Chapter 12 Aria
ARIA
I always start the first day of rehearsals by having the entire cast and crew sit in a circle in the rehearsal space so we can go around and introduce ourselves.
Name, age, and the parts we’ll be playing in the production.
It’s a great opportunity for the cast to establish how they want to be perceived and treated, and it’s a great way for me to observe the personalities I’ll be dealing with.
In children’s musical theatre, I don’t have to deal with a lot of divas, but I can always spot a diva-in-the-making.
If I have less than a handful of little turds to deal with, I count my blessings.
As long as no one suddenly hits puberty in the middle of a run, it’s easy like Sunday morning—Sunday morning for a single mom with a dozen kids, a limited budget, and a tight schedule.
I’ve directed moody assholes before, of course, but this is the first time I’ve had to direct a grumpy entertainment lawyer who is the father of the star of my show.
It’s the first time I’ve had to direct people I live next door to.
It’s the first time I’ve had to direct someone who’s seen my nips—as far as I know, at least.
I mean, I’ve worked with guys I’ve kissed before, but it’s different when I’m the director.
I have to establish a certain rapport with my cast and crew.
I’m in charge here. This is my script, and it’s my vision that everyone else is here to help me bring to life.
I need everyone in this room to know who’s boss.
I am.
It’s me.
I’m the boss.
Even if you’re paying my rent because you want your daughter to be happy, even if your tongue has been inside my mouth, even if I’ve fantasized about you bending me over the hood of my car in your garage—I’m the boss of you when we’re in this theatre.
If you would like to be the boss of me in some other scenario, well, I might be amenable.
“Okay, why don’t I go first,” I say. I don’t even have to clap my hands to get everyone’s attention.
All chatter comes to a satisfying halt and all eyes are on me.
Including the broody brown ones. “My name is Aria Cross. You can call me Aria. I’m twenty-six years old.
I wrote the book and lyrics for this musical.
I’m also the director and the choreographer.
And to my right is…” I gesture toward my stage manager, Chloe, who’s sitting on the floor next to me.
“My name is Chloe. I’m forty, and I’m fine with that.
I’m the stage manager. I’m Aria’s right-hand woman, and if you mess with her, I will be your worst nightmare.
It’s my job to keep everything and everyone in order and on time and running smoothly.
You have a question about anything—you come to me first. Think of me as the mom of this production.
But I am not your mom. I’ve got two teenage monsters at home, and I come to the theatre to get away from them.
” She glances over at me, and I widen my eyes at her.
“But this is gonna be a fun show,” she continues. “Woohoo!”
“Chloe, ladies and gentlemen,” I say. “James?”
James combs his fingers through his longish wavy hair before speaking.
“Hey guys, I’m James. I’m twenty-seven. I’m the composer and musical director for this show.
I’m also a grad student in the theatre department at UCLA, and I have a band.
Besides working with the lovely Aria Cross on composing music for her lyrics, it’s my job here to run the vocal warmups for rehearsals and preshow.
I’ll be working with each of you on your vocal performances and working with Aria on everything music-related for this awesome show she’s written. ” He gives me a little wink.
Someone who is sitting in this circle—someone with a baritone voice—clears his throat, but James doesn’t seem to notice.
Summer Miller, who’s sitting across the circle from James, raises her hand. She waits for James to look over at her before flipping her hair and batting her eyelashes at him. She’s nine.
“Do you have a question for me?” James asks.
“Yes. Are you married?”
“I am not married. I am very, very single.”
I just happen to glance over at the baritone. He’s scowling at James. More intensely than he’s ever scowled at me. Unless he’s actually scowling at me right now and James just happens to fall within the radius of his scowl.
Next is Logan, whom I’ve cast as the Hatter. He’s an over-actor and a pretty boy, and I specifically wanted him in the show because I knew Miles would show up to keep an eye on him.
Kenya, a lovely and cool ten-year-old girl, is playing the Dormouse, among other characters.
Several young actors who make up the ensemble—including the girl who’s understudy for Alice—introduce themselves, and then the second-oldest cast member says, “Hey, I’m Austin.
I’m fourteen. I’m the March Hare, which is cool because I play basketball.
” He waits a beat for laughter, I suppose, and doesn’t get it.
“Because March Madness. College basketball? The March Hare is nuts? Never mind. I’m also the King of Hearts.
At first when Aria called to tell me that, I thought she said King of Farts, and I was like, whoa. Who told you?”
That gets the laughs he was looking for, from most of this audience. Macy just looks uncomfortable.
“And, yeah. That’s it. Thanks for casting me.”
Summer Miller flips her hair again before introducing herself. “Hi, I’m Summer. I’m nine years old, and I do not currently have a boyfriend.” She slow-blinks at Austin. “I will be portraying the Queen of Hearts and Tweedle Dee.”
“My name is Lucky,” says the boy next to Summer, who’s rolling his eyes at her. “I’m her twin brother, so I’m nine too. I’m gonna be the White Rabbit and Tweedle Dum. And also, Summer isn’t allowed to have a boyfriend, by the way.” Summer pinches his arm. “Ow!”
I look over at Miles, who’s sitting next to Lucky.
He’s cross-legged on the floor, his suit jacket spread across his lap.
Out of the corner of my eye, I’ve seen him check his phone fourteen times since he got here.
He’s typing on his phone right now, in fact.
Completely oblivious that it’s his turn to introduce himself.
“Mr. Brodie. Would you like to tell us a little bit about yourself?”
“Hmm?” He glances up at me. “Yeah, one sec.” He continues to type on his phone.
“Daddy,” Macy mutters through gritted teeth. “It’s your turn and then mine.”
“We put our phones away during rehearsals, Mr. Brodie. We’ll be taking a ten-minute break soon. You can finish whatever it is you’re doing then.”
Miles slowly and somehow offensively puts his phone down and says, “My name is Miles. I am a grown man. Thirty-two years old. I am an entertainment lawyer by trade. And I have the distinct honor of playing the Cheshire Cat in this exciting production. Nice to meet all of you.” He flashes a very forced, obnoxious grin.
Well, I find it obnoxious, but everyone else seems to find it amusing.
I would give him a verbal spanking right here in front of everyone if I weren’t so nervous for Macy right now.
She’s already made some progress after three voice lessons, but I don’t want her to sing in front of anyone else yet.
This is her moment to show everyone she’s the star of this show.
She’s wearing a pale-blue dress with a white smock and a ribbon in her hair.
I didn’t ask her to dress like Disney Alice, but that’s one way to let everyone know who she is.
“My name is Macy,” she says, articulating and trying to project every word. “But you can call me Alice. I am eight years old, and I’m so honored to be playing Alice…” She looks over at Lucky Miller and says, “And I do not currently have a boyfriend.”
“And you won’t until you’re at least twenty,” Miles mutters.
“Daddy, you’re not my dad when we’re here, remember?”
Miles holds his hands up in surrender, and Macy is about to continue talking about herself, but I want to cut her off before she says anything else. She’s doing well so far.
“Okay, let’s all get up and stretch our legs for ten minutes, and then we’ll do some warmups and talk about the script.” I start clapping and everyone else claps and we all get up for a break.
I’m about to go over and give Miles a piece of my mind, but James approaches and holds out his hand to help me up from the floor.
“Oh. Thanks.”
He gives my arm a little squeeze once I’m up. “Sure. Seems like a pretty good group,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning in to speak in a hushed voice. “You still want to work with Alice and Cheshire yourself?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
“Cool… Hey, did you get my text about the show tonight?”
“Tonight? Oh, your band?”
I can’t see him, but I can feel Miles watching me intently from five feet away. Watching me while typing on his phone. And frowning.
“Yeah, my band’s playing the Hotel Café at ten. I know it’s kind of a hike to get out to Hollywood on a Saturday night, but it’ll be super chill, should be a cool crowd. Some other great bands playing. I’ll put you on the list.”
None of that interests me. None of it. At all. “Oh, cool. Well, I don’t even know if I can stay awake past ten anymore, to be honest.”
“No worries. If you make it, you make it. If you don’t, you don’t. But if you do—drinks are on me.”
“Nice. Well, we’ll see.”
“Cool.” James squeezes my arm again, combs his fingers through his hair again, and then pulls out his phone and walks off.
Before I can go over to scold Miles, Chloe taps my leg and holds her hand up. “Help me up.” She groans as I pull her up. Clutching her binder under her arm, she says, “Let’s do a quick walk and talk.”
“Sure.”
“Okay.” She leads me away from Miles. “We’re walking and we’re talking.”
“About the show?”
“About Cheshire McFrownypants with the suit jacket who can’t stop staring at you and how he may have ground his molars into a fine dust while you were talking to James just now.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah.”
“That’s Macy’s dad.”
“Uh-huh. Married?”
“No. Divorced for years.”
“Interesting.”
“Not interested.”
“You aren’t?”
“He isn’t.”
“Beg to differ.”
“Trust me, it’s not a thing.”
“Trust me, it’s going to be a thing. I’ve been witness to hundreds of showmances in the past twenty-five years, and you must trust me—it’s gonna be a thing.”
“Well, it can’t be a thing, so shhh.”
“Interesting.”
“It’s not interesting.”
“James wants to bone you.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“I’m just saying. I have no life outside of my family, so this is very exciting for me.”
I pat her shoulder. “Okay, well, I have a musical to direct.”
“I know. But it’s a thing.”
I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket and check my notifications in case there’s anything about the show. There is, but it’s not what I was expecting.
MILES: I don’t like James.
MILES: Can I buy you a different musical director?
ME: No. James is brilliant and we’re lucky to have him.
MILES: Brilliant is grievously overstating it, and exactly how do you have him?
ME: What do you mean?
MILES: Never mind.
MILES: But I don’t like him. I don’t like the way he keeps pushing his hair behind his ears. I don’t like his braided leather bracelets. I don’t like that he’s telling everyone about his band when he should be focused on your musical during rehearsals. Just my opinion.
ME: Well, it’s a good thing you won’t be joining us for every rehearsal, then.
MILES: Oh, I’ll be joining you for as many rehearsals as possible.
MILES: So I can be here for Macy, I mean.
ME: What a shocking turn of events.
ME: Why are you wearing a suit if it isn’t purple?
MILES: Had a business lunch right before this.
ME: Well, thanks for showing up, but if I ever catch you on your phone during rehearsal again, I will make you SING the Jabberwocky poem instead of reciting it.
MILES: I think you’ve already found plenty of other creative ways to punish me, Miss Cross.
ME: Actually, Mr. Brodie—I’ve barely even begun.