Chapter Twelve #2
“Nicely done, Danny, as expected,” Ms. Mellon said with a smile. “Should we look at the first scene with Demetrius?”
Danny’s jaw tightened.
“Of…course,” he said, the confident note he’d held only moments before evaporating into the stale basement air.
Demetrius sauntered over. A handsome senior with undeniable swagger who was always trailed by a coterie of admirers, his eyes were gray like a wolf’s, and though they’d never met, Danny had taken notice of him immediately. Rumor had it that Juilliard had, too.
“You ready?” Demetrius asked, nodding at Danny with his chin.
“Uh-huh,” Danny said, staring down hopelessly at his highlighted lines.
Just be that guy, Danny thought. That guy that isn’t you.
“ ‘Well done, brother,’ ” Demetrius’s voice interrupted, startling Danny and forcing him to scramble to find his first line.
“ ‘Of courrrrse it was!’ ” Danny said finally, through a pinched set of lips. “ ‘Did you know this arrrm slew twenty Freeesians last year? And it’s going to slay even morrre Visigoths!’ ”
Danny held his arm proudly in the air as if holding a sword, the way Nina had instructed, taking on the posture of a guy far more confident than he was.
“ ‘Wait, you’re going to war against the Visigoths?’ ” Demetrius asked, cocking his head.
“ ‘Uh-huh. That’s the next one. It’s going to be a glorrrrious campaign and—oh,’ ” Danny barked, posing with his hands on his hips like a Roman statue, “ ‘those Visigoth women!’ ”
“I’m sorry, can I—” a voice cut in.
Danny turned to the table where Ms. Mellon was sitting, tapping the eraser of her pencil against her temple.
“Danny, are you…?” She paused, seeming to consider her words. “Are you doing something…different with your voice?”
“Oh, I…” Danny’s eyes flashed over to Nina, who slouched down in her chair, avoiding eye contact. “I was just trying to, you know…”
“Sound like Dustin Parker-Taylor?” Ms. Mellon said, raising a knowing eyebrow.
“I…I guess.” Danny shrugged in resignation.
“Well, that’s a shame,” Ms. Mellon said, folding her hands on the table. “Because I don’t need another Dustin Parker-Taylor. We already had him, and he was great. But what this show doesn’t have,” she said, leveling with him, “is you.”
Danny looked down at his paper, the margins filled with penciled notes—where to laugh, where to pose, where to hit the r’s hard, even though they felt foreign in his mouth.
“But doesn’t this show take place in the Middle Ages?” Danny quivered, biting his lower lip.
“Do you think people sounded like Dustin Parker-Taylor in the Middle Ages?” Ms. Mellon frowned.
She had a point.
“Why don’t you start again,” she said. “Maybe bring some of that flavor you gave us in your Caddyshack monologue.”
Danny furrowed his eyebrows in what he hoped was obvious confusion.
You mean that monologue that was a total shitshow? The one where not a single person laughed and it almost got me banished back to Staten Island before I even got here?
“You know, I never got to tell you, but I thought that monologue was so refreshing,” Ms. Mellon said, smiling. “It was actually that kind of goofy, sort of…hapless energy that made me think you might be a great Lewis.”
“Oh.” It was all Danny could think of to say.
“I’m wondering if there’s maybe someone you know,” she suggested. “Someone like that Bill Murray character. Someone you might be able to draw from? Someone who maybe thinks a little too highly of himself?”
“Uh, yeah. Every guy at St. Pete’s,” Danny blurted, not exactly meaning to say this out loud.
Ms. Mellon chuckled. “Okay then, let’s try that.”
Danny had just the guy in mind—the blithe, oafish narcissist whose bored gaze he’d spent the entire summer trying to avoid.
The guy with a sunburnt nose and the drawl brought on by five wine coolers, the guy who was all too ready to make a big show of opening a beach umbrella, or challenge someone to a one-handed push-up contest: Joey Bagaducci, the single biggest asshole from his lifeguarding job.
“Yeah, I’ve got a guy.”
“Great!” she replied. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Danny took in a breath, then nodded to Demetrius.
“ ‘Well done, brother,’ ” Demetrius said, replaying the tape.
“ ‘Of COU’SE it was!’ ” Danny bellowed out in his thickest South Shore accent. Ms. Mellon, Jerry, and even Demetrius immediately burst into laughter.
Danny played the scene, this time dropping those hard r’s that he’d been practicing so hard.
When he got to the line about slaying the Visigoths, he held his arm high in the air, flexing his biceps and then kissing it, and then, to his own surprise, he stuck out his tongue and licked it.
This even made Nina, who up until this point had been looking enormously guilty, laugh out loud.
Danny shadowboxed like the macho lifeguards on Midland Beach, like the guys in his father’s favorite movies, grunting and wiping imaginary sweat from their brows.
“ ‘Wait, you mean you’re going to war against the Visigoths?’ ” Demetrius recited, trying and increasingly failing to hide a smile.
“ ‘Yuh-huh. That’s the next one,’ ” Danny replied, dumbly scratching his belly like an ape. “ ‘It’s gonna be a glorious campaign, and—OHH!’ ” he gurgled, “ ‘those Visigoth women!’ ”
Danny didn’t know where it came from, but something inside of him told him to start rocking his pelvis, musically thrusting it in a deeply unsexy celebration dance, the kind the quarterback of St. Pete’s might do after scoring a touchdown, only to be dragged off the field by the nearest chaplain.
Ms. Mellon snorted, Nina hid behind her hands, and Demetrius, the Juilliard hopeful, had to turn away to keep from laughing.
Danny halted his male stripper routine and hit back, dryly, with his next line.
“ ‘Oh, I don’t mean to shock your bookish sensibilities.’ ”
Next up was Danny’s scene with Fastrada-slash-Nina, who was clearly still recovering from the embarrassment of titanically whiffing her Henry Higgins act.
But Danny’d undergone a complete transformation, channeling all the idiotic, hormonal goombahs who used to torture him back home.
He was shocked at how easy it was to impersonate them, how the qualities that were once terrifying suddenly seemed ridiculous when played for laughs.
Even Nina broke out of her rehearsed routine, melting in feigned ecstasy in the presence of this hyper-masculine buffoon.
Danny buttoned the scene with his goofiest grin and Nina beamed back at him, clearly brimming with pride.
The two of them turned to Ms. Mellon, who was transfixed, watching two of her students create a world she’d never known previously existed.
“So, I’m going to cut to the chase,” Ms. Mellon said, folding her arms. “I won’t pretend we’re not in a massive hurry to get this role cast. Between this and your work in class yesterday, you’ve clearly shown me that you’re willing to take risks.
So…I guess I’m going to take one, too,” she said.
“Danny, if you’d like to play Lewis, it’s yours. ”
Nina let out a squeal, leaping into a hug around Danny’s shoulders, which should have caused him to flinch. Danny’s head rushed with a warmth that felt completely foreign, like what people said hugs were supposed to feel like. For a second, he was worried that he might actually cry again.
“I’m giving you the weekend to look over the script,” Ms. Mellon continued.
“I know it’s a tall order, but please come fully memorized.
Your first rehearsal is Monday. But let me be clear,” she said, her voice suddenly taking on a sterner tone.
“If you ever try to pull some shit like that weak-ass Dustin Parker-Taylor impersonation, I will have another audition to replace you.”
Danny’s cheeks burned hot. Not only had he gotten exactly what he’d prayed for that morning, but he was pretty sure Ms. Mellon, patron saint of LaGuardia, had just used not one but two curse words. He could almost hear the nuns at St. Pete’s gasp from all the way across New York Harbor.
“Don’t ever waste my time pretending to be someone you’re not,” Ms. Mellon said, smiling. “When someone asks you to audition, it’s because they like who you are. What makes you different, Danny, is what makes you special.”