Chapter Four “Isn’t This a Great Idea?”

four

" Isn ' t This a Great Idea? "

The Plainview Players building was once an abandoned movie theater until the late 1980s when the group refurbished it in a pretty spectacular fashion. The art deco structure always stood out in our humble little town. It's overly grand and gaudy and I love it for that very reason. The place always smells like fresh paint because someone is constantly building sets in the back of the building. My heart leaps a little when we pull into the parking lot. The building was my second home when I was growing up. A refuge of colored lights and adorably homespun costumes. A place that encouraged singing and tap dancing and ridiculously outsized dreams of grandeur. Where the topic was never LeBron James and was always Patti LuPone.

Mom stops the car and turns to lecture me. She's dressed up but still has paint under her fingernails. And her tangle of gray and black hair is in its usual disordered state.

"So, honey, everyone put a lot of effort into this little celebration. So you can't offend these nice people. This might not be one of your New York City parties, but they did their best. So act grateful. Don't forget your manners. You can't be like a bull in a china shop right now."

Clearly, she thinks I'm some sort of monster.

"I'm not gonna be a bull in a china shop, Mom. I'm gonna be like…" I consider. "Like china in a china shop. Although, I've never actually been in a china shop."

Chase is sitting next to Mom in the front seat. He puts a consoling hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry. If he gets even the slightest bit flinty, you have my permission to publicly launch your sweet potato reverse exorcism."

I narrow my eyes at Chase. "Your betrayal has been duly noted."

Mom gives an exasperated look. "I don't understand why you can't just enjoy tonight."

I stare out the car window at the theater marquee. It reads, "Congratulations, Noah!" Congratulations on what? Trying and failing? Thinking I was more talented than I actually was?

And out of the blue, the truth appears in the car like a fourth passenger.

"I can't just enjoy tonight because…" And I try not to choke up. "Because I let them down. I let them all down." Both Mom and Chase look at me with such pity that I dissolve into tears on the spot. "I was supposed to come back here the conquering hero, you know? I wanted to make these people proud of me. I wanted to show them that all of the years they let me put on shows here paid off. And now I have to walk in there like the towering disappointment that I am."

Mom's voice is warm in a way that only Mom's voice can be. "You didn't let them down, Noah. You didn't let anyone down."

Chase reaches back to put a hand on my knee. "From what I can tell, you're the Plainview Players' favorite son. All they understand is that you made it to Broadway. They want to celebrate that fact with you. So let them. Pull yourself together and let them."

I nod. Marching orders received. I dry my face and stoically climb out of the car. I can do this. Everything is fine. When we walk into the theater lobby it seems smaller than I remember, but just as heartbreakingly lovable. The lobby's makeshift ticket booth that was repurposed from Lucy's psychiatrist office from a production of You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown . The crystal chandelier that some rich doctor's wife had donated to the theater and was previously seen onstage in Hello, Dolly! The concession stand has the aroma of stale popcorn that takes me back to when I was performing in their children's shows. And then there are the Plainview Players themselves, who give a hilariously large cheer as we enter the room. It immediately seems impossible that I ever considered not coming tonight.

"Oh, stop!" I shout over the cheering, with mock embarrassment.

The first person to approach us is my high school literature teacher and cheerleader of all things me, Marilyn Henson. She's dressed to the Plainview nines and smiling like a lunatic, and I love her for it. She's pleasantly plump and a giver of enthusiastic hugs. And unlike me, she would never say an unkind word about anyone.

"Noah, we are just pleased as punch that you came! I mean, Broadway! To have a show on Broadway, that is just such a feather in your cap!"

Chase looks on as Mrs. Henson gushes, charmed by it all. Mom has already abandoned us for a glass of wine and a couple of toasted raviolis.

"This is my boyfriend, Chase. Chase, this is Mrs. Henson."

"Oh, Noah, you're an adult now. You can call me Marilyn."

"You will always be Mrs. Henson to me."

She gives my right cheek three quick pats and we share a giggle.

Mrs. Henson turns her attention to Chase. "Now, Chase, I know we must look like a bunch of hayseeds to you, but we just love Noah so much we could eat him for breakfast."

Chase chuckles. "Yes, well, he does go quite nicely with an English muffin."

I interrupt before things get even weirder. "Mrs. Henson inspired my love for theater when she cast me as Moonface Martin in Anything Goes ."

Mrs. Henson giggles. "The part required a New York accent and Noah was the only one who could even come close to pulling it off."

"I did it up an octave for some reason. So think New York accent crossed with a very gay Jerry Lewis on cocaine."

"Oh, look! There's Melissa! She's been dying to see you! Melissa, come say hi to Noah and his friend, Chase!"

Thank God for Melissa Fazio. She's the only person from high school I even attempted to stay in touch with. We were always honest with one another to a fault. Like junior year when I had to tell her that her hair extensions made her look like a Bratz doll. Or the night before prom when she let me know that Day-Glo animal prints were not my friend. The only glitch in our relationship was when I tried to convince myself I was straight and I felt her up in the band room closet. After a few weeks of radio silence we decided to never speak of it again and fell right back into our old friendship. It isn't until Melissa turns around that I realize she is very, very pregnant.

"Hi, Noah. Congratulations on everything!"

"Holy crap! How did I not know you were pregnant?"

"Um, maybe because I only see you at Christmas and you haven't been home for three years?"

I hang my head in shame. "I suck at keeping in touch. Tell me everything. Are you married now or are you carrying someone's bastard child?" I ask.

Mrs. Henson gives out a shocked, "Noah!"

Melissa laughs it off. "It's okay, Marilyn. This is how we talk to one another. I'm glad we got our old rhythm back so quickly. So, Noah, if you must know, I got married three years ago. I didn't invite you because I knew you were too busy to come. I'm magnanimous like that. I'm not one of those people who sends a nonvitation just to rack up wedding gifts."

I shake my head and smile. "You always were a class act. What's your husband like?"

"I just so happen to be married to a very bald and very loving pharmacist. He gives me a lady boner every time I look at him."

Mrs. Henson titters nervously. "Oh, you kids. Let's watch the language."

Melissa is clearly annoyed at being chastised. "Jesus, Marilyn, lighten up. Go grab a merlot."

"That sounds like a very good idea."

She disappears into the crowd and Melissa turns to Chase. "I'm Melissa, one of Noah's friends that he discarded when he moved to the big city. But he once talked me out of getting a Flo Rida tattoo, so he's forgiven for abandoning me."

I take the opportunity to look at Chase through Melissa's eyes. The Clooney eyebrows, the thick black hair slicked back to perfection, the shoulder muscles giving his shirt seams a run for their money. I stand a little taller. How is all of that mine?

Chase shakes Melissa's hand, all smiles. "It's wonderful to meet you. This little trip has given me a much clearer picture of Noah's childhood. It's been very enlightening, to say the least."

"Have you met anyone else from his Plainview High days?"

"Only the controversial Luke Carter."

Melissa breaks into a knowing smile. "Oh, yes. Good old Luke. He's here somewhere."

"Whoa, wait, what? Luke is here? What the hell is he doing here?"

Unbelievable. He's like a six-foot-something piece of gum that I can't unstick from my shoe.

Mom's back and handing Chase a plate of toasted ravioli. "They're from St. Louis!"

"We know, Mom!"

"Well, I think it's a very thoughtful touch. And if you're not going to introduce Chase around to everyone, then I will." She grabs Chase's arm and whisks him away.

Melissa watches them go. "So, you snagged yourself a hot piece of ass."

I smile, satisfied with myself. "He gives me all kinds of lady boners."

"Not to be rude, but what's with your mom's hair?"

I shrug. "It's never known a friendly chemical."

Melissa's eyes light up. "Well look who's here! Speak of the devil and the devil pops up."

I turn to see Luke lingering behind me. We stare at one another like a couple of idiots. He's wearing a tragic sports jacket that happens to be more misguided than a Frank Wildhorn musical. Is he actually making an effort?

Luke gestures to the room. "So, this is pretty cool, right? I mean, look at all of these people. Quite a turnout."

I remember my vow to play nice. "I guess so. So, what…what are you doing here?"

"Your dad always helps the Players build their sets. He started because of you, obviously, but now it's just kind of a hobby of his. He asked me if I'd help out, since he's getting older and moving slower."

Melissa launches into brag mode. "Luke built an actual turntable for our production of Fiddler on the Roof . I mean, it was automated . The people over at the Irvington Community Theater were green with envy."

Luke gets humble and shrugs. "It was just a wooden disk and a bunch of casters."

Melissa refuses to back down. "It was more than that. Believe me, Noah, you've never sung ‘Anatevka' until you've sung it on a revolving floor. There wasn't a dry eye in the house."

And with that, big, macho Luke actually starts to blush. "Just a wooden disk and a bunch of casters," he repeats.

Melissa gives Luke a playful shove. "It was magic. And the set he built for Chekhov's Four Sisters !"

I stop her. " FOUR Sisters ?"

"Well, so many women auditioned that we had to add a sister. We had two Mashas."

Bite your tongue, Noah. Just bite it until it bleeds.

Melissa pauses and eyes me up. "So, it's got to feel strange to be back here. But we all knew you'd make it someday. You always knew exactly what you wanted back in high school. You were always busy writing your plays—"

"Musicals." I can't help but correct her.

"Musicals and directing them and putting them on here and carrying a briefcase…"

And now it's my turn to blush. "Oh God, I did carry a briefcase. What the hell was that all about?"

Melissa laughs. "Oh, you were all business. You were way more evolved than the rest of us backpack carriers. It was like the rest of us were kids, but you were already a grown-up, hyper-focused on the career you wanted to have. And look at you now. You've made it all happen. You're a Broadway writer. It's just crazy, you know?"

I can't help myself and blurt out, "A failed Broadway writer. My career is officially a garbage fire with extra tires."

Melissa's smile turns slightly strained, and it becomes clear to me that the demise of Stage of Fools has been fodder for gossip amongst the Plainview Players.

And then Luke butts in. "But you did have a show on Broadway, right?"

"For one night."

"Doesn't that still count?" Luke asks.

Melissa's curious, too. "Yeah, Noah, doesn't that still count?"

They're both staring at me as if I'm withholding information about a very secretive club. I try my best not to look like a petulant toddler. "I don't know…I guess."

I turn to catch Chase staring at me from across the room. Wait—no, not me. He's staring at Luke and I'm instantly flooded with adolescent jealousy. And I remember the reason Luke Carter is here in the first place. Because of Dad. And now my boyfriend of almost two years is staring at him like a hungry wolf that's stumbled upon a buffet of human babies. Fucking Luke Carter. Is there no relationship of mine he can't steal?

Blatant disdain must be clearly written all over my face, because Luke asks carefully, "Everything okay, Shakespeare?" He catches himself. "Noah, I mean."

Before I can answer, someone starts clinking a glass. Oh God, please don't let anyone make a speech.

It's Mrs. Henson, her teeth stained with red wine. "Can I have everyone's attention? We'd like you all to move into the theater now."

People slowly drift into the auditorium and start taking seats. I quickly find Chase and Mom. As we sit, I can't stop myself from whispering to Chase, "Were you checking out Luke Carter or am I seeing things?"

Chase is immediately dismissive. "You're hallucinating."

Far from mollified, I shift my attention to the old stage and let nostalgia wash over me. The dusty red velvet curtains with gold fringe frame the proscenium like an outrageous wig. A new silver drop that I've never seen before covers the rest of the stage as if it's concealing some kind of mystery prize on The Price Is Right .

"Looks like they've got some big presentation prepared," Chase says.

"Yikes. I hope they don't want me to reprise my role as the enchanted boulder in Robin Hood . I don't remember my lines."

Mom overhears and says, "You didn't have any lines. Just pure stage presence and very expressive eyes. You stole the show."

Once everyone is seated, Mrs. Henson takes the stage, working a microphone like a small-town politician running for office.

"Thank you all for coming here tonight. What a crowd! I've never seen the parking lot so full. Now, we all know why we're here. We're here to celebrate the Broadway debut of our native son and pride and joy, Noah Adams!"

Thunderous applause.

Chase looks completely touched by the enthusiasm.

I whisper into his ear, "I'm going to need approximately forty-six blow jobs tonight to help me forget this."

Chase chuckles. "I'll put a reminder in my iPhone."

I scan the auditorium and catch Luke's eyes. He's sitting several rows away and has removed his hideous sports jacket. He gives me a smile and a nod as if we're best friends. Does he think I've forgiven him for how he used to treat me? Or doesn't he even remember torturing me at all? I'm not sure what's more upsetting. Anger flashes over me and I refuse to smile back at him. In honor of scrawny teenage Noah, there will be no smiles for Luke Carter this evening. It must be obvious how I feel, because Luke's grin evaporates into thin air.

Mrs. Henson continues on. "Now, Noah, you're gonna hate me, but I'm gonna need you to join me onstage if this whole thing is gonna work here."

I should have known I'd have to say something. I also should have listened more carefully to the phrase "this whole thing." But I doggedly get up and climb the steps to the stage. Mrs. Henson gives my arm a squeeze as everyone giggles like the munchkins from The Wizard of Oz .

"So we've been a little sneaky here at the Plainview Players. Brace yourself, Noah, because you're in for a surprise!"

The fake smile plastered across my face is so tight it hurts. Surprise? I don't do surprises. I'm terrible with surprises. They throw off what little balance I have.

"So I'm just going to ask our fabulous volunteer stage crew to go ahead and raise the drop so we can end all this suspense."

A bunch of clapping and hooting from the crowd and I feel a whoosh of air as the stage drop ascends into the rafters behind me. The proscenium is immediately bathed in colored light and it takes my eyes a couple of seconds to focus. When they do, I'm gobsmacked to see a set that is an exact replica of the Broadway version of Stage of Fools .

I look at Mrs. Henson with what I can only assume is an expression of abject terror. "What is happening?"

Mrs. Henson looks practically giddy. "Well, we've spoken with your agent, Chase, and he's given us the rights to do the first amateur production of Stage of Fools ! So the million-dollar question is: Will you direct it for us? Will you direct our production, Noah?"

I look into the audience in complete confusion. I can't see Chase because of the lights. I can't see anyone, but I can feel their hopeful looks rushing toward me in an avalanche that might as well be labeled "Isn't This a Great Idea?"

And then I say with a little too much force, "Oh, God, no!"

I'd like to say I imagined it, but I'm pretty sure there was a communal gasp. So, I give a painfully awkward chuckle and add, "You guys are kidding, right?" And it quickly becomes horribly apparent that they aren't.

"Oh. Huh." The room is so frozen we might as well have been packed inside an enormous gelatin mold. "I'm…I'm gonna have to get back to you on that."