The final four actresses in consideration for the role of Grizabella were already lined up across the stage of the Shubert when I arrived holding Stephen’s Caramel Macchiato and dry egg white omelet. I shimmied down the row of chairs to where the team was already seated and passed Stephen his breakfast.
“Thanks, Jo,” he said sipping on the hot coffee. “Good to have you back.”
Courtney gave me a quick wave and handed out a pile of headshots and resumes. Stephen had already shared his top choice for Grizabella was Lena Moore, but like most Broadway producers, they still wanted to see a cross section of options before making their final casting decision.
The creative team was still leaning towards an older actress for the part, not quite as sold on Stephen’s fresher take of casting an ingénue type in the role. There was a clear tug-of-war going on between those who wanted to stick to the tried and true, and those who wanted to present the show in a new light.
The choreographer took the actresses through a series of dance routines. Lena kept up, but definitely wasn’t the strongest dancer in the pack. She did have a certain charisma that made it difficult for you to take your eyes off of her though. I read down her resume which was mostly made up of small supporting roles in commercials and Off-Off Broadway productions, nothing particularly notable. Getting this role would change the course of her career and life, and you could see in her face, she knew it.
After they finished dancing, Stephen announced that the actresses would take an hour-long break before returning to the stage to perform two songs. The first, a musical theater number of their choosing, the second, the powerhouse ballad of Cats, “Memory.” Stephen strategically placed Lena last in the order of actresses so she would be the final performer on the producer’s minds going into deliberations.
I stood up and lifted my tote bag onto my shoulder. “Stephen,” I called out to him, “a Reuben on rye or BLT?
I didn’t even have to ask him the question, I already knew the answer. On especially tough audition days, Stephen almost always ate a Rueben for lunch, washing the sandwich down with a Dr. Brown’s Cream Soda.
“I’m trying to do this Keto thing my wife’s been pushing. I should probably just have a Chef’s Salad. No, you know what? Get me a BLT,” he said.
“You sure?”
“You’re right, get me a Rueben on rye, lean corned beef and a Dr. Brown’s Cream Soda.”
“You got it.”
I left the Shubert and walked a few blocks north to Stephen’s favorite deli. This time of day there was usually a long line of people snaking out the door and halfway around the block. Fortunately, the counter staff knew me so well that as soon as they spotted me in the doorway they motioned me to the front of the line.
Mike flipped to a clean page of his small pad. “Long time no see, gorgeous. What’s the big man in the mood for today?”
“Reuben on rye,” I answered.
“Must be a tough audition day, huh?”
I grinned, pulled a few cans of cream soda from the large ice box and placed them on top of the glass counter.
Mike’s eyes scanned my left hand. “You didn’t get married yet, did you?”
“No, I was away for a few days. Me and Sam, we umm…we decided to call things off.”
“Well, that’s a shame. Although I never thought that bastard was nearly good enough for you.”
I tilted my head to the side. “You’ve never even met him.”
“Didn’t need to.” Mike held up some corned beef from the slicer. “Lean enough for the big guy?’
“Maybe just a hair thinner,” I said.
“You got it, just give me a few minutes to warm the sandwich up for you.”
I stepped away from the counter to make room for the other patrons and spotted Zosia’s face on the cover of The Daily News with the headline “Rumble in the Jungle, Zosia Barry Not Backing Down.”
I picked up the newspaper, turned to page three, and read the rest of the article reporting on Zosia’s fight to collect half The Jungle’s worth in her divorce settlement. In the story, the reporter detailed the rise of the multibillion-dollar company, and Zosia’s pivotal role in its early days. I was glad to see she’d finally taken control of the narrative and was at long last letting the world know the part she played in creating an empire.
On the magazine stand, the latest issue of Us Weekly with a picture of Emmy and Matt reunited on the cover and the headline, “Broken Heart Healed, how Emmy J and Matthew Ryder Found Lasting Love.” I smiled and flipped to the page highlighting Emmy and Matt’s reunion and speculation that their time apart would lead to an upcoming proposal. While I knew better than to believe everything I read, the pictures of the two of them in each other’s arms smiling from ear to ear spoke volumes.
I set the magazine back on the stand, and an uneasy feeling rushed through me. My two closest friends from Retreat House were firmly on the road to recovery and here I was, still picking up Stephen’s lunch. Mike finished making the Rueben, wrapping it in white wax paper before passing the sandwich over the deli counter to me. He ripped the order from his pad and handed it to me to give to the cashier.
“You back in town for good now?” he asked.
I nodded and said, “Back to the grind.”
“So, I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”
“And the morning after that. And the morning after that. And the morning after that,” I joked.
“It’s a livin’, right?”
I thought back to the conversation I had with Todd about combining your day job with your passion and how very lucky he was to have found a way to merge the two.
“Yeah it’s a living,” I replied.
He laughed and passed me the brown paper bag with the sodas. “Well, you’re the bright spot in my day, even if I’m not in yours,” he teased.
I threw a few singles into the tip jar. “Thanks, Mike.”
The actresses were retaking their marks when I came into the theater. I searched the rows for Stephen and finally found him huddled up with the show’s creative team in the back of the audience. After delivering him the sandwich and soda, I took a seat beside the rest of the Gerber team in the second row.
“Who’s up first?” I asked.
Colin yawned and checked his clipboard. “Diana Conners.”
“She’s good. Has she done much since Grey Gardens though?”
He flipped her headshot over to the backside. “No.”
“That might be okay. Stephen loves a good career comeback story.”
“Whatever,” he sighed. “I’m gonna go grab some coffee.”
Colin was a musical theater snob. He hated Andrew Lloyd Webber, barely tolerated Rodgers and Hammerstein, but worshiped Stephen Sondheim, Lin Manuel Miranda, and Perry Gillman. It may have actually bothered Colin more than it bothered Stephen that The Gerber Agency wasn’t asked to cast Elizabeth.
Courtney slid in next to me. “Ignore Colin, he’s super grouchy today. He really does hate Cats.”
“I ask again, how can you hate Cats and do what we do?”
“You got me. So,” she said leaning in closer, “we haven’t had much of a chance to talk since you got back. How are you?”
“Better than the last time we talked that’s for sure. More importantly though, how are you doing? Was Stephen totally impossible while I was gone?”
“He was typical Stephen. He was worried about you though. Kept asking people on the team if you’d been in touch at all.”
I shook my head. “I’ve worked for him for a long time.”
“What? Like eight or nine years, right?”
“It’ll be ten years this October if you count from the time I started interning.”
“You were a legend at NYU, you know? The girl who started as Stephen Gerber’s intern and became his right-hand man…woman. You know what I mean.”
“I didn’t know you went to Tisch?” I said.
“Musical Theater major, same as you,” she said proudly.
“Do you miss it at all? Acting, I mean?”
“God no. I love the theater but wasn’t cut out for a life of rejections and waiting tables. What about you? Do you miss acting?”
Just as I was about to answer, Colin came down the aisle clapping his hands together. “Okay, everyone let’s take our seats, Stephen wants to get started.”
The theater lights dimmed, and Diana stepped forward to the middle of the stage. For her first song she performed “As If We Never Said Goodbye” from the musical Sunset Boulevard. It was well executed, well sung, and well received, but it was also completely safe. Diana had a similar look and mannerisms to Betty Buckley who originated the role of Grizabella in the original Broadway production of Cats. If the producers were looking for the sure bet, Diana was their girl.
The next two actresses were very talented, but I immediately could see Stephen had a strategy when he decided the lineup, hoping to create a stark contrast between the two bookend performers. After they finished their songs, Stephen thanked them for their time and sent them to the wings.
“Next up our final candidate, Lena Moore,” Colin announced.
Lena took two long strides to the middle spotlight. She nodded her head towards the accompanist who plunked out the first few notes of “Maybe This Time” from Cabaret. In the song, the character Sally sings of her hope that, against all odds, this time her love affair is going to last, and Lena absolutely killed it. I’m not sure if she was harnessing emotions from her own life and recent struggles with Sam or really was just that good of an actress, but she had the whole room anticipating every word, every turn of phrase.
When the song ended, the accompanist seamlessly transitioned into the haunting first notes of “Memory.” Lena didn’t plow into the song like the other actresses, but instead let the melody and lyrics be a slow build. When she got to the song’s famous crescendo, her voice shot out across the audience like a firework in D-flat major.
As the reverberation of her final notes settled into the space, Stephen stood up from his seat and asked the four actresses to line up across the front of the stage.
“Ladies, thank you for a wonderful showcase. You’re free to go. We’ll be in touch with your agents in the next few days,” he said.
After the performers retreated to the wings, Stephen huddled the team together. “I’m sure we could all use a break. Let’s meet back at the office in an hour for deliberations with the production team. Jo, can you confirm the address with them?”
“Sure, Stephen.”
“And on your way up to the office…”
“A caramel Macchiato, I know.”