Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Piper checked her phone again, reading the casting call information to confirm she was at the correct venue for this first audition.
It looked to be a regular Manhattan office building.
She knew auditions for Broadway didn’t occur in theaters, since they most likely had a show running, but it seemed odd to enter an office building.
Her directions told her to check in at the front desk in the lobby.
When she did so, she was given a visitor pass and instructed which bank of elevators to take to the thirty-ninth floor.
She thanked the person at the desk and peeled the back from the pass, placing it just above her heart.
Tamping down her nerves, she rode the elevator upstairs and disembarked.
She found herself in a waiting room, dozens of actors present. Some scrolled through their phones. Others had closed eyes, probably running lines in their heads or thinking about the lyrics to the song they would sing as part of the process.
Going to the new desk, she gave her name and audition time. A woman checked her off as having arrived and told her to listen for her name.
“They’re running a little behind, so you’ve got a bit of a wait.”
“That’s fine. Thank you.”
Piper seated herself and looked about the room, trying to decide who was there for what part. For all she knew, there might be a dozen casting offices and those around her were auditioning for not only the musical she was here for but other productions, as well.
Forty-five minutes later, a guy in his late twenties appeared, tablet in hand, and called her name.
“I’m here,” she said, standing and moving toward him.
“Follow me.”
They went through a door and down a long hallway. She could hear people singing in different rooms as she passed.
The man stopped at a door. “Piano in there. You’ve got five minutes to warm up, and then I’ll be back.”
“Thanks,” she said, but he was already racing down the hall.
She opened the door and entered, closing it behind her. Sitting at the piano, she ran through a few vocal scales and then sang a verse and chorus from Chicago, the last musical she’d appeared in.
The door opened. “They’re ready for you.”
Piper accompanied the new person down the corridor.
They turned and went into a room where three people sat at a rectangular table.
They introduced themselves as the casting director, her associate, and one of the producers of the revival she was auditioning for.
She thought this prescreen audition would be a little less low-key, but she wasn’t complaining about who was present.
“Have a seat, Miss Roberts,” the producer said. “Even though you lack an agent, you’ve skipped ahead in the audition process, thanks to your stellar résumé. You’ve been on the road for quite a while. Tell me about that experience.”
She elaborated on how she’d gone from chorus roles to meatier ones to finally landing the lead in several touring productions.
The casting director asked her favorite role and why she liked it so much. The producer asked her range, and she provided the lowest and highest notes she sang.
“As you know, this is a revival of a much-beloved musical,” the producer explained. “You would be playing the second lead female, with the chance to serve as understudy to the lead.” He paused. “I think that’s enough background. Let’s hear your scene, and then you can sing for us.”
The casting call had come with a one-page scene between her and another character.
“I’ll be reading with you,” a voice said, and she turned, seeing a man seated at the piano. He must have slipped into the room while she was being interviewed.
Piper walked over to him and stood, waiting for her cue to begin. The casting director pointed a finger, and she spoke her first line.
Once they had run through the page of dialogue, the pianist asked what she’d be singing for her audition.
“Rainbow High from Evita,” she replied, calling the music up on her tablet and handing it to him to use. The casting instructions had said she could select whatever song she wanted, but it specifically said not to choose one from the revival, which she found odd.
He looked at her. “Interesting choice.”
She faced the committee of three as the pianist’s fingers went into action. She got through half the song when the producer said, “Okay. Stop.”
She wondered if this were a good or bad stop. A good one meant they liked her voice. A bad stop meant they were tired of listening to her and would move on.
“Can you try some Sondheim for us?” the casting director asked politely.
The request may have seemed off-hand, but Stephen Sondheim was known for writing some of the most musically challenging numbers with complex rhythms and dissonant harmonies.
“I’d be happy to. Would you like to hear something from Follies? Into the Woods? Company?”
She was thrilled they wanted to hear more but had hoped they would select a song from the revival. She was familiar and comfortable with the entire musical. Piper decided this was a test, and she was determined to pass it with flying colors.
The producer asked for the song he wished to hear, and Piper attacked it with gusto.
Again, they stopped her mid-song. This time, she saw pleased looks, and they finally asked her to sing a song from the show itself.
She was allowed to complete the entire number this time, which she took as a good sign.
Looking to the pianist, she thanked him. In turn, he nodded encouragingly, handing her tablet back to her.
“We’d like to see you again,” the casting director said. “Next week. I’ll text you the callback info. Nice job, Miss Roberts.”
“Thank you,” she said, smiling politely, even as her insides exploded with joy.
She left the casting offices and went to the New York Library at Fifth and Forty-Second.
Patience and Fortitude, the two marble lions, graced the entrance.
Piper went inside, wanting a quiet place to reflect on her audition while still allowing her to remain close enough to make the next audition ninety minutes from now.
She felt good about what she had done. Her voice sounded strong.
Her reading was spot on. She thought her chances were good at the callback.
Of course, she had no idea how many callbacks would be scheduled, must less who she might be up against.
Tapping into the Wi-Fi, she checked her email.
She had no text messages. Part of her wanted to text Layne and Mila to let them know how she had done, but the superstitious part of her refused to give in to that impulse.
Instead, she went to a quiet section of the library and opened her phone’s Kindle app, reading a romance for forty-five minutes before going to the restroom and freshening up.
Then she set out on foot for her next audition.
This second one was inside a rehearsal studio.
Those were dedicated places for different phases of a production.
She checked in and was directed to the third floor, where she was met by an assistant and sent to an empty room with a table, four chairs, and a piano.
Nerves began flitting through her again.
This call had not sent a scene she could prepare for.
She had no idea what the musical was about.
Piper told herself to merely concentrate on what she did well. She was talented. Flexible.
And she wanted to see if she could make it in New York.
She’d read online that the odds of landing in a Broadway show were slim. Only ten percent of the top talent was hired. She told herself she had a lot of experience and that they would want her.
Two boyish-looking men entered the room, followed by a harried assistant.
“We’re the Pearson brothers,” one of them said. “I’m Ted. I write the music.”
“I’m Tad. I’m the lyricist.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Piper Roberts.”
“Yes, we have your info here.” Ted turned and snapped his fingers, and the assistant passed over a tablet, which he then studied, Tad leaning over his shoulder.
“You’ve done a good number of shows the past ten years,” Tad said, turning and eyeing her with interest. “A true working stage actor. That’s rare.”
“I was fortunate to land a part in a musical which a new touring company was taking on the road when I was only twenty. I haven’t looked back since.”
Except for my time in the Bay…
“I like that you have touring experience,” Tad said. “You’ve also got looks. But I need to hear you sing.”
The lyricist named a song. Since no one was there to accompany her, Piper went to the piano and played for herself. She met the eyes of both brothers during the song and saw they were impressed with her vocal range.
Ted signaled the assistant, who brought Piper a tablet, sheet music loaded onto it.
“Look that over,” he said. “We want to hear it.”
“I assume this is from your musical,” she said, skimming the first page.
“Yes.”
“Give me five minutes,” she asked.
Piper looked intently at each line, first forming the notes in her head. Then she went back a second time and put the words to the tune. A third time, and she had it down, especially how she would interpret the lyrics for these two men.
“Don’t judge my piano playing,” she said lightly. “I haven’t played in a good while. I can do enough to get through the song, though.”
She kept to basic chords, with no flourishes. She would allow her voice to sell herself.
The tune was a ballad, powerful and vocally challenging. She would have preferred it one key lower, but she was out of practice and didn’t want to try to transfer the notes in front of her to a different key as she sang a song she had just glanced at a few times.
In the end, though, it didn’t matter. She hit the high notes with emotion and depth.
Piper thought she had done enough to receive a callback—if not actually land the role itself. What that role was still eluded her, though. Everything seemed wrapped in mystery.