Jack & Louisa: Act 1
Page 12
I parted my hair down the center, clipped my microphone in with the precision of a surgeon, and tugged on my hat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your places call. Places, please, for the top of Act One. Places, please, and have a great opening night!”
The backstage erupted into cheers. I took a swig from my water bottle, spit my half-sucked Ricola in the garbage, and pushed open the dressing-room door.
“Break legs, Jack!” my dresser, Margie, said, lugging a clothes basket of heavy dresses.
“You’re gonna be amazing!” another cast member said, passing me, pushing bobby pins into the front of her wig.
“You too!”
I rounded the corner and began up the stairs.
“Knock ’em dead, Jack,” our stage-right crew guy called, slapping my back.
“Thanks, Billy!” I replied.
The show curtain was still down, so our stage was scattered with cast members stretching and giving each other congratulatory squeezes and thumbs-up signs. I walked onto the stage, collecting my thoughts and silently mouthing my first lines of dialogue. I looked around; there was still one person I hadn’t seen. Then from behind, I felt a hand rest on my shoulder. I spun around and was greeted by the friendliest face in the world.
Lou looked incredible: her embroidered cape was tied tight around her neck, her cheeks rosy with blush, and peeking out from her hood, a mane of perfect brown ringlets.
“I wasn’t sure if I was going to see you before we started.” I smiled. “I know you like to get in your zone.”
“Yeah, I think I’m good now.” She winked.
“Are you nervous?” I asked.
“A little bit. It’s packed out there! I know it’s bad luck to peek into the audience, but I was filling up my water bottle and totally couldn’t help myself!”
“Well, I’m glad. Our show’s gonna be amazing.” I grinned. “You’re gonna be amazing.”
“Thanks, Jack. You are, too.”
I leaned in and gave her a hug, slightly crushing her basket in the process.
“Whoops.” I shrugged. “I hope your pastries are all right in there.”
“Oh, trust me, they are. They’re those gluten-free ones Mrs. Schwartz brought in. They could withstand the apocalypse.”
We burst out laughing. Denise, who had been meditating upstage, cleared her throat. A raised eyebrow was all it took to shut us up.
“Hey,” Lou whispered, taking on a more serious tone. “I just wanted to say before we go out there, I’m really happy you decided to stay.”
“I’m happy I decided to stay, as well.” I smiled back.
I began thinking of all the things that had happened since our minivan pulled up to my Shaker Heights home—the not-so-subtle hint-dropping about auditions, the confrontation with Tanner, the laughing on my porch in the middle of a tough decision.
“Seriously,” I said, “thank you, Lou, for, well . . . everything.”
“Awww, it was nothing,” she said playfully.
Our cast party that night wouldn’t be as swanky as The Big Apple’s, but the people I’d get to hang with were the best colleagues any actor could ask for. I might not have gotten to do a fancy press line, but Sarah and Simon (now officially dating) would be on hand snapping pictures, giving us the full paparazzi experience. At the end of the day, a show was still a show, whether I played to an audience of thousands or to a handful of family and friends. It was the people I got to share it with that would make it unforgettable.
“Okay, we should get into our positions,” Lou said as the backstage lights began to dim. “Break legs, friend.” She smiled.
“You too, friend,” I said back.
As I watched her exit the stage, I felt a surge of adrenaline rush through my body. It wasn’t nerves like I’d felt before an audition. It was more like the tingle I’d get standing at the top of a diving board, toes curled over the edge, knowing the only way down was by taking a giant leap.
“House to half. House to full,” Angela said from her station just off stage right. The rumblings of our audience settled into a silent whisper of anticipation.
“Cast, stand by,” she said into her headset, a smile beaming across her face.
I took one last deep breath and got into place, kneeling by my papier-mâché cow.
As the curtain rose, our orchestra sprang to life. A spotlight came up on our narrator, Mr. Schwartz, as he said with conviction the four most magical words in the English language:
“Once upon a time . . . ”
nce upon a time, composer/lyricist Stephen Sondheim and book writer James Lapine sat down to write a musical based on the fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm. That musical was Into the Woods, a magical retelling of Grimm’s stories that shows what really happens after “happily ever after.” Into the Woods first premiered at the Old Globe Theater in San Diego in 1986 and quickly moved to Broadway the following year. It opened at the Martin Beck Theater (now the Al Hirschfeld Theater) on November 5, 1987, and closed on September 3, 1989, after 765 performances. James Lapine also directed the musical, which was nominated for ten Tony Awards, eventually nabbing three: Best Score (Stephen Sondheim), Best Book (James Lapine), and Best Actress in a Musical (Joanna Gleason). The original Broadway cast featured several stage legends, including Bernadette Peters as The Witch, Joanna Gleason as The Baker’s Wife, Chip Zien as The Baker, Kim Crosby as Cinderella, Ben Wright as Jack, and Danielle Ferland as Little Red Riding Hood. Since its original production, Into the Woods has been revived three times: once on Broadway in 2002 and Off-Broadway in 2012 and 2014. The film adaptation opened in cinemas in December 2014.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would not be possible without Jordan Hamessley’s desire and willingness to take a chance on two new authors. Thank you, Francesco Sedita and Sarah Fabiny, for continuing with us on this journey, and to Kate Navin and Joe Veltre for seeing us through the process. Thank you to our Submissions Only family for giving us the best creative springboard we could ever imagine. A lifetime of thanks to Chris Wetherhead (Kate’s mom) for her red calligraphy pen and unfailing encouragement, and to Arnold Wetherhead (Kate’s dad) for the photographic reminders of a theatrical childhood, and to Jeff Croiter (Kate’s husband) for always listening. Thank you, Lyric Theater in Burlington, Vermont, for providing inspiration for the Shaker Heights Players. Thanks to Rory Bolger and the late Susan Keenan (Andrew’s parents) for uprooting their life in Detroit, Michigan, to pursue the acting dreams of their children in New York City. Thanks to Ben Fankhauser for his Shaker Heights expertise, and to Neal Hunter Hyde for always being so helpful. Thank you, Second Stage, for providing your beautiful theater. Finally, thanks to all the directors, teachers, and arts educators who continue to inspire future generations of performers and theater-goers.
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