Bit Players, Has-Been Actors and Other Posers: A Must-Read for Fans of Glee, High School Musical and Twilight
Authors: S. Stevens
Tags: #General, #Fiction
BIT PLAYERS, HAS-BEEN ACTORS AND OTHER POSERS
by S.M. Stevens
Dedicated to my theatre-loving girls
This e-book contains links to YouTube videos of songs referenced in
Bit Players
. Click on the link and listen to the music while you read for maximum enjoyment. Or, visit
www.BitPlayers.me
for quick links to the songs. Many thanks to the performers, writers and publishers of the songs referenced in this book.
Copyright © 2011 by S.M. Stevens
All rights reserved.
Table of Contents
21: What Russian Novels Teach Us
25: The Difference Between Real Life and Make-Believe
1: Off-Kilter
O
H GOOD, THE HAY is sticking to my butt. It’s almost time.
“Court's adjourned!” my onstage father yells jubilantly.
I saunter out from stage left, my long braids thumping against my back, and head for center stage.
“Why, Ado Annie, where on earth have you been?” asks Aunt Eller.
“Will and me had a misunderstandin'. But he explained it fine,” I twang, brushing the hay off the back of my long red skirt.
The audience laughs. A giggle percolates in my throat but I squash it before it reaches my mouth. I smile widely and serenely instead, in character.
Two cowboys pull the surrey with the fringe on top off the stage, and we launch into the finale, the reprise of “Oh, What A Beautiful Mornin’”.
Way too fast, curtain call is here. We switch to singing a reprise of “Oklahoma”. Our voices are slightly hoarse after three shows in two days, but you can hardly hear us over the clapping so it doesn’t matter. Cast members take turns marching to center stage in small groups to be recognized. I get to walk on alone since Ado Annie is a pretty big role -– the biggest role of my career, in fact. The ruffles of my petticoat bunch up between my legs as I walk, threatening to ruin my perfect moment. As I curtsy, I reach back and yank at the miles of fabric that make up my costume. Success. My petticoat’s back where it should be.
I sneak in another curtsy, soaking in the applause -- the best sound in the world. I accept it like a gift in my open arms. Now to the back of the stage with the ensemble and other supporting actors, where I start singing again, watching the stars of the show take their bows.
I can barely hear myself as thirty voices blend into one. When we get to the “—homa, —homa” chant near the end of the song, the bows are done. We move forward as a mass for the final chorus. The audience loves us.
The curtain closes. It’s over. The entire cast whoops with joy. We bolt offstage and hug each other. On the second hug, I burst into tears.
*
I
ALWAYS CRY when a show ends. After weeks or months of rehearsing together – four weeks in the case of Dayton Community Theater’s summer camp production of
Oklahoma
– boom! You’re suddenly cut off from your show life and friends, just like that. Who cares that you eyed the other actors suspiciously the first day of rehearsal, wondering who was a better singer or dancer than you? Since then, we’ve all bonded to the point where we want the others to succeed – for the most part, anyway.
No more membership in the secret club of cast members -- a club where we share private jokes, have special access to backstage areas, and treasure intangible connections built over the past month. Staying in touch on Facebook isn’t the same. In normal life, we’re just normal kids doing normal things. When we’re creating a show, we’re doing something special.
When a show ends, I feel less than alive, like something vital is missing from the world. For a few days, my body will actually sizzle with leftover energy, the way I figure a tree must feel in the wake of a lightning strike. I crave a feeling I know I won’t have again.
Until the next show.
*
A
FTER
OKLAHOMA,
I CRASHED back into regular life. With a vengeance. Just weeks later -- three weeks into the new school year, to be exact -- junior year officially sucked. My post-show letdown after
Oklahoma
was a distant memory. What should have been the best year of high school – most of the seniority without the pressure of the rest of my life – was the absolute worst. The drama club I founded was on the verge of imploding, a hot foreign exchange student was mixing me all up, and my favorite teachers were fighting. Worst of all, I lost my best friend.
It’s not what you’re thinking on the best friend part. He didn’t die in a tragic car accident or waste away from some disgusting flesh-eating disease. Alex just went to California to stay with his cousins for the summer. But when he came back, he was a completely different person. Despite my love of drama, I am not being overly dramatic here.
Adrienne and I were digging through the junk in the dark corners of my garage, looking for Kato’s stuffed squirrel. My Belgian shepherd loved to take his favorite toy outside and tuck it away under a bush or even bury it, so he could “find” it again later. In his old age, though, he sometimes forgot where he left it, leaving me to locate it and restore order to his world.
“Hey, is Alex home?” Adrienne asked, squinting into the bright light outside the garage as a car pulled into the Holman’s driveway next door.
I looked up excitedly at the boy getting out of the car, then turned back to my search. “That’s not him.”
“He’s a legit hottie, whoever he is. Maybe we should go say hi.” Adrienne was already straightening her shirt and wiping the sweat off her face.
Hidden in the cobwebby shadows, I looked again. Actually, I stared at him – Adrienne was right about his hottie status. Specifically, I stared at the muscles bulging under his T-shirt as he swung his bag over his shoulder.
“Did Mrs. Holman sell her house or something while Alex was away?” Adrienne asked.
“No. Maybe his older brother cleaned up his act and came home,” I offered.
Then the boy looked up with Alex’s familiar, sea-glass green eyes. You know that color that’s bright green in the sun but bluish at dusk or on a cloudy day? No one else in the world has eyes that color. The shock of realizing that this gorgeous guy was my best friend knocked me off kilter, like the earth being nudged off its invisible axis, or the constellations being knocked out of alignment, stars scattering through the cosmos.
I didn’t understand. My old reliable Alex was five-foot-six like me, and gangly as a newborn giraffe. He had shaggy, dirty blonde hair, pretty bad acne (okay, horrible, stomach-turning acne at times) and braces.
This guy had surfer dude blonde hair, and was much taller than the boy who left for California when school ended. And on his face? Lots of clear skin and white teeth where the zits and braces should have been.
When he reached into the car for another bag, I ran inside the house like an idiot, hoping he hadn’t seen us gawking from the garage. Adrienne followed.
“Sadie, that’s him, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yeah, I guess,” I said, and changed the subject. But for the rest of the afternoon, while pretending to listen to music with Adrienne, I kept visualizing the buff guy next door, unable to connect him with the Alex I knew.
When Adrienne finally left, I consulted with Kato, lifting his grizzled black chin and asking what the big deal was.
“What’s the big deal?” I said. “So he looks a little different.” I searched my dog’s big brown eyes for guidance.
“What’s that you say? Alex and I have been friends since second grade so why didn’t I know he was turning from an ugly duckling into a swan?” Kato gave me a subtle doggie smile, or maybe he was just panting, but either way I think he was telling me I interpreted his look correctly. “Well, you see, Kato, Alex is a guy, in case you hadn’t noticed. So we didn’t write or talk on the phone while he was gone, and we barely texted, so I had no warning he was metamorphosing on me.”
Kato whined and rubbed his head against my knee.
“I know, I know. He’s still my Alex. Our Alex. I promise to go see him later and say hi. In the morning. When I look better.”
Kato licked my hand. Clearly he agreed with my plan.
*
A
LEX OPENED THE TORN SCREEN DOOR before I could knock.
“Hey, Sadie, come on in.” Never the hugging type, he barely glanced at me before letting the door smack against my outstretched hand. I followed him to his kitchen where he started spreading peanut butter on Ritz crackers. “Want some?”
I grunted a noise that meant no and started smooshing the crackers into sandwiches. “Let me do it. You always put them on wrong.”
“Whatever.” His short chuckle grew into a wide smile. I stared stupidly at his ridiculously straight teeth, no longer trapped in dull metal.
“Notice anything?” he asked, drawing his lips back into a grotesque, fake grin.
“Hmm, let me see.” I used his question as an excuse to scan his new body. Like I thought from the garage the day before, he stood way taller than a few months ago. Had to be almost six feet now. And built. He wasn’t the Incredible Hulk or anything, but he definitely had a lot more muscles than the scrawny friend I remembered. And he filled out his jeans a lot better than before.
“Dude? I got my braces off. Don’t I get a congratulations or something?”
I shook my head, breaking the trance induced by his new body, and moved my eyes above his shoulders.
“That’s awesome, Alex.” I smiled, hoping he couldn’t read in my eyes that the braces were only one of the positive changes he’d been through. “How’s it feel?”