Chapter 16
If my life were a movie—and it absolutely should be, and Ellie Kemper should play me—this would be the point in that movie
where the viewer gets to watch a montage of old people auditioning for a performance of Cinderella .
It would be a comedy. And a tragedy.
From the man who got up and told dirty jokes for five minutes straight, to the woman who did a slow interpretative dance to
the song “Defying Gravity” from the musical Wicked , to the brother-sister duo who did a magic act that reminded me a lot of a child covering his eyes and shouting, “Can’t see
me! Can’t see me!”
It’s almost noon, and I’m hungry and discouraged. I didn’t expect Broadway-caliber auditions here, but I thought they would at least be able to sing. And, based
on the way everyone talked about how well-loved the shows are, I thought there would be more people trying out.
The stage clears, and as a ventriloquist and her inappropriately dressed puppet make their way up the aisle, I slowly put
my head in my hands.
Connie bustles in from the back. She leans in and quietly whispers, “So! How’s it going?”
Veronica leans in and whisper-yells, “They’re terrible. Terrible! Even the best choreographer in the world wouldn’t be able
to work with this.”
“Oh.” Connie gives me a desperate look. “Is that true?”
I glance over the list of people who’ve auditioned. “I mean... it’s not... not true.”
“Are you ready for me to start?” The woman has set her ventriloquist dummy on a tall stool, and I can’t wait to hear what
she’s going to make this thing say.
I hold up a finger. “One sec!”
Connie takes the list from me and looks it over. “I don’t understand. Where are the regulars? Evelyn? Sadie? What about the
Margies? They all said they were auditioning.”
“Please tell me there are a bunch of women that live here that are all named Margie,” I kid.
“Oh, you’ve met them?” Connie says brightly.
I stifle a laugh. “You’re kidding.”
Connie continues, almost as an aside. “They formed a little club. It’s actually really sweet. They always do the shows.” She
looks over the list. “But I don’t see their names anywhere on here.”
“This is all we’ve got,” I say. “I met some of them Friday when Booker showed me around, and they said they’d be here, but
so far, we’ve mostly had—” I motion to the stage, and the woman with the dummy nods as if I’ve given her the go-ahead to start,
and launches into her act.
“Well, hi there, Miss Loretta! How are you today?”
Arthur mutters an “Oh my dear Lord in heaven,” just before the woman starts to make the puppet’s mouth move, and at least
I can claim that he and I have something in common—a disdain for puppets.
“Sexy as ever, Miss Kathleen!”
“You do look awfully sexy, Miss Loretta. Did you dress up for something special?”
“I’m on the prowl,” the dummy says. “I’m looking to find me a may-un!”
“A may-un?” The woman repeats in a dramatic and drawn-out voice.
“I’ve got needs, Miss Kathleen,” the dummy says, though it seems Kathleen has given up on not moving her mouth. “A whole list of needs.”
Kathleen pulls a small piece of paper from the pocket of the dummy’s bikini bottoms as Ginny leans closer to me and barks,
“What did she just say?”
I leap to my feet. “Oh my gosh! Yes! No! Great! Thank you! Incredible job. We’ll... uh, we’ll let you know!”
“No. Shot .” Dylan gasps and laughs, and I see she filmed the entire thing.
“Dylan! Don’t you dare post that,” I snap.
She doesn’t move. “This one’s just for me. That literally made my whole summer.”
The old woman looks unfazed. “Do you want me to grab my other puppets? I have a sexy taxi driver, a sexy loan shark, a sexy
Bill Gates...”
“Oh, wow, okay”—I’m stuttering now—“That’s a lot of sexy puppets. You know, I think we’re good. We’re, you know... We’ll
let you know, okay?”
She grins at me and coos, “We’ll be waiting...”
I shudder, then slump in my chair.
“Oh my word,” Connie breathes.
“Horrible, terrible, awful,” Veronica says.
“It’s been hilarious.” Dylan smirks, tapping on her phone with a wry grin on her face.
Connie slowly hands the paper back to me. “I can see you’ve... ahem... got your work cut out for you.”
I take the paper. “Yeah, it’s been interesting, to say the least.”
She frowns. “None of the people from the last show are on this list. I don’t understand.”
“Maybe putting me in charge made them change their mind,” I say, thinking I realistically can’t handle this. “Maybe they don’t
want an outsider directing their musical?”
“It’s Belinda.” Ginny points her finger in my direction.
“I thought nobody liked Belinda,” I say dumbly.
“Typical mean girl. Nobody likes her, but everyone fears her,” Ginny says. “They’re afraid auditioning for your show will
make her mad.”
“Seriously?” This is more drama than high school. I sigh.
“Maybe you need to show them that you know what you’re doing,” Veronica says. “Do you have one of those demo reels? We could
play it on the TVs all over the campus.”
“She doesn’t have one,” Connie says. “I already looked. She did play a dead body on Law & Order , though.”
“Cool,” Dylan says.
“A dead body?” Arthur scoffs, waving a hand in the air like he can’t be bothered with me anymore. “That’s the acting equivalent
of a garden slug.”
I put my hands on my temples and rub slow circles. “I can’t even convince a bunch of old people in a retirement community
that I know what I’m doing.”
“Oh, stop it.”
I drop my hands and look up to find Arthur leaning across the table, glaring at me.
“So it’s a setback. You’ve done live theatre, haven’t you?” His acerbic tone catches me off guard. “You should know this will
be the first of many setbacks you’re going to have during the course of this show.”
I sit straighter. “Yes? And?”
He stands. “You’re the director. Suck it up and figure it out. And if that means going door-to-door and inviting people to
audition, then that’s what it means.”
Connie adds, “And if it means going into the cafeteria and singing karaoke in order to convince people you know what you’re
doing, then that’s what it means.”
“Epic,” Dylan says.
Connie brightens, like she’s just solved an impossible equation. “Oh my word, yes! This is the best idea!”
“What is? Karaoke?” I protest. “I thought that was just a metaphor.”
I can see she’s already forming a plan in her head by the way she’s talking with her hands, like she’s setting the scene.
“Auditions continue tomorrow. I say we pack it up today, then make this happen tomorrow at lunch.”
I can see this idea is picking up steam.
“We take the portable speaker that Daisy uses for karaoke night and you perform”—a big flourish with the hands now—“Right
in the middle of the lunch rush. When you finish, you do a plug for auditions!”
“Wait, what?” My heart races.
“It could work,” Ginny says, thoughtfully but not quietly.
“Do you want to do a song with a tap solo?” Veronica asks. “We could do a duet!”
Performing on a stage with the lights blurring any actual faces in the audience is one thing. Performing under the flickering
fluorescent lighting of a retirement community dining hall is something else entirely.
You can see them. It’s not ideal.
“This is a great idea,” Connie says. “I can send out a newsletter blast tonight.”
“Oh no, don’t do that,” I say, but nobody hears me.
“Or maybe not,” Connie says, but not because I protested. She’s deep in thought. “We want the element of surprise.”
“Do we, though?” I ask quietly. “Won’t that be bad for their hearts or something?”
“I agree,” Veronica says, not listening. “Show everyone that Rosie is the person to lead us and the show. There’s no buy-in because they don’t know her.”
Ginny harrumphs. “And because Belinda is ruining it for everyone. She’s just jealous, Rosie, because nobody wanted her to
direct. I swear, that woman is—”
“Do you care about this show, Rosie Waterman?” Arthur cuts her off and is still looking at me. I’m beginning to think the
only facial expression he has is a glare.
I casually wonder if he lives in a garbage can next to Mr. Snuffleupagus.
“Of course I do.” Right?
He shrugs, but his expression doesn’t change. “Then prove it.”
“You’re on board with this too?” I ask in disbelief. When Arthur doesn’t respond, I groan. “So you want me to go interrupt
everyone’s meal with a performance in the middle of the day. In the dining hall. Tomorrow.”
They all look at me, wearing a collective expression that seems to say, “Yes!”
I let out a heavy sigh, thankful that at least Booker had patients and isn’t here for any of this. “Fine. What song should
I sing?”