Just in Time. Suzanne Trauth
really acting. You play a cop. Second, all you do in the scene is blow a whistle and interrupt the onstage chaos—like you do in Etonville. Third, it’s your civic duty to support the town and its citizens. The mayor is certain this will bring positive PR to the municipal building.”
“My civic duty is preventing crime and keeping the town safe,” he argued and drank his wine.
“Chrystal told me today she needs you to try on your costume,” I said.
“Why can’t I wear my Etonville PD uniform?”
“Because it’s a show and you’re an actor.”
“You said I wasn’t acting.” He wiped his hands on the napkin and pushed his plate away.
Bill was being ornery. “This will be fun. You’ll see,” I said with more enthusiasm than I felt. Maybe it wasn’t such a hot idea to have Bill play a police officer in Bye, Bye, Birdie. Even if his onstage presence lasted seconds. It seemed like a nice gimmick at the time. Lola bought into it. Walter was skeptical.
“Any more opinions on vacation?” Bill asked.
We’d been discussing summer plans for weeks now. I wanted to spend some time down the shore in August and he was itching to travel to the great outdoors in upstate New York. Camping, fishing, rafting, and generally, according to Bill, communing with nature. I would be communing with bug spray and a bottle of wine. We had yet to come to an agreement.
“I have to make reservations at the campground,” he said.
I hated to throw shade on his plans but…“Maybe we should think about this some more.” I moved out of the booth. “Gotta get to the rehearsal. Talk later.”
“But Dodie—”
“I’ll have your costume delivered to the municipal building tomorrow.”
* * * *
“O’Dell, this is going to put us on the map—doing a show all frisky,” Penny said and slapped her clipboard against her stocky body. Penny Ossining, stage manager, was Walter’s most loyal minion, a trusted sidekick for many years, a longtime veteran of the Etonville Little Theatre, and part-time worker at the Etonville post office. She saw herself as the cornerstone of the community theater, and loved to dole out theatrical wisdom. Her whistle was legend among theater folks.
“You mean…al fresco? It’s Italian for outside.”
Penny squinted at me. “Whatever. It’s in the park. First time for the ELT.”
“Lola said it’s the first time for the Creston Players too.”
“Yeah.” Penny jerked her head over her shoulder and watched Walter in the center of Etonville and Creston high school students who were playing Conrad Birdie’s fan club. They were rehearsing their fainting spell for the moment when Birdie propelled his pelvis at them. They practiced standing, then falling, then standing again, then falling again—until they were laughing hysterically and Walter threw up his hands in frustration. “You are squealing when you should be swooning!”
The kids gawked at their director, shrugged, and remained on the floor.
“Squealing is an exhale.” Walter let loose a high-pitched whine that brought the entire theater to a standstill. “Swooning is an inhale! It’s a moment of awe! Of astonishment! You are overcome by the presence of Birdie!” He took a deep breath in, fluttered his arms, and plunged to the floor. The kids guffawed. “On your feet,” Walter ordered.
He wasn’t too keen on this co-production enterprise.
“You’re right. Walter hates this co-pro stuff.”
Penny was still in my head. How did she do that? “Maybe next year you’ll do Shakespeare in the park. You know, like Central Park in New York,” I said.
“O’Dell, you crack me up.” She checked her watch. “Time to round up the troops.”
“10-4.”
She blasted her whistle, and the sound waves reverberated off the walls of the Etonville Little Theatre. The cast and crew were holding their ears. Lola and Dale, sitting in the back of the theatre, their heads together, were oblivious. Yowza. She had it bad. Penny prodded and threatened and, gradually, the cast gathered in the first rows of seats. Walter lectured them on the challenges of performing outside—gnawing mosquitos and humidity doing a number on their make-up. The ELT crowd was used to Walter’s eccentric tutorials, but the Creston actors displayed a collective “Huh?”
“Lola? Lola, could you come up here?” Walter called out plaintively, eyeing the two leads in the midst of their cozy tête-à-tête. “I need your opinion.”
Lola and Dale moved down a side aisle of the theater. Lola was smashing in a snug, black, knit top, her blond hair flowing gently around her face. You’d never know she had a daughter in college. Dale was dressed in a blue knit shirt that accentuated his muscular physique. Lola squeezed her leading man’s hand as he joined some actors in the first row, and she made her way to Walter’s side. I couldn’t help but notice Dale’s straight jet-black hair—a toupee all right. Looking at Dale’s hair reminded me that my own auburn waves were due for a trim. I needed to call Snippets in the morning.
A hacking cough interrupted my train of thought. It was Ruby, the rehearsal accompanist. She was one of Creston’s contributions to the co-production. Word was she’d been working with the Players for a number of years. Mid-seventies, wizened, with close-cropped gray hair, Ruby was an inveterate smoker who had to decamp to the loading dock for a cigarette during breaks. Always in the same uniform—sneakers, rumpled trousers, and an over-sized button down shirt— she was also something of a musical savant. She could scan a score and then play it by heart. “Hi Ruby. How did it go in the park last night?” Lola mentioned that Ruby, Walter, and some crew set musical cues in preparation for the “all frisky” tech tomorrow.
She coughed. “That Walter’s a horse’s patoot.”
She’d hit the nail decisively on the head. “Hard to take sometimes?”
She hacked again, letting out puffs of breath smelling of alcohol. Ruby carried a hip flask in her bag and usually had a few nips during her smoke breaks. “I’ve worked with the best of ’em and the worst of ’em,” she said, her voice raspy. “Him? They broke the mold.”
“Well…as long as the show gets up.” I was channeling Penny.
“Hah. I told the Players this two-theater thing would be a disaster. Bunch of amateurs and no-talents.”
Was she referring to Etonville or Creston actors—or both? Might as well shift to more pleasant territory. “Lola said you’re a terrific accompanist.”
Ruby studied me. “What’s your name?”
“Dodie. I manage the Windjammer next door,” I said, nudging her memory.
Ruby’s watery eyes glimmered. Then narrowed. “Oh. That crummy restaurant. Tried to eat the food. Made me sick.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I said politely.
“Well. At my age lotta stuff makes you sick,” Ruby said. “Getting older’s not for sissies.”
Out of nowhere, I felt for her. Maybe her life wasn’t so easy. “I guess not.”
“You’re young but some day you’ll see it.”
See what? Walter motioned to Ruby to join the musical combo sitting in the pit below the stage. “It was nice to talk—”
“You married?” Ruby asked.
“Me? No! Not yet.” I said awkwardly.
“Good. Lemme give you some advice.”
Over her shoulder, Walter was anxious to get the rehearsal underway. Penny signaled the actors, and Lola gazed into Dale’s rugged face.
“Stay