STAGESTRUCK - The Complete Series (18 page)

I arrived at Lincoln Theater bright and early Monday morning, eager to start my first rehearsal. I knew that I had an uphill battle ahead of me with my new costars; Poppy Martin had held the role of Lorraine for the last three years until she was unceremoniously dropped for me; that wouldn’t endear me to the rest of the cast.

Now that I was officially a part of the production, I was allowed to enter through the backstage instead of the main entrance. I was relieved when I pushed open the door and spotted Dylan on the other side. Even if he had ulterior motives, his friendly face was a welcome contrast to the scowls that surrounded him.

“Good morning,” he greeted me with a smile and a casual, one arm hug. He led me away from the rest of the cast. “Don’t let them get to you,” he advised with a smile. “And don’t let them convince you that they gave a damn about Poppy. They’re just pissed that they have to do the extra rehearsals to catch you up.” He explained.

“Well, I’ll try to learn everything as fast as possible, but I’ve decided that I don’t give a rat’s ass whether they like me or not.” I told him.

“That’s my girl.” He said with a wide smile. “If you can keep that attitude, you’ll go far.” He smiled as an attractive, middle aged man approached us. “Good morning Bruce. I was just explaining to Ms. Harper that she shouldn’t let anyone’s attitude bother her. Kate Harper, this is Bruce Miller. He’s the stage director.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Harper.” He greeted me. “I saw your audition, of course, but I like to stay in the shadows and let Hank do his thing. I was impressed by what I saw, but I do hope that you can catch up quickly… it’s quite… unorthodox to recast a role mid run.”

“I understand,” I assured him. “I promise that I’ll be ready to go before you know it…”

He nodded quickly. “Maggie Capshaw, the understudy, will cover performances until you’re up to speed. It’s in everyone’s best interest to get through this transition as quickly as possible. I’d like for you to be ready to take the stage in a week, at the latest.”

A rush of panic ran through me; most performers had a least six weeks of rehearsal time before opening night. But I was coming in mid run and I knew that I had a lot to prove. “I’ll be ready by next Monday, I promise.” I assured him.

“Fantastic. We’re having the new playbills printed up; they should be ready by Thursday. Also, the theater will provide five free tickets for you first performance; I’m sure that you have plenty of friends and family who want to see your big debut.” He finished with a smile.

“Thank you so much,” I told him. “I know that you’ve gone out of your way for me, I promise that I’ll make it worth your while.”

“You’d better.” He said shortly. “Starting right now. We’re going to run through the entire show. We’ll cut for instructions, and if you have any questions, but I expect you to have your material down already. We’ll take the stage in five.”

I took a deep breath as he disappeared down the hallway.

“Relax,” Dylan smiled. “You’ve watched the films I sent?” He asked. Saturday night, a currier from the theater had arrived at my apartment with a flash drive; it was filled with the most recent recordings of Jersey Boys. It seemed that Dylan had recorded every single performance of the show, and I’d done nothing but study the video for the rest of the weekend.

I nodded at him. “I watched them, I performed along with them… I have my lines and songs down, I’ve memorized the script and the stage cues. I just have to learn how to execute them… the films were really helpful.” I added.

“Like I said,” he winked playfully, “stick with me and I’ll make you a star. We’d better get started… stay in the wings and watch for your entrance. Believe that you’re fabulous and you will be.” He added with a sly grin before taking his place on stage. I stayed in the wings as instructed and watched the beginning of the story unfold.

As the character playing Tommy Devito began the opening monologue, I heard sharp whispers coming from behind me. ‘Don’t turn around.’ I told myself. Dylan took the stage as Frankie Vallie and I focused all of my attention on his performance. As I watched him work, I realized that his cockiness wasn’t completely unfounded. I’d never seen anyone transform so completely into the character they were playing.

“A hundred bucks says she doesn’t make it through the first week.” The whispering continued; I recognized Samantha’s voice.

“No one’s going to take that bet.” A second voice laughed.

‘They’re thirty year old chorus girls, and they don’t deserve my time.’ I reminded myself. I’d taken a stand that day in the bathroom; I’d insisted that I didn’t care what they thought of me and now I had to stick to my word. ‘Don’t turn around, don’t even acknowledge they exist.’ I was so focused on ignoring the snide girls that I missed my first stage cue.

“KATE!” Bruce bellowed from the front row. “That was your cue! Where the FUCK are you?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I gushed as I rushed onto the stage. “I spaced out for a second. Can we pick up from Dylan’s last line?” I asked.

“We don’t really have much of a choice!” He snapped. “Get your head in the game, Harper. I’ll cut you just as fast as Hank cast you.”

I knew then that if Bruce had had his way, Poppy Martin would still be starring as Lorraine and he’d be home sleeping soundly, enjoying the show’s dark day. I had to pull myself together fast, or I’d be out on my ass before I’d even finished my first rehearsal.

“It won’t happen again,” I assured him.

Dylan approached me and wrapped a comforting arm around my shoulder. He walked me back to the wings and looked me squarely in the eye. “Look at me…” he insisted. “Block out everyone else… all that matters is you and me, Frankie and Lorraine… pretend that we’re the only ones on stage, and you’ll be fine.”

I kept my eyes focused on him as he returned to center stage. He picked up from his last line and I entered on cue. I managed to make it through the rest of the rehearsal without pissing off Bruce again, but I didn’t impress anyone with my talent. My vocals were perfect, but I stumbled awkwardly through my lines and fumbled my stage directions. When the rehearsal finally wrapped, Bruce sighed in frustration.

“That could have been worse, I guess.” He announced. “We’ll meet at eleven tomorrow… do better, Harper.” He finished as he gathered his things and left the theater.

Dylan offered me a comforting smile. “For your first big stage rehearsal, you did phenomenal. Can I take you out for a late lunch?” He asked hopefully. “We can strategize the launch of your career.”

“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I have plans with my boyfriend.” I actually didn’t have plans with Max, but it was the quickest excuse I could come up with, and it was an easy way to let Dylan know I was unavailable. Truthfully, after such an awful first rehearsal I was hoping Max was free; all I wanted was to curl into the safety of his arms and forget that the last six hours had happened.

“Alright,” Dylan smiled, unfazed by my rejection, “next time, then.”

I nodded, gathered my things, and escaped through the backstage exit. I stepped out onto the sidewalk, retrieved my phone from my bag, and hit Max’s speed dial button.

“Hello?” He answered impatiently after the third ring.

“Hi baby,” I sighed, “are you busy?”

“I’m on my break,” he snapped, “but I have to get back behind the bar soon. Did you need something?”

“I just wanted to see you.” I told him. “I’ve had an awful day, the audition was terrible. I let the snobby women get to me and I fucked up left and right.”

“I don’t have time to coddle your bruised ego right now, Kate.” Max snapped. “I’m sorry that the rest of the cast resents you, but really, what did you expect?”

I couldn’t believe the way he was talking to me and knew that something else had to be behind his mood. “Baby… are you alright?” I asked. “Has something happened that I don’t know about?”

He sighed. “I got a phone call from the junior editor of The New Yorker. He’s the one who’d initially approved the publication of my story on the slow foods movement. He ran it past the editor in chief this morning, and he shot it down.”

“Oh Max,” I sighed. “I’m so sorry. Did he say why?”

“It doesn’t matter why,” Max sighed, “after four years of writing, I’m still exactly where I started. I have to get back behind the bar, Kate… since that’s all I’m good at.”

“That’s not true!” I insisted. After a few moments of dead silence, I realized that I was talking to myself.

I stowed my phone back in my bag, walked to the subway station, and spent the entire ride home in silent, heartbroken shock. I felt for Max, but I couldn’t believe the way he’d talked to me. What happened to my kind, supportive boyfriend that had toasted my success just a few days before? Could he only be happy for me if his career was doing well too? Was he really one of those resentful, chauvinistic men who couldn’t handle his woman’s success? The thought chilled me to my bones as I walked through the windy November air.

I climbed the three flights of stairs to my apartment, unlocked the door, and collapsed on my couch. I fumbled through the drawer of my side table until I found the small, silver cigarette case. I flipped open the lid; my stash was empty.

I sighed and called Janette.

“Hey,” she answered on the second ring, “how did it go today?”

“Awful,” I told her, “and it keeps getting worse. I’m out, are you home?”

“I’m still at rehearsal, but we’re about to wrap things up. I’m out too, but Paul’s on his way to Jersey to restock. I’ll be home in half an hour; come over, we’ll drink wine and wait for him.”

“That would be great.” I sighed. “I’m going to take a shower, I’ll be over in a bit.” I hung up the phone and stumbled into the kitchen. I knew that drinking was a bad idea, but I didn’t see how things could possibly get any worse. I uncorked a bottle of Riesling and filled a plastic tumbler. I carried the drink into the bathroom and stripped out of my clothes.

I set my cup next to the tub, stepped into the shower, and washed off my horrible day. Then I lay down in the tub, rested my head on the bath pillow, and sipped the Riesling while the hot water sprayed down on my body. I let my mind drift back to the night Max and I had spent in the shower with the champagne. My heart ached as I remembered how he’d spoken to me an hour before.

‘He’s just having a REALLY bad day.’ I told myself. ‘I caught him at a bad time… and compared to what he’s dealing with, I probably sounded like a spoiled brat.’

I finished my wine and stepped out of the tub; I heard my text message alert chime from the living room and knew that Janette was letting me know she was home. I dressed quickly in comfortable sweatpants, fuzzy socks, and an oversized Waterloo High sweatshirt. I pulled my still wet hair into a bun and padded over to Janette’s apartment.

“Hey,” she greeted me with an exhausted smile. “It looks like we’ve had the same kind of day.” She wore yoga pants and a loose t-shirt and looked as if she hadn’t slept in days.

“My rehearsal was awful,” I told her as I collapsed in her recliner. “Yours?”

“Mine was great, but sooo fucking long.” She told me; there was an air of excitement in her voice.

“You’ve never spent this much time rehearsing… is there something going on that I don’t know about?” I asked suspiciously.

Janette blushed. “I wasn’t going to say anything until I knew for sure… but there’s a chance that Underground Revival is about to land a recording contract.”

“What!” I gasped. “When did this happen? How did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Janette laughed. “I didn’t tell anyone, because it all just seems so surreal… like it’s happening to someone else.”

“No one understands that better than I do.” I assured her.

“I know, but it’s not a done deal yet… I keep waiting for it to fall apart. An executive from Sony was at our last Morell’s gig… he just happened to be there on a date with his wife, and he liked our show. He approached us after, and we’re about half way through the audition process for a real recording contract.” She finished with a grin.

“Janette, that’s fantastic!” I beamed. “Does anyone else know?”

“I told Paul,” she confessed with a blush, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“I completely understand.” I assured her. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Thanks,” she grinned. “I’ve been thinking… you’re doing really well and making good money, I’m about to be making good money. What if we got a place in Manhattan together?” She asked with a smile.

“I thought that you and Paul were going to move in together?” I reminded her.

“Well, the three of us could share a place.” She suggested. “Wouldn’t you like to be able to just walk a few blocks and be at work?” She asked.

“It would be wonderful.” I agreed. “But I signed a one year lease just a couple of months ago.”

“We could always find sub-letters.” She reminded me. “Just think about it… unless of course you’d rather move in with Max… he’s already in Manhattan.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” I said quietly; I filled Janette in on my last conversation with Max.

“Oh, Kate, I’m sure he was just having a bad day.” She assured me. “It’s hard for a man, when his girl is more successful. They all try to deny it, but it’s the way they’re wired. I’m sure that Max will calm down, come to his senses, and apologize.”

“I hope you’re right.” I told her as she poured two glasses of red wine. “Don’t let me have more than one.” I insisted. “I have to be at the top of my game tomorrow or I’m going to get fired before I make my debut.”

“It was that bad?” Janette asked sympathetically.

“Awful.” I told her. “I know I shouldn’t let those women get to me, but that’s a lot harder than it sounds. If Dylan hadn’t been so helpful, I wouldn’t have made it through the day.”

“What’s he like to work with?” Janette asked, a starstruck grin on her face. “Is he as gorgeous in person as he is on television?”

I smiled. “He’s hot alright. He’s also a notorious player… but he has this way of looking at you and making you feel like you’re the only two people in the world.”

“You sound smitten.” She teased. “Does Max have something to worry about?”

“Max has plenty of things to worry about,” I snored, “but Dylan Matthews isn’t one of them.”

“Are you sure?” She pressed. “Lots of theater people end up marrying their costars.”

“Do you pay attention to the celeb mags?” I laughed. “Dylan will never get married… and there’s no woman in her right mind that would put up with his shit. I appreciate what he’s doing for my career, but I’m not going to cross the line with him.”

Janette’s front door opened and Paul stepped into the room. “Hey baby,” he told Janette as he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Hey, Kate,” he smiled at me.

“Hi Paul,” I greeted him. “Did you get the stuff?”

“Hell yeah I did,” he said, pulling a large plastic baggie from the inside of his coat. “It’s good shit, have some.”

I grabbed a glass pipe from Janette’s kitchen cabinet and loaded a bowl. I took a hit and turned to pass it to Janette; she and Paul were locked in a passionate embrace. I took a second hit, coughed, and they pulled apart.

“Sorry,” Janette blushed.

“It’s no problem.” I assured her. “I’m going to head home; I have to be up super early in the morning. Can I take this?” I asked, holding up a dime bag.

“Sure,” Paul answered quickly. “I’ll separate the rest of yours out and bring it over tomorrow.” He offered.

“Thanks,” I said as I moved towards the door. I returned to my apartment and burrowed into my bed. Before heading over to Janette’s, I’d silenced my cell phone and stowed it behind my pillow. As I settled in for the night, I retrieved it and glanced hopefully at the screen; my heart sank when I saw no missed messages from Max. I pulled up his number and sent a quick text.

“I’m sorry about the article. Call me when you feel like talking.”

I hit send and spent a fitful night trying to convince myself that things would be better in the morning