Act 2 (Jack & Louisa) (7 page)

“I bet you’re right,” Belinda said. “What’s your last name, Jack?”

“Uh, Goodrich,” I replied. “Jack Goodrich.”

Her eyes flashed. “Oh,” she said with boosted interest. “I think I know who you are.”

I bit the inside of my cheek.

“We’re going to have
all kinds
of things to talk about,” she said, crossing her arms.

I looked over at Lou, but she just stood there, grinning. She probably couldn’t believe her luck that in the past week her number of Broadway pals had somehow quadrupled.

“Well,” Belinda said, breaking from our little triangle. “It was so nice meeting you two.” She began packing up her purse. “I can tell this is going to be so fun! Oh, and Jack,” she said throwing me a sideways glance, “I look forward to trading some war
stories.”

-LOUISA-

“
Way to embarrass me, Lou,” Jack grumbled as we ascended the stairs to the first floor.

“What are you talking about?” I asked in a shocked voice. “How did I embarrass you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said sarcastically, “maybe by giving Belinda my entire resume?!”

“Oh, c’mon,” I said, “she already knows who you are; she said so herself!”

Jack snorted.

“You certainly gave her enough clues to figure that out.”

“She would have figured it out eventually,” I countered, “and just think—now that she knows
you’re, like, the real deal, she’s more likely to give you whatever part you want!”

“Ugh, you’re worse than my mom.”

I ignored his dig and began to sing the title song of
Guys and Dolls
:

“When you see a guy

Reach for stars in the sky . . .”

I bounded up the remaining stairs, my voice bouncing off the concrete walls and making Jack cover his ears.

“Okay, I get it, you’re excited, Lou!” he shouted, trying to quiet me.

“Excited?!” I squealed. “Excited is an understatement. I’m . . .
ecstatic
.”

Meeting Belinda Grier had left me feeling giddy. I let out another squeal, thinking about how Belinda was living proof that a girl from Shaker Heights could make it on Broadway. I burst through the double doors into the first-floor hallway, launching into “Adelaide’s Lament”:

“The average unmarried female,

Basically insecure . . .”

The first time I’d ever heard “Adelaide’s Lament”
was at a restaurant on Cape Cod that featured singing waiters and waitresses. I was eight years old, and as the song began my mom whispered in my ear, ”Oh, I love this one.” By the time the number was over, I loved it, too—so much so that I forced my mom out of her beach chair the next day so we could search stores for the cast album. There are a few recordings of
Guys and Dolls
, but the one I chose was the celebrated 1992 version starring Nathan Lane, Faith Prince, Peter Gallagher, and Josie de Guzman—the same production that Belinda Grier had joined later in its run. I listened to it nonstop for weeks, mimicking Faith Prince’s hysterical squeaks and her nasal delivery of lines like, “
Nathan.
This is the
biggest
lie you’ve ever
told
me!” I knew that I had to play Adelaide someday. Maybe—hopefully—that day was coming soon.

“What are you doing
now
?” Jack said as he caught up to me.

“Huh?” I said, startled.

“You’re muttering to yourself, but in a weird voice. Like an old-fashioned telephone operator.”

As he tried to replicate the sounds I’d been making, I blushed, realizing what I must have
been doing. It didn’t take long for Jack to figure it out, either.

“Wait . . . are you already working on Adelaide’s
lines
?” He started to laugh. “You don’t even know which sides Belinda will pick for the audition!”

“Whatever, I was just reminding myself . . .”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, like you’re not gonna go home and YouTube ‘Nathan Detroit
Guys and Dolls
’ later.”

“Maybe I don’t want to play Nathan Detroit,” Jack replied coyly. “I mean, Nicely-Nicely Johnson is a pretty great part, too.”

He was right—Nicely-Nicely, who’s kind of Nathan’s right-hand man, was another great part, and Jack would do a great job with it. But in my fantasy, we’d play Nathan and Adelaide. That would just be perfect.

Much to my chagrin, Jack was reading my mind.

“Me playing Nicely-Nicely isn’t part of your ‘master plan,’ is it?” He teased, “You’re already designing our Nathan and Adelaide costumes, aren’t you?”

Embarrassed, I elbowed Jack in the ribs.

“I knew it!” He laughed triumphantly.

“Whatever—you were thinking it, too!”

“Yeah, but in a ‘Wouldn’t that be cool if’ kind of way. You’re, like, staging our curtain call already.”

I clenched my fist, ready to go with my elbow again, but Jack ran ahead of me to avoid a second jab. Rounding the corner into another hallway, he nearly collided with Coach Wilson, whose soccer tryouts Jack had escaped to audition for
Into the Woods
.

“Whoa, there,” he said, lifting up his hands, which each held a full cup of coffee.

“Oops, sorry, Coach Wilson,” mumbled Jack. It was his turn to be embarrassed. I smiled, feeling smug.

“That could have been pretty messy, huh?” Coach Wilson said, though he didn’t seem angry. In fact, he seemed pretty happy. Maybe it was because he was about to drink two cups of coffee. Adults were weirdly enthusiastic about their coffee.

“Where are you two coming from?”

“Music,” I replied, relishing my role as the good student who didn’t run carelessly in the halls.

“Oh! So you met Belinda!” he exclaimed happily.

“Yeah, we did,” confirmed Jack.

“It’s real exciting that she’s back,” said Coach Wilson, beaming. “When she was in school here,
she was the talk of the town. Everybody knew that girl was going places.”

“Yeah,” said Jack, a mischievous glint in his eye, “sounds like she hasn’t been back here
in a really long time
.”

I shot him a look.

“I’ll admit I’m surprised to see her,” confirmed Coach Wilson, “but it sure is a
pleasant
surprise.”

“Yeah, we’re psyched,” I said. “She seems really neat.”

“She
is
neat,” Coach Wilson said, nodding. He looked down at his two coffee cups, then back at us. I wasn’t sure if we were supposed to say more, so I just smiled and nodded back. I guess that was enough for Coach Wilson, because he went on, “You know, it’s terrible news about Mrs. Wagner. But she’s a tough ole gal; she’ll pull through just fine. In the meantime . . .” He paused, as if searching for the right way to be sympathetic but also optimistic. “In the meantime, you kids are in for quite a treat!” Winking at us, he turned around and headed toward the double doors we’d walked through moments before.

The rest of the school day dragged on as teachers outlined their remaining curriculum with about as much enthusiasm as I had for gym class.

“Civil War leading into Reconstruction . . .”

“Positive and negative integers . . .”

“The ecology surrounding the Great Lakes . . .”

“Homework for tonight . . .”

“Homework for the week . . .”

“Homework for the month . . .”

Needless to say, I raced to catch the bus as soon as the final bell rang. Jack, Jenny, and I had some homework of our own that demanded our immediate attention.

“She said it feels like ‘destiny’?
”
Jenny’s mom asked once we’d relayed Belinda’s introductory speech. “She really said that?”

We were gathered around the Westcotts’ kitchen table, ready to interrogate Jenny’s mom about Belinda Grier as we nibbled on snacks she’d laid out.

“Uh-huh,” said Jenny, reaching for an apple slice and popping it into her mouth. “She talked about the stars aligning.”

“That is so surprising to me,” Mrs. Westcott said. “I didn’t think she’d ever come back; I mean, she hasn’t been back in a really long time.”

Jack and I exchanged a look, trying not to giggle.

“So,” I ventured, “what was Belinda like when you knew her?”

“Determined,” Mrs. Westcott said without hesitation. “Incredibly confident. A force of nature, really. She just knew what she wanted and wasn’t going to let anything stand in her way. Oh, and she had legs that went on for days.”

“She still does,” said Jenny. “I can tell her turn-out is amazing.”

“She also has a perfect bevel,” added Jack.

“Totally,” I chimed in. “Her overall posture is just fantas—”

“Wait!”

Mrs. Westcott’s hands suddenly slammed down on the table, making Jack drop the pita chip he was about to dip into a container of hummus.

Mrs. Westcott leaped from her chair and ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Jenny, Jack, and I exchanged confused glances as we heard a thud above us.

“It sounds like she’s digging around in her closet,” Jenny guessed. Moments later, we heard Mrs. Westcott’s muffled “Found it!” followed by the soft thumps of her footsteps on the carpeted stairs.

Breathing hard, she appeared back in the kitchen holding a black VHS tape.

“I knew I hadn’t thrown this away,” she gasped. “This is our high-school production of
Once Upon a Mattress
. Belinda and I were both seniors. She played the lead. You wanna pop it in and take a look?”

I wasn’t sure what was more astonishing—that Jenny’s mom had been able to find the tape so quickly or that her family
still owned a
VCR
—but the answer to Mrs. Westcott’s question was a definite yes.

The quality of the tape was pretty poor. The camera kept wobbling and the sound was uneven, but one thing was unmistakable: Belinda Grier was indeed a force of nature. With her long, thin legs, curly red mane, and brassy voice, Belinda stood out in a sea of shuffling, out-of-tune teenagers. They were doing a production of
Once Upon a Mattress
,
which is a musical retelling of
The Princess and the Pea
, and the lead character of Princess Winnifred is a loud, unapologetic, lovable goof who captures the heart of Prince Dauntless much to the dismay of his mother, the Queen. Leaning forward on the Westcotts’ couch, Jack, Jenny, and I watched in wonder as Belinda nailed every joke, sailed through every note, and mastered every dance step.