Showstopper (22 page)

I'd glanced at Gina, who'd sat across from me at the Mancusos' kitchen table, engrossed in the blueprints she'd been drawing. “Gina tells me her grandparents live in a retirement community over in Mount Kisco.”

“They do,” Mr. Mancuso had confirmed.

“She told me they have an awesome common room, with a stage and everything. And sometimes singing groups or dance troupes come to entertain the people who live there.”

“That's right.”

“I was thinking that in exchange for you and your construction crew building us an outdoor stage, maybe Random Farms could visit your parents' place and put on a show for the residents . . . free of charge.”

Gina had looked up from her work and smiled at her father. “Nona and Pop would love that,” she'd said. “Don't you think?”

Mr. Mancuso had smiled. “I'm sure they would,” he'd said. Then he'd extended his hand to me and we'd shaken on the deal.

So today Mr. Mancuso had sent a crew of builders with hammers and saws and a whole arsenal of power tools over to our clubhouse. Using the blueprints Gina had drawn up, and the reclaimed lumber from the basement, they set to work building us a sturdy, low-lying stage platform. Behind that, they constructed a tall, broad frame from which we could hang our backdrops. Thanks to some ropes and pulleys, we would be able to interchange the backgrounds by rolling up the Aegean scene like an enormous window shade and
revealing the painting of Odysseus's house behind it.

The gentle slope of the hill would act as our seating section. Thanks to a fair amount of jutting stones and boulders (which, according to Austin, were able to trap and reflect sound), our audience would be able to hear us clearly without microphones, just as the lines spoken by the legendary actor Thespis and his buddies had been heard and enjoyed by Grecian theater patrons thousands of years before.

“There's not a bad seat in the house,” Austin remarked happily as we stood at the top of the stony slope and looked down to where our cast would perform
The Odd-yssey
in less than a week. “The voices are going to carry beautifully.”

“And Deon's spotlight is going to work perfectly!”

General lighting had at first presented a bit of a snag, but Mancuso Construction owned several large portable lights that the company used for outdoor night jobs. The lights would be there in time for dress rehearsal. I was thrilled to learn these were all battery-powered, just like D's spotlight. The fog machine, for our scenes on Mount Olympus, however, was not.

“And the electronic keyboard does run on batteries,” Austin explained, “but even if we put in brand-new ones on the night of the show, I'd still feel a lot better if we had a backup power source.”

So we were going to require electricity.

Also not a problem. Mr. Healy deemed that two nights without fans would hardly result in an outbreak of toxic mold, so there was no reason why we couldn't borrow the portable generator . . . and the giant fans as well. Using the fans was Gina's idea; she pointed out that we could use them to blow supercharged gusts of breeze, providing incredibly realistic winds to enhance Odysseus's daring scenes at sea!

“And the strobe feature on my spot could be lightning,” said D.

Two of Becky's brothers, Charlie and Ben, came toting two oversize camping tents, which they set up behind the stage.

“Dressing rooms,” said Becky. “One for boys, one for girls.”

I pronounced her the world's smartest combat choreographer.

And as far as stage combat was concerned, I wasn't even upset that we'd be performing our battle scenes without any actual weapons. My cast was by now so accomplished at miming their swordplay, it had become an art form in itself—an exercise in imagination for both the actors and the audience—with the invisible blades swinging and clashing in perfect sync with the sound effects.

The sound effects! Even these were getting special attention. They would be amplified into the balmy night in all their whooshing and clinking glory courtesy of Nick Demetrius and the pizza car's loudspeaker. This was another idea I had and was able to execute, thanks to the barter system. I remembered how Nick had used the speaker to get Gracie to hurry up after rehearsal, and I realized it was just another version of a microphone. We “purchased” the use of Nick's vehicle's loudspeaker under the following arrangement, which I dreamed up and then had approved by Gracie's uncle George, who owned the pizza place. Austin, Susan, and I would volunteer to hand-wash the pizza car once a week for the rest of the summer.

When the sun began to fade into a velvety lilac twilight, Austin and I finally sent everyone (including Mr. Mancuso's building crew!) home.

“I think we're going to be all right,” said Austin, getting on his bike. “I think Odysseus would be proud of us.”

“It'll make a great story someday,” I conceded. “The epically funny tale of how Random Farms put on its second show.”

“Quit complaining,” said Susan, heading for home. “We've got an amphitheater. How many twelve-year-olds can say they've got their own amphitheater?”

She was right. None of it was how we had planned it, but I realized that was what made theater such a rush. The inevitable disasters and the subsequent fixes were why being a producer was so exciting and challenging.

What I didn't know at the time, though, was that our biggest challenge was still ahead.

CHAPTER

20

On Monday, as Susan and I walked to the clubhouse, I phoned Mrs. Sawicki and asked her for a favor.

“Of course I'll run the new announcement in the online newsletter,” she said in her pleasant way. “And please hold two tickets for me at your will call window. I wouldn't miss this show for the world!”

“Thanks,” I said. “Your tickets will be waiting for you. Compliments of the house.”

Susan frowned. “We don't comp.”

“We do now,” I told her.

In addition to the CCC newsletter, Susan tweeted the information so our cast could retweet and let all their friends and families know about the switch from Saturday at seven at the community center to Friday at nine on the clubhouse back lawn. We also printed flyers announcing the change of
date, time, and venue.

Knowing how much pressure we were under, Mom offered to drive into town and post the flyers in all the store windows where we'd originally placed our posters. This was a huge help, since I couldn't spare a single cast or crew member.

Susan and I arrived at the clubhouse to find everyone present and accounted for.

Everyone except Mackenzie.

“She's probably just running late,” said Susan.

“Again,” I said, feeling a knot of anger in the pit of my stomach. “I'll stand in for her.”

We ran the show, with me as Mackenzie's temporary understudy. This took longer than usual, since every time I needed to make a note, I had to stop the action.

I shouted out lighting cues, which Deon jotted down. Unfortunately, we wouldn't get to actually rehearse with our donated lights until Thursday. Same went for the fans. Which reminded me . . .

“Maxie, make sure you put everyone's wigs on extra tight. That wind factor is going to make a big difference. And the last thing we want is a bald Athena.”

“Speaking of wind,” said Sophia, “I've been thinking that I'd like to add some kind of long flowing cape to my costume. It'll look great blowing and billowing in the breeze during
my ‘Men Are Pigs' solo.” She strutted to the costume area and chose a filmy drape of fabric from Maxie's costume collection. “Hmmm. This will do nicely.”

“But that's Penelope's cape,” said Maxie.

“Not anymore,” trilled Sophia, swirling the transparent cape around her.

“That's not fair,” Nora protested. “Maxie designed that for me.”

“Too bad,” Sophia said in an icy tone. “First Circe took your man, now she's taking your accessories.”

“Oh, no she's not,” said Nora through her teeth, reaching for the hem of the cape and attempting to jerk it out of Sophia's grasp. “And for the record, Odysseus went back to Penelope.”

“Let go!” Sophia demanded, tugging the fabric.

“You let go!” Nora shouted, pulling harder.

“I'm wearing it!”
Tug
.

“Not if I can help it.”
Pull
.

Riiiippp.

The next thing I knew, each girl was clutching half a cape. A collective gasp rose up from the cast as we all stared in shock at the tattered fabric.

“Wow,” muttered Teddy. “I'm sure glad they weren't fighting over Odysseus.”

To their credit, both actresses looked terribly guilty as they handed the pieces of ripped cape to Maxie.

“I think I can fix it,” said Maxie with a sigh.

“Good,” I said curtly, frowning at Sophia and Nora. “And when you do, I'm letting Athena wear it.”

Neither Circe nor Penelope gave me an argument.

With the exception of the cape catastrophe and Mackenzie's glaring absence, the rest of rehearsal went really well, which made me feel better. We got in the habit of taking SPF breaks every two hours so everyone could reapply their sunscreen.

“I bet this isn't something real Broadway directors have to contend with,” I joked to Austin.

On Tuesday, as predicted, we were delayed by the thunderstorm. (I triple-checked with Gina to make sure she'd put the painted backdrops inside the clubhouse the night before.) The waiting made me a little anxious, as I wanted every possible minute of rehearsal time we could get. But I told myself we could all use a little rest. And it was the perfect time for me to find out what in the world was going on with Mackenzie.

So I put on my rain jacket and Wellington boots, grabbed Dad's giant golf umbrella, and ran the two blocks to the Fleisches' house.

When Mackenzie answered the door and saw it was me, her face crumbled.

“Kenz, what's the deal?” I asked tersely.

“I was going to text you later,” Mackenzie said, her eyes darting away from mine. “I . . . um . . . well, I'm not going to be able to do the play.”

As I stared at her, my eyes round with shock, a loud clap of thunder shook the Fleisches' front porch. “You're kidding, right? Please tell me you're kidding.”

“I'm really sorry, Anya.”

“But why?” I asked, my tone softening at the sight of her trembling lower lip. “Did you pull a muscle? Are you sick or something? I don't understand. Why can't you be in the play?”

“I just can't.” Mackenzie shook her head, her eyes shining with tears. “I wish I could but I can't. Please tell everyone I said break a leg.” She paused, then added, “And good-bye.”

“Kenz—”

But the door had already closed in my face.

CHAPTER

21

By lunch the storm clouds had cleared—out of the sky, at least. I felt as if my heart were filled with them. In any case, I arrived at the amphitheater under a brilliant blue sky. Deon, Gina, and Brittany were hanging the backdrops while Austin set up the electronic keyboard.

“I've got some bad news,” I told the cast. “Kenzie's out.”

“Out?” Elle repeated. “What do you mean by ‘out'?”

“She can't be in the play.”

“Why?” asked Spencer. “She was doing so great as Greek Chorus Number One.”

I shrugged. “I don't know exactly why. She just said she couldn't be in the play. Maybe it has something to do with the change of date from Saturday to Friday. Maybe she's got a big audition or something.”

“Will she be back for the next show?” asked Nora.

“Of course she'll be back,” was my answer. But in truth, it was really just a guess, based not so much on Mackenzie having actually said she would, but on the fact that she hadn't said she wouldn't.

“This is a bit of a problem,” said Austin. “She's Calypso, and she's got that major dance number during the fight scene. And all the coolest battle moves depend on her. Not to mention all her newscaster lines.”

“I'm not too worried about the chorus part,” I said. “We can divide up her lines between the other newscasters. You guys all know her part, right?”

The actors who switched in and out of chorus roles nodded.

“Good,” I said. “That's solved. Maddie, I'm putting you in the role of Calypso. Can you learn the lines?”

“Sure,” said Maddie. “But I'll never be able to do those ballet moves.”

I thought for a moment. “Well, Calypso doesn't have to be a ballerina. You're a cheerleader, right?”

Maddie nodded.

“So maybe you can goddessize some of your cheer dance moves for Calypso.”

Maddie's eyes lit up. “I can so totally do that.”

Then I took a deep breath and turned to Becky. “Now
all we need is someone who can fill in for Kenzie during the battle scene.”

“What?” Becky looked terror stricken. “Anya, no. No way. Are you crazy?”

“It's a challenge,” I said. “But, Bex, you know the combat choreography better than anyone. And I'm sure after all those extra fight calls and rehearsals, you must have picked up Mackenzie's dance steps. You guys worked so closely on mixing the dancing into the sword fighting.”

Becky bit her lip. “Well, sure . . . I
know
the steps. I just don't think I could ever do them as well as Mackenzie did.”

“We're not asking you to do them as well as she did,” I said evenly. “We're just asking you to do them as well as you can. And don't sell yourself short. You can be really graceful when you want to be.”

“But you're asking me to do this in front of people,” said Becky. “I'm not a performer.”

Susan laughed. “Excuse me, but you are totally a performer. You play sports in front of crowds all the time. You do backflips off the high dive in front of a panel of judges!”