“Well, aren’t we getting rabid? Your mother wouldn’t like hearing such language coming out of her baby’s mouth, you know.” She says it with a smirk I can see in the atmosphere.
“No, she wouldn’t. But I get worked up over it.”
“Good for you. Everybody needs some righteous anger, Dewey. Keep it up. It’s the only way the powers that be will ever end this crap.”
“Shit, yeah!”
“Switching topics, are you nervous about tomorrow?”
“Keepin’ the butterflies at bay. Barely.”
“Pish-posh.” She uses a British accent. “You shall inhabit the corpus of the great Henry, and the peons shall bow unto you.”
“Great accent, Jo. Remind me never to cast you in a play of mine. But thanks. I hope you’ll be there to whisper into the judge’s ear.”
“Wouldn’t miss it, cuz. Now, hie thee away. Thou must prepare. Be thee ever rested for the challenge.”
“Glad you’re going into nursing instead of acting, Jo. I love you.”
“Love you too, cuz.”
The rest of the evening is uneventful. Mother and Daddy take me to Pancho’s Mexican Buffet to celebrate the upcoming contest. I think a celebration should probably follow a victory, not precede the battle, but what do I know? It’s a nice gesture. Daddy loves eating there because he thinks it is a major bargain. And I guess it is. All you can eat. And a little flag you raise to alert a waitress to bring you more. And the sopapillas. Wow!
I eat far too much and fear I will be sick before the show goes on. But I wake up Saturday morning fresh as a daisy, or raring to go, or buckin’ at the chute, or some other aphorism that means I’m ready to go win a contest.
Since Diamond Hill-Jarvis is just across town, we are able to take our own cars. Mr. Waters took over our set pieces, what there are of them, last night in a pickup he borrowed. Jimmy said our enemies at DHJ might sabotage our stuff, but Mr. Waters shut him down fast. There was to be no bad sportsmanship, he demanded. And Jimmy knew that. But he doesn’t always think.
The contest begins with opening remarks from the DHJ director, welcoming us to her school. She introduces the critique judge. His name is Carl Marder. He teaches at North Texas State University. And actually, we did a field trip to Denton once to see one of his productions. Great work.
As he is speaking, letting us know what he’ll be looking for, I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s Jo. “Break a leg,” she whispers.
I turn to kiss her on the cheek and see she has Butch in tow. My heart smiles, seeing two supportive fans. I didn’t even know she knew Butch, though.
Mr. Marder finishes talking, takes his place at the table halfway up in the center of the seats, and a hush falls on the crowd, mostly the contestants with a few supporters scattered around.
The first show is good, but not great. I see one cast member who might make All-Star Cast, but there is nothing else to write home about. They take their bows, and the houselights come up.
“Hey, DewDew.”
I quiver hearing that voice from behind me. She came.
“Thought I wouldn’t be here, huh?” she says as she hugs me. “I wouldn’t miss your performance for anything. What have I missed so far?”
I fill her in on the first entry. A voice announces, “Please take your seats for the second performance.” LuLu says, “I’ll go sit with Jo and Butch. You don’t need us hovering over you. I know your process, my future Oscar winner.” She flashes her smile, with those giant curls waving in the breeze.
The day proceeds. Contender number two is pretty good. It kinda bothers me the leading man is so good. He might steal my thunder.
Number three is just so-so.
Four is Diamond Hill-Jarvis. Their performance is absolutely flawless. Nothing is wrong. From production values to acting, they are perfection. They finish, and there is a huge round of applause. The audience had grown right before their slot. Apparently, a lot of DHJ students showed up to cheer them on.
Now it is our time. We head to our dressing room to prepare. We are given thirty minutes; then we have to be backstage or get disqualified. Timing is very important. We quickly get ready, do a circle where Jimmy, of all people, leads us in prayer, and we head to the stage.
I feel very good as our show proceeds. Everything is just as we planned. The energy’s amazing. I’m channeling Henry as never before. And Eleanor’s playing off my Henry like we’re an old married couple who love each other but can’t stand to be in each other’s presence. Just like in Henry’s twelfth-century palace. And in a lot of people’s homes today. A fleeting thought: making this show relevant to today’s audiences is important to our winning.
We get to the scene where Philip lays Richard low, making it very clear he never loved him, he was just using him. It’s heady stuff, even in our cut version, for high school theater. Charles is magnificent. I’m so happy for him. His parents are in the audience watching him. He needs this.
Our performance ends. Behind the pulled curtain, I grab my Eleanor and hug her for dear life. “We did it! We did it!” She gives me a smacker, right on the lips, then giggles. We’re having a group hug. When we break away, Charles grabs me in a hug. I feel self-conscious. The guys in our drama club never hug each other. But Charles’s arms surround me like his life depends on it. Finally, after a very uncomfortable thirty seconds, he breaks away.
“Good job, Dewey,” he says.
“You too, Charles,” I answer, a little weak in the knees and not knowing why.
Then we hear it. The backstage timekeeper is talking to one of the DHJ backstage crew. “I’ve got to get out front. The show went overtime. Lion’s disqualified. Thirteen seconds over. This is huge. I’ve got to see Miss Murray about this.”
The other guy says, “Quit telling me about it. Get out there.”
We stand there. No one says a thing. The guy who’d just spoken says to us, “Clear the stage. You need to get out of costume and get out front.” I look at him. I want to see a triumphant smile on his face. At least if he was smirking, basking in their victory by default, it would make it easier to take. But he seems genuinely sorry for us.
Mr. Waters, after a while, joins us in the dressing room. Most of us are out of makeup and costume by the time he arrives. The girls’ve mostly cried all their makeup off. And I have to admit I’ve felt a few tears sneak out of my eyes.
When he walks toward us, there’s no expression on his face. Two of the girls rush to him. Grab him for dear life. Burst into fresh sobs.
“Now, now. Stop it, ladies,” he commands. He turns to the rest of us. “We dodged a bullet, guys and gals. The timekeeper out front had us coming in under. Two seconds under, but we were under.” He pauses to let it sink in. “Under, under, under. Rules say the official time is the lower of the two.”
We all cheer. He motions for us to keep it down. “We still have to win this thing. But what I saw out there was pretty damn—I mean darn—good. And if we take home that trophy, you can bet I’m going to be cutting two more minutes out of this shit, uh, crap, uh, literature.” We all laugh at him. He’s been known to let fly a few forbidden words, but by and large, it only happens out of frustration. And seeing your play almost disqualified because of timing would be a major frustration, I’d say.
We sit as a group, with all our supporters gathered right behind us. I am near the end, on the right, with the rest of the cast flanking me; Jimmy and the other two crew members are at the other end. Mr. Waters sits between me and my leading lady.
The honorable mentions are announced first. Our Geoffrey gets one, and we applaud like he’s just been named most valuable player. Each of the other schools gets at least one honorable mention.
All-Star Cast is next. DHJ gets two of those slots, two other schools get two each, our Philip gets the next slot, and Charles is called last. I am so happy for him I almost want to give him back his hug. Then it hits me. Only Best Actor and Best Actress are left. If I don’t win, I’m in the toilet.
“Best Actress…. Letty Wainwright, Eleanor of Aquitaine, The Lion in Winter.”
Our whole section erupts. My Eleanor. Best Actress. I knew she’d do it, but somehow I didn’t too. Contests are totally nerve-racking.
“And the last acting award goes to Dewey Snodgress, Henry II. The Lion in Winter.” Or at least that’s what I was told later.
I sit. I do not hear my name called. My mind is numb. My brain has blocked my hearing. Mr. Waters jumps up and jerks me up. I look at him. “It’s you, Dewey. They called your name. Go up onstage.”
I just stand there. In a stupor. I see his lips moving. I try to read them. But I hear nothing.
“You won best actor, DewDew.” LuLu is standing in front of me, pulling me. “Are you deaf? Best Actor.” She acts like she is signing to me. I hear laughter coming from the entire audience. It registers.
I go up onto the stage and accept my award. There’s a hearty round of applause, and we all file back down to our seats. My win has registered, but I’m still in sort of a fog.
“And now. What you’ve been waiting for. Second place goes to director Beverly Murray.”
Miss Murray goes onstage to accept her trophy. As her fans keep clapping, she nods, says, “Thank you” and leaves the stage.
“And here it is folks. Today’s winning play, the show that advances to Regional….” He pauses. “The Lion in Winter, director Robert Waters.”
Mr. Waters once again jumps up and pulls me with him. The rest of our cast and crew follow our lead as we head to the stage. Mr. Waters accepts the trophy as we all crowd around him. We give him an enormous group hug.
“If our winning cast and director will take their seats, we’ll take a short break, and then Mr. Marder will give his critiques.”
We head to our seats. It is only then I see Jeep. He is sitting on the other side of Butch and Jo.
As I walk up the aisle, he runs toward me. Grabs me. A hug that makes all the others seem like Sunday School. I’m a little unsettled by the stirring I’m feeling. But I have to say, I’m liking it. After an eternity, and when I’m totally beet red, I’m sure, he breaks away.
“I’m so proud of you I could bust a gut, Dew! I knew you could do it. You’re the best actor I’ve ever seen.”
“Jeep,” I say, loving every word and still burning from the red-hot heat in my face, “let’s sit down.” He starts to sit in our section. “No, over there.” I point to a deserted area. I start toward it, and he follows me.
We sit. “Jeep,” I say, “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I wouldn’t miss my Dew’s big day. No how. No way. Shit. This is an awesome day. You f-ing killed the competition up there, babe. I mean, Dew.”
His happiness for me is so infectious I don’t even say anything about his slip. I’ve made it clear I’m not that way, so a tiny slip of the tongue can’t be a problem for me.
“I’m glad you came, Jeep.”
“I almost didn’t make it. Mama had to work this morning, but I asked Mr. Waters yesterday when you’d go on. He told me you were the last to perform, so Mama dropped me off. She was late getting off work, so I was afraid I’d miss you. I got here just as the lights were dimming for your show. And am I glad I saw it. You guys were amazing. You’re totally going to clean up at Regionals, just like here.”
“Let’s not jinx it before we even get there, Jeep. But I’m glad you think we’re good.”
“Good? You’re not good. You’re G-R-E-A-T, gr-r-r-r-eat!!”
That’s Jeep for you.
The announcer calls for attention for the critiques. I join our group again.
Mr. Marder is a great critiquer. He says very few bad things and manages to praise just about every play. And when he does talk about problems, he suggests how to fix them.
His critique of Diamond Hill-Jarvis’s show is glowing. He lets them know they are very lucky, indeed, to have such a talented director.
He turns to us. He can’t say enough good things. He admits his heart fell when “the young man came from backstage and said you’d gone overtime. Thank the god of theater the other timekeeper got a different reading.” He looks at Mr. Waters sternly. “I trust you’ll fix that so there isn’t a problem again?” Mr. Waters sheepishly nods at him. Then he begins to heap praise on our production. One by one, each cast member is lauded. His critiquing style is amazing. He finds one tiny thing about each and every person to praise. Finally, he looks at Letty and me. “And never think all these people aren’t the reason you two were so good. No leading player ever did well without support. Even the brightest star in the heavens can’t carry a show. But when two actors have the talent you two presented to us today, that’s half the battle. Know you two walk in the clouds, but only because those supporting you allowed it. You shine because they applied the polish.”
It is an inspiring speech. I truly have never thought of it quite that way. I’ve watched Newman, Brando, Clift and the rest give incredible performances. But when they are surrounded by a bad supporting cast, nothing can save the movie. Mr. Marder is right. I may know what I’m doing, but I’m only able to do it because of people like Charles and the others. Lesson learned.
We erupt again with hugs and laughter when the day’s totally over. It takes a long time to present five shows, even if they are only forty minutes in length.
As everyone is spouting happiness to each other, Jimmy sidles up to me and speaks into my ear. “You see Charles’s folks?”
I look over at them.
“Don’t look too happy, do they?”
He’s right. They are scowling.
“They didn’t go overboard with applause when Charles was named to All-Star. And when your name was called for Best Actor? His dad turned to his mom and said, ‘Charles would have done the role better.’ I wanted to turn around and slug him.”
“Thanks for the support, Jimmy. But I’m glad you didn’t. Now we know why Charles is like he is.” I wasn’t sure what I was saying, but it truly seemed like their behavior was quite telling.
Then Jo and Butch and LuLu and Jeep surround me, cutting me off from the rest.
Jo grabs my trophy. “I knew you would win. Nobody else came close. And this baby is going to look great on your mantel.” I don’t have a mantel, and she knows it.
“You were so good, Dewey,” Butch says. “One day, mention me when you win the Oscar. ‘I owe it all to my best friend, Butch.’ You don’t have to mean it. Just say it.” He laughs.
LuLu wraps her arm around my shoulders. “Come to Tinseltown with me, DewDew. We’ll take the town by storm.”
“Can’t, LuLu. College, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Slave away in college. After I’m a star, I’ll tell my producer I’ll only do his next film if you are my costar.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I say. They all start singing a chorus of the Beatles song “She Loves You,” only changing the “she” to “we,” led by Jeep. We begin walking, all together as a group, up the aisle, singing away. The Beatles would be proud. We even switch to “All You Need Is Love” after a while. Joey does a mean “duh-da-duh-duh-duh,” the trombone sound in the song.
We only break apart when the doorway won’t fit us all as a group.
We stop in the foyer of the auditorium.
“Got to get you back, Butch. What time do you need to get to work?” Jo asks him.
“Six thirty.” He looks at the clock. “We better run, or I’m going to be late.” Jo kisses my cheek, and Butch bumps my shoulder, a friend bump. “Good to see you guys,” Jo says to everyone as they leave.
“Baby, LuLu’s gotta go. The doctor and his wife are demanding dinner at the club tonight.” I’m reasonably sure there is no country club in Fort Worth accepting black members, but this is probably just her exit line. Always the actress. She gives me a big smack on the lips. She sashays away. “Love ya, DewDew.”
“Love ya more.”
That leaves me and Jeep.
“Ride home
?”
“Jeep, why did I expect this? Dewey’s Taxi, at your service.”
When we get in the car, he looks at me. “I hoped we’d have some alone time, Dew. Drive slow.”
I’m on such a high from winning, his tone doesn’t register. “I will, Jeep. Let’s catch up. How’s your friend in NYC?”
“He’s good. He says that festival he told me about is shaping up.”
“How does he know these things, Jeep?”
“I dunno. I guess ’cause he’s rich. Rich people find out things before the rest of us, don’t they? Maybe he got asked to invest or something. Or maybe he gets his info from the guys in his dorm. New York guys are more savvy than us Fort Worthians? Fort Worthers? Fort Worthites?”
“Whatever, Jeep. Doesn’t matter. Your friend sounds to me like part truth, part wind. Is he windy, Jeep?”
“What’s that?”
“My grandma calls someone who likes to talk and doesn’t say much ‘windy.’”
“Nah. I think he knows what he’s talking about. I hope so. Not that I would ever get to go to the festival. But it would be fun.”
We’re crossing the Belknap Street viaduct, when Jeep says, “Dewey?”
“What?”
“Do you think there’s any hope for us?”
Just what I didn’t want to talk about.
“We’ll always be friends, Jeep.”
“I know.” His voice is so sad. And I don’t know what else to say.
I pull up into his driveway after the rest of the ride has been spent in silence.
“Thanks, Dew.” He leans over and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. Then he almost leaps out the open car door. When he gets on his porch, he turns.
The saddest look I’ve ever seen.
Chapter 17
MY, MY, my. Time really does fly when you’re having fun. And working on Lion in Winter was the best time of my life. When we convened on Monday after school for rehearsal, Mr. Waters introduced us to his friend Glen. Well, he introduced him to everyone else. I, of course, had already met him at one of the rehearsals for LOVE.
All You Need Is Love Page 21