Chapter Sixteen

 

 

The La Jolla Playhouse, situated on the UC San Diego campus, was one of the foremost, professional nonprofit theaters in the country. A testing ground for new dramatic and musical plays, this nationally acclaimed theater could launch or sink a production. Many of their critically acclaimed productions had gone on to Broadway and to winning Tony Awards. Tess knew that was why Aaron had fought so hard to produce Cold War, Hot Love there. The costs were high, but they were both aware that the major movers or their reps in the entertainment industry and their “angel investors—” corporate, private and public—would be present on premiere night.

In the women’s dressing room, two hours before curtain rising, Tess examined her costumes, newly cleaned and pressed by Wardrobe. Aaron knocked, called out and then entered. The other women in the cast would arrive soon, but Tess and Aaron had come early. Filled with nervous energy, he paced behind her until she finally turned around. She went over and straightened the bowtie of his tuxedo, attempting to allay his fears with a calm smile and soothing voice.

“Our dress rehearsal went well, don’t you think? And those script changes you made were fine,” she said, “so we’re good to go. You know I wouldn’t say this if I didn’t mean it, Aaron. I really like this play and I love the music. The only thing left is to let the rest of the world in on our secret.”

He returned a nervous smile. “What secret is that?”

“That we have a hit in the making.” She winked and, then seeing his dubious look, raised up and kissed him on the mouth.

“You’re too close to it, Skin,” she said, “As the creator, you can only see the imperfections. Which are very few and which we’ll iron out as we go along. Steve’s done a great job as director. Everyone’s done their best, wardrobe, set designers, the crew, the musicians, the cast. And you, my handsome maestro, you’ve created some of the most beautiful melodies I’ve ever had the privilege of hearing and singing.”

Aaron exhaled a deep breath and lowered his forehead to touch hers. His big hands on her shoulders clasped and unclasped. Despite her sincere assurances, his expression crinkled with apprehension.

“Ah, Red, I want this so bad. For me, for you, for everyone involved. There are so many things that can go wrong. I feel like I’ve forgotten something, something that’ll come back to haunt me.”

“You haven’t,” she told him softly.

“You believe in me, no matter what happens? Even if this flops?”

“Yes, I do. Deep down I always have, Aaron. I was too afraid before. With you, I’ve found my courage. We give each other strength…so no matter what happens, we’re in this together. It’s no longer just your dream. It’s mine, too.”

One of the women in the chorus opened the door and caught them in a tight embrace.

“Oh, sorry, I’ll come back.”

Tess hurried to welcome her in. “Laurie, it’s okay.”

Aaron gave her a quick kiss. “The orchestra’s coming early to run through the Overture one more time. I’ll see you on stage after the curtain call.” To both women, he added, “So, ladies, break a leg.”

 

* * * *

 

The applause was thunderous as the audience collectively rose to their feet. Across the expanse of bright lights and blotted out darkness, Tess heard the catcalls and whistles. She stepped forward with her leading men, Matt and Milo, as the Russian coach and American Olympic athlete, respectively. With joined hands, they executed a stiff, from-the-waist bow. Hearing the roar, they glanced at each other and broke into wide smiles. They took two more bows before stepping back and rejoining the long line of cast members. Everyone joined hands and took a group bow.

Somewhere out there, Aaron’s parents, the Petersons, exulted in their son’s creative genius. Her friend, Marisa, and her family were all present and Tess could just make out her friend’s calls of “Bravo, Tess!” Aaron’s pal, Pete, and a gathering of his Hollywood friends, including her own social circle of musicians and singers, were out there. She could feel their approval, their joy over the play’s triumph. For a brief moment, Tess thought of Frank Marello, her and Aaron’s own guardian angel and patron. Without his kind generosity, their triumph would not have been possible.

There was no question in her mind that Aaron’s soaring music had carried the libretto, but she was equally confident that she, Matt, Milo and the others in the cast had performed their hearts out. They’d given flesh, substance and humanity to their characters’ roles. For that, she was grateful. Who would’ve thought? A lounge singer would find her calling in musical theater. Tess felt the tears in the back of her eyes, but fought them back. Sophie, the tough Brit, wouldn’t have cried, so neither would she!

The roar of the audience continued, but when Aaron and the orchestra stood, the applause was deafening. Tess watched him take his bows and sweep his arm to include his musicians. Their eyes met as he waved his arm in a flourish to include the cast on stage. Pure magic. Total joy.

This was where they both belonged.

 

Thirty minutes later, everyone was still flying high on the adrenalin and excitement of their premiere night. Aaron had called the cast to the stage. A smattering of musicians hung around, mingling with an assemblage of family members and friends, to hear the news. The cast still in costume and makeup, gathered by the stairs downstage right. Tess’ gaze took in Aaron, his flushed cheeks, rumpled tux and askew bowtie. Steve, the director, was standing next to him. She could tell by both their demeanors—they were practically jumping out of their skins—that they had important news to deliver.

When everyone settled down, Aaron got to the point.

“Thanks for hanging around. We all realize how vital this night was, so I don’t want to belabor the point. Suffice it to say—No, I’ll let the critics speak for me. I just got these texts on my cell phone. One says, ‘A smart libretto, snappy dialogue, and sublime music.’ Another says, ‘Another hit to begin La Jolla Playhouse’s new season. If Aaron Peterson’s new musical drama doesn’t go straight to Broadway, I’ll eat my hat.’ Another one: ‘Steve Madden’s direction cleverly utilizes the talents of a young, enthusiastic cast.’ Here’s another, ‘Tess MacIntosh as the British journalist, Sophie, torn between two men from opposite worlds and whose choice between two different fates centers the play, is absolutely magnificent. An instinctual actress with a gorgeous voice, she was born for the musical stage.’” Aaron looked at her directly and nodded. “I agree with him. Tess, you’re born for the musical stage.”

Steve interrupted and read from his smartphone, “There’s more. Aaron’s being modest. ‘Peterson’s haunting, uplifting melodies reflect a composer whose career is definitely on the rise.’ “

After each reading, the cast clapped and cheered. Tess covered her mouth and shook her head disbelievingly when Aaron read her review. There were similar reviews about the two male leads, causing them to take mock Shakespearean bows with great flourish.

“One more,” Aaron broke in, “‘The cast of La Jolla’s opening season musical play…superb…wonderful performances…soul-stirring music…’” Aaron paused to wipe his eyes and take a deep breath. Over her stage makeup, Tess’ own tears made wet tracks down her face. What was this? Thespian Karma? Was it even possible?

Aaron locked his gaze with hers and nodded, as though answering her question. This isn’t a dream. It’s really happening.

He quieted everyone with both hands raised.

“I’ve received three phone calls,” he began, “two from corporate investors and one from a producer whose Broadway production won four Tony awards two years ago.” He paused and looked around at his cast. “So, when our run here in La Jolla’s over, who’s coming with me to…” He paused and then shouted the last word, “Broadway?”

The cast, except for Tess, cheered and hooted, several jumping up and down like kids on a playground. Aaron approached her and with a handkerchief dried her cheeks. With the tears, some pancake makeup smeared the cloth. He grimaced at the mess he was making on her face.

“I won’t go without you, Tess.”

She grabbed the handkerchief and made streaks on her face, not caring about the mess. “Who says I’m not going? Are you kidding? I was born for the stage. Didn’t you hear that critic? I just didn’t realize it before.”

He nodded, his face shining with a mixture of gratitude, happiness and disbelief.

“I think we did Frank proud,” he said. She nodded in agreement. Then she recalled something they’d said to each other two months ago, before they began this amazing journey. Then, she was afraid their cruise gig would spell the end of their friendship. Instead, it forced her to face the truth about her enduring love for her sexy, talented friend.

She playfully socked him in the arm. “So, Skin, do you think when this incredible ride’s over, we’ll end up hating each other?”

He laughed, chucked her under the chin and stared her down.

“Without a doubt, Red. Without a doubt.”