The next thing I remembered was the loud tinny brrinngg of Cindy’s obnoxious and ancient travel alarm clock. We had to be back at the YWCA activities building for an eight a.m. read-through and rehearsal.
Jim, who I had met the night before, called our room to say he’d pick us up out front at 7:45 a.m. in the theatre company van.
As we stepped out onto the sidewalk, the air seemed chillier than the night before, even though the sun was very bright. Despite all the typical city noise, two loud honks startled us. Jim waved to us as he pulled up to the front door of the hotel. Cindy slid open the door behind him.
We crawled in and sat in the worn, yet sturdy seats. Cindy slammed the heavy door back into place.
“Well, ladies, how are we this morning?” Jim beamed as he screeched into the morning traffic.
Cindy and I were thrown back in our seats. Thank goodness for the seat belts. “Hell, Jim, I’d think you’d be a little better at this New York City driving by now.”
“But my dearest Cynthia, I am. Look around, I’m just as good as any of these defensive professional taxi drivers.” He grinned and looked into the rear view mirror.
“How can you be possibly be so cheerful so early in the morning?”
“I do it especially for you, Cynthia, dear.”
She grumbled and settled back in her seat. “The coffee better be ready and it better be good and hot.” I had a feeling this same scene and dialogue had taken place many times before.
“So, Penny, are you ready for boot camp?” Jim asked with a normal voice.
“What?”
“Our rehearsals are pretty rough. We spend all day, and I mean all day in rehearsal. We start with a read-through and go directly to blocking. If we’re lucky ‘His Majesty’ gives us, oh, about fifteen minutes for lunch, fifteen minutes for dinner and maybe an occasional bathroom break, if we beg him long enough.”
“Oh, come on Jim, ease up on her. Penny, he’s pulling your leg. Peter is tough but things aren’t that bad.”
“You’ll see for yourself,” Jim warned with a wink. “Okay, ladies, here we are. Your public, or at least your fellow thespians await.” As we crawled out of the van, Jim yelled, “Hey Cin, would you tell Peter I’ll be right back? I have to pick up a few things we still need for the set.”
She yelled into the van, “If I feel like it,” and slammed the door shut.
The place was now filled with people, some looking over scripts, some standing at a table set up against the wall. The smell of fresh coffee hit me and I saw the table held two large urns of it, plus trays of bagels, muffins and fruit.
Without a greeting to anyone, Cindy headed straight for the coffee. She glanced over her shoulder long enough to tell me the new scripts with changes were on the table up by the stage.
A little nervous, but mostly excited, I slowly soaked up the atmosphere. Everyone seemed busy with something specific to do. Nobody gave me a second look. Or for that fact, a first.
I got to the front table where a few 8 X 11 spiral bound scripts were scattered. At the top of one, I saw my name written in red marker.
I picked it up and looked around to see if I recognized anyone. Did anyone recognize me? I knew it had been a long time since I had traveled with mom and this same company, but maybe, just maybe I could find a connection, a clue.
I was trying to be nonchalant, as though I’d been through this a thousand times, but instead, I felt awkward with no one to talk to and nothing in particular to do.
I looked down the center aisle and saw what had to be one of my fellow cast members intently reading another copy of what I held in my hand. This woman, or girl, I couldn’t tell her age, looked to be six feet tall. The slit in her long, clingy black skirt went all the way up to her thigh. She looked more like she was posing for a sexy panty hose or lingerie ad instead of a theatrical read-through.
To go with the clingy, black skirt, she wore a low cut leotard. Her long, coal black hair was sleek and curled at the ends. Again, a hairstyle more appropriate for a professional photography session than for a busy day of rehearsals. Who is she trying to impress? She’s already gotten the job.
Dressed in my plain, but pressed lightweight denim slacks and a bright pink T-shirt, I approached “Miss Cosmo.”
“Um, excuse me, hi. I’m Penny, are you a member of the cast?”
She looked up from her script and gave me the honor of a quick, rather nasty, glance. “Yes.” Then, she continued her reading.
I should have just walked away, but the stubborn streak in me demanded at least a slightly polite response. I tried again. “Have you been with the group or are you new?”
Dismissing me as though I were a bothersome mosquito, she answered, “I’m very busy, would you please talk to someone else?”
That was it. I wasn’t hurt, I was angry. “Why certainly,” I answered back. The sarcasm in my voice didn’t even phase the diva.
I noticed when she did look at me that close, her face showed her real age much more than her body. She had to be at least forty. That thought made me realize, Mom would be in her forties if she were still here.
Working in theatre, you learn to deal with all types, from those with a slightly inflated ego to those who are clearly suffering from a severe case of megalomania.
Though I’ve always tried to get along with everyone, at least enough to be able to work together, I still had a big problem with anyone who believed and expressed their opinion, that they were better than everyone else.
I spotted Cindy sitting sideways on the stage. She was looking at some papers as she held her precious Styrofoam cup filled with steaming hot coffee with both hands.
I walked over and sat down on the other side of her paperwork. “Who’s the diva in black?” Cindy looked straight up and out into the sea of mostly empty chairs.
“Oh, you’ve met Lindsay.” She put her nose in the air and spoke with a fake British accent. “Talk about actors who thrive on having their butts kissed!”
“Is she really that bad?”
“Look out for her, never turn your back. She’d chew you up and spit you out if she thought it would help her career. She’s been with us forever, in one way or another. The worst thing is, for some reason, Peter lets her get away with her atrocious behavior. He caters to her every whim.”
“Why? Are they a couple?” I guess I sounded naive.
“I really don’t think so, but who knows? I do know she’s a huge pain in the butt.” Looking over at me she added, “I see you found your script. Peter should be gathering everyone together in the next five or ten minutes. Try not to let the witch bother you too much.” She grinned at me. “I know that sounds like strange advice from a woman who’s wanted to kick her skinny Park Avenue butt since she got here, but she’s really not worth it.”
I chuckled nervously. “Oh well, I’ll be glad to meet some of the others, they can’t all be bad, can they?”
“No, actually, we really do have a good group with only a few exceptions. It’s just that those few can drive you nuts if you let them.”
Just then, Peter crossed in front of us and climbed the stairs to the old wooden makeshift stage. Despite all the commotion, I could hear the floor creak with each step.
“Could I please have your attention? Attention, everyone.” He spoke a little louder this time. The clamor died down and the room grew silent. “Would everyone please take a seat? I think everyone knows who I am, so let me introduce you to our staff and cast. Those of you who have been with us, please bear with me for a while.”
* * *
Before I knew it, we were in the middle of the read-through. It was our first chance to read the script in its entirety, in character, with the actors we’d be actually working with. I was enjoying myself and even though I expected the day to drag, the time seemed to fly. I was lost in the play, in the process itself, and loving every minute. Well, almost every minute.
Throughout the day, I got the chance to personally meet and talk with some of the other actors. None of them seemed to be as awful as Lindsay. Yes, she was condescending and self-centered but something else about her bothered me.
Unfortunately, she was to play the Kate-like character to my Bianca-like character in our production simply titled Shrew.
During one of our breaks, I sipped my coffee, trying to relax on one of the old wooden folding chairs. Of course, I had picked the one chair that wobbled. Just as I thought about moving to another seat, I could feel someone watching me.
I turned to look and saw a guy straddling a chair. His chin was propped on his arms that were folded and resting on the back of the chair. He stared at me with such intensity, I had to turn away.
This guy who had been sitting across the aisle walked up behind me, leaned in and whispered, “Hey, cutie, I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure.”
Oh God, what a line. I didn’t want to turn around to deal with this obvious jerk. Then I thought, I should probably try to be polite, he’s most likely someone I’d have to work with. Only seeing him in a glance and from hearing his tone, I expected one of those model-type actors, the kind who think they’re God’s gift to the theatre, not to mention to all women and to the world. I prepared myself with the right attitude. I was ready to put this “hot dog” in his place, kindly, of course.
I turned around quickly, and had to hold back a laugh. He looked to be in his mid thirties. His face was pale and rather ordinary, but his thick dark hair was sticking out in every direction. It looked as though he may have just gotten out of bed after a fitful sleep. Maybe it was a wig? Then, I noticed the style had been set with hairspray. It was intentional. His hair, along with his large black rimmed glasses, made him look as though he was preparing to perform some Urkel-type character.
“Ahh, hello.” I said trying desperately hard not to crack a smile.
“Hi there. You’re new with the group, aren’t you?”
I fought the urge to give his hair a little tug, like I did with Santa’s beard when I was a kid. “Umm, yes, this will be my first professional performance.”
“I’ve been around for a while, so if you need someone to show you the ropes, I’d be more than happy to help you out.” The egotistical tone of his voice contrasted his appearance so much, it was difficult to take him seriously.
I decided to deal with him as I would any smooth talker. “That’s nice of you, but do you always try to pick up the new actresses?”
That stare was back and made me completely forget his clownish appearance. He answered, “Oh, no, I’m very selective, I especially like blondes.” Now his tone sounded purposefully sleazy.
Okay, now this guy was giving me the creeps. During our little conversation people had been slowly returning to their seats. “Come on, everyone. Let’s get back to the read-through. If you haven’t seen Cindy to pick up your revised rehearsal schedule, please do it now and please, do it quickly.” An excuse, thank God.
“Gotta get my schedule.” Before I could take even a few steps, he grabbed my hand.
“The name’s Denny.” Somehow, he made even that sound dirty.
“Ahh … Penny.” I pulled away and went to the front to pick up my schedule. When I got back, he was gone. I looked around quickly, but he seemed to have disappeared.
Once the read-through was over, Peter took the floor again. “We will be performing at the New York Royal, just a few blocks down. For those unfamiliar with New York and the theatre district, the Royal, is one of New York City’s historical theatres.” He sounded like a tour guide. “The theatre itself, the stage and the auditorium have been completely renovated. Unfortunately, the dressing rooms and the back-stage areas are not quite finished. They are, however, habitable, and will definitely fill our needs.”
“Tomorrow, we’ll mark off the stage, over there. Then, we’ll shift back and forth from there to our rehearsal space, as needed. We plan to always let you know the day before, who’s needed where, and what will be worked on that day. But, as you all should know, unexpected conflicts are bound to pop up occasionally.”
He took a deep breath and continued, “rehearsals start tomorrow. So, go home, get a good night’s sleep, and we’ll see you bright and early at the Royal.”