Dan jumped into the driver side, saying quickly, “I’m so sorry about that, Flora. This is absolutely the last way I wanted to spend our first day together.”
Flora nodded. She couldn’t manage words, not yet. All she wanted to do was go home.
He started the car, saying, “Where would you like to go now?”
Flora found her voice. “I’m not feeling so well. I would actually like to go home.”
Dan looked concerned and dispirited. “You seemed quiet earlier, but I didn’t realize you were still feeling ill.”
They drove back to Flora’s house in silence. She needed to get away, needed to be alone, needed time to process all this. She felt as if she were suffocating next to him and didn’t want to hear anything else today that would make her heart hurt. “That wasn’t the first time we’ve kissed,” was all she could hear over and over again in her thoughts.
As they reached her house, Dan asked her if there was anything he could do.
“No,” Flora said as she pulled open the door forcefully. “But maybe you want to wipe that lipstick mark off your face.” Flora’s face was flushed as she leaned back in the car and handed him a Kleenex from her bag.
Dan looked in the mirror. There was indeed a large pink lipstick mark on his cheek where Marcy had kissed him. He scrubbed at it furiously.
“Flora,” he said desperately. “What can I do to make this right?”
“Stop kissing other girls in bars,” was what she wanted to say, but instead she said, “Nothing. I’m fine.” And she slammed the car door.
But she was far from fine, and she knew by the expression on his face that he could tell. She hastened to her door, and Dan shut off the engine and followed her, still rubbing at his cheek.
She opened her front door and walked quickly in before he had a chance to follow. Her emotions had switched from hurt to livid, and she didn’t want him to see her angry.
“I’m going to lie down,” she shouted over her shoulder as Dan hovered at her gate. The last thing she saw were those beautiful green eyes flash with sadness as she closed her front door practically in his face.
“I’ll call you later,” he shouted after her.
But she was already inside.
Chapter Twenty-Five
CRAZY TWIRLERS & FUNERAL SINGERS
I had decided to bring Stacy with me that morning, and we arrived at the theater for the audition. Doris was already there. By her side, Ethel was holding a stack of clipboards. The heat was on in the theater, and it was positively balmy.
“Wow!” I said. “What time were you here to get it so warm?”
“I got here thirty minutes ago,” Doris said. “James apparently came here at eight a.m. to warm the place up. Very nice of him.”
James appeared from the office with a cup of coffee in his hand. “Hello,” he said in his lighthearted, breezy way. “How are we all doing today? All ready for the big push?”
He made it sound like we were going into battle, and it didn’t feel far from the truth.
“Anyone for coffee?” he inquired, lifting his cup and waving it under our noses.
“No, thank you,” I said as Stacy scowled, and her face paled.
“Where’s the bathroom?” she growled in one long, disgruntled monotone. I pointed in the right direction, and Stacy dashed away.
Annie sat at a table in the foyer, encouraging people to fill out forms Doris had typed up for the potential cast. She looked pretty flustered. I could see why. The foyer was already full of a slew of people, apparently of the artistic persuasion. They were all milling around in an array of jaunty outfits. The whole span of our island’s population was represented in that one room, from serious contenders wearing expensive tight spandex, full bodysuits, and shiny dance shoes to happy hippies in organic cotton T-shirts and vegetable-dyed llama-wool hats. One man was wearing a whole clown costume and was juggling Beanie Babies. A large woman was wearing a huge flowery hat and singing scales in a booming voice. Along one wall was a whole gaggle of girls from a local dance school. They stood in professional-looking lines, kicking up their legs and stretching.
I asked Annie how it was going. She pulled me in close and answered in a hushed tone, “I’ve been raising dogs most of my life, and I can’t believe what a din this lot can make.”
I noted that it was pretty loud as James came out and gave Annie another cup of coffee. He seemed to be enjoying the hubbub.
“Marvelous, isn’t it?” he said. “I love that you’re beginning to fill the place with life again.”
Annie nodded hesitantly.
I moved into the main theater. Doris had placed herself in the middle of the auditorium, with her clipboard and its attached light placed on her lap. She motioned to me. “Here’s our criteria,” she said, handing me a board. “I have added to my original list so we can get the perfect cast. We don’t want to drop our standards now, do we?”
I looked down a long list of things Doris had written. She had extended it from the flyer, adding more attributes that she deemed unacceptable. It included:
Flat feet
Too quiet
Too loud
Too happy
Not happy enough
Swearing
Drinking
Drugs
Just looking at the now-long list, I was thinking of hitting the last three myself. I wondered if this list counted for directors too.
Just as I finished wondering where I could get hard drugs, the Labette twins arrived with Dan hooked on Lavinia’s arm and Gracie on Lottie’s. The twins looked very avant-garde in black pantsuits, silk blouses, and chic little black French berets. Lavinia did an impression of Marlene Dietrich.
“We thought we would go all Hitchcock on you, as we hadn’t a snowball in hell’s chance of knowing what to wear for an audition.” Then she pulled Dan forward. “Look who we found loitering over at the coffee shop. Thought we might bring him along to keep us all company.”
Dan smiled half-heartedly, as he appeared to urgently search the auditorium for Flora.
Gracie, who had apparently had a sleepover at the twins’ house, was already kitted out head to foot in a full-blown fairy costume. She waved her wand above us all and said in a mystical voice, “I’m ready to be the fairy, and I’m using all my secret fairy powers to make you all pick me for the role.”
“Very nice,” Doris said, looking up briefly from her clipboard. “But there are no fairies in this script, only a good and a bad witch.”
“Oh dear,” said Gracie, pondering for a minute. Then she started waving her wand again, saying, “I’m using my magic powers to have you put a fairy into the story.”
It was as she was sprinkling fairy dust from a little pouch held around her neck that Stacy finally returned from the bathroom, sat down hard next to me, and scowled.
I sighed. I had a feeling this was going to be a long day.
Flora arrived, looking flustered. She froze when she saw Dan, and his face lit up.
“Hi, Flora,” he said carefully. “I called you, but it just rang.”
We all looked over at Flora, who was squirming around in her skin as if she had fleas in her pants. This is interesting, I thought. It looked like a lovers’ tiff. The whole group sensed it, and there was a polite hush as we watched with interest this dramatic moment play out.
Flora spoke in an icy whisper. “Yes, thank you.”
The cold shoulder, I thought to myself.
But Dan wasn’t giving up that easy. He moved toward her as if to hug her. I cringed inwardly. This can only end badly. Even Ethel seemed riveted. As Dan leaned in to embrace Flora, she jumped back, saying, “What do you need me to do, Doris?”
Dan stepped back, surprised.
Doris looked from Dan to Flora with a hard stare before saying, “In a minute you’ll be singing. Did you forget?”
She has forgotten, I thought, watching the color drain from her cheeks.
Dan moved closer to her again. “I can’t wa
it to hear you,” he said gently, then added, “You never told me you could sing, Flora.”
Flora nodded absently and became intently interested in staring at the footwear she had chosen that day. What followed was a very long, awkward silence before I tapped gently on the frost with an ice pick.
“Dan, I was wondering, as Flora will be preparing for her audition, would you mind helping backstage, organizing the people coming on?”
“I could do that,” he said quietly.
Doris stared at him over the top of a pair of half-moon glasses she had perched on her nose. “You can tell people when to come onstage. Make sure they’re ready and not goofing off.”
“Okay,” Dan said reluctantly, and he slouched up the little stairs to wait backstage.
Annie arrived. “The first ten people are ready,” she said breathlessly. “I have them lined up in the hallway, like you asked me to.”
“Great,” Doris said. “Fetch them around to the backstage and have them check in with Dan.”
As the odd carnival of talent paraded to the back of the stage, Doris leaned across to us all and commented, “We are looking for main cast. But we are also looking for the chorus. They need to be able to sing, dance, and look good, so keep your eyes peeled for some talent.”
Slumped down low in her seat, Stacy noticed the group as they exited backstage and muttered, “Good luck,” in a sarcastic tone.
Doris stared at Stacy. “What, exactly, is that tone supposed to mean, young lady?”
“Well, come on,” said Stacy. “Be realistic. This is a small town. You’ll be lucky if you get more than three people who can sing in tune.”
Doris was about to answer her when Dan walked onstage saying, “Your first person is ready.”
“Okay, great!” I shouted back, cutting off the pair of them before they locked horns.
A spunky blonde, no bigger than a jackrabbit, with swishy braids and a huge boom box in her hand, bounded onstage. “Hi, my name is Tanya,” she called out, as upbeat and perky as a kindergartener on her first day of school. As she spoke, she seemed unable to keep her body still. She twitched and bounced from foot to foot.
Doris shouted back at her, “What are you going to do for us, Tanya?”
Tanya giggled as she continued to gallop on the spot. “I would like to sing,” she said. She was more spritely than anyone should be this early in the morning, I thought to myself.
“I’m going to sing ‘Defying Gravity’ from Wicked,” she added, clapping her hands excitedly.
“Oh no,” Stacy said by my side. “That used to be one of my favorite musicals. I see it’s going to be butchered today.”
Fortunately, Tanya, who was busy fiddling with her boom box, didn’t appear to hear her.
A karaoke-type version of a musical number burst out of her machine and filled the auditorium with an impressive canned orchestra.
Tanya came alive and started to sing at the top of her lungs. I sat with my pen poised over the clipboard of a thousand reasons to say no and listened. She’s wasn’t too bad, I thought. After all, this was a community event.
Tanya continued through the melody of the song until there was a key change in the music, and she seemed to be oblivious to it. In response, she clashed painfully with the melody as the music went in a completely different direction. She seemed to realize something was wrong and started to screech at the top of her voice to compensate.
“Oh God,” Stacy balked beside me. “I hope they’re not all going to be this bad.” For once I actually agreed with her. Somewhere outside, dogs were howling for sure.
“Thank you,” Doris shouted, abruptly stopping Tanya halfway through a very painful crescendo that was climbing to a place that threatened to make our ears bleed.
Tanya, taken by surprise, stopped singing but quickly returned to her bright, breezy self. “I dance too,” she said, enthusiastically.
Doris looked at her doubtfully.
Tanya continued, “I’ve been practicing all morning.” Then, sensing we needed more convincing, added, “I would love to show you.”
I could tell Doris was about to give her the don’t-call-us-we’ll-call-you speech, when I got ahead of her. “We’d love to see you dance. Please go ahead and do something for us.”
“Great!” said Tanya, appearing jubilant to get her chance. “Hold on a minute.” She held a cute little finger in the air. “First I need to go and get my prop.”
As Tanya exited the stage, the whole production team glared at me.
Stacy was the first to find the words they all appeared to be thinking. “Mom, what are you doing? She’s awful. Why are you even considering her?”
“Because,” I said, defensively, “the girl has spunk. I like her upbeat, go-get-’em personality. It would be good to have that kind of positive energy in the cast.”
Lavinia looked over at me. “We had a pig that could squeal that bad when we were growing up in Texas, and it couldn’t wait for us to slaughter it and put it out of its misery. I think we should be kind and do the same.”
As I looked around the group for support, I noted Ethel was etching a huge red X next to Tanya’s name on her clipboard.
Ruby came clattering down the aisle, late as usual. She seemed to be wearing some bohemian affair and had doubled up on her usual amount of baubles and bracelets and was jangling like a gypsy.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, flicking back over her shoulder a lavender-and-green paisley scarf that was wound tightly around her head, flowing down her back to the floor. “Have the auditions started?” she inquired. “Or have we started torturing people as a fund-raiser? Annie wasn’t sure when I met her in the foyer.”
“We are the ones being tortured,” Doris snapped. “What were you thinking, Janet? She was awful. And she seemed to need to go to the bathroom through the whole thing, with all that jigging around.”
“I know,” I said to her, “but maybe we could put her somewhere in the back and ask her to sing quietly? She just has such a radiant presence.”
Doris shrugged, and my daughter shook her head disapprovingly next to me. I wasn’t sure if she was disapproving of my choice or just me in general.
Tanya was back on the stage. In her hand was a baton.
“I don’t really see myself as a dancer, per se,” she stated, her tiny fingers pantomiming air quotes as she giggled at her own joke, “but I’m a baton twirler, and I like to do all sorts of dance steps while I’m twirling.”
She then galloped over to her boom box, pressed a button again, and lively band music filled the space. Tanya started marching and smiling.
“God help us,” said Stacy. “I gave up a morning in bed for this.”
“You didn’t have to,” I said. I’d wanted to say that all morning, but I regretted it the minute it was out of my mouth.
Stacy looked crestfallen. That lasted for a second, and then she proceeded to anger. “If you didn’t want me here, you could have said,” she hissed back.
Tanya was still marching as the song “When the Saints Go Marching In” bounced around the space. She started to twirl the baton in front of her.
I backtracked. “You know what I mean, darling. You could’ve stayed in bed. You’re still getting some morning sickness. Some people do get it this late in pregnancy.”
“What? Just stay home and let you figure out how to cast this show? What skills do you have to do that?”
Before I could answer, I was distracted as Tanya yelled out a dancer’s cheer and threw the baton high into the air, kicking up both her legs as she shot out her arm to catch the baton. But it didn’t come down. We all looked up.
“Oh my, that can’t be good,” Lottie remarked.
Ruby narrowed her eyes, adding, “Interesting.”
Even Stacy was momentarily distracted. Gracie leapt to her feet and started waving her magic wand at the ceiling as Doris just shook her head. We all continued to look, our attention riveted toward the flies, waiting to see when it would co
me down. But it didn’t. Tanya, with her eyes cast heavenward, carried on dancing. Her smile had slipped a little, and she left her arm still stretched out in front of her to catch the baton, as if some magical thing or person was going to drop it into her hand. Now this was compelling; the baton was upstaging the entertainer.
From high above, Dan’s voice drifted down. He’d obviously seen what had happened from the side of the stage and had taken the stairs up into the rigging. “I’ve got it!” he shouted. “Hold on. It’s caught in some ropes.”
Tanya continued to dance. Her smile had melted into a grimace on her face. It was if someone had told her, “Don’t stop; even if there’s no baton to twirl, just keep smiling and kicking.”
Dan shouted, “Okay.”
Then the baton came down, and Tanya caught it expertly and carried on twirling it as if nothing had happened.
“Resourceful,” I wrote on my clipboard. Tanya continued to march in with the saints, even though it was obvious she was thrown by the experience. She attempted the twirl-it-under-your-leg trick, and instead of the baton spinning in a neat circle, it clipped her knee and bounced off into the wings, from where someone shouted, “Oww!”
The whole production team waited, riveted. This was some show. Watching Tanya perform was like watching a slow car wreck in action. Tanya continued twirling her hand as if the baton were still in it. Dan came running out on the stage.
“We’re okay,” Dan said breathlessly. It was obvious he had just gotten back from running down the stairs as he continued, “The third person on your list will have to go next so that the clown can steady himself before he performs.”
“He’s not the only clown that needs to steady himself,” Lottie said under her breath.
Dan handed Tanya back her baton just as the music was crescendoing, and Tanya continued as if all of this were just part of her act. She threw it high into the air one last time for a big finish and looked tentatively up to make sure it was coming back down. When it arrived neatly in the hand behind her back, she beamed and then threw her arms into the air in a triumphant Olympic gymnast–style finish.
There was an awkward silence, so I started clapping frantically. Everyone followed along reluctantly. Tanya was ecstatic. She took the applause as a sign she was accepted and gave the group a thumbs-up as she ran offstage, saying, “I can’t wait to be in a real show.”
Rejected Writers Take the Stage Page 15