Chapter 19 - Aria
ARIA
“Have some wine,” Austin says as the March Hare.
We’re doing a table read of the full script for the first time, in the rehearsal space. The entire cast is here, along with Chloe and me, and James is at the piano.
Macy, as Alice, looks around in an exaggerated manner. “But I don’t see any wine.”
“That’s because there isn’t any,” snaps the March Hare.
Alice pouts. “Well, it wasn’t very nice of you to offer it, then.”
“There’s no whining here either,” he replies.
“Well, so far this is the worst tea party I’ve ever been to,” Alice huffs.
I’ve noticed Macy is very convincing whenever Alice is offended or demanding.
“And so far,” says Logan, the Hatter, “you are the worst guest we’ve never invited. What kind of tea do you like?”
“I like iced tea on a hot day like this one.”
“Tea that’s iced? That’s absurd. Dormouse—did you hear that?”
Kenya makes a cute snoring sound and then mutters sleepily, “Hot tea on a nice day like this one, mmmhmmm.”
“Dormouse switched to decaf last week,” Hatter says. “She used to be the life of the party, and now, she’s this.”
“And exactly who do I have the pleasure of not being the guest of, may I ask?” Alice says.
“Who are we? Tell her, March.”
James starts beatboxing in the background, and then Austin and Logan begin to rap.
“Well my name is March Hare and I’m a bro who likes brew/Hot tea for him and me and iced nothing for you.”
“Mad Hatter’s in the house and I’m here to say/I like my tea like my women—sweet and hot and all day.”
“I got no sympathy for coffee or Mountain Dew/I like green tea, white tea, Oolong too.”
“I make my black tea strong like Hercules/I like British and Chinese and Japanese.”
“Just ask Dormouse here how mad we are/We’re into every kind of tea that we’ve tried so far.”
“Hey, Dormouse!”
“What?!”
“It’s time for a cuppa.”
“I’ll have some later—I can’t wake up-ah.”
“Well now that’s the story that we got to tell/We own tea time here like the devil owns hell.”
“So if you think you can hang with March and me/Then pull up a chair and let’s hear you MC.”
They pause, and this is where, during a performance, the audience will either erupt in thunderous applause or ask for their money back.
Macy blinks and then says, “I’m not doing that.”
“Off you go, then!” says Hatter.
I make a note in my script about possibly changing the line about the devil owning hell.
When I look up, I happen to glance in Miles’ direction.
He’s grinning. At me. Not in a weird way like a Cheshire Cat, but like he’s enjoying himself.
Which is good, since he’s a secret investor.
And it’s also good because I want him to like what I wrote.
It’s alarming how badly I want him to like this.
I don’t need his approval. I just…want him to like what I do for a living now.
Even if I don’t make a great living at it yet.
But he’s also watching me with so much admiration, and he should be focusing his attention on Macy.
I know this is true because out of the corner of my eye I can see that Macy is watching him and frowning. I reach over to touch her arm and whisper, “That was great, Alice.”
She follows her dad’s gaze over to me, blinks, nods, and looks down at her script.
I check to see if Miles clocked that, but it doesn’t seem like he did.
In the next scene, Alice runs into Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee, played by Lucky and Summer Miller.
I read the stage directions aloud. “Alice finds Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee standing very still under a tree, with their arms around each other’s necks. Dum has DUM written on the front of his shirt, Dee’s says DEE. Alice walks around them to read the backs of their shirts.”
“Ah,” Alice exclaims. “It says right here. Tweedle!”
“Why don’t you take a picture,” Dum says. “It lasts longer.”
“Or,” says Dee, “contrariwise, you could say hello to us.”
“Oh, how rude of me. Hello, my name’s Alice.”
“Alice holds out both of her hands so she can shake both Dum’s and Dee’s at the same time.”
“Hello, how do you do. I’m Dum.”
“How do you do, Alice. I’m Dee.”
“Dee and Dum shake hands with each other.”
“How do you do. I’m Dee.”
“Hello, Dee. I’m Dum.”
“The three of them join hands to form a ring.”
“How do you do,” Alice says. “I was wondering if you could tell me how to get out of these woods.”
“Dee and Dum start skipping, still holding hands, in a circle.”
Lucky and Summer sing,
“Here we go round the mulberry bush
The mulberry bush
The mulberry bush
Here we go round the mulberry bush
So early in the morning.”
“They abruptly stop skipping and let go of Alice’s hands.”
“Well, that’s that, I suppose,” Summer says. “What were you saying?”
“She was asking about the Walrus and the Carpenter.” Lucky grins.
“Actually, I was asking how to get out of these woods. I’m so tired, and I just want to go home.”
The rest of the scene goes well, but when we get to the queen’s croquet match, Macy has a song that she has trouble with.
There are a couple of lines in it that she can never get right during our private lessons, and I noticed she’s been losing steam as we approach that number.
It’s always like this with my performers—the one thing that trips them up in a show.
It can be a certain line that they always forget or mess up, or it could be a dance move that they just can’t master, and it becomes this huge thing that they fret about for each performance.
When I was on Great Vibes, there would always be the one thing in each episode, so I get it.
But Macy asked me to rewrite this song because of it, and I told her I wouldn’t do that.
I’ve already rewritten parts of Alice’s songs to accommodate her range and abilities, and I don’t want to lose those particular lines.
I’m trying to convey to her that I believe she’ll get it right by the time we get to dress rehearsals, but I can tell she isn’t happy about it.
I read the stage directions for the beginning of the scene. “Alice approaches a rose tree near the entrance to the garden. Three gardeners—who are playing cards—are frantically painting the white roses red. She watches as they argue amongst themselves.”
Three members of the ensemble have spoken dialogue about painting all the white flowers before the Queen of Hearts gets here, and then Alice finally asks them, “Excuse me? Why on earth are you painting those perfectly nice roses?”
The Two of Spades gardener says, in a southern accent, “Well, miss, the thing is, this here rose tree was meant to be a red rose tree, on account of the Queen of Hearts, as you know, likes her roses red. Well, as you can see, someone—not saying who—planted a white rose tree instead, and now we’re all going to lose our heads if we don’t get them painted before she gets here. ”
This leads Alice into an up-tempo song about the Queen of Hearts. James plays the piano introduction. Macy’s voice is a bit shaky at first, and a few lines in she sings, “I have never wanted to not meet anyone/As much as I don’t want to meet this Queen of Farts!”
And there it is.
Instead of continuing on with the song, she hears the boys in the room snickering and stops singing. She scowls at me. James continues to play piano.
“Just keep going,” I tell her.
She crosses her arms in front of her chest and shakes her head.
Diva. She’s being a diva. This shouldn’t surprise me, given how ornery her father is.
Or was. But I am still surprised because she’s been trying so hard and she wanted this so badly—I expected her to be so grateful and determined she’d just keep working on it.
It doesn’t seem like she’s going to move past this today, so I tell James he can stop playing. “Okay, why don’t we take a ten-minute break. Then we’ll pick up with the entrance of the queen.”
I very subtly exchange looks with Chloe and then go over to the piano to chat with James.
I watch as Macy trudges over to speak to her dad.
He remains seated at the table, and she holds her hand up by his ear while whispering into it.
He nods and places his hand on her back, consoling her.
I’d think it was sweet if I didn’t know she was being a poopiehead about my lyrics.
Macy pouts, pulls away from Miles, and shuffles off to the ladies’ room.
Miles signals that he’d like me to meet him outside.
I should really say no because this is not open to negotiation.
But he’s been sitting so far away from me, and I just want to smell him for like fifteen seconds, tell him what’s what, and then come back inside.
“Don’t change the lyrics for her,” James says. “It’ll mess up the rhyme scheme.”
“I know. I won’t.”
He pushes his hair behind one ear and then places a hand on my shoulder. “Be strong.”
I mentally roll my eyes at him and then join Miles outside since he’s already left the room.
He’s on the sidewalk with his phone up to his ear, but he isn’t talking into it. When I come out, he keeps his phone there and says, “Hi. I’m pretending to talk on the phone so it looks like that’s why I came out here.”
“Oh, what a great idea. Hang on.” No one from the cast and crew are around, but I hold my phone up to my ear, and we stand facing away from each other. “Hello, this is Aria.”
“Hello, Miss Cross. This is Miles Brodie.”
“I’m sorry, who? You cut out for a second.”
“I’m the guy who thinks you’re brilliant and can’t stop staring at you.”
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to be more specific.”
He grunts. “Not funny.”
“Kind of funny.”
“So what are the chances you’ll reconsider rewriting that line Macy’s having trouble with?”
“Are you asking as Macy’s costar, parent, manager, lawyer, or”—I lower my voice even more—“as the person who bribed me to cast her and assured me she would work hard and improve enough to earn the role?”
“What if I’m asking as the guy who had his face and Jabberwock all up in your borogove a couple of nights ago?”
“If you were, then I’d remind you that you don’t want anyone here to know where your face and Jabberwock have been—especially since you wouldn’t want anyone to think your daughter is getting preferential treatment.”
I’m not looking at him, but I swear I can hear him frowning. “Well, now who needs to lighten up?”
“I’m sorry. It’s just… I bet Stephen Sondheim never had to deal with this kind of thing.”
He slips his phone into his pocket. “I didn’t mean any disrespect. Neither does Macy. She just doesn’t want to screw up on stage.”
I slide my phone back into my jeans. “Well, it happens to everyone. But honestly—nobody’s laughing at her. They’re just laughing at the word fart.”
He sighs. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”
“It’s not a lyrics problem. It’s a Macy problem. It may be my job as the director to help her get over her fear of singing those lines, but it’s your job as her parent to help her get over herself.”
Welp.
There was probably a sweeter way to say that, but it’s too late now. I gotta throw a shaka sign at those sentences and get back on my board. Hang loose, tough-love words. So long, Miles Brodie grin. My borogove enjoyed knowing you, Jabberwock.
Wow. They have matching Brodie frowns now.
“Would you like to return to the room first, or shall I?” he asks. There is no warmth in that voice.
“I have to talk to Chloe.”
He nods and opens the door for me without looking me in the eyes.
I pause when I’m through the door and say, “Are you going to be a poopiehead about this too?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”