View from Saturday (9781439132012) (13 page)

T
he commissioner reached into the bowl again. He allowed his hand to touch bottom before spreading his fingers to pick up the next question.

“An acronym is defined as a word formed from the initial letters of a series of words. For example, RADAR is an acronym for RAdio Detecting And Ranging. R-A from
radio,
D from
detecting,
A from
and,
and R from
ranging.
Can you give me two more examples of acronyms that have entered our language as words?”

Julian Singh's buzzer went off. “Posh and tip,” he called out.

It was the Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend that Ethan Potter suggested to Nadia Diamondstein that she have Ginger play Annies Sandy. I had no idea what he was talking about. I knew, of course, that Ginger referred to Nadia's beloved and talented dog, so I thought that perhaps
Annie's Sandy
was a video game played by the canine orders. However, the word
play
referred to playing a part in a musical show about an orphan named Annie in a show called
Annie,
and Sandy was the name of the dog belonging to the title character. Epiphany High School was putting on the play for The Holiday Season. Until we moved to Epiphany, I had no idea how busy Americans are between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day, the time they refer to as The Holiday Season. Everyone asks, “Are you ready for the holidays?” And then afterward, they ask, “How were your holidays?” During the holidays themselves, no one asks about them.

When Ethan suggested that Nadia have Ginger try out, Nadia said, “Ginger does not do Arf.” Another remark I did not understand. I did not intend to ask. I knew that if I waited, an explanation would come. It did.

The play,
Annie,
is based on an American comic strip
called “Little Orphan Annie,” and when Annie's Sandy speaks, in the balloon over his head is written
Arf!
Everyone had already been cast for the high school production but not the dog Sandy, and Mrs. Reynolds, the plays director, had put a notice on the bulletin board that anyone with a well-trained dog could try out.

Ethan said, “They call that a cattle call.'”

Noah said, “Why would they call it a cattle call, if they are asking for dogs?”

Ethan said, “It's a theatrical saying. It means an open audition. Even if they mean people, they call it a cattle call.”

“Then what do they call a cattle call?” Noah asked.

Ethan replied, “A round-up, I guess.” He turned to Nadia and said, “Ginger's bark will do very well. Besides, she looks a lot like Sandy except that her eyeballs aren't blank.” (In time I came to understand that remark, too. The artist who drew the comic strip never drew irises on the eyes of people or dogs.)

Noah said, “There is one other thing.”

Nadia ignored Noah. She said to Ethan, “If I do have Ginger try out, she will get the part. Ginger is a genius.”

Noah said, “There is one other thing.”

Nadia turned to Noah and said, “Ginger is a genius. She will get the part.”

“Nadia, my dear,” Noah insisted, “Sandy is a male, and fact: Ginger is a—if you'll excuse the expression—a bitch. From everything I've ever learned in health education, genes, not genius, determine—if you'll excuse the expression—sex. Fact: Unless Ginger visits a plastic surgeon, she won't fit the part.”

Nadia said, “Noah, is there any subject in this whole world that you do not know more about than every other being on this planet?”

Noah shrugged. “Not every other being on the planet. Let's just say, ‘Every other being in this room.'”

“Do you have a dog?” she asked.

“No, but …”

“Just answer the question. Do you have a dog?”

“No, but …”

“Just answer the question. Have you ever had a dog?”

“No, but …”

“Just answer the question. Have you ever had a dog?”

“No.”

Nadia said, “I rest my case.”

Noah would not give up. “Have you ever had allergies that kept you from having a dog?” he asked.

“No.”

“Have you ever had a brother who had allergies that kept you from having a dog?”

“No, I have not and neither have you.”

“Have you ever had a brother?”

“No.”

“I …”

Ethan interrupted. “Getting back to Ginger. You ought to let her try out.”

Nadia said, “I shall. She will get the part, and they will consider themselves lucky, which they should, because Ginger is a genius.”

The bickering between Nadia and Noah no longer made me uncomfortable. As a matter of fact, I had begun to enjoy it. And so had we all, including Noah and Nadia.

Once Nadia made her decision to have Ginger try out for the part, I told them that in the days when I had traveled with my parents on the cruise line, I saw a number of animal acts. There were not many, for keeping animals on board
ship is not easy. I explained that wild animals were out of the question as were the larger varieties of domestic animal such as cow or horse. There was a monkey, once, but it was a terrible thief. The monkey whose name was Sapphire (his hind quarters were bright blue) would swing down from a flagpole or a railing and steal shiny objects like pens or barrettes or, even worse, jewelry. Sapphire always would drink anything that was left unattended in a cup or a glass. As a result Sapphire was often drunk and incapable of bladder control. Most passengers were not amused, and the captain had Sapphire and his owner put off the ship at the next port.

“Most of the animal acts on board ship involved dogs,” I explained. “From watching them I learned what trainers do.”

So it was that even before the cattle call, The Souls began the intensive training of Ginger.

I taught each of The Souls how to palm a treat so that no one in the audience would notice. First, we taught Ginger to respond to Nadia, and then Nadia fused with Ethan and then Ethan with Noah, then Noah with me until at last Ginger would respond to the treat and not the person. We trained Ginger to accept the treat without excessive salivating. Most people who are not dog owners, and even many who are, do not care very much for a tongue bath.

Ethan got a copy of the script. In the play, the policeman asks, “Is that your dog, little girl?” and Sandy is supposed to bark. We taught Ginger to bark on cue, and the more she did it, the more it sounded like Arf!

Ginger had learned her lines. Ginger had learned her cues. Ginger was a genius.

Eight dogs, their owners, the entire cast of the play, and The Souls attended the dog try-outs. I had thought about
bringing Alice, but Papa advised against it. He said that a daughter should not be in competition with her mother, but I think he would have missed her during the times she would be at rehearsals. Alice and Papa kept each other company when I was at school. Alice had become our early-warning system. Every time someone started up the path to Sillington House, Alice barked to let us know. We were a little concerned that when we had paying guests, which would be soon, this might be a problem.

One of the eight dogs was quickly eliminated on grounds of disobedience. The second had a problem with his plumbing, and Mrs. Reynolds was not amused by the snickers in the audience or the mess on stage. The next two were small, nervous creatures that looked like battery-operated plush toys. They did not run in a straight line but zigzagged and yipped their way across the stage. Numbers five and six were male and did embarrassing things to legs, any legs—male or female—that happened to be onstage. The two remaining contenders were Ginger and Michael Froelich's dog, Arnold. Arnold, a well-behaved yellow Labrador retriever, was larger than Ginger and was—quite decidedly and obviously—male.

I wanted Ginger to get the part, not only because she belonged to Nadia and not only because she was Alices mother but also because I did not want Michael Froelich to have the honor. Since those first weeks at school, I had done my best to avoid both Michael Froelich and his friend, Hamilton Knapp.

Arnold tried out before Ginger. The girl who was to play Annie stood center stage, clapped her hands upon her thighs, and Arnold leaped across the stage, placed his paws upon Annie's shoulders, and caused her to lean backward.

She almost fell. Froelich ran across the stage and quickly hooked a leash to Arnold's collar and said to Stage-Annie, “I promise you that won't happen again, but it will help if you dig your heels in a little.”

Mrs. Reynolds, the drama teacher, said, “Next.”

It was Ginger's turn, and Stage-Annie once again clapped her hands on her knees. Nadia quietly whispered, “Go, Ginger,” gave her a little push on her rump and quickly crossed to the other side of the stage behind the backdrop and stood in the wings on the opposite side of the stage where no one in the audience could see her, but Ginger could. In between stood Stage-Annie, holding a treat.

Privately, before try-outs began, I had slipped backstage and taught Stage-Annie how to palm a treat and pass it off so that no one in the audience could see. Ginger walked across the stage with enthusiasm and dignity and quietly nuzzled Stage-Annie's hand before sitting at her feet.

Ginger was in every way clearly superior to every other dog there. Even her mixed-breed looks better suited the part than Arnold's purebred sleekness. Ginger was first rate. Ginger had star quality. Ginger got the part.

Mrs. Reynolds, the drama coach who was director of the play, said, “Ginger will be Annie's Sandy, and Arnold will be Ginger's understudy.”

We Souls, sitting in the audience, applauded, and Ethan stood and yelled, “Bravo! Mrs. Reynolds. Bravo!” Ethan had always wanted to stand up in a theater and yell
Bravo!

Mrs. Reynolds said, “Who is doing that yelling?”

Ethan waved his hand and called out, “It's me, Mrs. Reynolds. Me. Here. Ethan Potter.”

Mrs. Reynolds shielded her eyes from the footlights to see out over the audience. “Ethan Potter?” Still screening her eyes, she smiled. “Ethan Potter. I didn't recognize you.” I believe that she did not recognize him, for the person yelling
Bravo!
was Ethan, The Soul—not Ethan, the silent. Then she asked, “How is your grandmother, Ethan?”

“She's fine, Mrs. Reynolds. She got married last summer.”

“I heard,” Mrs. Reynolds replied. “And how is that big brother of yours? How's Lucas?”

“He's fine, Mrs. Reynolds.”

“Will you tell him I said hello?”

“Yes, I will.”

“When will you see him again?”

“He'll be home for Christmas.”

“I hope he'll come see the play,” she said. “Will you tell him?”

“Yes, I will.”

Ethan did not say another word until we left the auditorium that day.

Ginger learned to bark Arf! on cue and quickly won the hearts of the entire cast as well as Mrs. Reynolds. Nadia was beaming.

Nadia had kindly passed along training information to Froelich and to Stage-Annie, and Arnold's performance improved to within a shade of Ginger's. It would have been better if Arnold had been eliminated altogether. Second best can be worse than not-in-the-running. Who knew what was happening inside Froelich's head as he trained Arnold. Who knew what was happening inside Froelich's head when
he attended rehearsals—he had to attend them all—and had nothing to do except to wait backstage and watch admiration and affection be heaped on Ginger. That amounted to a lot of work for little glory. During the actual performances he and Arnold were to stay backstage and out of sight—unless something happened to Ginger. Did having Arnold as understudy make Froelich feel like an underdog?

I was not without worry.

The main performance was to be on Saturday evening before the winter recess. That was when friends and family would attend. This event was exciting for Papa and me not only because Alice's mother was about to make her dramatic debut but also because Sillington House was, too. Mr. and Mrs. Diamondstein were flying up from Florida to celebrate Christmas with the Potters and would be our first paying guests. They planned to arrive in time to see Ginger play Annie's Sandy.

Papa had only one of the guest bedrooms ready, but he was quite proud of it, and so was I. He hung the bed linen out on a clothesline he strung across the backyard so that everything would smell of the sweet air that blew off the lake. He purchased a beautiful cut glass carafe and matching drinking glass and put them on the nightstand by the bed. He purchased a poinsettia and put it on the dresser. In the closet were the heavy hangers of polished wood—not those permanently attached things that you find in cheap motels nor the weak wire ones you get from the dry cleaners—that Papa had bought in England. We had them all facing the same way so that their shadows on the wall looked like a
computer rendering of an architectural cross section. The sink and tub were scrubbed until their whiteness could snow-blind. The faucets shone bright enough to use as mirrors.