Chapter 15
Monday morning, I sit straight up in bed, eyes wide, like someone poked me with a cattle prod.
I also feel like I swallowed a jar of butterflies.
Today I will meet my team, and tomorrow—auditions. Once we start auditions, we’re off and running. There’s no turning back.
Once I’m showered and ready, I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Yep. We’re doing this,” I say out loud.
“Heck yeah, we are!” Daisy calls from somewhere in the cottage, and I realize I really need to be quieter when pep-talking
myself.
She appears in the doorway behind me. “You look a lovely shade of pale green this morning.”
I give a double thumbs-up.
“Oh stop, you’re going to be so great!” She grins. “Unless you’re not, in which case Belinda will eat you alive.”
I groan. “Your pep talk needs work.”
“But everyone else wants you to crush it,” Daisy says, wiggling her pointer fingers at herself. “So. You know. Just go do that.”
“I guess...” I pause, trying to make it make sense. “It’s that same feeling I get whenever I get onstage or land a role
or stand in front of a crowd. No matter the prep, seconds before it’s my line or my solo or my scene, I have no idea what
comes next. But then I open my mouth and the right words come out and everything’s fine.”
“And that’ll happen here too. You’ll open your mouth, and the right words will come out.” She squeezes my shoulder. “Everything will be fine.” A little shrug. “Besides, you know way more than anyone else here,” she says. “So just fake it till you make it.”
I smile as I roll my eyes. “Ooh, such a cliché.”
“Hey,” she says. “It’s cliché because it’s true.” She narrows her eyes. “Look at me. I can do a better pep talk.”
I turn, tilt my head, and brace myself.
“You don’t have to have it all figured out today. Just focus on what’s in front of you.” She takes me by the shoulders. “You’re
smart and capable and crazy talented at all this acting and dancing and music stuff.”
“You know we just met a couple of days ago,” I say.
She shakes her head as if to say that’s ridiculous. “Pssh...” She waves me off. “It’s true. You can’t go in that room defeated,
Rosie. Be the Riveter! Yes, we can!” She makes a muscle like the famous poster in the mirror.
I try to conceal a smile, but I fail, which Daisy is visibly pleased about.
“Do you want to get breakfast before you go?” she asks.
“Nah,” I say. “I don’t think I can eat. Too nervous.”
“You have no reason to be nervous.” She pulls a granola bar from a box in the cupboard and tosses it to me. “At least take
this. Just in case.”
I take it, knowing I’ll most likely need it later. “Wish me luck,” I say, as she picks up her huge bowl of cereal.
“Avoid the mud, you’ll be fine.” Daisy grins at me and shovels a bite of Froot Loops into her mouth. “Crush it, Riveter!”
She poses again like the wartime hero and sends me on my way, wondering how, in just a short time, Daisy has managed to become
someone I think I’d like to have in my life forever.
I arrive at the theatre an hour before the meeting is scheduled to begin and find Connie standing on the sidewalk in front of the theatre. She bustles over as I park my new golf cart.
“Good morning, Rosie!” she says. “I see you got your new golf cart. Stay on the path from here on out. Sound good?” She claps her hands together. “It’s a beautiful day, don’t you think?”
It is a stunning day. Sunny and temperate with a stunning landscape in the distance behind the building. A few lazy clouds,
a gentle breeze, and shockingly few insects.
I spent most of yesterday watching, reading, and listening to all things Cinderella , figuring out what I’m ideally looking for in each role.
Difficult, considering the ideal cast will not actually be auditioning today.
I get out of the cart. “Connie, you didn’t mention this show is a last-ditch effort to save the Sunset Players.”
Her face falls, then tries to make the best of it by picking up its corners, then settles on a pained smile.
I pull my bag out and prop my sunglasses up on my head so Connie can see my serious expression.
“I’m sorry, Rosie. I didn’t want to scare you off.” A wince. “Are you okay with this?”
“There’s just a lot more riding on this show’s success than I thought.” I sigh. And I don’t need yet another failure on my record.
A thought hits me, and before I can think about whether it’s the right thing to say, I ask, “Although, with all the other
programs here, do you really need theatre for the senior citizens?”
I try not to imply that it’s a tiny bit ridiculous—this whole idea that we’re about to cast a young and beautiful Cinderella and her
stepsisters from the residents here.
I can tell by Connie’s reaction that my question hit her the wrong way.
She frowns and looks down, like she wants to say something but she’s not sure she should.
Finally, she straightens her shoulders and meets my eyes.
“Do you know how much joy people have gotten from these shows, Rosie?” Her voice is laced with meaning.
“These shows are good for the seniors who participate in them, but also for the community and their families. No, we don’t get large crowds, but people do come out and show their support. ”
She looks off at the theatre building. “Do you know what some of them come in here with?”
She looks back at me. “Nothing.”
It dawns on me that I haven’t stopped and thought once about the people here as... people. With lives and challenges and
stories.
She goes on. “Most aren’t happy or hopeful. Their lives are...” She pauses, appearing to search for the right words. “Not
always easy. Some of them don’t have visitors. At all. Ever. Some of them feel they don’t have anything else to live for.
They’re just hanging around, waiting to die. And for some of them, the community they build while doing one of these shows
literally keeps them alive. And I know that sounds dramatic, but it’s the truth.”
I nod. “I understand.” I instantly feel like a jerk.
Elite theatre people are a dime a dozen—I just never thought I was one of them.
Do better, Rosie.
“This program has been so good for so many people, Rosie,” she says. “It’s important. And if we can’t save it, well”—she looks
away—“The impact will be noticeable, that’s all.”
I’m ashamed and embarrassed that I’ve made this job all about me. I could argue that I didn’t know anyone felt this way, but
the truth is, I never even stopped to wonder.
“You’re absolutely right. You’ll have my best, Connie, I promise.”
The weight of Connie’s words settle.
Like Louie said, no pressure.
Connie must see this register on my face, and she moves closer. “You’re going to be wonderful. So good. We have faith in you. I have faith in you.”
I meet her eyes, and in them I find absolute confidence.
In me.
“You really think I’m the person, don’t you?” I say.
Connie pats my shoulder, then turns toward the building and starts walking alongside me. “I don’t believe in accidents. So
if you’re here, then you’re here for a reason. And I’m betting there is something here for you too.”
“Something for me? Here?” I try not to laugh.
“Maybe so. I can’t wait to find out what it is!” She claps her hands together, then reaches out to take mine, leading me toward
the theatre. “I’ve assembled your team. They’re waiting for you in the auditorium.”
My team. Right.
Because I’m in charge.
When someone has a question about how things are supposed to go, they’ll be coming to me. If someone has an issue with the
role they got, they’ll be coming to me. If someone’s costume doesn’t fit, if they can’t make it to a rehearsal, if they’ve
fallen and they can’t get up, they’ll be coming to me.
And they’ll expect me to have the answers.
Fake it till you make it.
I mean, that’s literally the career I’ve chosen.
Piece of cake.
We walk down to the front of the auditorium, and I get into character. I’m a strong, capable, confident director who knows
what she’s doing. I’m fearless and ready to take on this project, regardless of what the outcome might be.
But then I see the “team” Connie has assembled. Yet somehow, it’s like they’ve all been studying the script and I’m walking into a cold read.
I look around, reminding myself that I’m good at cold reads. I’ve got this.
First there’s Arthur, the curmudgeonly facilities caretaker who is disinterested and scowling. Then there are two older women,
and next to them, I’m stunned to discover, is Booker.
Connie shuffles around me and claps her hands together like the activities director on a cruise ship. “Good morning! I am
absolutely thrilled you’ve all agreed to be a part of Rosie’s creative team. Of course, we will need to recruit a few more
people, but this is an excellent start.”
“Why don’t we begin by telling Rosie who you are?” Connie nods at a woman whose hair is pulled up in a loose bun. The woman
is pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way, if the girl next door were in her late sixties.
“I’m Veronica,” the woman says. “Connie’s asked me to work with you on the choreography. I handle the adult tap classes here,
so maybe we could throw a tap number into the show?”
“Oh yeah, maybe!” I force a smile. There isn’t a tap number in Cinderella .
“Maybe we could turn one of the songs into a tap number? Maybe the fairy godmother taps when she sings ‘Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo’?”
My heart skips. Do the members of my team know this is not the Disney version of Cinderella ? “We can totally talk about it!”
I don’t want to crush their creativity right out of the gate.
A stout, elderly woman with short gray hair and a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses hanging from a chain around her neck steps forward.
“I’m Ginny,” she says loudly as she puts the glasses on, presumably to inspect me.
Which is what she appears to be doing—through a scowl—when she says, “I’ve been doing the costumes.
I don’t like people complaining, so we can put Belinda on notice right now.
I’m sure you’ll want her to be the lead, but she will wear whatever ball gown I give her.
I don’t care whether it’s in ‘her color palette’ or not. ”
“Oh, I don’t pre-cast,” I say. “Belinda isn’t promised anything.”
She glances at Veronica, raises her eyebrows, and then turns back to me. “You just might be okay.”
If I had to guess, Ginny was definitely part of the group that complained about Belinda potentially being in charge.
Before I can formulate a response, Connie steps forward. “I think you already met Arthur?”
Arthur harrumphs. I glare at him, hoping to communicate, “I’m not scared of you, buddy,” even though I totally am.
“He’ll be your stage manager.” Next, Connie motions toward Booker, who is dressed in track pants and a Sunset Hills sweatshirt. “And, of course, Booker is here to help with the sets.”
I look at him, shaking my head slightly. “So you’re on my team now.”
He shrugs. “I can’t come to auditions tomorrow, but”—and then he meets my eyes—“Yeah, I’m on your team.”
“So that means you have to do what I tell you,” I playfully jab.
He smiles and looks at Ginny. “Yeah, looks like it.”
At that moment, the back door to the auditorium opens. Everyone turns, and their expectant expressions turn to confusion.
Because standing there, backlit by the natural light in the lobby, is a dark-haired teenager with chipping black nail polish,
wearing ripped jeans and Converse high-top sneakers.
“Is that... Dylan?” Connie asks.
“What is she doing here?” Ginny practically shouts.
I smile. “She came.”
“But why?” Ginny asks.
I glance at them. “Because I asked her to be on the team.”
There’s a pause, and then Ginny plops down in her chair. “Well, she’s not doing costumes.”
I hear the confused murmurs as I step out into the aisle, passing Booker on the way. He gives me a wink of approval. Dylan has stopped moving and is now standing at the back of the auditorium.
I walk up to her and make sure I don’t look happy as I say, “You came,” as nonchalantly as possible.
Dylan rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I didn’t have anything else to do today.”
I nod. “Okay, but you came.”
Dylan glares at me. “Are you going to make it weird?”
“Do I look like the kind of person who would make it weird?”
A beat. And then, “Yes.”
I do my best not to crack a smile. “Listen, you should know, if you’re joining the team, you’re joining the team.”
She scowls. “Duh.”
“I mean, you can’t bail on us.” I turn and look at the others. “The show has to be a priority this summer. There’s a lot riding
on this.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and huffs out a sigh. “A lot riding on a performance of Cinderella put on by a bunch of old people?”
I put an arm on Dylan’s shoulder and turn back to the group. “Everyone, this is Dylan.”
They all stare at her as if they’re waiting for a punch line that isn’t coming.
“She’s, uh”—I’m just spitballing now—“She’s going to be in charge of hair and makeup.”
“A senior Cinderella with black lipstick,” Ginny coos.
I give the others a nervous smile. Booker steps out into the aisle and extends a hand toward Dylan. She looks at his hand
suspiciously, and then, after a beat, she reaches out and shakes it.
“Welcome to the team,” he says.
The team. As I pan across the motley crew assembled here, I have to wonder if Cinderella will ever make it to her ball.
***
Rosie: Tonight I broke into the Commons and ate grilled cheese with my housemate Daisy and a couple of the guys who work here. It
reminded me of the time we had that lock-in at the high school and we caught Maya in the kitchen with the entire tray of brownies.
It made me miss you guys, and I just wanted you to know.
Maya: If I remember right, you all plopped down on the floor with me and ate your fair share of those brownies.
Taylor: Now I want brownies. Think I can send Aaron to the store?
Rosie: You’re pregnant, so yes!
Marnie: I miss carbs.