Act 2 (Jack & Louisa) (10 page)

“So?”

“So—” Jenny took in a deep breath, then once again nodded toward the stage, where Jack had just made the seemingly impossible possible.

“So it’s just gonna be hard to beat
that
.”

-JACK-

“As its name implies, music from this time went through a period of invention, a period of renewal.”

We were nearing the end of music class the following day, and Mr. Hennessy was struggling to hold our attention with a lesson on music of the Renaissance. Though he spoke of lutes and mambas with enthusiasm (which for him meant peeking his spectacles over the piano and speaking in a voice barely louder than a whisper), there was clearly something else on the minds of his students. Looking around, I saw that the eyes of my classmates were completely glazed over. Our shared daydream was not one of minstrels and
monarchs but of the audition happening in just a few hours. Although we’d survived Belinda’s nearly impossible dance call, today we’d be singing and reading scenes.

No, I can’t
, I read off my audition sides, which Lou had highlighted in purple. (“My audition dress is purple,” she’d said. Leave it Lou to plan her audition outfit days in advance.)

Why not?
Adelaide would respond.

Because, well,
I mouthed,
I have to go to a prayer meeting.

Lou had been right—the scene Belinda had chosen to use was the one before the song “Sue Me,” where Nathan tells Adelaide, truthfully, that he has to go to a prayer meeting—but because he lies to her so frequently she thinks the prayer meeting is his biggest lie yet. Adelaide accuses him of breaking all the promises he’s kept while he keeps insisting how much he loves her. To be honest, I was still pretty shaky on the lines. Before yesterday, I’d had the false confidence that I could read a take-out menu and still land a leading role, but now with the arrival of twenty new boys, I knew I needed to bring my A-game.

“At first instruments were thought to be
secondary, used only to accompany dances and choral singing.”

As Mr. Hennessy droned on, my gaze drifted over to Lou sitting next to me. Of everyone in the class, she seemed to be in the deepest of dream states, staring straight ahead, raising her eyebrows and cycling through a series of smirks, apparently solidifying her acting beats, as well.

“Which is why it’s called a
bladder pipe
,” Mr. Hennessy warbled, causing me to snap back to attention. “Because the wind reservoir containing the reed was actually made out of an animal’s bladder.”

I looked around the room. Silence. Even a teacher speaking of digestive tracts couldn’t break the pre-audition trance of our class. Like a well-timed stage manager cue, the door to the music room swung open, and in popped a haystack of red hair.

“Hey, Frank,” Belinda said as she made her entrance. Suddenly the class perked up. It was astonishing how quickly the energy of a room changed when Belinda Grier walked into it.

“Mind if I take the last few minutes to chat with the kids about the auditions today?”

“Well, I was just—” Mr. Hennessy mumbled, gesturing to his worksheet.

“Thanks, darlin’,” Belinda said, cutting him off and strutting to the center of the classroom. Mr. Hennessy shrugged, reaching for his weathered old briefcase.

“So, as many of you know, the acting and singing auditions for
Guys and Dolls
will take place at three thirty in the auditorium,” she said as she sat down on the edge of the desk. She flicked one leg up and crossed it over her knee. “Everyone will get a chance to sing thirty-two bars of the audition cut that I posted online, but first, I’ll be breaking you up into pairs to read with each other.”

I looked over at Lou, and we shared a smile. Even with the soccer boys, it seemed pretty inevitable that Belinda would pair us together. After all, she had referred to us as her minions.

“First we’ll be reading the Skys and Sarahs, followed by the Nathans and Adelaides, and lastly the Hot Box Girls and other gangsters.”

Oh good
, I thought. At least I’d have a round of auditions to skim through the sides one more time.

“If you haven’t already, please contact your parents after school to let them know that
auditions will be running
late
,” she said, drawing out the
l
in
late
for dramatic effect.

“We have far more people auditioning than expected, and I want to give everyone a chance to prove themselves. Please come vocally warmed up and prepared to jump right in,” Belinda said, hopping off the table. “I’ll see you guys at three thirty. Oh, and Jack,” she said, looking over at me. “Would you mind hanging back for a second? I want to speak with you about something.”

My pulse quickened.

“Uh, sure thing.” I nodded confidently.

The bell let out its lunchtime cry and everyone jolted to their feet, cramming their worksheets into their backpacks.

What could Belinda want to talk to me about?
I wondered. Between impromptu performances, jaw-dropping anecdotes, and the seeming ability to make an entire soccer team materialize, I’d learned to expect the unexpected from this woman. I looked over at Lou, who packed up her bag slowly.

“She doesn’t want to talk to me, too?” she muttered.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “What do you think it’s about?”

Lou gave me a shrug and walked to the door.

“See you in the lunchroom,” she called back, disappearing into the stream of hungry middle-schoolers. I looked over at Belinda, who was already looking at me with a syrupy smile.

“Thanks for staying to have a chitchat,” she said, walking around the table and grabbing a chair. “Here, take a seat. Okay if you hang here for a minute? You only have lunch, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, lowering myself into the chair.

“Great!” she exclaimed, sitting down in the chair across from me. “Since day one I’ve wanted a chance to talk shop with you. You know, pro to pro. I remember thinking on that first day,
What a crazy coincidence, getting to share a classroom with another Broadway baby
.”

“Totally.” I smiled politely.

“I was so tickled watching you take charge yesterday and help those jocks with my dance steps. Even
I
began to worry that they might never figure it out, but you just swooped right on in there and set them straight,” she said, snapping her fingers. “I could tell I was watching someone who was used to thinking on his feet, and I have to say, it was pretty fun to see.”

I had a feeling this was what Belinda wanted to talk about. Admittedly, I’d been on a bit of a high since successfully convincing the boys to stay and finish the dance call.

“So I just wanted to have a chance to tell you that in person,” Belinda said. “You know? Face-to-face.”

“Sure thing.” I nodded. “Hey, I was happy to help.”

Belinda sat there for a second just looking at me, which made me begin to feel a little tense.

“So, Jack,” she said, breaking the silence. “Have you ever heard of a show called
Top Heavy
?”

“Um, I don’t think so,” I replied. It wasn’t often that a musical was mentioned that I hadn’t at least
heard
of.

“I’m not surprised. Neither has anyone,” Belinda said dryly. “But would you mind if I told you a little story?” she asked, folding her hands on the desk.

“Sure.” I nodded.

“Well,” she began, “
Top Heavy
was the show in 1994 that everyone wanted to be a part of. It was a new musical directed by Gladys Franklin with a cast of
thirty
dancers, can you believe it?”

“Wow, that hardly ever happens on Broadway,” I replied. “Not since—”

“
A Chorus Line
. Exactly,” she said, cutting me off. “So you can imagine everyone in New York was breaking their backs to get an appointment.
Literally.
”

As she spoke, she began tapping her fingernails against the desk like a metronome.

“After three months of callbacks, they finally chose their cast and shipped everyone up to Boston for the out-of-town tryout. Each dancer was at the top of their game, and the producers began throwing money at it like high rollers at a casino. Everyone kept saying it was a dream job. And perhaps it was”—she leaned back in her chair—“until rehearsals began.”

I felt a chill rush up my back. Like many actors, I had a guilty fascination with Broadway flops. I leaned in closer.

“Now Gladys Franklin was one of those
downtown
directors. She encouraged everyone to find their own style, and when it came time to stage numbers, she tried to showcase every dancer’s specialties, even allowing some of them to choreograph entire phrases. A dream job indeed, right?”

At this point Belinda reached into her purse and pulled out a shiny black tube of lipstick.

“Week three, she began to assemble the show.” Belinda began dabbing lipstick on her bottom lip between sentences. “Gladys began to realize that because everybody had contributed choreography, the whole thing looked disjointed. When she tried to make cuts, people began freaking out.
Why was my number scrapped while hers was four minutes long?
Dancers started sabotaging one another’s numbers. The dressing rooms turned into war zones, and by opening night all they had to show for themselves was a big, old, hot mess,” Belinda said, smacking her lips together. “The
Globe
came and reviewed it, called it out for the disaster it was, and we closed by the end of the week, scrapping the entire Broadway run.”

“
We?
” I said, sitting up in my chair. “You were in that cast?”

“Oh yeah,” Belinda said, raising an eyebrow. “I was one of the leads. I was told I would finally be catapulted out of the chorus and into the spotlight, where I belonged, maybe even land a Tony nomination.”

“Whoa,” I whispered under my breath, genuinely stunned.

“So the reason I’m telling you this, Jack,” Belinda said, replacing the cap of her lipstick, “is I’ve seen firsthand what happens when you don’t have a clear leader—someone that everyone respects and looks to for guidance.”

Belinda leaned forward in her chair, bringing her face close to mine.

“It becomes catastrophic.”

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Now, I know you may have seen some good cast and creative team collaborations in your time on Broadway, but it’s different here. Not everyone’s a professional like you and me. People
need
leadership,” she emphasized with her scratchy voice.

“Which got me thinking,” she said, wagging a finger in my direction. “We’re not so different, you and me. Now, I remember just this summer reading an article on Broadway World about a little switcheroo that went down in a new show . . .
The Big Apple
, was it?”

I gulped, feeling my face getting hot.

“Um, yes,” I murmured.

“I’m not going to pretend to know what went down there. That’s your business and no one else’s—”

“My voice changed,” I interrupted. If I’d learned one thing from winter vacation, it was that it’s better to give voice to your fears than to let them fester. “My voice changed, and I couldn’t sing the show, so I got replaced,” I said clearly. “That’s one of the reasons my parents moved here.”

Belinda gave me a look. It was the same look I’d seen the morning she’d arrived, when I told her my last name.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” She frowned. “That must have been hard for you.”

I shrugged.

“Well, we’re in a unique position here,” she said softly. “You and me. We both know what it’s like . . . having our dreams plucked from us.”

Belinda reached across the desk and gave my arm a little squeeze.

“Now, you’re auditioning for the role of Nathan Detroit this afternoon, right?” she asked, leaning back in her chair.

“Um, yes,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry.

“Of course.” Belinda chuckled. “And I know you
would be brilliant. I just worry that you’re getting a little”—she squinted slightly, raising her pointer finger in the air—“distracted. Now that all these soccer boys have shown up, there’s a much bigger talent pool, and I bet a lot of them would be great Nathans, too. Especially after what happened with
The Big Apple
, I’d just hate for you to use all that energy helping your competition instead of focusing on getting the role we both know you deserve.”

I tried to scrunch the muscles in my face into a smile.

“So I want you to do me a favor, kiddo,” Belinda said sweetly. “Today at auditions, I want you to knock it out of the park. Focus on your Nathan Detroit material, and let’s prove to everyone what it means to be a Broadway professional. Forget about what those people in New York told you you could or couldn’t do. Just do the best you can.” She winked at me. “And this time, why don’t you try leaving the directing to me?” She raised her voice when she said this, her words slightly echoing.

I sat in my chair, frozen, my sneakers glued to the linoleum floor. I didn’t know how to feel. On one hand, it felt good to have someone who knew what
it was like losing a job on Broadway, but on the other, I couldn’t ignore the surge of guilt rushing through my body. Thinking back to the dance call yesterday, my only intention was to be helpful. I hadn’t realized that reaching out to my classmates could lead to
catastrophe
.

“You know, I’m so glad we had this talk, Jack,” she said, standing up and pushing in her desk chair. She walked around to where I was seated and stared down at me. “Why do you look so nervous, hon?” she asked. “I’m not upset or anything. I just wanted to make sure we’re both on the same page. So are we?”