Showstopper (12 page)

“We do?” said Gina, sounding nervous.

“You don't have a speaking part,” I assured her. “Unless you want to try that. But at this point, all you have to do is help fill up the stage. Same for the rest of you.”

Maxie and Deon both looked relieved. Gina's fellow set designer, Brittany, was clearly excited about the chance to perform, and Joey—typical mellow musician that he was—didn't seem to care one way or the other.

“Susan, look!” cried Elle. “Your name's up here, too.”

Susan marched toward the cast list. Upon seeing her name beside the character Zeus, she let out a little yelp. “Me? Play Zeus?”

“You'll be perfect,” Austin assured her.

“Zeus is a boy,” Susan reminded us.

“And Athena's a girl,” said Travis with a shrug. “But I'm playing her.”

Susan looked from one grinning face to another, finally meeting my hopeful gaze.

“Will you do it?” I asked.

Susan bit her lip. “I'm not sure about this, Anya. I mean, Zeus is so bossy and intimidating, and really smart and super important. Do you really think I can handle it?”

“Handle it?” I said, approaching her and draping an arm around her shoulders. “You were
born
for it!”

Susan laughed. “I guess you're right. Okay, I'm in.”

As the other actors congratulated Susan, I snuck a look at Sophia.

Just as I'd expected, she was fuming over being cast as the Cyclops, as opposed to the female love interest, Penelope.

“This is a joke,” she said, leveling a look at me. “You can't possibly be serious about me playing a
monster!
”

“Why not?” said Susan. “It's not like it's a stretch.”

“Susan,” I said sharply. “That was uncalled for.”

Then I drummed up my resolve and turned to Sophia, forcing what I hoped was a calm and reasonable expression. “As the director,” I began, “I don't owe anyone any explanations. But I want you to understand that Austin and I chose to give you this role because we're confident you'll do a wonderful job with it.”

“I don't want to do a wonderful job as a monster,” Sophia spat. “I want to do a wonderful job as a Siren, or as the lovely and loyal wife of the hero.”

“Did you notice you've also been given the role of Circe?”
Elle pointed out hastily. “According to the script, she's a real femme fatale. I'm not sure what that means exactly, but it sure sounds like you.”

“It means Circe's a beautiful goddess who is irresistible to men,” Maxie piped up. “I bet I can make you a stunning toga with marabou-feather trim.”

I knew they were trying to be helpful. But I refused to
beg
Sophia to play Cyclops. She should be happy to have such a terrific role. She should recognize that a real actor would welcome the opportunity to show she could play any kind of character. Even a one-eyed one.

“Look, Sophia,” I said before anyone else could start offering bribes. “I would like to see you step outside your comfort zone and play Cyclops, but if you aren't willing to do it, I won't force you. I can give the role to”—I hesitated only a second—“to Austin.”

“Me?” said Austin.

I gave him a wink, indicating he should just play along.

“Oh, right,” he blurted. “Me! I'll play Cyclops.”

“But if you refuse to play Cyclops, I'm going to have to rethink your playing Circe.” I shrugged, then repeated something I'd heard my mother say to Susan more than once. “I'm not going to reward bad behavior.”

Sophia was staring at me with such a heated look on her
face, I half expected fire to start shooting out of her ears. After a long, excruciating moment, she opened her mouth to speak.

I braced myself.

“Anya?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think I should play the Cyclops more as a big nasty bully, or kind of as a bumbling dolt? I can do either, you know. I'm
that
good.”

I smiled, trying not to look as relieved as I felt. “That's up to you,” I said easily.

“I think either choice works,” she went on confidently. “In fact, I bet I could figure out a way to combine them. I mean, he's a monster, so he'll have to be all gruff and growly. But he's also sort of a dimwit, which will give me a chance to show off my comedic talents.”

“Yes,” I said. “That's exactly what Austin and I were thinking when we cast you in that role.”

“Now . . .,” she said, her smile widening. “About Circe . . . well, that should be simple for me. After all, the first two words in her character description are
beautiful
and
powerful
. Talk about a role not being a stretch.”

I forced a smile but didn't comment. This superior, self-satisfied attitude of hers was obnoxious, but since it was
easier to deal with than a full-on conniption, I decided to quit while I was ahead.

“All right, people,” I said, clapping my hands for their attention. “Let's start with a read-through. Everybody, to the stage.”

Obediently, they all shuffled down the carpeted aisle of the theater and up the steps on either side of the stage. Scripts in hand, they sat down, assembling themselves into a wide oval on the black-painted floor.

“Susan—highlighters,” said Austin.

Susan made her way around the oval, handing out the neon-colored markers to everyone who had a speaking part.

“What are these for?” asked Maddie.

“To highlight your lines for easy reference,” I said. “When you're done, we're going to start with a read-through.”

“What's a read-through?” asked Brady.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” I said. “You just sit where you are and read through the script, without any blocking or moving around.”

Susan finished distributing the markers. As the actors began the task of highlighting their lines, she gave me a puzzled look.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“When I put the highlighters in my backpack this morning,
I counted out just the right amount,” she said. “One per kid.”

“And?”

She held up a neon-green marker and frowned. “There's one left over.”

“Maybe you miscounted,” said Austin.

Susan rolled her eyes. “Have we met? I'm an organizational genius. I don't miscount.”

“Wait,” I said. “You weren't expecting to need a marker yourself because you didn't know you'd be highlighting lines of your own.”

“Right,” said Susan. “Which means I'd be one
short
.”

“Well, even organizational geniuses make mistakes once in a while,” I said.

I waited for the actors to finish coloring their lines. When they were done, there was a rustle of pages as they turned back to the first scene, then a hush fell over the theater. They were waiting for me to start them off. I glanced at Austin, who was standing beside me with our script—the director's copy—open in front of him.

I smiled and took a deep breath. “Whenever you're ready.”

Silence.

I tried again. “Start when it feels right,” I said a little louder, in case the acoustics of this huge space were working against me.

Still, nothing.

Heads began to swivel. Kids frowned and whispered.

I turned to Austin. “What's the first line?” I asked.

He consulted the script. “ ‘ Reporting live from ancient Greece . . .' ”

“Who says it?”

“Greek Chorus Number One.”

I closed my eyes, picturing the cast list:

Greek Chorus Number One:
Mackenzie

It was then I realized . . .

Mackenzie was nowhere to be seen!

CHAPTER

11

“Maybe she had one of those super-special, last-minute New York City dance classes her mother's always springing on her,” Susan guessed.

Austin shook his head. “I doubt it. She would have texted one of us.”

“No, she wouldn't,” Maxie corrected. “Her mom took her phone away last week. She said it was distracting her from dancing.”

I reached into my pocket for my own cell. “I'll call her house phone,” I said. “Maybe she overslept or something.”

“Actors, start looking at your lines,” said Susan. Then she grinned, raised her arms in the air, and said in a deep, booming voice, “Useless mortals, I command thee to start looking at your lines by order of Zeus, father of the gods.”

I gave her a look. “That's gonna get old fast,” I warned as
the phone rang once, twice . . .

“Hello?” came Kenzie's mother's voice through the speaker.

“Hi, Mrs. Fleisch, this is Anya Wallach.”

“Good morning, Anya.”

“Is Mackenzie there?”

“No, she's not. She's gone out for a run.”

“Oh. Well, when she gets back, would you tell her—”

“She won't be home until much later today. She's meeting her friend Annabelle for a Pilates class at the yoga studio in town, then Annabelle's mother is driving them to the Dance Warehouse to buy some new tights and leotards. Then they're going to the dance studio to take an extra ballet class.”

“Oh.” I blinked. “Wait. She's . . . what?”

An impatient sigh came through the phone. “Can I take a message?”

“Um, sure. Can you please just tell her—”

At that moment the auditorium doors burst open and a very sweaty Mackenzie entered the auditorium.

“She's here!” cried Elle.

“Never mind, Mrs. Fleisch,” I said awkwardly. “Thanks anyway. Didn't mean to bother you.”

I heard a click as Mrs. Fleisch hung up on her end.

“Sorry I'm late,” Mackenzie said, coming down the aisle, her cheeks brightly flushed, her chest heaving.

I gaped at her as she took off her backpack and fumbled in it for a bottled water. “You ran here? All the way from Random Farms?”

Mackenzie took a long sip and nodded.

“What about Pilates?” I asked, still confused. “And the Dance Warehouse?”

A strange expression flickered over Kenzie's face; she didn't seem to know how to answer me, and for a minute I was afraid she was suffering from heatstroke.

“Your mom said you were meeting dance friends,” I prompted.

“She did?” Mackenzie took another gulp from the bottle. “Weird. She must be thinking of the weekend. I told her I had plans to do that on Saturday.” She laughed. “She's been so busy lately, trying to get me an audition with one of the New York ballet companies, she can't keep anything straight. I'll call her when we take a break and clear things up.”

I frowned. That did not sound like Mrs. Fleisch; Mrs. Fleisch could tell you the time and location of every dance class Mackenzie had ever taken since the age of three, plus the name of every instructor she'd ever studied under, and the current height, weight, and body mass index of every ballerina in the tri-state area who might constitute a threat to Mackenzie's standing as one of the best dancers in her age
group. I knew because I'd heard her do it. But I wasn't about to point this out to Mackenzie, who was now digging her script out of her backpack.

“You're Greek Chorus Number One,” I said, “which means you've got the first line. You're also playing the nymph Calypso. And maybe Charybdis, if Maxie can figure out how to costume a character who is technically just a wild and watery vortex of evil.”

“Cool.” Mackenzie made her way to the stage and took a seat between Nora and Maddie.

I looked at Austin.

He looked at me. “Was that weird?”

“Very,” I said. I decided to let it go this time, but from now on I was going to have to be more of a stickler about punctuality.

“Let's go, Director!” Susan bellowed. “We're wasting time, and we don't have a minute to spare. This is an epic, not a one-act, ya know!”

“Ya think maybe this ‘leader of the gods' thing is starting to go to her head?” Austin asked with a grin.

“God or no god,” I said, heading toward the stage. “She's still my little sister, which means I have absolutely no problem wrestling her to the ground and sitting on her head. I've done it before and I'll do it again.”

Austin smiled. “Good to know.”

We took our seats in the front row and the read-through began.

Despite Kenzie's tardiness, we wound up having a great read-through. The script was well written and totally hilarious! There were a few references that went right over our heads, but thank heavens for Wi-Fi. Every time we came across some mythological-themed joke or pun we didn't quite understand, Susan would look it up on her iPhone.

“I am Zeus!” she hollered. “Knower of all things!” Then she held up her smartphone and sang out praises to its power. “I hold in the palm of my godly hand the very secrets of the universe! I hold an iPhone. . . . I hold the world!”

“Wow,” said Teddy, who had a few TV commercials on his professional résumé. “Great slogan! You should call Apple's marketing department and see about becoming their spokesperson.”