by Lisa Fiedler
I was just tearing off the first piece of tape when I heard a car horn out front. I looked out the box office window. A silver minivan was parked at the curb, and a black station wagon was pulling up behind it.
I checked my watch, surprised as always to see that the time had gotten away from us.
“I guess we’re done for today,” I said glumly. “See everyone back here tomorrow.”
Needless to say, the next day we found ourselves in a spiking frenzy. I had my actors walk through the blocking for every scene while Maxie, Deon, and I scrambled around on our hands and knees, sticking pieces of tape to the floor.
We only had to use Mrs. Becker’s boring masking tape to mark the places where set pieces should be placed because Austin had surprised me with several rolls of electrical tape in a whole array of colors. Each performer got to pick out his or her own color, which would make it even easier for them to find their precise places—all they had to do was look for the X in their chosen color. Eddie picked blue and orange (Mets fan) for his Xs while Travis picked yellow and black to express his loyalty to the Boston Bruins.
After we’d spiked ourselves silly, we finally got around to doing the cue-to-cue.
It was, as expected, pretty simple: we basically walked the acts on and off the stage, one after the other, while Deon brought the lights up and down between every act.
Lights up. Dance. Lights down. Exit.
Lights up. Monologue. Lights down. Exit.
Lights up. Song. Lights down. Exit.
If we had had a more sophisticated system, we’d have been able to program all kinds of cool changes and effects into a computerized lighting board. I hated to admit it, but I was almost glad we didn’t have one, just so Sophia wouldn’t get her “pale pink glow.”
Overall, I was pleased. The spike tape made things go a lot more smoothly and efficiently. Sophia complained only once through the entire exercise, which was some kind of a record, I think.
While the cast rehearsed, Susan got proactive and pushed the Quandts’ donated table beneath an open window to create a box office. She made a hand-lettered sign that said TICKETS and propped it in the window. Five minutes later, to my surprise and delight, Becky’s face appeared in the window.
“One please,” she said, handing over five singles.
“Great!” cried Susan. “We’re not technically open yet, but since you have exact change, we’re good to go.” She slid the bills into the empty cashbox and gave Becky her ticket.
“Hey!” I laughed, hurrying over to the window. “I was planning to comp you a front-row seat. That’s kind of a perk of being the director’s best friend.”
“Thanks,” said Becky, grinning. “But I’m happy to pay. From what I hear, this show is worth way more than the price of admission!”
“Come on in and look around,” I said.
“Wish I could. Golf lesson. Then a tennis match. Diving practice after that!” She waved through the window and disappeared.
Susan spent the entire morning at the box office window. The good news was that a bunch of neighborhood kids came by asking about the show. The bad news was that none of them plunked five bucks down on the windowsill like Becky had. They did say they were planning to come to the show, which was very encouraging but still didn’t change the fact that there were only five measly dollar bills in the cashbox.
I was working with Travis and Mackenzie on their dance number when the door opened.
“Hello there!”
I was surprised to see my mother entering the theater. I left my dancers and rushed across the theater. “Hi, Mom! What’s up?”
She handed me an envelope. “This came in the mail for you,” she said. “I imagine it’s theater related, so I thought I’d drop it off.”
I glanced at the return address in the corner of the envelope—The Soft Peddlers, Inc., Port Chester, NY. It took me a moment to realize it was the bill from the piano tuner. I stuffed it into my pocket, deciding I’d deal with it later when the cast was gone.
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, staring purposefully at the door.
Mom laughed. “Okay, okay, I’m leaving. I know you want the show to be a big surprise.”
“Hey, wait!” cried Susan. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“What’s that?”
“You forgot to buy your tickets.”
“Susan!” I cried. “Mom and Dad and Nana and Papa are our guests. They get house seats for free.”
“No, no,” said Mom quickly, opening her purse. “Susan’s right. This is a professional operation, and I’m happy to purchase our tickets. At full price.”
“Good! They’re five bucks apiece.” Susan held out her hand with a big smile.
Four front-row seats and twenty dollars later, Mom left the theater.
And I went back to Kenzie and Travis, forgetting all about the bill in my pocket.
When everyone was gone, Susan stood beside the old table and frowned at the cashbox, which now held twenty-five dollars. “I sure hope there’s a lot more than that on opening night,” she said.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “That’s what happens with general admission. Maybe next time we should assign seats. That might create more of a buzz. You know . . . buy early, get better seats.”
Susan laughed. “You never cease to amaze me with your ability to think like a theater tycoon.”
The problem was, I didn’t feel much like a tycoon at the moment. I’d spent nearly all our dues money on the T-shirts, and I still had to pay my parents back for the paper and the cleaning supplies. And right now it remained to be seen how much we’d earn in ticket sales.
With a jolt, I remembered the bill in my pocket and my stomach flipped over. I pulled it out and stared at it.
“Whatcha got there?” asked Austin.
“It’s from the piano tuner!” I said, slipping my finger under the flap and tearing it open.
Two hundred and eighty dollars? I felt myself sway on my feet. There was a date on the invoice too, indicating that the Soft Peddlers would like to be paid before the end of the week.
“Anya, are you all right?” Susan sounded nervous. “You just went completely pale.”
Pale? It was a miracle I hadn’t passed out! I’d never in a billion years imagined it would cost close to three hundred dollars to tune a crummy old upright piano. Then it occurred to me that maybe its being so crummy and old was precisely why it had cost so much to fix.
Austin raised one eyebrow. “How much?”
I showed him the invoice, being careful to let my thumb cover the “pay by” date.
He turned as pale as I had. “Wow.”
“I know, right?” I shook my head. “I never expected it to be so expensive. I mean, what’s this sticky key thing about?”
“It’s about a key that was sticky.” His expression turned guilty. “I complained to the guy about it.”
“But it was only one key,” I said. “Couldn’t you have just played without it?”
Austin looked at me like I was nuts. “Um . . . no.”
He was right, of course. And since the piano was our only source of music, I knew that the fee for tuning it was money well spent. It’s just that it was an awful lot of money well spent.
“The dues will cover part of it,” said Austin. “Won’t they?”
“We collected one hundred and thirty bucks,” said Susan. “We only need one hundred and fifty dollars more. If we sell all fifty tickets at five dollars each, that gives us . . . um”—she did the math in her head—“two hundred fifty bucks. That plus the dues money, minus . . . what? Maybe fifty bucks we owe Mom and Dad for the cleaning and office supplies we used and the twenty-five you gave Maxie? That’s seventy-five. Okay . . . well, that leaves us with three hundred and five dollars. Plenty to pay the piano guys, and even a few bucks left over for”—she waggled her eyebrows at me—“I’m thinking . . . cast party!”
“I like the sound of that,” said Austin.
So did
I. But what they didn’t know was that I’d impulsively blown ninety-seven of our one hundred and thirty dollars on extremely cool but entirely unnecessary custom cast T-shirts.
“Then again, we still have to buy a few things,” Susan reminded me. “Maxie says we need bobby pins and a couple of pairs of false eyelashes. And remember in the cue-to-cue, when Madeline accidently stepped on one of the Christmas bulbs?”
“There goes the cast party.” Austin chuckled.
I guess my feelings showed on my face because Austin placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled.
“Cheer up,” he said. “Most businesses don’t turn a profit right away. At least we haven’t lost any money.”
I gulped and forced a smile. “Yeah,” I croaked. “At least we haven’t done that.”
“Look,” he said, “once we have that ticket money, I’m sure we’ll be able to afford the tuning cost. But dress rehearsal is in two days, and the show goes up on Saturday night. So let’s just focus on the revue for now and not worry about the piano guys until after we count our earnings. Okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
But for me, not worrying was a lot easier said than done.
That night after dinner I told my parents I was going out for a walk.
It had taken me a full hour to make my decision, and then another hour to convince myself to actually go through with it. It was almost eight o’clock when I finally left the house.
The walk to Sophia Ciancio’s front door was the longest of my life.
I knocked—then immediately considered turning and sprinting back home.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I had run out of options.
A minute later the door opened.
“Anya,” said Sophia, looking surprised. “What are you doing here?”
I let out a long rush of breath. “Well, Sophia,” I said glumly, “I have something I think you might be interested in.”
I showed her what I’d been holding behind my back, and the corners of her mouth turned up into a cool smile. Eyes shining, she stepped aside and let me in.
I had a very strange feeling on Thursday. All day, in fact, from the moment Susan and I had set out for the theater. I tried to tell myself it had nothing to do with the heart-wrenching business transaction I’d conducted the night before. But I hadn’t had any other choice. In real theater there are backers, wealthy bigwigs who invest in shows. At Random Farms there was me . . . and I needed to recoup the money I had spent on those T-shirts. So I’d taken matters in my own hands and solved our financial problems the only way I could think of.
I tried to ignore the icky feeling. It was a creepy crawling sensation just below my skin. Like something bad was about to happen. I whispered this to my sister on our way to the theater, but in typical Susan fashion, she shrugged it off.
“The theatrical world is filled with superstitions,” she reminded me. “You know, like that weird tradition of not being allowed to talk about fast food.”
I stopped walking and looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “What?”
“I’ve heard that actors believe it’s bad luck to even mention a Big Mac inside a theater.” She wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. “Or maybe it’s a Whopper Jr.?”
“Susan,” I said, trying not to crack up. “It’s MacBeth. And he was not a cheeseburger; he was the title character in one of William Shakespeare’s great tragedies.”
“Whatever,” said Susan. “But seriously, isn’t it silly?”
“You’re probably right. I’m just being superstitious.”
And by the time we’d arrived at the clubhouse theater, I was so wrapped up in thinking about what we had to accomplish in two days, I’d forgotten all about my uneasy feeling.
For most of the morning Maxie had the floor, going over her list of costume changes and reminding the actors about which zippers had a tendency to get stuck and how they should wear their hats so they would be least likely to fall off. There was also a twenty-minute seminar about the importance of wig caps and another about the health implications of sharing a makeup brush.
Then we ran through the show.
“I have an idea,” said Spencer, three lines into his Peter Pan scene.
Maxie sighed, consulting her wardrobe notes. “If it’s about switching out the green tights for basketball shorts again, you can forget it.”
“No,” said Spencer. “This idea is for Deon.” He turned a hopeful smile to D. “How hard would it be to make me fly?”
“Fly?” said Deon, mildly surprised.
“Fly?” said Austin, in absolute shock.
“Yeah!” said Spencer. “I was reading online about the original production of Peter Pan. The actor—well, actress, actually—got to fly around above the stage and over the audience, and I was just thinking it would be way cool if I could do that.”
“And you were thinking this one day before dress rehearsal?” I said. “Seriously?”
“D, what do you think?” Spencer prompted. “You’re a whiz at this kind of thing. What would you need? Cables? Wires?”
I felt a grab in my stomach, imagining the cost of said cables and wires.
“Well, let’s see,” said Deon, making a show of pacing the stage and scratching his chin thoughtfully. “I guess I’d need a harness, and some really strong rope . . . and of course”—he stopped pacing and turned to glare at Spencer—“a whole lot of pixie dust!”
Everyone laughed except Spencer. “It was only a suggestion,” he muttered.
“Take it from the top,” I said.
There was a moment of panic when Austin couldn’t find the sheet music for “Brotherhood of Man.” I was so upset, I was on the verge of accusing Eddie of intentionally destroying it just so he could get out of doing the dance. But luckily, Susan found it before I could say anything.
Then I felt guilty for even thinking a nice kid like Eddie would ever do such a crummy thing. I confessed my fear to Austin in a whisper.
“I thought maybe he’d tried to sabotage the number,” I admitted.
“Sabotage, huh? You must be awfully nervous if you’re starting to accuse your actors of espionage.”
“I know.” I grinned. “Although, in this case, I guess you’d have to call it thespian-age.”
For a while things went smoothly. Better than smoothly. Perfectly, in fact. No sour notes, no missed cues. Big smiles, clear voices.
I was feeling so good about the show that I decided this was the perfect time to reveal my surprise. I opened the door under the stage and dragged out my plastic bag.
“I’ve got something for you guys,” I said, pulling out the first T-shirt. “It’s my way of thanking you for all your hard work, and it shows that we’re all in this together.”
I was suddenly surrounded by a swarm of actors.
“These are awesome, Anya!” cried Gracie.
“Great color!” said Jane.
“Love the logo,” said Eddie, wriggling into his.
“You should have sprung for the one-hundred-percent-cotton shirts,” said Sophia, snatching one out of the bag. “But at least this shade of blue goes well with my eyes.”
Susan took me by the elbow and pulled me aside to the ticket table, where a curious-looking Austin joined us.
“Anya, how did you pay for those shirts?” my sister asked.
“The usual way,” I said. “With money.”
“Duh. I meant what money.”
I declined to answer.
Austin looked at me closely. “The dues money?”
I sighed. “Yes. Yes, I used the dues money to buy T-shirts and iron-on decal sheets, okay? But it was before I knew about the piano bill!”
“Anya . . .,” said Austin. “That puts us in a major deficit.”
“It did,” I said, “but I took care of it.”
“How?” asked Susan. “Did you borrow money from Mom and Dad?”
“No! I didn’t borrow a penny!”
The fact of the matter was that it had never even
occurred to me to ask my parents for cash. I’d gotten myself into this mess, so I’d gotten myself out of it.
“We’re covered,” I said tersely. “So it doesn’t matter how I paid.”
As I walked back to my chair, I heard Sam saying, “Maybe for the next show, we can get hoodies.”
Fat chance.
And then it was time to try the curtain call.
“Maxie, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like the cast to wear these T-shirts for the curtain call on Saturday.”
Maxie nodded. “All right with me!”
“Good,” I said. “Now, let’s go through the bows.”
Before the words were even out of my mouth, Austin had leaped up from the piano bench. “Ready for another surprise? The theme song is ready.”
I felt a surge of happiness. I’d been holding out hope that he’d complete the song in time. Austin had come through! It was hard to believe I had ever doubted him.
He was walking from actor to actor, handing out lyric sheets. “Take a minute to go over these,” he said. “Read ’em through. Memorize the lyrics.”
“Wow,” said Teddy. “There sure are a lot of words.”
Gracie eyed the page. “I was right,” she said. “Nothing does rhyme with Random Farms.”
Under Austin’s direction, the kids mumbled through the verses and chorus five or six times. After that, he herded them onto the stage, placing them, moving them around, barking out dance steps, and then changing everything and doing it all over again.
“Jeesh, Weatherly,” said Deon from the wings. “Can you slow down a little? I need to figure out how I’m gonna light this.”
Either Austin didn’t hear Deon or he simply chose not to respond. Instead he just went right on giving directions.
“Mia, you sing the high part, okay? This line here. Can you hit a high C? Doesn’t matter . . . You’ll get it. Now, Travis, this part right toward the end . . . I want you to sing it in that cool British accent you were messing around with yesterday.”
Susan looked at me. “British accent?” she whispered. “He’s kidding, right?”
I certainly hoped so. But suddenly I wasn’t sure.