Chapter Twenty “Opening Night. Again.”

twenty

" Opening Night. Again. "

Against all logic, I find myself once again at an opening night of Stage of Fools .

I've spent the last few days obsessing over Carrie Payne. Where the hell is she even staying? The best thing Plainview has to offer in the way of hotels is a Best Western. And that Best Western is far from the best. It's kind of disturbing that she's followed me all the way to my tiny hometown. What makes that woman tick? What makes any critic tick? I know there are fair critics out there. Critics who can give a well-considered and balanced assessment of a show. But that's not Carrie. Oh, sure, she gives the odd rave review here and there, but she does so almost begrudgingly. It's clearly more fun for her to be wittily jaded or jadedly witty. There's more entertainment in it for her to go after a particular script or score or actor or design element and put her acerbic analysis on display.

Where did she ever get a taste for that sort of thing? Was it the way she was raised? Did her mother look at her when she was a little girl and say, "Well, you're not very successful at being a little girl, now are you? I mean, what can we say about your eyes, Carrie, other than you've got two of them? And when you were talking just now, all that dialogue about your dolly? It was stiff and unbelievable. And I don't even know what you're trying to say with that hair. What's the subtext of the hairdo, Carrie? Well, I'd better type all of these thoughts up and send it to the local newspaper. Hopefully they can get it in the morning edition so everyone can read it before you get to kindergarten."

Hmm. Should I maybe feel sorry for Carrie Payne? Not a chance in hell.

Though I hadn't read her original review of Stage of Fools , word got back to me that she had used the phrase, "laughable solemnity at every turn."

So I won't be feeling sorry for that woman any time soon.

True to her word, Mom and Dad left early to pick up Luke's mom. I'm so nervous as I sit on the front porch waiting for Luke that I worry I might actually start to levitate from the stress. He pulls up wearing the same tie and plaid shirt combo from our first very official date. I hop in the truck and there's a small present waiting for me on the front seat cushion.

"Is this for me? Because I didn't get you anything and now I look like an asshole."

Luke grins. "I didn't expect you to get me anything. You've been distracted with tearing your show apart and putting it back together, so you don't look like an asshole. You look drop-dead handsome. Now, open it."

I tear the wrapping paper off and open the tiny box. Inside is a silver chain with a charm in the shape of the comedy and tragedy masks. Here's the thing. I hate the comedy and tragedy masks. They're hideously ugly and anyone who is in theater gets gifted all kinds of garbage with those faces embossed on them. They're obvious and cheesy. Tacky as hell. And this particular necklace will be cherished forever and never leave my body.

We kiss and then I tell Luke, "I sometimes think that you're too good to be true. That I might actually be hallucinating you. Or maybe this is like one of those very bad TV movies where you find out that it was all a dream."

"Well, if it is, let's never wake up."

"Deal."

Luke starts the truck's engine and I'm off to be crucified by The New York Times for the second time in less than two months. There's actually a huge crowd of people lining up outside when we get to the theater. From what I can remember, it was never like this when I was in shows as a kid.

I take a moment to consider the crowd. It's obvious that most of these people have never been to the Plainview Players' Theater before. Apparently tonight was just out of the ordinary enough to make them come and bear witness.

I remember the first musical I saw at this theater. It was a summer production of Oliver! I had no idea what I was in for, but when the curtain went up I was transported to another world. What is this place where people sing and dance and wear costumes? Where there are sets and lights and music playing? And when it was over, I refused to leave the theater. Mom tried to convince me that the performance was over. That they were done for the night. I was actually heartbroken. But then she explained that I could be part of the next show if I wanted to. And that was the moment I knew without a doubt what I had to do with my life.

Luke eyes the crowd. "Let's go around through the back."

We hightail it to the back entrance. Everyone backstage looks like they're about to have a panic attack.

Allison is running around adding finishing touches to the makeshift costumes. Louis is rambling like a madman through tongue-twisting vocal warm-ups. "Betty Botter bought a bit of bitter butter, but the bit of butter was too bitter for the batter, so Betty Botter bought a bit of better butter."

Jackie and Julia are doing their disturbing mirror exercise, when Jackie looks up and sees me and shouts, "Fracture an arm tonight, Noah!"

I smile nervously and nod. "You, too!"

Then I creep silently up to the stage curtain and try to get a glimpse of the audience without getting caught. There's Mom, Dad, and Sue. Sue is dressed up and even wearing a corsage for some reason. Mom is yammering nonstop into Sue's ear and thankfully making her laugh.

I also spot Anna Wong, dressed way too well for this Podunk town. And there's a bald guy holding flowers, who I assume is Melissa's husband. I recognize Audra Bogner from her Post-Dispatch bio picture. And there are a bunch of vaguely familiar faces of people I probably once knew, but have now completely forgotten.

Before I let the curtain drop and walk away, I spot her. Carrie Payne. A brittle, birdlike presence in all black and with a pixie haircut that looks like it would make your fingers bleed if you actually touched it. Her face is pinched as she scrolls through her phone. She occasionally looks up to generally scowl at the place. She seems like a supervillain from a movie, if that supervillain was really shitty at applying makeup and wore knockoff Chanel pumps.

What does it matter, Noah? In a couple of hours it'll all be over and you'll be forced to focus your efforts on the looming disaster that is Barbarella, The Musical!

The theater is quickly filling up to almost full capacity when Mrs. Henson whispers to me from the stage. "Noah, we're ready for you."

Ready for me? Ready for me to do what?

I notice the cast standing onstage in a circle and holding hands like the Whos from How the Grinch Stole Christmas . They're clearly waiting for me to make some kind of speech. I duck under a random pair of clasped hands and end up in the center of the circle.

"Well, here we are," I start out shakily. "To say that this has been a month full of surprises would be the understatement of the year. Who knew that Louis Jenkins has a voice that would make Norm Lewis want to throw in the towel? Who knew that Abby Gupta was the next Bob Fosse? Or that the McNew twins could teach my personal idol Patti LuPone a thing or two about diva-like intensity? And then there's Melissa, who makes the entire room weep until we run out of tears and our eyes turn to dust every time she sings. Although, in fairness, I really shouldn't single anybody out. Because all of you have brought every last part of yourselves to this show. Your dedication is something that even a few seasoned Broadway actors could learn from. Now, I know that the lead critics from both The New York Times and The St. Louis Post-Dispatch are out there. And that is batshit crazy and scary and, frankly, a little unprofessional on their part. But you know what? Fuck 'em. We're not doing this show for reviews. We're not even doing this show for pay, obviously. We're doing this show because we believe in the power of live theater. We're doing this show because we want to take that audience out there on a journey and make them laugh and cry and feel something. Working with all of you has not only made Stage of Fools better, it's also, I don't know, changed me on a personal level, somehow. Made me less of an asshole, maybe…"

"Let's not go overboard, Noah!" Jackie shouts out. Everyone laughs, including me.

"I walked right into that one. But seriously you guys…"

And of course, my voice is wavering and of course my cheeks are stained with tears, but I don't even care.

"This is the place that taught me to love theater. And now it's the place that returned that love of theater back to me. So I don't know how to thank you, I really don't."

I pause, because it's so profoundly true. How could I ever thank them enough? Maybe I can't, so I simply say, "Here's the crazy thing about theater. It's not like film or TV. It only exists for a moment when you share the same experience with an audience and then it's gone. That's the magic. It exists in real time and then it's gone forever. And all you get to keep is the memory of it. That's what makes it so precious. It's here and then it's gone. So don't waste a minute of it. Go out there and enjoy every single second. You've earned it."

There is hushed clapping and a bunch of hurried hugs and then I'm out the back door of the building.

I have a hard and fast rule to never watch my own show if a critic is there. But this is my one and only chance to see this new version of Stage of Fools in front of a real, breathing audience. So I circle the building and enter through the lobby. Just as the houselights are going down, I slip into the theater and stand far in the back.

My phone vibrates. It's Kiara. I made her promise not to come, but she hasn't forgotten. It's a picture of her and Stephen smiling wildly with their fingers crossed.

There's a murmur of excitement in the crowd as Mrs. Henson launches into "Who Loves Him Most?" The curtain rises and there stand my lovable collection of misfits.

Dressed in humble everyday clothing, they start singing. It's timid at first, but they start to gain confidence. And the subtle staging that Abby Gupta has added to the number helps build the tension.

By the middle of the song, they've hit their stride.

By the end of the number, they're downright triumphant. Since practically everyone in the audience is related to someone in the show, the applause is thunderous.

Things settle down and we're into the first book scene. My cell buzzes. I look down and see the name Valerie Wernsman. Anna Wong had given me her number and asked me to call her at some point. I've been putting it off. Shit! Knowing I have to take it, I hurry through the lobby and out into the parking lot.

I answer breathlessly. "Valerie, I'm so sorry, I've been meaning to call, but things have been a little hectic."

"Well, I thought we should at least speak once before you just pop up at rehearsal in a few days."

God is she frosty. Ugh. Smile pretty, Noah. She'll be able to hear it in your voice. "This is great. I'm really looking forward to meeting you in person."

"I also wanted to let you know that I'm not very happy that we're being forced into this situation, you and I."

Oh fuck. Keep smiling, Noah.

"Oh…I'm sorry. I know this might seem awkward at first, but I'm sure we'll figure it out."

"I'm just not sure why you were chosen. I mean, after all, your first Broadway show was hardly what you'd call a success."

My mouth drops open. So this is how we're going to play this? Fine by me.

"Well, you know, Valerie, my show did flop, but at least it was only once. Your show's flopped a grand total of three times. So congratulations on the trifecta and everything."

The line goes silent.

Recalibrate, Noah. Recalibrate.

"Sorry, that was shitty. I'm actually at a kind of family thing right now and emotions are running high."

"Just so I'm aware, what earthshaking ideas do you have for my show? I'd love for you to run them by me, because ultimately I will have full creative control."

That's not what I was told.

"Well, uh, Valerie, that's why I think the first day I get there, maybe the two of us can just sit down over coffee and you can tell me what it is that you're looking to, um, improve."

A deadly pause. "Improve?"

"Um, not improve. Tweak. Finesse. Sometimes, and I know this from personal experience, when you've worked on a musical for a long time, it helps to have someone with fresh eyes come in."

"That is the exact same thing my producers keep saying. But I'm not so sure you're that set of eyes, Noah."

"Well, your producers seem to disagree and they're the ones paying me."

Long pause.

"Well, just know that I don't plan on being open to any new ideas. Enjoy your time with your family."

She hangs up and I stomp back and forth in the parking lot for what seems like five years. Not only is it killing me that I have to tear myself from Luke for almost a year, but it'll be ten times worse that I have to spend countless hours with this walking nightmare of a woman who clearly has no intention of even trying to improve her broken down musical.

I take a deep breath and go back into the theater to find the McNew twins killing their duet. Killing it. The audience is collectively leaning forward toward the stage in rapt concentration. Jackie and Julia were always slightly comical in the roles before. But now, without the Shakespearean language and the over-the-top costumes, they're just two sisters competing for their father's love. And man, are they going at one another. They clearly have some hidden family issues that they've pent up over the years and they are on full display tonight. The song ends and for a moment you can hear a pin drop.

Then, another almost embarrassingly huge ovation.

And before I know it, we're near the end of the first act and Abby and Drew begin their eye-gouging movement piece. This might be tricky. It's a little avant-garde for Plainview, Illinois. But the audience actually gasps each time the red ribbons seem to get pulled out of Abby's eyes.

The act finishes and the curtain falls. The audience is murmuring loudly as the houselights come up and I go and hide outside behind a tree, because that's the kind of bravery I possess.

A few minutes later, the door to the theater opens and Mom and Sue come out both carrying wine in clear plastic cups. "Where's my sweet potato at? Where is he? Is he out here hiding behind a tree?"

I sheepishly walk around the tree and she sweeps me up into a hug, almost spilling her wine. "Oh, it's so good, Noah! It's beyond good! It's brilliant!"

When I finally extract myself from Mom's hug, I take a huge gulp of her wine.

"What do you think of the show, Sue? You can be honest. I can take it."

Sue thinks for a moment. "It's disturbing. I mean, in a good way. Makes you think about families and how they compete with each other and all. And I think that's good, if a show like this can get people thinking about how they treat other people. But what do I know? The only other show I ever saw here was Annie a hundred years ago. I couldn't stand it. Every time that little loudmouthed girl opened her trap to screech, I wanted to punch her in the face."

Mom bursts out laughing. "Sue is too much! We have been just cracking each other up!" Mom stops herself short and says solemnly, "Not during the show of course. We're paying very strict attention to your show, Noah."

The door opens abruptly and my blood runs cold as Carrie Payne steps out to light a cigarette. "Uh, ladies, I have to go check on some things backstage. Don't be late for Act Two!"

I run down the side of the theater and around to the back door as quickly as I can.

The cast is scattered about the wings, changing costumes and checking their makeup. Luke runs up to me. "It's going great, Noah! You've gotta know that, right?"

"I guess so."

He pulls me into a hug and I put my head against his neck and feel his familiar pulse thudding. He kisses me gently on the ear and then says, "I gotta go call places for Act Two. The houselights are at half!"

Since when did he start using phrases like "the houselights are at half"? The other night, as we were falling asleep and spooning, he muttered, "Do you think they're holding the button of the finale too long?" A button is the final pose of a musical number. And now big, masculine Luke Carter not only knows what it is, but is using it correctly in sentences.

Mrs. Henson launches into the entr'acte, so I trace my steps back around the outside of the theater and into the building once again. I take my place at the back of the theater as the second act starts.

Once again, everything seems to be happening faster and faster. Before I know it, Louis Jenkins is soaring through "Terrors of the Earth" and it seems like the entire place is fighting the urge to give him a standing ovation right in the middle of the song. When the final scene rolls around, it's time for the only new song I've written for the show. I silently pray that Melissa doesn't get too nervous or forget the lyrics.

Mrs. Henson starts the intro and Melissa steps into the light, the crown of oak leaves resting softly on her head.

Suddenly her face goes pale.

Oh, shit. I knew it was too much to throw at an amateur. Even a professional actor would be nervous to pull it off with so little rehearsal. Mrs. Henson plays the intro again, as if to jog Melissa's memory. Still nothing. Melissa just stares out into space.

The cast starts to surreptitiously look at one another, wondering what to do. This can't be happening. My show is horrifically tanking in front of Carrie Payne for the second time.

Melissa looks out weakly into the audience and inexplicably says, "Henry?"

Who the fuck is Henry? Is she actually so nervous that she's confusing King Lear with Henry V ? What the hell is going on?!

"Henry…I think my water broke."

A gasp goes through the crowd and before I know it, I'm sprinting toward the stage, side by side with the bald man I spotted earlier.

"Turn the work lights on!" I shout out, climbing onto the stage with Henry right behind me.

The fluorescents snap on as Henry and I reach Melissa at the same time. She's trembling and her crown of leaves has fallen to the floor. We flank her, each taking an elbow.

I look down to see Mom in full-on nurse mode, pacing back and forth at the lip of the stage and calling to us. "She's all right. You're all right, Melissa, honey. We just need to get you to the hospital. This is all totally natural. Henry, do you think you're in a calm enough state to drive her?"

Henry looks rattled, but puts on a brave face. "Yes, Mrs. Adams. I think I'm good."

"Okay, then. Let's everybody move aside and make a path for them to get off the stage and into their car."

Melissa turns to me with tears in her eyes and whispers, "I'm so sorry, Noah."

I whisper back. "Don't you dare apologize! You're gonna be just fine." And then I add. "And try to have a cesarean. They're just classier."

Melissa manages to laugh as everyone moves out of the way and Henry helps Melissa toward the stage door.

I turn and bend down to pick up Melissa's crown of leaves and remember that the whole crowd is looking at me. They're waiting on me to say something. To give them all permission to go home, I guess.

I clear my throat and a few audience members take their seats, but most just stand staring at me and wondering what the hell I'm going to say.

I might as well get this over with.

"So…" My voice actually breaks like I'm back in the throes of puberty. I clear my throat and apologize. "Sorry, just trying out a new voice there…So, for those of you who don't know King Lear that well…um, what just happened was not part of the play."

A nervous chuckle or two. Great. It's going great.

"I wrote a new song for this spot in the show. The only new song that we added to this production, actually. But fate is obviously a comedian, because our Cordelia's water just broke. So I guess that's that."

I feel the weight of a familiar hand on my shoulder. I turn around and realize that Luke is looking at me with an expression of total tranquility. I stop talking as he turns and addresses the audience.

"Hey, everyone. Um, so, I was here when Noah wrote this song. I got to watch him compose while I pretended to sleep right over there on that couch. I heard that song so many times, I don't think it would be humanly possible for me to ever forget it now. Noah hates his own singing voice, which I think is crazy. But if you'll let me, Noah, I'd like to sing your song for you."

The audience murmurs and the cast looks at one another as if they're not sure this is a good idea.

I give Luke a worried glance. "Are you sure about this?"

He nods. I shrug numbly and slowly leave the stage.

Luke, now wearing the crown of leaves, signals to a stunned Mrs. Henson and she begins to play. Luke opens his mouth and there's that gentle baritone that has no business hiding out in an ex-football player. Luke's face has an almost otherworldly serene quality and the melody just floats out of him and over the crowd.

Once angels rush me from this weary world

My words won't reach you from up above

Well, that's how heaven goes

And yet, heaven knows

I need you to hear the measure of my love…

The cast upstage of Luke stares at him in barefaced awe. It seems impossible that he's been hiding that beautiful voice all this time while he's been rewiring props and painting flats. The entire building is transfixed.

More than words can hold

More than breath can say

This helpless heart is yours

Till my dying day.

Should the moon turn black,

Or the sun turn cold

I will love you still

More than words can hold …

And though the song isn't written as an ensemble number, one by one the other cast members join in. Soon the entire stage is singing along on the final chorus. Mrs. Henson shamelessly slows the tempo and the song reaches a rafter-shaking crescendo.

More than words can hold

More than breath can say

This helpless heart is yours

Till my dying day.

Should the moon turn black,

Or the sun turn cold

I will love you still

More than words can hold…

There is one final modulation before the coda. Everyone sings the final lyric of the song at the top of their lungs. And to my surprise, I'm singing along with them from the audience without even the slightest hint of self-consciousness.

More than words could ever hold

A sensation of pure joy blooms inside my chest by the time the song finishes. And somehow it feels like I'm floating above the audience as they leap to their feet and applaud for what seems like days. And I know right then that no critic anywhere will ever be able to take that sensation away from me.