Showstopper (8 page)

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Must you?”

“We must,” said Susan.

“Very well.” Mrs. Crandall opened a drawer and dug around until she found an enormous key ring.

“Right this way, children,” she said, her massive collection of keys jangling.

We followed the substitute events coordinator out of the administration corridor, through the sports complex (where she cast a yearning glance at the pool entrance), and into the community center's main lobby, where three tall sets of doors led to the auditorium.

All locked.

Mrs. Crandall looked from the doors to the jangling key ring in her hand and appeared to be on the verge of quitting.

But sixteen keys and one call to the maintenance department later, we were in. The first thing I noticed was the size of the place. It was not as big as the auditorium at Chappaqua High (where we'd seen the drama club's performance of
Beauty and the Beast
last fall), but it was much bigger than our own clubhouse theater.

I pointed this out to Austin. “Think the size will intimidate our actors?” I asked. “If we're forced to do the show
here, that is.”

“I hope not,” he said. “Let's check out the stage.”

We left Mrs. Crandall at the back of the auditorium and hurried down the center aisle. I tried not to get overly excited about the real footlights and the complex arrangement of the rich, velvet curtains.

The sound system, according to Austin, was state-of-the art, as were the lights.

Susan scoped out the backstage area and pronounced it fantastic.

“Will this be suitable for your needs?” Mrs. Crandall asked.

“Very suitable,” I said. “We'll see you first thing Monday morning.”

Mrs. Crandall told me she'd leave the key at the front desk, which was a great relief to both of us.

At home, Susan and I pulled the unfinished load of laundry out of the washer so the plumber (who, according to Papa, was scheduled to arrive sometime between three and the next ice age) could repair the machine. We hauled the heavy, sopping sheets and bath mats outside, where we hung them
over the railing of the back deck to drip.

“I'm starting to think maybe Austin had a point about that symbolic stuff,” said Susan.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, in the play, one of the trials Odysseus faces is a violent storm at sea.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah . . . so?”

“So . . . Poseidon churns up the waters, and Odysseus's raft gets tossed and spun, dragged under by the waves.”

“I know that. But what's so symbolic about it?”

“Anya”—Susan gave me a mischievous grin—“didn't you notice what brand washing machine we have?”

I shook my head. “No. What kind is it?”

Susan laughed. “It's a Whirlpool!”

Since our rental agreement didn't officially go into effect until Monday morning, we were going to have to tough it out and hold Sunday's round of acting auditions in the backyard.

The cast arrived at ten o'clock. Travis was carrying a large shopping bag.

“Whatcha got there, Coleman?” Susan asked.

“You'll see,” was Travis's cagey reply.

Then we got down to business.

We started with the monologues.

Sophia, not surprisingly, chose Penelope's romantic ode to her long-lost Odysseus. I had to admit, it was impressive. She even managed to dredge up a few tears. But she didn't show the same vulnerable quality I'd seen in Nora.

Teddy read for Poseidon and did a very admirable job. But since he was only eleven, his voice lacked the richness I was looking for. Austin agreed.

“He sounds too young to be a god,” he whispered to me. “But I bet he'd make a great Telemachus.”

Spencer's monologue was actually the prologue, or the opening lines, which set the scene for the upcoming action of the play. Members of the Greek chorus would perform these, and Spencer made the very cool choice of reading them like a circus ringmaster. It wasn't exactly how I'd envisioned the narrators; in my mind, these characters would be more along the lines of newscasters. But Spencer's interpretation showed great creativity.

Gracie capitalized on her comic strengths with Circe's monologue, and nailed it. She had everyone cracking up before she was even halfway through it.

“Excellent job on the monologues!” I said when she finished. “Let's move on to scenes.”

The remaining actors quickly partnered up. Elle, Madeline, and Jane opted to read as a trio, doing the high-energy crazy Siren scene. I had pictured them in the roles the minute I'd seen the script, and they didn't disappoint. My only slight concern was whether Jane could handle the song. But her presentation had improved a lot since her first singing audition, and I knew she'd work hard.

Travis and Mackenzie had a surprise for us. They told us they were going to read a scene between Odysseus and the goddess Athena. Then they disappeared around the side of the house and returned thirty seconds later . . . in costume!

“OMG!” cried Susan.

Travis wore a long wig of black curls and bright red lipstick; Mackenzie was sporting a toga and a beard!

“Okay if we do a little gender-bending?” Mackenzie asked.

“Go for it!” I said.

And they did. They were
amazing
. Hilarious and over-the-top, but all within the context of their characters. Seeing the graceful Mackenzie trudge around and grumble like a weary warrior was incredible, and Travis . . . he
became
the goddess, portraying her as a total diva.

I glanced at Maxie, who seemed to wholeheartedly approve of their simple yet effective costuming choices.

“This could work,” Austin whispered.

I nodded my agreement. But something was beginning to bother me. This script called for a lot more supporting roles than I'd originally realized. We would need at least four actors at any given time to play the Greek chorus, a handful for Penelope's suitors, and then there were Odysseus's men.

We might have to resort to the old stage convention of casting some of the kids in dual roles, which meant we'd be giving a single actor more than one part. This could be challenging even for seasoned thespians, since they'd need to rehearse and remember twice the dialogue, twice the blocking, and twice the number of songs and dances. While I was confident our actors were equal to the task, I suddenly found myself wondering if we could possibly enlist a few more kids to take part in this epic performance.

I'd talk about this idea with Austin later. Right now I wanted to enjoy Travis and Kenzie's scene.

When they were finished, the cast stood and applauded.

Travis laughed and tugged off his wig. “Phew! I don't know how you girls do it! This hair is hot! I'll take a buzz cut any day of the week.”

That was the end of our acting auditions, but since it was still early, we decided we might as well work on some of the songs that involved the whole cast. Luckily, Joey had brought his guitar. I sent Susan inside to get our portable keyboard,
and then we were ready to go.

Austin picked a scene that was actually a flashback, in which Odysseus explains how he managed to get inside the walls of Troy by hiding his army inside a giant hollow stallion. The title of the song: “Gotta See a Man About a Horse.”

Everyone took a few minutes to go over the lyrics while Austin and Joey played around with the music. A few of the more experienced singers, like Sophia and Nora, began warming up their voices while others experimented with harmonies.

The cast's first attempt at “Gotta See a Man About a Horse” wasn't half bad. The tune was infectious, and the lyrics were clever and catchy. Austin incorporated a few of the keyboard's special rhythm effects, and enhanced the song even further by adding the reverb option. This, combined with Joey's acoustic guitar, made for a really great sound. It was almost as if we had an entire orchestra at our disposal!

And as for the singers—well, nobody held back! They sounded incredible, belting out the hilarious lyrics as if it were actually opening night.

They did an equally good job with “It's All Greek to Me,” and I was proud of them. Last time, we'd auditioned with famous Broadway songs everyone already knew or at least had heard before. But everything about
The Odd-yssey
was brand-new and unfamiliar, which made it more of a challenge. And still, the cast had given it their all.

I suppose it didn't hurt that our musical's songs were “inspired” by well-known titles. But the melodies were altered and the lyrics were completely different. So I was pleased to see them catch on so quickly.

“That's all for today,” I said when we finished our rousing rendition of “Some Gods Have All the Luck.”

“Don't forget, tomorrow we'll be rehearsing at the community center,” Austin reminded them. “If anyone has transportation issues, shoot Susan an e-mail or a text.”

We all walked around to the front yard, where the cast said their good-byes and headed home. I was glad no one lingered, since I was anxious to start the casting process with Austin and to express my concerns about the size of the cast versus the number of roles we needed to fill. Plus, during the second verse of “Gotta See a Man,” Becky texted me a picture of herself at the town tennis courts. This was followed by another text inviting me to come to her match later that afternoon. I responded with a simple:

I'LL B THERE.

As soon as Austin and I nailed down our cast, I'd go straight to Becky's match.

As I was waving good-bye to the actors, I got a third text
from my athletic bestie. Two words and an emoji:

BRING AUSTIN.

I decided not to think too deeply on this addendum to her invitation. She knew we were holding auditions today, so she probably just figured Austin and I would be together anyway, so why not ask him along.

Right?

I tucked my phone into my pocket and joined Austin and Susan on the front porch. “Ready to cast the show?”

Austin held up a pad and pen. “Ready!”

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