Take Two! (8 page)

“I can’t read your lips – we’re on the phone
.”

“Good one. You should be a comedian.”

“Haaa! Let’s see… what else can I tell ya?”

“There’s that thing about picturing everyone in their underwear, but that’s just wrong.”

“Oh, wait – I know. I was gonna say drink a lot of water. It’ll keep your phlegm down and your energy up.”

“Copy, good buddy.”

“I’ve got a few surprises up my sleeve for when we meet in Chicago, so stand warned. On the twenty-third, right?”

“Right. See you then.”

“Okeydokey, smokey.”

“Later, dude – I mean Dad!”

*      *      *

The next day after the three-fifteen bell, all auditioners were told to congregate in the cafeteria, which was being used
as a kind of holding tank. Bad idea. Ever since the janitors cleaned up after the food war, it smelled like a combination
of fish sticks and industrial-strength pine.
Eesh!
I was queasy enough already with my first big musical audition just minutes away – I didn’t want a repeat of that dance studio
incident.

“Okay, kiddles,” Miss Van Rye said, poking her head into the cafeteria, “we’ll be starting in just a few minutes and you’ll
be going into the auditorium in groups of ten. So when I call your name, form a line at the door. Quick like bunnies!”

Dad’s advice about drinking a lot of water seemed to be panning out – I had energy to spare and no sign of phlegm. Miss Van
Rye was leading my group to the backstage area and I topped off my tank with a few final sips from the water fountain. When
I looked up at the bulletin board where the sign-up sheet had hung, there was a
DANCE IS MY SPORT
! bumper sticker plastered over the one that said
SPORTS RULE
!

“If you have sheet music, hand it to the accompanist, then stand center stage and announce your song,” Miss Van Rye said in
a hushed voice while we formed a tight, sweaty line in the stage-right wings. “And for goodness sake, only one song per customer
unless they specifically ask to hear more. Break legs, munchkins!”

I was fifth in line behind Stewy Ziggler. It kind of surprised me that he showed up, but I was sure glad he did – he
being a boy and all. Plus, it was good to see that mini-egghead coming out of his shell. He looked as if he were waiting in
line for the guillotine, though, and I think he was releasing toxic nerve gas.

“C’mon, give us a break,” I said, fanning the air. “Are you cutting SBDs?”

“Huh?” he asked.

“Silent-but-deadlies?”

Stewy sniffed the air all around him, looking like one of those bobble-head dolls. “Not that I’m aware.”

I was expecting maybe a “he who smelt it dealt it.” Why was he talking like some snooty butler?

“You’re not fooling anyone. Just try clenching, will ya? I’m suffocating here.”

Darlene’s name was called first, and she ripped off her sweater to reveal a bright red Orphan Annie dress, spouting, “Watch
and learn!” I’ll be darned if she didn’t spin out onstage and sing a medley of practically the entire score from
Annie. Jeez, what a hardhead! The Arts Committee had already turned down her stupid petition and announced we were definitely
doing
Oliver!
Talk about pushy
. She finished by belting out the song “Tomorrow” and sliding into the splits; then she asked the casting people if they wanted
to hear a ballad that showed off her soprano range. It sounded like a unanimous “no,” but Darlene, being Darlene, launched
right into, “The hills are alive with the sound of –”

“You suck!”

Someone had shouted it from the back of the house.

Man
, I thought,
tough crowd
.

Darlene stopped singing. There was a door slam; a loud commotion. Silence.

“What’s going on out there?” Stewy asked me, all wide-eyed and fidgety. “What’s happening?”

“Got me.”

I peeked around the black curtains with the other auditioners trying to see what the deal was in the auditorium. Finally Darlene
stomped passed us, complaining, “Some juvenile delinquent’s out there yelling stuff! Gawd, this is so unprofessional.”

Hopefully the heckler wouldn’t be back during my five-minute time slot!

“You did awesome, Dar,” Maggie gushed as Miss Van Rye rushed her out onto the stage next. When I heard her lyrics about “washing
that man right outta my hair” being sung over and over, I got a sudden urge to go to the bathroom. Sudden and severe. I motioned
to Miss Van Rye, who came trotting over. She seemed on edge.

“May I take a time-out for a potty break? It’s just number one. I’ll be quick as a bunny.” You have to appeal to kindergarten
teachers on their level.

“Oh, hon, you’re up after Stewart. With that disruption we’ve lost precious time, and I just want to keep things flowing.”

Flowing – yeow!

“Is it an emergency or do you think you can brave it out?” she asked, her eyes penetrating mine. “The drama teachers from
Fenton High are out there and I don’t want to make waves.”

Waves – eesh!

“I can suck it up, I guess.”

“That’s my little trouper.”

I was going over my song lyrics in my head to get my mind off all things H
₂
O. Stewy was up next. Someone from the back of the line yelled, “Good luck, squirt.”
Squirt – ooh!
But when he opened his mouth to sing, he was interrupted by more distant taunts and door slamming.

“Geeks!” “Nerds!” “Losers!” “Turds!”

“If I catch you boys, I’ll see to it that you’re suspended for life!” Futterman bellowed from somewhere in the auditorium.

From the wings poor Stewy looked so worked up I thought they were going to have to call in the paramedics. He attempted his
song a second and third time, but kept screwing up the lyrics. In the meantime, my teeth were floating, like Granny says,
and I had to bounce up and down to keep my sprinkler system from going off.

“Stewart, sweetie, just relax,” Miss Honeywell said from the center of the house in her soothing Southern twang. “You’re getting
all flustered, bless your heart. Principal Futterman’s
taking care of things right now, so we won’t have any more rude interruptions.”

“Uh, maybe this was a mistake,” Stewy said, inching toward the wings.

“No, you’re doing great, pum’kin. Maybe try singing something you’re more familiar with, like – oh, I don’t know – ‘Happy
Birthday’ or ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat.’”

No boats!

I tried to stick it out, but when he got to “gently down the stream,” I had to haul butt swiftly down the hall – to the john.
My bladder was about to splatter!
Thanks for the great advice, Pop
. My heart was thumping like a bass drum as I push-push-pushed to answer nature’s call.

On my way out of the bathroom I caught a glimpse of Zack, Tyler, and Pig tearing up the back steps. Talk about a triple threat!
They were obviously the meatheads yelling stuff, which came as no surprise. But I wasn’t going to rat on them, because Zack
already hated my guts and I didn’t want the whole basketball team out to get me.

“Dustin Grubbs! Where did he disappear to?” I heard Miss Van Rye call as I flew toward backstage. “There go my ulcers. Last
call for Dustin Gru –”

“I’m here!”

I took a deep breath and let the tension blow out of me. Waterlogged no more, I walked onto that stage as if I owned
it. Relaxed. Confident. Dare I say dazzling? I felt bad for Stewy, but after his train wreck of an audition I was going to
knock ’em dead – hecklers or not.

The pianist turned out to be Mrs. Sternhagen, my old second-grade teacher. I don’t know why I was so surprised. She played
“The Star Spangled Banner” at every assembly and was pretty good at tickling the ivories. Still, I had her pegged as an enemy
of the arts. She greeted me with her usual glacial stare.

“Did you bring sheet music?”

“Uh – no, was I supposed to?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m singing ‘Give My Regards to Broadway.’ You know that one,
right? It’s my dad’s favorite.”

She thumbed through a big, thick book of songs that was sitting on the piano, clicking her tongue.

“Here it is. You’re very lucky,” she said, pushing her glasses up her pointed nose. “Are you taking it from the verse or the
chorus?”

What’s the difference?

“Take it from the top,” I said, as if I knew what I was talking about.

I strutted to center stage, where the stage lights were hotter than I’d remembered. Mrs. Sternhagen’s rancid perfume must’ve
followed me. It smelled like Stewy Ziggler in a petunia patch.

“Dustin Grubbs,” I announced to the faceless blobs sitting in the dark auditorium. “‘Give My Regards to Broadway.’ Hit it!”

“What tempo?” Sternhagen asked.

Man, I didn’t know there was gonna be a pop quiz
.

“Uh, medium, please.” I was just guessing, but that was the way I ordered my burgers and it always worked out pretty well.

She played a fancy introduction, but I wasn’t sure exactly when to jump in. I must’ve gotten distracted by Futterman pacing
the rear of the auditorium, policing the joint. Sternhagen stopped and gave me a sharp look, then played the intro again.

“No, no. ‘Give My Regards,’” I told her, “‘to Broadway.’ That’s not it.”

“That’s the verse. You said to take it from the top, didn’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, but I think I meant a different top.”

“Why don’t you just take it from the refrain?”

“Okay.”
Whatever that is. Just get on with it – this is embarrassing
.

Mrs. Sternhagen played a shorter intro this time and hit one key on the piano to give me my starting note. I hummed it to
myself, but my brain couldn’t match it.

What the heck’s happening to me? Finding the starting note is the easiest part!

“Give…” I sang. But that wasn’t it. She hit the piano key
again. “Give – give – give –” And again, and again. Her arm flab was jiggling as she pounded that one key a thousand times,
but I could
not
for the life of me find my starting note.

“Mr. Grubbs, you’re simply not hearing it,” Mrs. Sternhagen complained, followed by an annoyed, drawn-out sigh. I could tell
that her patience, like the underarms of her drab, brown dress, was wearing thin. Then she went and did it. She turned to
the auditioners in the audience and uttered the two deadliest words in the world of musical theatre: “Pitch problems.”

“Only in baseball!” I blurted out, coming to my own defense. “It might be my earwax buildup – that runs in our family.”

“Well, be that as it may,” the Devil Woman said, banging the life out of that one yellow piano key, “you still should be able
to reproduce the correct note instantaneously, unless –” A look of horror washed over her face. “You’re not
tone-deaf
, are you?” She said it in an anxious half-voice, like when my aunts whisper about feminine products.

“Not that I’m aware.”

I could hear the words
tone-deaf
being murmured by the teachers who were deciding my fate. “Tone-deaf!” ringing in the balcony. “Tone-deaf!” echoing off the
walls.

“Come stand by the piano.” Mrs. Sternhagen waved me over. “Try singing it along with me.”

This can’t be happening
. I felt like one of her slow second-graders.

She plunked out the melody and croaked, “Give my regards to Broadway…” I joined in, sounding a little shaky. “Remember me
to Herald Square –” My voice cracked. Puberty kicking in, but they’d probably take that into consideration. “Tell all the
gang at Forty-second Street that I will soon be there.” I was back on track. “Whisper of how I’m yearning…” Sternhagen cut
out and it was all me, belting it out. “To mingle with the old time throng…” Back to full tempo, really working the stage.
“Yeah, give my regards to old Broadway” –
wow ’em with a big finish and they’ll forgive you for anything
– “and say that I’ll – be – there – hair –
looong
!”

I fell to one knee, holding that last note for days. “The money note” Aunt Olive called it, and I milked it for every penny
it was worth. When my breath finally ran out I scrambled to my feet and took a quick bow.

Dead silence.

“It’s ere long, Mr. Grubbs, not
hair
long,” Mrs. Sternhagen finally said, sounding unimpressed. “It means
before
long.”

“My mistake.”

“Well, at least you got through it.”

I stood there smiling into the dark auditorium, waiting for positive feedback – or
any
feedback.

“Thank you, Dustin, very much,” Miss Honeywell said in a cheery voice. “Everyone who auditions will be cast in one capacity
or another. So if you don’t hear from us it simply means we don’t need to have you read from the script. Okay, sugar?”

“Okay.”
Sugar
.

“Uh, just FYI, I’m getting over a little cold,” I lied, “so my throat’s still a little scratchy. “And I never heard the piano
part before. I could sing something else if you like.”
Oh, gawd, I was turning into Darlene
.

“That’s all we need for today,” Miss Honeywell told me. “That was very nice.”

Very nice? Translation: You stunk up the place
.

Mrs. Sternhagen hung her head when I passed her on my mile-long trek to the wings. I must’ve bombed big-time. Just as tears
were stinging my eyes, more of Dad’s advice flashed in my head:
Play up your strengths and they won’t notice your weaknesses. Funny never fails!

“Wait!” I did an about-face and steamrolled my way to center stage.

“Yes, Mr. Grubbs? What now?”

I recognized that voice –
it’s Mr. Lynch! Don’t let it throw you
.

“Well…?” he grumbled.

“Okay, three lawyers, an aardvark, and a substitute teacher walk into a bar –”

That’s when a bright orange basketball came sailing out of the balcony and hit me right between the eyes.

I was too wound up Thursday night to get any shut-eye. My audition disaster was on constant replay in my head – every time
I closed my eyes I saw that basketball coming at me. And that “tone-deaf” comment really stuck in my craw -whatever that is.
In a matter of weeks I’d plummeted from a triple threat to a double – to hardly a threat at all!
I’d finally started drifting off, when my mind jumped to the field trip the next day. The plan was to hook up with Dad on
Friday after the Shedd Aquarium visit, and spend the whole weekend with him. Just the two of us – well, and the entire city
of Chicago. That required mega sleep, but I was vibrating with excitement.