Someday, Someday, Maybe (7 page)

        OR I WILL MARRY THE MILLER’S SON

        PIN MY HAT ON A NICE PIECE OF PROPERTY

        FRIDAY NIGHTS FOR A BIT OF FUN

        WE’LL GO DANCING

        MEANWHILE …

(cough, cough)
Sorry. No, that’s okay, I’m fine. I want to do this for you. Let me start again …

CASEY
. Obviously you haven’t tried it yet, no offense, but thank God I caught you, because they just found out a banana has like SO much sugar in it, or too many enzymes or something, I forget exactly what the medical word is, but it’s some new discovery they just made and they’re telling everyone in Los Angeles first, but it turns out bananas are like so sugary or dense or something that I guess your body gets all confused and treats the banana like it’s a piece of cake …

CHARLIE
. Well, I wouldn’t say I would be amazing in it, although thanks for saying so. I think I’d just be okay in it. I mean it
is
sort of right in my wheelhouse, but I think you’d actually be great in it, I’m serious. I mean I could do it, I guess, and I probably would do it if they asked, but, I think my problem with it isn’t the play itself, but the guy who’s in it now, what’s his name? Anyway it doesn’t matter, I just think he’s not really acting so much as just smoldering or something up there, and I’m like, Buddy, you can’t just play every scene sexy, I mean, that’s not an active choice—the guy has to have some layers or something … No, I know, I know, they’re saying he might get
nominated
or something, that’s probably why he’s leaving, now that he thinks he’ll get an award he’s probably going off to do a film or something …

DON
.    
(sings)

        IT’S A PINCH AND A WIGGLE

        AND A GIGGLE IN THE GRASS

        AND I’LL PITCH THE LIGHTS FANDANGO

CASEY
.… and seriously, you might as well eat a whole cake as far as your body is concerned. Isn’t that so scary?

CHARLIE
. You know who he reminds me of? And this is not sour grapes, they just really remind me of each other. Come closer. James. Yeah, right? Fucking James in this class, man.

Upstage, we see Franny (late 20s, bad hair) turn her head toward Charlie
.

CHARLIE
(CONT’D). Like the girls all like him, but is he really gifted? Chill out, I
am
whispering. But there’s something a little phony about him, don’t you think? No one is listening, dude, relax. Why is everyone, like, so in love with the guy? It’s just an opinion. Anyway … whatever. I’m probably just bitter. I heard he just started seeing Penelope Schlotzsky, man. I’m pissed. I kind of had a thing for her. James and Penelope, man. Why do the beautiful, shallow people get all the breaks?

DON
.    
(sings)

        OR I

        SHALL MARRY

        THE MILLER’S

        SON

(cough, cough)
Really? You don’t know it? Uch. How is that even possible? It’s Sondheim!

The doors open, and the class files in. Franny is the last to enter, and as she closes the classroom doors, slowly, sadly, we:

BLACKOUT

5
 

You have four messages
.

BEEEP

Frances, it’s me, your father. I believe your Showcase appearance event is tonight. If we ever actually spoke, I would be able to wish you luck personally, but in these days of advancing technology I suppose I will have to settle for wishing you recorded, taped, good fortune. We’re starting
Heart of Darkness
next week. Please call me by
Lord of the Flies
at the very least. Also, about Katie’s wedding—oh well, not to nag—just give me a call
.

BEEEP

Franny, it’s Casey. I’ll meet you at the theater at five, okay? Can we run lines? I keep messing up that one speech where I confess to the murder. I’m totally freaking out, are you? See you tonight!

BEEEP

Hi, Franny, it’s Clark. Just, uh, seeing how you are. Call me
.

BEEEP

Dude, it’s cousin Katie. Your dad says you can only come to the wedding and not the rehearsal dinner ’cause you need to keep your shift on Fridays? Please don’t sweat it—I’m just glad you can come at all. I can’t wait for you to meet him. See you in June
.

     BEEEP

The applause is dying down, but the blood is still pounding in my ears so loudly I can’t tell whether it was the really appreciative kind of applause or the “we feel sorry for you” kind. My face is burning as I hurry offstage, still trying to make sense of what just happened—on this of all nights.

Before this, the thing worrying me the most was how miffed Herb seemed that I had to take a night off from the club, and the confusing fact that James Franklin asked for my phone number when he’s clearly dating Penelope. But in light of what happened tonight, everything I’ve worried about in the last two weeks—or ever, really—seems totally insignificant.

The scene with Casey went pretty well. I played a lawyer who interrogated her until she broke down and confessed to being the killer and wept, of course. While the stagehands whisked the table and chairs away, I had just a brief moment to change into my costume for the monologue in the tiny curtained area backstage. I don’t know what I was thinking.

Well, I
do
know what I was thinking. I was thinking that my character is supposed to have just had sex with her boss, so she’d be wearing a bathrobe, and she’d be naked underneath. I mean, I had underwear on, but no leotard or slip or anything, so that I’d have the extra feeling of, what? Vulnerability or something?
No one will know
, I thought. It would just be my secret, a secret between me and myself that I hoped would give me some special edge over the competition.

But then it happened.

Who falls onstage wearing nothing but a bathrobe?

Why? Why? Why? Why?

The monologue was going so well, too, or at least I think it was. I’m not sure of anything now. The audience seemed to be laughing in all the right places. That’s actually what threw me, I think. Their laughter threw my whole rhythm off—having to wait until it died down before I could continue. But still, it was all okay until I tried to sit down. The stage was just so dark. And the lights were in my eyes. It was like that dream I always have where I’m frozen onstage, confused about what play I’m supposed to be doing, so nervous I lose the ability to speak.

But it shouldn’t have been complicated to find the
one piece
of furniture on an otherwise bare set. A chair—just
sit
in a chair, how hard can that be? I should never have planned to sit; that was my first mistake. My character wouldn’t sit anyway—she’s too agitated about having just slept with her boss. Why did I ever decide she should sit? If only—
no, don’t think about it
.

And then I
just
missed the chair. Just by the tiniest bit. I could tell when I started to sit down that the chair wasn’t where I thought it was, wasn’t totally beneath me, but I thought I had it, I really did.

It’s just that Jane’s silk bathrobe is so slippery—much more slippery than the terry-cloth one I used in rehearsals. I was excited when she loaned it to me because it’s exactly the sort of sexy thing you’d wear if you thought you might sleep with your boss, and I thought the bold blue and white flowers would help me stand out. I should never have borrowed that robe. If only I’d stuck with the terry-cloth rehearsal one, none of this would have happened.

To my horror, the robe flew open as I slipped. I mean positively billowed open, as if I’d passed over a subway grate.

There’s no way at least some of the audience didn’t see at least some …

Oh God, don’t think about it.

And then what happened? Did I say something? I think I said something, after I thudded to the floor and scrambled to cover myself with the loose ends of the robe. There was a moment of awkward silence, and I didn’t know what to do, and it felt like everyone in the audience was holding their breath, waiting for me to say something.

What was it I said?

Oh yeah.

“WHO PUT THAT THERE?”

Oh no, is that what I said?

Yes, that was it. I have no idea why. It doesn’t even make sense.

“Who put that there?”

How stupid! I just couldn’t think of anything else.

They laughed though. I think they laughed. Maybe they gasped in horror. No, they definitely laughed when I said that. They gasped when I fell, that’s what it was. Was it a gasp of disgust, or were they merely expressing concern for my safety? I can’t remember. It doesn’t matter anyway. Either way, I blew it.

Maybe it wasn’t that bad, I try to convince myself as I emerge from the dark theater into the hallway where the dressing rooms are. Maybe no one saw anything too revealing. Maybe I caught the left half of the robe in time.

“Hey, Franny, nice ass.”

Oh Great. Charlie saw the whole thing. Everyone already knows. Everyone knows I fell. They saw everything. I’m humiliated.

“What’s that?” I say, trying to buy myself some time to figure out how to respond with dignity.

“ ‘Nice class,’ I said.”

“Huh?”

“Right? Everyone seems to be doing well tonight.”

“Oh, right. Yes, they do. Did you, by any chance, see my monologue?”

“No, sorry. But I heard part of it on the monitor. Sounded like you really went for it.”

“Oh, thanks. Yes, I do think I went for it, part of it at least.”

“Cool. Well, good luck with the callbacks.”

The callbacks
. I forgot about the callbacks. There’s probably no hope of one now. But maybe it wasn’t as bad as I thought. Maybe there’s still hope if only, I can’t help thinking—if only I stayed standing, if only I hadn’t missed the chair, if only I made better undergarment choices.

I want to ask someone how bad it was exactly, but the backstage area is so small that all the students here now are waiting for their turn and too nervous to talk. Anyone who could have been watching from the wings is probably downstairs now in the green room, smoking cigarettes and talking about themselves. As much as I want feedback, I don’t feel like going down there. I can face one person trying in vain to convince me it wasn’t so bad, but not a sea of pitying faces.

Instead, I duck out into the alley behind the theater. I figure I’ll just have a smoke and be by myself and maybe figure out what actually happened.

But of course, I’m not the only one who thought of the alley, either; five or six classmates are already out there smoking and talking in hushed tones.