Chapter Twenty-Nine

 

Sol had the cast of his drama group up dancing and sweating. Linking arms while kicking their legs high in the air was proving tricky for the young amateurs, but they were determined to master the challenging Celtic dance.

Sol called out as he clapped his hands to the beat, dancing and kicking with them. “Ah, one, two, three… That’s good, kick them up... Keep those legs up high... Head and shoulders straight... Now turn to the right... No, Lamar, your other right... Stop laughing, everyone, and kick... Now, take five.”

The young drama group members were a mixed bunch. First or second generation French, Asian, Irish, Italian–no matter their background, everyone was welcome. If they couldn’t dance or sing, Sol would still find something to keep their interest. It was a melting pot of neighbourly friendship and love.

Getting them back on their feet before everyone cooled off, Sol started the routine all over again.

The youngsters gave it their all–there were no prima donnas, just your average Joe having a good time, and it was fun. In that shabby old cinema beat the heart of the ‘hood.

As the rehearsals neared an end, mothers of the younger cast members gathered at the back of the room to escort their little ones home, huddled in a cluster, muttering and chirping in low voices so they didn’t upset the rehearsal.

Finally, Sol called out in a loud voice and everyone hushed–mothers and cast members. “Listen-up, everyone. You all did really good, but I need you all to think Celtic. I need your swagger and your mindset to be Celtic for the rest of this performance.”

He had their full attention as he went on, “We have to understand the thinking of the writer. He is writing about his homeland. A tragedy has happened and this is his story. We have to respect the love.”

As the mothers waited patiently, Sol called out once again, but this time in an Irish accent. “Same time tomorrow night… to be sure,” he laughed.

As the weeks passed, each amateur bonded with his or her stage character. They had all adapted so well that Sol quickly moved the preparations along to the next level. It was time for Simon and Robert Goldstein to become more involved.

* * *

Renting rooms at a local lodging house, Simon and Robert Goldstein split their week between Boston and New York.

Every other day Simon phoned Linda to update her on their progress. She was concerned that he sounded tired.

“Ah, I’m grand. I’m coming over to see you soon and I can rest then all I want,” he laughed.

The truth was Simon wasn’t sleeping well. He had been experiencing recurring dreams and they bothered him big time. On each of the nights the dream came to visit, it was the same one.

He would see a dimly lit room, scantily covered in Christmas decorations, and a faceless young woman standing by a sparsely trimmed Christmas tree. The faceless woman always waved her arms about, as if she was experiencing a terrible aching pain. She would call out and search for something, but it was never clear what it could be.

Her image was hazy and her voice distant. Gradually her voice would become clearer. She was calling out a name... his name.

As she waved her arms in her agonizing search, she continued to call out, over and over again,

“Steven! Steven!”

More often than not, he would awaken with a jolt, beads of salty sweat oozing from his skin and rolling down his face to sting at his eyes. At the same time, the chill in his bones would cause him to shake and shiver. Then, lying awake for the rest of the night, he would question himself that the dream might be some kind of a sign. He was deeply troubled.

Thankfully, by day he could concentrate fully on rehearsals. Simon was impressed with Sol’s drama group, and especially the quality of their singing voices.

Teenagers Frankie and Simone played the lead roles and sang the duets together, so Simon worked closely with the pair, helping them to deliver his story with passion and emotion. They had to capture the crazed and obsessed devotion of love and denial.

Each evening, while instructing the two college students, he would tease young Simone by calling her his little heartbreaker. It never failed to make her blush.

Simon had become fond of the two youngsters. They showed such enthusiasm and attention to detail. Their thinking on the storyline was that of a modern day twisted fairytale, but one without a happy ending.

Each night when the mothers gathered to collect their children, Simon and Goldstein retreated backstage to allow Sol his moment to praise the achievements of this tight family circle.

* * *

On the night of the dress rehearsal, Sol was on duty to supervise every step of the way.

The cleaning company contracted by Simon had started freshening-up the shabby old cinema. Backdrops and scenery sets had arrived and workers were busy fixing them into place. A seamstress, surrounded by a mountain of boxes filled with costumes, measured the waiting cast for their final fittings and made last minute adjustments, while stage lighting was being unpacked and set up.

A huge banner stretched the front of the former cinema, proclaiming, “Requiem: A Fishing Disaster At Sea. A rock-opera by Steven Kelly.”

He had returned to his birth name after his prison release. “Simon” had been the final name he’d scored from his list.