I raced into the kitchen where my mum was paying The Crunchy Pickle bills at the kitchen table. I took her by the hand and pulled her out of the chair.
“Family meeting,” I said to her as I led her into the living room. “This might be one of the most important family meetings we’ll ever have.”
I left her in the living room, and then raced down the hall to Emily’s bedroom. She was feeding Katherine lettuce burgers, which are two pieces of lettuce with a piece of rolled-up lettuce in the middle.
“What now?” she said, without looking up.
“I need you desperately,” I said.
“So does Katherine. We’re in the middle of snack time.”
“Emily, I promise that once Katherine finds out what this is all about, she’ll be so happy you came with me.”
“If I come with you, Katherine comes too.”
“Fine. Just tell her to keep the hissing down and her tongue to herself.”
Emily picked Katherine up and the gruesome twosome followed me into the living room. We gathered around my dad’s La-Z-Boy.
“I’m sure you’re all wondering why I called this emergency family meeting,” I began.
“Not really,” said Emily. “In fact, not at all.”
“I made a deal with Dad that I’d get a B-plus on my maths test or I couldn’t be in the play. But we all know that even the father of our country, George Washington, sometimes had to go back to his dad and reconsider a decision, like that whole chopping down the cherry tree thing.”
“That’s a very good use of history, honey,” my mum said. She always looks at the positive side of things.
“Well, if George’s dad had grounded him, he wouldn’t have learned how to ride a horse, which means he wouldn’t have become a general, because generals had to ride on their white horses in front of the troops. And that means he wouldn’t have been president, and then we wouldn’t have the Constitution, which gives us freedom of speech, which we’re using right here today in Apartment 10A.”
Katherine hissed. No, she couldn’t be having a hissy fit when I was making the most important argument of my life. That was unacceptable.
“Excuse us,” Emily said with a giggle.
“Come on, Emily. This is important to me. Focus.”
“Look who’s talking.”
“So I’ve been thinking about this,” I went on, “and I’d like to ask that we reconsider Dad’s decision. I know the material on that test. I spent hours with Heather going over and over it. I just messed up because that’s how I do things.”
“Stanley, he has a point,” my mum said. “Dr Berger has told us that Hank gets nervous in testing situations.”
You go, Mum!
“Randi, you’re making excuses again,” my dad answered.
“Let me finish, Dad. Here’s my idea. To show you that I really do know my long division, I suggest I take a test right now. You can make up the problem. If I get it right, it counts as a B-plus. If I get it wrong, I’ll never bring this up again.”
“I think Hank is making a very fair proposal,” my mum said. “What do you say, Stanley?”
“I have to agree with Mum,” I chimed in, answering for my dad.
“Your mother is willing to make too many allowances for you, Hank. I can’t do that any more. Sometimes the toughest lessons are what make you the strongest.”
“Stanley,” my mum said, “I don’t want to disagree with you in front of the kids, but if Hank can prove to us that he really knows his maths, then it seems fair to me that we give him that chance.”
My dad was quiet.
“I agree with Mum,” Emily said. “I honestly think that Hank’s got a good idea, for the first time in six and a half years. The last one was when he put apple juice in the sandcastle moat that we built at Jones Beach.”
“I remember that,” Mum said. “It attracted all those lovely sand crabs.”
“Were they hermit crabs or fiddler crabs?” my sister the science nerd asked.
“No crab talk, Emily,” I barked. “I’m really trying to focus here. How about if we take a vote?”
“Well, I vote yes,” my mum said.
“I can’t believe it, but I vote yes too,” Emily said. Katherine opened her mouth and shot her tongue out in the direction of my cheek.
“I think Katherine just gave me a lizard kiss,” I said, “which we all agree has to count as a yes vote. So there you have it, Dad. Majority rules.”
My dad pushed the lever of his chair, and he shot upright into a sitting position.
“Unfortunately, Hank, this family is not a democracy.”
Suddenly, my father got up and walked over to the dining-room table. He didn’t say a word, just pulled his mechanical pencil from his shirt pocket, grabbed a yellow pad of paper and started to write. I didn’t move a muscle.
When he came back, he placed the yellow pad and pencil down on the coffee table. There it was. One nifty long division problem smiling up at me. My whole future rested on four hundred and ninety-seven divided by seven.
“You get the right answer, you can be in the play,” my dad said. “Begin.”
I looked at the problem and the numbers started to dance around on the page like they always do. But I picked up the pad with both hands and held it tight, forcing my eyes to focus on the numbers on the page.
Come on, eyes! You’re not just there to be blue and cute. Now read!
I reviewed the steps Heather had taught me. First step. Seven goes into forty-nine how many times? Is it five? Or six? Or seven?
I’ll take six. It’s in the middle.
I wrote down a six on the paper. I looked up at everyone staring at me. I thought maybe one of them would nod their head if I was on the right track. There was no nodding going on.
Cheerio could feel the tension, I guess, because he started to chase his tail. I kept watching him spin around and around. My mum could see that I was losing focus, so she picked Cheerio up and started to scratch him behind the ears.
I wish someone would scratch me behind the ears. I could use a little calming down.
I took a deep breath, remembering that oxygen is power, and looked at the problem again.
Come on, brain. Join the team. You can kick in any time you want. We’re all waiting.
Wait a minute! It’s not six, it’s seven. Seven goes into forty-nine seven times! I erased the six, without tearing the paper, and changed it to a seven. I looked up at my mum. Now I thought I saw a little nodding going on.
Come on, brain, don’t fail me now.
My pencil flew across the paper, bringing down numbers in nice neat columns, subtracting, dividing again, multiplying again. After a few minutes, I had an answer. Seventy-one.
I handed the yellow pad to my father. My stomach did backflips while he looked over my work. It seemed to take for ever.
And in case you’re like me and not too swift in the maths department, let me just announce to you now that four hundred and ninety-seven divided by seven equals …
… ta-da …
… seventy-one!!!
WHEN WE GOT TO SCHOOL the next morning, Frankie, Ashley and I went directly to the hall. McKelty had already been named the king, and I wasn’t sure whether Devore would let me back into the play.
When we walked in, Nick McKelty was standing on the stage, wearing my costume. Devore was supervising Mrs Crock, who was kneeling in front of McKelty, putting pins in the golden pantaloons. Oh no, it looked like they had already added more fabric to make the trousers stretch around McKelty’s tree-trunk-like waist. My heart started to sink. I was too late.
I raced over to Devore.
“My father said yes,” I blurted out.
Devore looked at Mrs Crock, who was kneeling down with a mouthful of pins, letting out the pantaloons. She had turned McKelty around, so his big bubble butt was staring us right in the face. Wow, it took a lot to cover up that big, round thing. I didn’t know there was that much gold fabric in all of New York.
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“I thought your father had forbidden you,” Devore said to me.
“It’s a long story,” I said. “But he finally said yes.”
Devore was quiet, not jumping up and down with joy like I had hoped he would.
“But the costume…” Devore said, his voice trailing off. “And yesterday, we changed some of the staging.”
Mrs Crock turned McKelty another quarter turn, so he was now facing us. Poor lady had run out of pins.
“Hey, Zipperbutt, check me out,” McKelty said. “Now you can finally see what a king is supposed to look like. I was born to wear gold.”
Devore looked at him.
“Lots of important producers have already called, asking me to leave school and star in their Broadway plays,” Nick went on, giving Devore a blast of the McKelty Factor at work. “But I’m going to leave them all dangling for a while. Give Hollywood a chance to call – then weigh up my offers.”
“That does it,” Devore said, like he had just awakened from a horrible dream. “Mr McKelty, thank you for filling in during Hank’s absence, but as in the real theatre, the understudy must step aside when the original star is able to return.”
“Huh?” McKelty said.
“You’re fired, dude,” Frankie said.
“You can’t fire me,” McKelty said.
“Might I remind you that I am the director,” Devore said. “I must do what’s right for the play.”
“So hand over the costume, McKelty,” Ashley said. “It’s going on Hank’s royal body now.”
“About that,” Mrs Crock said to Devore. “The costume has already been altered significantly to make it fit Nick.”
“Don’t worry about that, Mrs Crock,” I said. “I’ll use a belt to hold up the trousers.”
“But the King of Siam wouldn’t have worn a belt,” Devore said.
“How about this?” Ashley said, pointing to a golden cord with two tassels that was draped over the back of the throne. And without waiting for an answer, she pulled the cord off the throne and brought it to Devore. “We can use it to hold up the trousers.”
“Now that, my dear, is thinking like a true theatre person,” Devore said.
“So what happens to me?” McKelty said. “I’m just supposed to fade into the background like this never happened?”
“There’s a plan.” Frankie laughed.
Devore ignored his remark and rubbed his goatee thoughtfully before he spoke. “As a gesture of our appreciation,” he began, “for your…”
“Talent?” Nick filled in.
“Let’s just say, for your unique understudy skills,” Devore said, “it would be a pleasure to ask you to join Luke Whitman and play Elephant Boy Number Two.”
“Is it a speaking part?” McKelty asked.
“No, but your presence on the stage will speak volumes,” Devore said.
“He’ll take it,” Frankie answered for McKelty.
“But aren’t I still the understudy?” McKelty asked.
“Indeed you are,” Devore told him.
“Because something awful could still happen to Zipperbutt, right?” McKelty said. “I mean, you never know what could happen. The theatre is a strange place.”
Don’t ask me why, but I didn’t like the sound of that.
ON THE NIGHT OF THE MUSICAL, the hall was full of parents and grandparents, little brothers, older sisters and about as many video cameras as there were people. Everyone in the audience was scrambling for seats and calling out to friends. The entire room was buzzing with electricity. All of the cast members could feel it, most of all me, because I was the one peeking out from behind the red velvet curtain that Devore had insisted we hang across the stage.
It was just before show time. As I stood behind the curtain, my right eye, or maybe it was my left, scanned the room like a periscope on a submarine. I was searching for the Zipzer family. I found Papa Pete first, because he was wearing his bright red running suit, which makes him stand out in a crowd. My mum and Emily were there, sitting next to Robert Upchurch and his mum. Thank goodness Emily and Robert had left Katherine at home. She doesn’t do well in crowds. And by the way, neither does my dad. He was looking seriously uncomfortable, pulling at his tie. I couldn’t hear him clearing his throat nervously, but I knew he was.
“It’s very unprofessional to peek through the curtain before show time,” Devore said to me. “It’s just not done. But while you’re at it, do we have a full house?”
“Standing room only,” I reported to him.
“I sense we have a hit on our hands, my boy,” Devore said. “Now take your place on the throne.”
“I’m on my way,” I said. “But first, Devore, can you answer just one question for me?”
“Of course.”
“What’s my first line? I’ve completely forgotten it.”
Devore didn’t panic. He didn’t really need to, because I was panicked enough for both of us.
“This is a normal and natural occurrence,” Devore said, “that happens to many of us theatre professionals.”
“And what do we theatre professionals do when our brains dry up like a prune?” I asked.
“We do not worry,” Devore said. “You knew your lines during the dress rehearsal, and you’ll know them when the curtain goes up. Your muse will come.”
I had no idea what a muse was, but I couldn’t wait for it to get there, because it was show time, which is no time for a muse to be late.
As I took my place on the throne, Heather came running out from stage left. That’s a theatre term that means I have no idea which side she was coming from. The good thing was that she was there onstage. I hoped she’d seen my muse on the way out.
Heather looked really good. She had undone her plaits so her hair was falling on her shoulders. She was wearing a long blue dress that went all the way down to the floor. It had a hoop around the bottom that made it stick out in a big circle around her.
Note to self: do not step on that hoop when we dance. That is a trip waiting to happen.
Heather took her place by the door where she was supposed to make her entrance. Wait a minute. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t walking like a human. She looked like a marble statue moving stiffly across the stage.
“Are you OK?” I whispered to her.
She opened her mouth to answer me, but all that came out was a squeak.
Great. My brain is dried up like a prune and her voice box has gone on vacation to Hawaii. We’re going to be quite a pair.
“Don’t worry, Heather,” I said. “Your muse will fix everything. He must be stuck in traffic …with mine.”
When she looked at me, all I could see was panic in her eyes.
“OK, Heather, we can do this,” I said, absolutely not believing a word of my own hot air. “Remember to breathe in and out. Keep saying ‘I am relaxed’.”
She started to breathe, but not deep breaths. They were quick little shallow ones, coming so fast that I think she started to get dizzy. I noticed her swaying on her feet for no reason.
“Wow, I didn’t know what a great breather you were,” I said to her. “I’m pretty positive that’s enough breathing for now.”
Just at that moment, a piano chord blared loud and strong from beyond the curtain. It was Mr Rock, starting the musical introduction to let the audience know that the play was about to begin.
Thank you, Mr Rock! We have to move fast before Heather passes out completely.
“Places, everyone,” Frankie said, bringing all the kindergarten kids out onto the stage. They were playing the king’s nineteen children, and they looked so cute in their little pantaloons. I noticed that my favourite kindergarten pal, Mason, was wearing his Power Ranger flip-flops, which probably didn’t exist hundreds of years ago in Siam, but he looked pretty cool in them, anyway. Frankie talked into his headset, making sure Ryan Shimozato and the other king’s guards had their swords ready for when the curtain went up. As he ran by me, he put his hand up for a high five and wh
ispered, “Knock ’em out, dude.”
I glanced at Heather. She already looked knocked out.
I climbed onto my throne and adjusted the gold cord I was using to hold up my pantaloons. There had been no time to sew me new trousers, so they were still McKelty-size. Fortunately, the belt Ashley had created from the cord was working fine. I pulled it tighter around my waist, just to make sure everything stayed where it was supposed to stay.
“Hard trousers to fill, huh, Zipperclown?” McKelty whispered as he settled in next to Luke Whitman on the stage. “I look better in that costume, anyway.”
“Yeah, especially if it’s covering your face,” Ashley whispered from her place at the curtain. Now that she was done with the costume design, her job was to raise and lower the curtain.
“Break a leg, moron,” McKelty said to me. “In fact, break three.”
“Hey, good luck to you too, McKelty,” I said, wondering why he was calling me a moron when he was the one who thought people had three legs.
There was no time for more conversation, because just then, Devore stepped through the slit in the curtain and took his place in front of the audience. The room was totally quiet now. I could hear myself breathing.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Devore said, in a voice so big that it flew up to the ceiling and bounced off all the walls before it landed in your ears. “I invite you to come with us now to the ancient land of Siam, where we find that the king has hired Anna, an English tutor, to instruct his children in the ways of the western world.”
Devore wiggled two fingers behind his back, which was Ashley’s cue to start raising the curtain. Devore exited stage right. Or maybe it was stage left. Don’t ask me. The point is, he exited and came to stand in the wings in case we needed him.
As the curtain went up, I looked out at the audience. Wow, that was a lot of people. You could hear all the parents’ video cameras humming at once. I just sat there on my throne, frozen solid like a pineapple ice lolly on a stick.
OK, Hankster. You have the first line. Now go. Speak. Take it away.
I opened my mouth and nothing came out. Heather was standing with her suitcase, ready for me to speak to her.
The Curtain Went Up, My Trousers Fell Down Page 8