer stock production in all of western Massachusetts.”
I shake my head. I can’t even eat, I’m so shocked. “You’re messing with me.”
“I’m not.” His grin widens. “I was the first black Curly in Oklahoma, too.”
“Actors aren’t quite the evil subspecies you’ve imagined, Mel,” Dad says. “There are worse things than standing in a spotlight having hundreds of people hang on your every breath.”
Dom stands up. The greenish tint he had at auditions is creeping back around his eyes. “Excuse me. I’ll just be a minute.” He heads for the bathroom down the hall.
“I’ve been thinking about talking to the crew about that, actually,” I tell Pops. “Sometimes the way we talk about actors seems kind of rude. Maybe we should try to cross-socialize more. Or at least not talk behind each other’s backs so much.”
Jasmin’s staring at me from across the table like I have three heads. I take a big bite of fish to keep myself from saying anything else that could get me into more trouble.
“So, Odile, is your whole family in show business?” Pops asks, neatly changing the subject.
“Pops,” I chide him. “No one calls it that anymore.”
“It’s okay.” Odile smiles at him and then at me. Ugh—when she does that, it’s physically impossible for me not to blush. “My parents aren’t very interested in theater, but my little sister’s getting into it. I tried to convince her to stick to dancing, since she’s wonderful at ballet, but she wants to act.”
“Like big sister, like little sister,” Dad says, sipping his wine.
“I hope not.” Odile’s smile doesn’t fade, but she’s gone a little stiff. “But it’s not up to me.”
“Why don’t you want your sister to follow in your acting footsteps?” Pops asks, because both my parents have to phrase everything in the cheesiest way possible. “How old is she, anyway?”
“Eleven. And it’s not that I think there’s anything wrong with acting, but I hope she doesn’t wind up missing so much school the way I did. I was homeschooled for all of eighth grade while I was in New York, and I wish so much that I could have that year back.”
“You do?” Jasmin seems startled.
Odile nods. “At the time I was excited to be part of a big show, but it turned out that just meant working in a job, with adults working in their jobs. And work is work, even when you’re thirteen. I’d rather have just had a normal school year with my friends.”
Huh. Now that I think about it, I guess my eighth-grade year was pretty cool. That was the year I figured out I was queer for real, and subsequently discovered how much fun kissing was. Plus, I was finally old enough to go places on my own sometimes. And my project on stem cells came in first at the district science fair.
I still think I’d rather have done a show on Broadway, though.
Will and Jasmin switch to talking about lighting, since this is officially supposed to be a mentorship meeting, and soon they’re having an in-depth discussion about gobos. I don’t have much to contribute, since they both know a lot more about lighting than I do. Apparently there’s a specific gobo they both want for the inn scenes that’s hard to find, and Odile jumps into the conversation, offering to call someone she knows who might be able to track it down. Jasmin grudgingly agrees with Will that it’s nice of her to offer.
Dom comes back to the table just as the gobo discussion is winding down. “Sorry I was gone so long. Is there any food left?”
“Please, take it.” Dad holds out the fish platter. “Otherwise we’ll have leftovers for days.”
“That’s not true at all,” I say. “Leftovers never stay in our fridge more than twelve hours when Will made them.”
“Quiet, Melody,” Pops says. “You’ll give him an even bigger head about his cooking than he’s already got.”
“I’ve always found having a hobby to be an excellent form of stress relief.” Will smiles as Dom digs into another piece of fish. “If there’s one lesson I’d impart to your overscheduled generation, it’s that.”
I hate it when people talk about how you have to have a bunch of hobbies, as if there’s something wrong with being passionate about one particular thing, but Odile nods seriously. “My parents say that too.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Pops flicks his eyes from Odile to me and back again. “Speaking of future plans, I’ve been curious, Odile—are you planning to go to college?”
“Pops!” I plead. He’s obviously trying to use this conversation to impart a lesson, and the last thing I want is to get into the college discussion again. We already spent two hours this weekend watching promotional videos for a half-dozen liberal arts schools that my parents seem to have chosen specifically because they don’t offer stand-alone majors in stage management. “We’re having dinner. You don’t need to interrogate her.”
“It’s all right.” Odile nods. “Yes, I applied to a few schools. I should hear back in April.”
“I thought you had to go to London to film that movie after graduation?” Jasmin asks.
“Well, I might need to defer for a semester or two. There’s a lot that’s still up in the air.” Odile sips her seltzer. I can’t believe how calmly she’s talking about this. If I had to think about college and school and a real job at the same time, I’d be freaking out.
“Do you have a first choice school?” Dad asks her.
“I’m hoping to get into NYU.”
“That’s my top choice, too.” Jasmin smiles at her. A genuine smile. Odile smiles back.
“You could continue working if you’re in the city.” Pops nods knowingly, as though he’s an expert on acting careers.
“Maybe.” Odile tilts her head to one side. “I guess I’ll see what happens with this movie and take it from there.”
I shift in my seat. Suddenly I kind of like knowing that I still have another year of high school, and that I’ll definitely go to college after that. I don’t know all the particulars of my future, but I know the general outline, which is apparently more than Odile knows. And her future is a lot closer than mine.
“Seems very reasonable.” Dad takes another spoonful of Brussels sprouts. He and Pops both look happy now. I guess Odile is sufficiently levelheaded by their standards. “It’s got to be exciting to know you’re working with someone like Martin Scorsese.”
“Yes. I’m nervous, but I’m also quite chuffed about it.”
“Chuffed?” I smile. “How very British of you.”
“Well, I am British.” She never stops smiling. “Half, anyway.”
“Oh, right. I think I—um, I heard that somewhere.” I manage to catch myself before I can say the more embarrassing version of that sentence, which is tha
t I read it on Wikipedia. “One of your parents is British and one’s American, right?”
She nods. “My mother’s from Southampton, and we spent a few years there when I was younger. I used to speak with a full English accent, but it only comes out now on certain words.”
“Schedule?” Dad says, pronouncing it the weird way, as if there’s no c in it.
“No, I say that one the American way. But I always forget how Americans say aluminium. In my house everyone says it the British way, even my dad.” She takes another bite of risotto and turns to Will. “I don’t suppose you’d ever share your risotto recipe, Mr. Green?”
He chuckles. “Absolutely not.”
“Speaking of which,” Pops tells him, “I know I say this every time, but your Brussels sprouts are divine.”
“You do say it every time, and it never gets old.”
Jasmin and Odile insist on doing the dishes at the end of the night, which means Dom and I are stuck helping too. Dad, Pops, and Will head down to the basement, claiming they’re going to watch RuPaul’s Drag Race, which they know I can’t stand. I bet their real plan is to talk about us where we can’t hear them.
“See you at school, everyone,” Will says before he goes downstairs. “Oh, and I meant to say, Mr. Connor, let me know if you want to set up any extra practice sessions for your songs. It’s too bad Ms. Qiao won’t have as much time to work with you under the new schedule.”
Dom, who never really stopped looking green even after he came back from the bathroom, now goes white. “She won’t?”
“Probably not. She’s got to spend more one-on-one time with one of the other actors than she’d planned. But I’m happy to work something out if that would help. Just let me know.”
“Okay.” Dom puts down the plate he was scraping off. “Thanks. Excuse me, I think I need to—um. I’ll be right back.”
He disappears down the hall again as Will heads downstairs.