Steven smiled. He whipped out a driver's license with a photo that looked more like him than real life. And in that picture he was wearing a gray, shiny suit.
"Come in," I said graciously.
"Yoder, this is Arthur Lapata, the director. The Arthur Lapata."
"Is there more than one?" I asked innocently.
Steven still smiled. "And this is the assistant director, Donald Manley."
"That's Don, darling," said the short, hairy man. He reached out to press the flesh, but I refrained, fearing that my fingers would become hopelessly entangled in his knuckles.
Steven smirked knowingly. "Well, today's the big day. Our equipment trucks will be pulling in at any moment, and we'll start to set up shop. What do you think, Arthur?"
The Arthur Lapata had been glancing around the lobby, and he looked pretty satisfied to me. The lobby of the PennDutch, along with all its rooms, is decorated with genuine Amish furniture and tools. Grandma Yoder would have laughed at the concept of a ceramic goose with a bow around its neck, and she would have viewed as absolutely idolatrous the little Amish boy and girl figurines that are so popular in gift shops.
"I don't know, Art," said Don, shaking his hoary head, "it looks a little too plain to me."
"We are called the 'plain people,' " I pointed out quickly.
Don ignored me. "I think we should have our people kitsch it up a bit. Maybe hang some corn cobs and grape bunches from the ceiling. That kind of thing."
"It's not supposed to be a sukkah," sniffed Steven.
Hairy Don ignored him as well. "That's it, Art, we'll kitsch up the joint a bit. Give it that kind of Lancaster look. Make it obvious that it's Amish we're dealing with here."
He pronounced it AYE-mish, which grates on my nerves something awful. "That's AH-mish," I said crossly, "and the only kitsch around here is the kitchen."
Hairy Don laughed but said nothing. Neither did the Arthur, although I thought I saw him nod at Steven. Whatever their communication, Steven grabbed me roughly by the arm and pulled me rudely aside.
"Look, Yoder, you've got to straighten up your act.
These are the big boys you're playing with. They know their jobs."
"But Amish don't hang com cobs and grape bunches from their ceilings," I protested.
Steven snickered. "They do if Arthur Lapata says so. We'll put in pink plastic flamingoes, and they'll be Amish ones, if that's what Arthur wants."
"But you said that I have the power to veto any changes," I reminded him.
Steven smirked. "Those were structural changes we agreed to, not decorative changes. Did you read the contract you signed?"
I confessed that I had not. I had looked at it but not actually read it. The hen prints in my chicken yard would be easier to read.
"There you have it, then. I suggest you go and read your contract like a good girl." Steven smiled.
Boy, did that put a bee in my bonnet! Steven Freeman was half my age, and he had the nerve to call me "girl." Why, I was a full-grown woman before he was even a gleam in his father's eye. "Look, buddy-boy," I said without being too rude, "I am not a girl. I am a woman. I am a woman old enough to be your mother. Is that clear?"
Steven's smile soured. "I was hoping you wouldn't be a problem, Yoder. But if you persist in getting in the way, we'll simply have to ban you from the set."
It was my turn to smirk. "That will be a little hard to do, since part of the deal was that Susannah and I keep our rooms."
"Then stay in your rooms. Just stay off the set."
I felt myself losing ground. Literally. "What about the screen test you promised me?"
Steven shrugged. "What about it? It may well be that our casting needs have changed since last time we spoke."
I will not be backed into a corner in my own home, especially not by a pipsqueak like Steven Freeman. Instead of tugging on my lapels like Steve had done, I thrust out my certifiably scrawny bosom and drew myself up to my full five feet ten inches. "And you, Mr. Freeman, may find that your transportation needs have changed by tomorrow morning."
Steven scoffed. "Like you really scare me, Yoder. We have our own trucks and equipment."
It was my turn to smirk. "That road out there is Hertzler Lane. It is not a public road. It was paid for and is maintained by the families that live along it. Eleven families in all."
"So? How hard do you think it would be for me to convince just one of those families to cooperate?" Steven began rubbing his thumb and forefinger together.
I smiled. "Well, let's see. Five of the families are Hertzlers. They're related to me three times on Papa's side of the family and one on Mama's. Two of the families are Speichers. They're related to me four times on Mama's side, and twice on Papa's. Then there're the Yoders - "
"There will be an open casting call for extras and minor supporting roles at ten a.m. in the lobby, the day after tomorrow. I hope you can make it."
"See you then," I said brightly. Steven strode off without another word. I sinned then. It wasn't lustful thoughts that filled my heart, but thoughts of murder.
By nine a.m. of casting day there were more than three hundred people lined up in my driveway. A row of cars snaked out to the road and then split like a two-headed serpent down Hertzler Lane in both directions for as far as I could see. That there weren't any cars actually parked on the lawn was only due to the fact that Susannah and I had chased them off with our pitchfork. Apparently no one in Hernia or Bedford wanted a role in the movie badly enough to get their car scratched for it.
As for the Big Boys, as I had come to call them, they were probably still sacked out in their motel rooms in Bedford.
"Undoubtedly they have harlots in their rooms doing unspeakable things," I said crossly to Susannah.
"Those are starlets, Mags, not harlots. And don't knock it until you've tried it."
"Mama would turn over in her grave if she heard you talk like that," I said reproachfully.
"Mama was a sexual being herself," said Susannah. I clamped my hands over my ears. Partly it was to shut out Susannah's wicked insinuations, and partly it was to shut out Norah Hall's complaining voice.
Norah and little Sherri must have arrived while it was still dark, or perhaps they had even spent the night in my driveway. At any rate, Mose says he saw their car parked there when he came by to do the milking at a quarter to six.
The second car to show up belonged to Pastor Sims and his wife, Martha. Thankfully, only Martha was in the car. I still owed the pastor a piece of my mind for having married Susannah to that creep of an ex-husband in the first place. Seeing as how it was a mixed marriage - her being a Mennonite and him a Presbyterian - the pastor should have insisted they get counseling. Or at least wait a month or two. Why is it that folks can get married at the drop of a ring, but buying a house takes weeks? Somebody should have done both a credit and a title check on Susannah's ex. It wasn't until they were in divorce court that Susannah learned her true love had a former wife and six kids. Not to mention that he owed over a hundred thousand dollars in back alimony and child support. That news upset Susannah so badly that she didn't date again for at least a week.
Even with my hands over my ears, 1 could hear some of the things Norah and Martha were saying.
"Magdalena lied," said Martha self-righteously. "She told me the producer wasn't coming back for six weeks. Why, if I hadn't seen the audition notice down at Sam Yoder's Corner Market, I might have missed out on it entirely."
Norah threw an accusing look my way. "I didn't know you had an interest in the performing arts, Martha dear. I mean, aren't you just a trifle over the hill to be starting out?" She patted her daughter Sherri lovingly on the head, taking care not to mess up the gold foil horns.
"I am not just getting started," hissed Martha. "I had the lead role in my senior class play."
"Gracious," said Norah. "How can one remember that far back?"
"At least I lead my own life, Norah Hall. I don't have to live vicariously through my children."
"That's because you don't have any children," snapped Norah.
I must admit, I had taken my hands off my ears by that point. A good fight, if it doesn't involve you directly, can definitely help the circulation. But unfortunately, just at that point a pair of black limos pulled up, and finding no place to park in the driveway, settled on the lawn. I saw these limos for about ten seconds before my view of them was obliterated by the crowd that had surged around them.
"Call the police," I directed Susannah. I wasn't so much concerned for the occupants of the limo as for the damage to my grass caused by the stampede. A good lawn is like a priceless heirloom, and it must be handled with the greatest of care.
Susannah obediently did what she was told, undoubtedly hoping to get Melvin Stoltzfus on the line. That left me alone at the front door with the Halls and Martha. Perhaps it was the look in the chubby Hall child's eyes that made me lose my judgment, but I found myself inviting the three of them in. Despite their intense desire to be cast in the movie, they at least hadn't swarmed after the limos like the rest of the crowd, but had sensibly maintained their places in line. Orderliness, if not intelligence, must not go unrewarded.
"Come on in," I invited them. "But don't touch anything that doesn't belong to you," I said pointedly to little Sherri. Children, even the best-behaved of them, tend to massage things with their sticky fingers the way a cow placidly chews her cud.
We had to wait only ten minutes before a beleaguered Bugsy burst into the lobby, followed closely by his superiors.
"What the hell is going on out there?" shouted Don, the hairy one. "I've never seen such a bunch of losers in my life."
"Look, buster, I'll thank you not to swear in my home. And as for those people out there, I think they all want a part in your movie," I said.
Don ignored my gentle admonition. "And who the hell are these pathetic people?" he shouted, gesturing wildly at Martha and the Halls.
Neither Norah nor Martha are my friends, but they are hometown folk, which puts me squarely on their side when squaring off with strangers. "These are my friends, Martha Sims and Norah and Sherri Hall. They are not pathetic. They are here for the casting tryouts. The ones you posted notice to all over town."
Don waved his hairy arms while he ranted some more. "I wanted lookers. Good-looking babes. You know, Hollywood material."
"Except that this isn't Hollywood," I pointed out. "The only lookers you're going to find out here are hookers, and you're going to have to go all the way to Pittsburgh for that."
"Thanks a lot, both of you!" cried Martha. "At the risk of sounding conceited, I consider myself to be a good-looking woman in her prime."
"Prime rib, maybe," snipped Susannah as she came into the room from making her call. "I think he's looking for something a little more like this." She began to prance and pirouette like a Lipizzan stallion. Her voluminous outfit trailed behind in her dramatic swirls. It was like watching Lawrence of Arabia in drag.
"That's more like it," grunted Don.
Susannah smiled seductively. Bugsy beamed.
Arthur remained aloof.
For a few precious seconds there was silence in the room. Then Norah shouted, "Hit it!"
"Like a virgin," wailed the dumpling-shaped Sherri. She began twisting and bobbing like she had the time before.
"I think I might have a laxative in the medicine cabinet," I said loud enough for everyone to hear.
I thought I saw Arthur smile. At any rate, he nodded to Don, and perhaps even whispered something. Don in turn mumbled something to Steven, alias Bugsy, who nodded in agreement.
"Okay, ladies," said Don, turning to us, "this is what's happening. You," he said, pointing to Susannah, "have the part of Rambling Rhonda."
Susannah shrieked with sheer joy.
"And you," said Don, pointing this time to Martha, "have the part of the lady in the bathtub."
Martha didn't shriek. Instead, her eyes shot daggers at Susannah. "Doesn't this lady at least have a name?"
Don looked right past her and at little Sherri. "And you will be Terrible Tina, the teenager from hell."
I told you not to swear, buster," I reminded him.
Meanwhile Norah and her offspring were dancing up and down in ecstasy, like a pair of Watusis.
"And you, Miss Yoder," began Don, and then he stopped and looked at Arthur. Arthur smiled and nodded again. "You," Don continued reluctantly, "will be Mama Miller, the matriarch of the clan."
Steven sidled suddenly over and seized my hand. "Congratulations, Yoder!" he said. "That's a speaking part. You'll get paid extra for that."
