16
From: <dramakween312@rport.li.com>
To: <rkolodzny@yaleuniversity.edu>
Subject: i can’t sleep
October 6, 3:07 A.M.
rachel
weeee yes it’s 3 a.m. and i am buzzing buzzing buzzing but thinking clearly and i made the BIG mistake of calling someone last night & waking them up & don’t want to do the same to you (someone i actually LOVE and RESPECT) so im sending this e-mail hope you don’t mind. you were right, rachel. about kt. i have turned into the kind of girl i hate and don’t say i told you so, i can’t take that. i shouldn’t care about this, ok he’s a good singer and oh is he HOTT but lets face it he’s flaky and his fingers are full of grease plus his best friends act like they just emerged from caves. so now he and casey are hooking up in the practice rooms and i want to scream. how do i know they were hooking up? because that’s what practice rooms are for, i know it from, um, personal experience and admit it, you do too as i recall from those steamy windows when you and bruce greenberg were “practicing.” ok, so kt likes cc. why shouldn’t he? what’s the big deal? she tries hard, she’s smart, and she can play piano for him. okay, i can play piano too but he didn’t ask me, besides i’m a lousy sight-reader, but hey, if she wants to show off, that’s her choice. what do i care? what bothers me isn’t so much THAT. it’s the shape-shifting. pretending to be your best friend and then stabbing you in the back. i never trusted her. she sings but doesn’t sing, she’s shy but bosses people around, she falls apart at a criticism but runs rehearsals. what bothers me is that just when you think you know her she slips through your hands like water. who is she? she is hiding something, i can feel it.
ok, don’t yell at me but i searched google for “casey chang” westfield connecticut & came up with nothing. just plain “casey chang”? nada. blog search, myspace, facebook, xanga, waybackmachine, big fat zeroes. well, it’s not totally true. i did find a chang in a cast list for fiddler on the roof at westfield high, with a different first name, not casey. but chang is like smith, so that’s not too shocking. no one ever friended her? mentioned her? this is the girl kyle is hot for—a person with no identity?
i should call alex duboff, that’s it. she knows him. he’d know. the only problem is, i’d have to talk to alex duboff.
oh god, i can’t even read this. i feel like a stalker.
burn this e-mail.
B
“Excellent!” Ms. Gunderson called out to Lori, who had not only made a full recovery from the flu but was sounding more and more magnificent. “Take a rest, sweetie. You deserve it.”
As Lori left the stage, Casey unwrapped a big, cakey brownie and took a big bite. Thank God for the Bayview Avenue food truck, this week’s best discovery. It had taken until October 9, but better late than never. She glanced at her schedule sheet. A big purple-red blotch covered the second act, the remnant of a spilled Diet Coke. It obliterated a line or two, but she had memorized most of this by now. Swallowing carefully, she called out, “Um, places for ‘All Good Gifts’!”
Kyle looked up from his stretching exercises on the stage. “Okay, chief!”
Casey smiled at him and immediately turned away. Her first instinct was to check for Brianna. Brianna hadn’t said a word to her since last week. She hadn’t been at her locker lately, and during the rehearsals she was always either studying the script or looking in the other direction whenever Casey passed by.
A hundred times Casey had meant to talk to her, but the day-to-day schedule was grueling for the stage manager. The few times she had started to approach Brianna, she’d gotten cold feet.
Kyle didn’t seem to have a clue about the friction he was causing. Or maybe he did, but he just didn’t care. Either way, she envied him. Of course, envy was the least complicated of the feelings she had for Kyle. Surprisingly, the ride home had been fun, rolling down the roof and singing at the top of their lungs. It hadn’t gone any further than that, but she hadn’t expected it to, really.
Surely she must have come to her senses by now. Just a moment’s thought about the absurdity of it all . . . Hmmm, let’s see: Kyle and the fat, dumpy, insecure girl . . . or Kyle and the talented, beautiful, brilliant one who discovered his talent and changed his life?
Tough call.
Casey took another bite.
“A styrachosaurus,” Charles said, staring over her shoulder.
“Nope, just a brownie,” Casey said.
Charles gave her a look. “That shape on your cue sheet. It’s like a Rorschach test, right? Identify the blot? Well, I see a styrachosaurus. You know, the one with all those horns around its crown, the most colorful and stylish of reptiles? The Tommy Hilfiger of the Mesozoic age?”
Casey laughed, pulling flecks of brownie up into her nasal passages. She began coughing violently.
Charles patted her on the back. “Don’t do this to me, Casey, I’ve seen all those posters for the Heimlich maneuver, but I can’t remember how to do it!”
“Don’t—” Cough, cough. “Make me—” Cough. “Laugh!”
“QUIET BACKSTAGE!” Brianna’s voice shouted from the auditorium.
“Shh, Miss Diva is in a bad mood,” Charles whispered, ushering Casey farther into the wings.
Some of the Charlettes, seeing Casey’s condition, dragged a chair over so she could sit. Vijay brought her some bottled water. She sipped it carefully, clearing her throat as quietly as possible, and angling her chair so she could see the stage.
Jamil was singing “All Good Gifts,” one of her favorites. He was a freshman, and his voice hadn’t changed yet. It had a pure, sweet quality. He was inexperienced and a little unsure at times, but he was getting stronger by the day.
“Can we stop, please?” Brianna’s voice rang out from the house. “Okay, that wasn’t bad.”
“Can she curb her enthusiasm?” Charles murmured.
Casey stood up and walked to the edge of the stage, glancing at her schedule. “Let’s set up for scene—”
“Excuse me.” Brianna was walking purposefully down the aisle. “Can we go back to the top of that last song?”
Jamil cocked his head, baffled. “What’d I do?”
“Your tone is good, Jamil. Really, really sweet. I’d just like to hear it one more time, for pitch.” Brianna pointed to her ear. “I think you’re singing a teeny bit flat.”
Mr. Levin glanced at Ms. Gunderson, who replied with an unreadable look of her own.
“I didn’t hear anything wrong,” Casey murmured to Charles.
“I could try it again,” Jamil said gamely. “No problem.”
“Brianna,” Mr. Levin said, climbing down from the stage apron, “do you have any dramatic notes? Because, in the interest of time, when it comes to musical matters, maybe Ms. Gunderson should make these kinds of calls—”
“Well, it just seemed pretty obvious,” Brianna said, lowering her voice. “Besides, this is supposed to be a collaborative effort, right? We all help out. Sometimes we see things others don’t. Or hear things.”
Ms. Gunderson smiled. “True. Good point. But we’re not after perfection, sweetie. The audience isn’t that picky about pitch.”
“Fine,” Brianna said with a shrug. “If you feel you can be proud of that performance, fine.” Calmly she turned and walked up the aisle.
“What has gotten into her?” Harrison muttered, jumping off the stage.
Casey followed him. They chased after Brianna and cornered her behind the last row of seats.
“Hello,” Brianna said, flashing them a fake smile. “I have to pee. Would you two like to join me?”
“Brianna, what’s up?” Casey asked.
“Nothing’s up,” Brianna said. “I just wasn’t aware we were relaxing our standards, okay?”
“What are you talking about?” Harrison asked.
“I guess since it’s a small musical, since the New York Times won’t be there on opening night, it’s fine to settle for mediocrity . . . ”
“Look, Jamil is a freshman,” Harrison said. “He has a beautiful voice that needs a little coaching, and he’s very sensitive. He’s also getting more and more confident. We want to make him feel at home with us. What’s the point in humiliating him?”
“I didn’t humiliate him,” Brianna said. “I was respectful and professional. Which is more than I can say for some of you. You want to make him comfortable? Then don’t lie to him! Don’t tell him he’s perfect when he’s singing flat! You did that to Kyle and now you’re doing it to Jamil. You want him to find out the truth from the audience? He has potential, and our job is to help him live up to it.”
“Brianna, this isn’t such a big deal,” Harrison said. “Sometimes it’s best to give a performer some time. Let them find their way. It worked with Kyle—his singing improved, right?”
“He didn’t find his way all by himself,” Brianna said, pointedly looking at Casey. “Now excuse me.”
She wiggled between them, toward the door. Harrison began following her, then gave a disgusted wave and came back.
Casey’s legs locked.
Brianna was mad at her. Those comments had been meant for her. Brianna was pissed about the practice room.
“Don’t worry,” Harrison said, placing his hand gently on Casey’s arm. “She gets like this sometimes. It’s usually in the middle of the rehearsal period, when she thinks the show is going to tank. Plus, she’s probably frustrated she can’t be onstage. She’ll be okay in a few minutes. She’ll apologize to you and Jamil.”
“I’m not so sure,” Casey said softly.
“I guarantee it,” Harrison said, heading back to the stage.
Casey slipped out into the hallway and eyed the girls’ room. Brianna was still in there. The thought of confronting her made Casey’s stomach hurt. She needed something in it. She darted down the hallway and around the corner to the cafeteria snack machine.
She found a single in her pocket, loaded it into the machine, selected a pack of Sun Chips, then headed back to the auditorium.
As she eyed the girls’ room door, which was still shut, she ripped open the chips and popped a few into her mouth. From inside the auditorium, she could hear Mr. Levin’s voice booming: “Props? PRO-O-O-OPS!”
That was her. Casey ran. “Sorry!” she called out as she pulled open the auditorium door and hurried toward the stage.
“Casey, where are the canes?” Mr. Levin demanded. “We’re running the soft-shoe number, and we’re supposed to have canes today! Right? These guys have been using umbrellas.”
Casey had to think. She had ordered four telescoping vaudeville canes, the kind that look like small wands until you tap them and they spring out to full size. “I’ll get them!”
She ran backstage, where the Charlettes had formed a little sewing factory to make the “costume” for a huge beast made of garbage in one of the later scenes. “Guys, where are the canes we ordered?” she asked.
“They sent them to 763 Bayview Avenue, not 163,” Vijay said. “So they got sent back.”
“I have learned my lesson,” Charles said. “I will never allow Vijay of the Woeful Handwriting to fill out a requisition form again!”
“I called them,” Vijay said. “They said three to five business days.”
Casey stepped back onto the stage and relayed the news to Mr. Levin.
“Three to five days is what they said the first time!” Mr. Levin slapped his hand on the piano, which made a muffled tonnnnng. With a disgusted sigh, he turned his back and said, “Let’s do it with umbrellas again.”
Casey stepped back, nodding, retracing her path, until she bumped into Charles.
“Ooh,” said Charles.
“Sorry,” said Casey.
“No, that felt good,” Charles replied. “Do it again.”
“He hates me, too,” she said, her back still to him.
“Mr. Levin?” Charles said. “He adores you. He’s just a little wigged out. You would be, too, if you had to deal with Miss Diva, fend off the comely Liesl Gunderson, and go home to grade thirty-one reports on Hamlet.”
Casey turned. Charles was grinning impishly. No one did impish grins better than Charles. Which somehow made her even more depressed.
“Uh-oh, I think we need a change of venue,” Charles said, taking her hands and leading her back to the costume/ prop room. He shooed away the couple of Charlettes who were inside, sat her down in a puffy leatherette lounger, and shut the door. “There,” he said, kneeling beside her. “Now forget the rest of them. Let it all out, babe.”
He was reading her mind. He knew she was a mess and he was still totally on her side, and the combination undid her. She couldn’t hold it together any longer. Casey took a deep, shuddering breath and gave in.
“I can’t do anything right, Charles,” she said between sobs. “I can’t stop eating, I can’t leave the auditorium without something going wrong, and everybody’s mad at me!”
“I’m not mad at you,” Charles said, handing her a tissue.
“Yet. You wait. I’ll do something to piss you off, too. I can’t help it.” Casey wiped her eyes and looked away. “I never should have said yes to this job. I’m not cut out for it. You guys picked the wrong person.”
“Oh, dear Lord, Casey, if you quit, this whole clambake will fall apart. Come to your senses, girl. Something’s bothering you. Something deeper than this. Talk to Father Charles, my child.”
Casey blew her nose. “Father Charles? Am I supposed to confess something?”
“Confess, confide, whatever. I’ll take it juicy or dry. Talk to me.”
Tap, tap, tap.
Before anyone could respond to the knock, the door swung open and Dashiell poked his head in. “Oh! Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt. You two just go ahead. I didn’t see anything—”
“Come in, Dashiell,” Charles said. “What’s up?”
“I was going to ask about the blue gels . . . ” He gave Casey a curious look. “Are you all right, Case?”
Casey composed herself to answer, but his confused expression just made her cry again.
“Guys, can we please—”
Now Mr. Levin was in the room. He stopped in the middle of his sentence when he saw Casey. The three deep frown lines vanished from his brow, his shoulders loosened, and he let out a sigh. “Um, I think we’ve all had a long day,” he said softly. “I’m calling rehearsal. We could use a break.”
“But we have so much to do!” Brianna protested, striding in from the hallway.
“We’re in pretty good shape,” Mr. Levin said. “And I’m giving you all an assignment. Go home, relax, and do not think about Godspell. Then dig in tomorrow, and expect a shortish rehearsal on Friday so everyone can rest up for Brianna’s party. We are nearly four weeks into rehearsals, but we have a long way to go, and I will not have the disciples hating one another.”
“Home, an excellent idea,” Charles said. The others began to file out of the auditorium. Charles turned back to Casey. “Take a hot bath, drink some hot cocoa, and call me in the morning.”
“You’ve changed from priest to doctor, I see,” Casey answered.
“I’m very versatile, not to mention resilient,” he told her. “And so are you. So you’ll take my advice?”
Casey gave a last sniffle then smiled. “Yes, Doc. See you tomorrow.”