by Lisa Fiedler
“I’m sorry, honey. But if I don’t get started on the whites now, I won’t have time for the fine washables later.” She closed the washing machine door and turned a dial on the control panel. “But here’s the good news: I’m using the double-rinse cycle, so I won’t be interrupting you again for at least fifty-five whole minutes.”
“Great,” I grumbled, watching her climb the stairs.
“Hey, stop that washer!”
I turned to see Susan making her way over from the far side of the basement. At least, I thought it was Susan; I couldn’t see her face behind the enormous pile of old sheets she was carrying. Maxie was right beside her, lugging the bath mats.
“Stop the machine,” Susan commanded again, her voice muffled through all that pima cotton.
“Why?”
“These old sheets are perfect for togas,” said Maxie. “And Susan told me her idea for using the bath mats to make a Cyclops costume. Brilliant.”
“But they’re all gross and smelly,” said Susan. “We can’t use them unless we run them through the wash.”
“Can’t it wait?”
In response, my sister shoved the bundle of linens into my face. The stink of mildew told me she was right. The sooner we cleaned those sheets, the better.
I hit the stop button, opened the washer door, and watched as Susan and Maxie stuffed their haul of castoff bed linens and bathroom rugs in with the regular load. It was a tight fit. Very tight. We had to lean against the door to get it to click closed again.
“Maybe we should add more soap,” Maxie suggested.
I opened the little compartment where the detergent went and poured in two more capfuls. Then I turned the dial to on and heard the zzzzhhhsshhhing sound of churning water.
“That oughta do it,” said Susan.
Oh, it did it, all right… .
It did it big-time!
CHAPTER
5
For the audition dance sequence, I chose sixteen counts of Travis’s “Seize the Day” solo from our first show. Since Travis was such a superior dancer, Mackenzie altered the combination slightly to accommodate the fact that Brady had no dance experience.
First she walked everyone through the combination.
Pivot step, step ball change, kick, leap, step ball change.
After a couple of walk-throughs, Kenzie added the music, courtesy of my iPod speakers, which I’d propped on a shelf between Mom’s long-forgotten Crock-Pot and Dad’s high-school baseball trophies.
“Seize the Day” from Newsies filled the basement as my cast ran through the high-energy steps. I was enjoying their dancing so much, I was caught off guard when Brady stopped mid pas de bourrée and frowned.
“Um, Anya … I think there’s a problem.”
“With that last turn, you mean?” I gave him an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it. You just have to shift your weight from—”
“No, that’s not the problem.” Brady pointed to the far side of the basement. “That is.”
I turned in the direction he was pointing, as did everyone else, and my eyes nearly popped out of my head. The washer was overflowing! Water and soapsuds were gushing out around the edges of the door, and the whole machine was shaking and rocking and bouncing in place.
Talk about irony… . It actually looked like it was dancing!
“What do we do?” cried Susan.
“I don’t know!”
But Austin had already sprinted across the basement to turn off the machine and switch the water line lever to off.
With a loud chug and a long hiss, the machine went still.
I stared in horror at the deluge of water and soap bubbles spreading across the floor. Travis’s sneakers were already soaked through. Kids were hopping around, trying to avoid the flood by sidestepping or leaping over it, but since there was no longer a single dry inch of basement floor, they only succeeded in splashing through the giant puddle. It was like some nightmare version of that old Gene Kelly dance number “Singin’ in the Rain.”
Susan was shaking her head in dismay. “Guess we should have used the extra-heavy cycle setting,” she muttered.
I glared at her. “Ya think?”
Taking our cue from the rest of the cast, we splashed through the puddle and dashed up the steps.
Upstairs, I explained everything to Nana and Papa: Too many sheets … exploding washer … flooded basement. They kept looking over my shoulder as actor after actor came squishing through the kitchen in sopping sneakers and squeaky flip-flops. I finished with a guilty shrug. “I’m really sorry.”
“Oh, Anya,” said Nana with a sigh. “I wish you had asked for my help.”
“So do I,” I admitted, feeling horrible. I couldn’t believe Susan and I had destroyed not only our perfect rehearsal space, but Mom’s top-of-the-line, energy-efficient front loader as well. And we’d made a lot of extra work for my grandparents.
“So, um”—I gave Nana a hopeful smile—“maybe we shouldn’t mention this to Mom and Dad when they call. We don’t want to worry them.”
“Yeah,” said Susan. “We don’t want their second honeymoon to be a washout.”
Papa, who’d always gotten a kick out of Susan’s sense of humor, laughed. Then he picked up the phone to call the plumber.
But Nana still looked very disappointed in me. And that made my heart hurt.
“I’m going out front to prune your mother’s rosebushes,” she said, slipping on a pair of gardening gloves. “Later on you’ll have to help me empty the wet clothes from the washer and wring them out.”
“Okay,” I said. “Susan and I will do that. I promise.” As she headed out the front door, I addressed my cast.
“I think we’re going to have to do our singing auditions outside,” I told them.
No one seemed to mind.
A few minutes later we were all seated on the back lawn in the shade of a big elm.
Joey, as it turned out, was a quick study when it came to music. Even though he’d never seen the sheet music before, he played the songs as if he’d been practicing for weeks.
After all the returning cast members had done their singing auditions (no surprises, except, I was happy to note, everyone was a lot more confident on this go-round), it was Brady’s turn. He gave us a rousing rendition of Cyclops’s brooding solo, “In the Kingdom of the Blind, the One-Eyed Man Is King.”
They say hindsight is twenty-twenty; that doesn’t apply to me.
I’ve got one eye, and for me that’s plenty—I see what I need to see.
Now it’s never easy to make a decision
Without the benefit of peripheral vision… .
Brady’s audition was terrifically entertaining; he really got into the giant monster character, and his baritone voice was perfect for the song.
“Wonder what size bath mat he wears,” Susan whispered.
I giggled.
Then Nora performed one of Penelope’s songs, the cute and upbeat “So Many Suitors, So Little Time.”
Men in my kitchen, and men in my hall,
I’m in need of a way to get rid of them all.
I’ve told them a lie, now I have them believing
That I’ll choose my next beau when I’m done with my weaving.
Nora also did a great job. With her height and strong voice projection, it occurred to me she might be exactly right for the role of Penelope.
“Wonderful,” I said when she finished. “You should do the lines from that scene for your acting audition tomorrow. I’d like to see how it all comes together.”
Nora beamed. “Okay. I will.”
“You were both excellent,” said Austin, offering Brady a high five. “Glad you decided to try out. And, Joey, thanks for handling the accompaniment. You did great.”
“Thanks, dude,” said Joey.
“See you all back here tomorrow morning,” said Susan.
“Take your scripts. You can work on your scenes and monologues at home, and we’ll me
et back here tomorrow to finish the auditions. Ten o’clock. Don’t be late.”
“We won’t,” said Travis.
“Good luck with the flood,” said Elle.
“See you tomorrow,” said Spencer. “But just to be on the safe side, I think I’ll bring my flippers.”
“Hey!” Susan snapped, shooting him a look. “I’ll handle the jokes around here, if you don’t mind!” Then she grinned. “For the record, I would have gone with snorkel, but good effort.”
Spencer laughed.
When they were gone, Austin, Susan, and I sat down on the porch steps. It seemed like only yesterday the three of us were having our first theater brainstorming session in this very spot. And now here we were, right back where we’d started … both literally and figuratively. Because after today’s washing machine disaster, and Nana’s concerns about Spin the Bottle, it was pretty clear we would have to come up with a more appropriate place to hold rehearsals.
“It’s karma,” I said with a sigh. “I wasn’t totally up-front with Mom and Dad, and the universe decided to punish me.”
“Stupid universe,” Susan muttered, dropping her chin in her hands.
“Kind of like the gods messing with Odysseus on his journey,” Austin chuckled.
“You mean because Odysseus wants to get home to Ithaca, and we want to get home to the clubhouse theater?”
“Exactly,” said Austin. “And as a writer, I like the symbolic connection. Life imitating art and all. But that doesn’t help us with finding a better venue.”
“Any ideas?” asked Susan.
“Just one,” I said, standing and heading inside.
I returned a few seconds later, my pockets filled with ticket money, and started off down the walk.
Susan and Austin didn’t ask me where I was going. They simply got up and followed me.
Because they knew as well as I did we had only one viable option.
The Chappaqua Community Center.
CHAPTER
6
After wandering the administrative hallways of the community center for a full fifteen minutes, we finally found the office of the special events coordinator, a Ms. Napolitano. Unfortunately, Ms. Napolitano happened to be away on vacation this week. She was taking a cruise.
Guess where.
The Greek Isles!
Austin the writer thought this was particularly fitting. Susan just rolled her eyes and blamed Zeus.
The problem was that Ms. Napolitano’s temporary replacement, Mrs. Crandall, was not what you would call “well trained” in coordinating special events. Technically, she was a part-time employee whose usual job was to sit at the entrance to the indoor swimming pool, checking membership cards and reminding everyone to shower before getting in the water. I recognized her from when I took swimming lessons here back in second grade.
Mrs. Crandall was a very nice lady, but she was also a bit of a scatterbrain.
We explained to her that we wanted to rent the auditorium for the next two weeks, and if possible, we’d like to put a tentative hold on it for a third week.
This flustered her. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just use the pool?” she asked. “I know how to handle that.”
I politely assured her that unless we decided to reimagine The Odd-yssey as a water ballet, the pool simply would not do. We needed the auditorium.
It took Mrs. Crandall a while to find the rental forms in the ancient file cabinet, and accessing the events calendar on the computer nearly brought her to tears. Finally she was able to ascertain that the auditorium was, in fact, available for the dates we’d requested. She typed in the name of our organization and blocked off the next two weeks with a yellow highlight. The third week she highlighted in pink, which I supposed meant that it was not paid for yet and could change.
I gave Mrs. Crandall the cash, which she counted (twice). Then she handed over the forms.
“You can fill these out tonight and bring them back on Monday morning,” she explained. “At least, I think that will be all right.”
“Can we see the auditorium?” I asked.
“Oh.” Her face fell. “Must you?”
“We must,” said Susan.
“Very well.” Mrs. Crandall opened a drawer and dug around until she found an enormous key ring.
“Right this way, children,” she said, her massive collection of keys jangling.
We followed the substitute events coordinator out of the administration corridor, through the sports complex (where she cast a yearning glance at the pool entrance), and into the community center’s main lobby, where three tall sets of doors led to the auditorium.
All locked.
Mrs. Crandall looked from the doors to the jangling key ring in her hand and appeared to be on the verge of quitting.
But sixteen keys and one call to the maintenance department later, we were in. The first thing I noticed was the size of the place. It was not as big as the auditorium at Chappaqua High (where we’d seen the drama club’s performance of Beauty and the Beast last fall), but it was much bigger than our own clubhouse theater.
I pointed this out to Austin. “Think the size will intimidate our actors?” I asked. “If we’re forced to do the show here, that is.”
“I hope not,” he said. “Let’s check out the stage.”
We left Mrs. Crandall at the back of the auditorium and hurried down the center aisle. I tried not to get overly excited about the real footlights and the complex arrangement of the rich, velvet curtains.
The sound system, according to Austin, was state-of-the art, as were the lights.
Susan scoped out the backstage area and pronounced it fantastic.
“Will this be suitable for your needs?” Mrs. Crandall asked.
“Very suitable,” I said. “We’ll see you first thing Monday morning.”
Mrs. Crandall told me she’d leave the key at the front desk, which was a great relief to both of us.
At home, Susan and I pulled the unfinished load of laundry out of the washer so the plumber (who, according to Papa, was scheduled to arrive sometime between three and the next ice age) could repair the machine. We hauled the heavy, sopping sheets and bath mats outside, where we hung them over the railing of the back deck to drip.
“I’m starting to think maybe Austin had a point about that symbolic stuff,” said Susan.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, in the play, one of the trials Odysseus faces is a violent storm at sea.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah … so?”
“So … Poseidon churns up the waters, and Odysseus’s raft gets tossed and spun, dragged under by the waves.”
“I know that. But what’s so symbolic about it?”
“Anya”—Susan gave me a mischievous grin—“didn’t you notice what brand washing machine we have?”
I shook my head. “No. What kind is it?”
Susan laughed. “It’s a Whirlpool!”
Since our rental agreement didn’t officially go into effect until Monday morning, we were going to have to tough it out and hold Sunday’s round of acting auditions in the backyard.
The cast arrived at ten o’clock. Travis was carrying a large shopping bag.
“Whatcha got there, Coleman?” Susan asked.
“You’ll see,” was Travis’s cagey reply.
Then we got down to business.
We started with the monologues.
Sophia, not surprisingly, chose Penelope’s romantic ode to her long-lost Odysseus. I had to admit, it was impressive. She even managed to dredge up a few tears. But she didn’t show the same vulnerable quality I’d seen in Nora.
Teddy read for Poseidon and did a very admirable job. But since he was only eleven, his voice lacked the richness I was looking for. Austin agreed.
“He sounds too young to be a god,” he whispered to me. “But I bet he’d make a great Telemachus.”
Spencer’s monologue was actually the prologue, or the opening lines, which set
the scene for the upcoming action of the play. Members of the Greek chorus would perform these, and Spencer made the very cool choice of reading them like a circus ringmaster. It wasn’t exactly how I’d envisioned the narrators; in my mind, these characters would be more along the lines of newscasters. But Spencer’s interpretation showed great creativity.
Gracie capitalized on her comic strengths with Circe’s monologue, and nailed it. She had everyone cracking up before she was even halfway through it.
“Excellent job on the monologues!” I said when she finished. “Let’s move on to scenes.”
The remaining actors quickly partnered up. Elle, Madeline, and Jane opted to read as a trio, doing the high-energy crazy Siren scene. I had pictured them in the roles the minute I’d seen the script, and they didn’t disappoint. My only slight concern was whether Jane could handle the song. But her presentation had improved a lot since her first singing audition, and I knew she’d work hard.
Travis and Mackenzie had a surprise for us. They told us they were going to read a scene between Odysseus and the goddess Athena. Then they disappeared around the side of the house and returned thirty seconds later … in costume!
“OMG!” cried Susan.
Travis wore a long wig of black curls and bright red lipstick; Mackenzie was sporting a toga and a beard!
“Okay if we do a little gender-bending?” Mackenzie asked.
“Go for it!” I said.
And they did. They were amazing. Hilarious and over-the-top, but all within the context of their characters. Seeing the graceful Mackenzie trudge around and grumble like a weary warrior was incredible, and Travis … he became the goddess, portraying her as a total diva.
I glanced at Maxie, who seemed to wholeheartedly approve of their simple yet effective costuming choices.
“This could work,” Austin whispered.
I nodded my agreement. But something was beginning to bother me. This script called for a lot more supporting roles than I’d originally realized. We would need at least four actors at any given time to play the Greek chorus, a handful for Penelope’s suitors, and then there were Odysseus’s men.