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Authors: Barbara Ashford
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side. But the audience creamed over her voice, chuckled at Debra’s grumpiness, and cheered the orphans’ spirited rendition of “Hard Knock Life.” When Fifi made her entrance in Scene 2 and I heard that collective “Aww…” I knew we were going to be okay.
Suddenly, Fifi’s legs wobbled, and she lurched sideways.
“It could be worse. It could have happened opening night.”
Before I could do more than recall my mother’s words, Fifi regained her balance and began crawling on her belly toward Chelsea.
I slumped back in my seat, drenched by a wave of flop sweat. Maybe Fifi had stepped on something or gotten a cramp in one of her stumpy legs. It didn’t matter. She was fine now.
But Chelsea wasn’t. Instead of speaking the lead-in lines to “Tomorrow,” she just crouched there, staring at Fifi.
I’d run this scene half a dozen times with both girls. Amanda had broken down the first time Fifi appearedinstead of Arthur. If Chelsea had been shaken, she’d hidden it well.
But she was clearly rattled now. She took a series of deep breaths before she finally began to speak. Her voice was so high and quavering I barely recognized it. When she broke off, unable to say the line about taking care of Sandy, my fingers closed convulsively on Janet’s arm. She shook me off impatiently, her face screwed up in a frown of concentration.
Alex signaled the band to begin the intro to “Tomorrow.” They repeated the vamp once. Twice. A third time.
Oh God, oh God, oh God…
Chelsea’s head jerked up. For a moment, she stared out at the audience. Then her dazed eyes focused on Fifi. She flung her arms around the dog’s neck and began to sing.
Her voice was halting and uncertain at first. When she scrambled to her feet for the bridge, Fifi yipped once as if to encourage her. Chelsea nodded firmly and sailed through the rest of the verse with confidence.
“Good old Sandy” hit every cue during the dialogue interlude, crossing to Chelsea when called, jumping up to place her small front paws on Chelsea’s thighs, wagging her tail as Lieutenant Ward strolled off, and obediently trotting downstage for the repeat of the bridge.
Chelsea ruffled the curly fur on Fifi’s head. Then she stuck out her chin and grinned and belted the bejesus out of the D flat.
Goose bumps rippled up my arms. The audience broke into spontaneous applause. They quieted down immediately so they could hear the rest of the song. But when Chelsea hit the final note, they began to cheer and kept on cheering long after the music ended.
As soon as the lights came up for intermission, I rushed to the women’s dressing room and drew Chelsea into the corridor.
“Are you okay?”
She stared at the scuffed linoleum floor and nodded. “I’m sorry I screwed up.”
“You didn’t. The song was wonderful. The best you’ve ever done it.”
Her head came up. “Really?”
“Really.”
“It was just…when Fifi stumbled…all I could think of was…”
“Me, too. But you kept going. That’s the important thing.”
“It was funny. All of a sudden, I felt…”
“What?”
“It’s stupid.”
“Tell me.”
“It was kind of like…an arm around my shoulders. Not a real arm. Just something telling me that everything would be okay. I know that sounds totally lame—”
“No. That happened to me once.”
Rowan’s touch before “You’ll Never Walk Alone,” as reassuring as if he cradled me in his arms.
“Maybe it was knowing there were so many people rooting for you.”
“Maybe,” she said, clearly unconvinced.
“Well, whatever happened, you were a pro out there. I’m really proud of you.”
Her expression grew thoughtful. “You were right. About the song. I always thought it was stupid. But when I sang it tonight, it felt…real.”
“I had a song like that. In
Carousel
.”
Chelsea grimaced. “That ‘when you walk through a storm’ song?”
“You got it.”
When I grimaced, too, she surprised me by laughing. I
Suddenly, Fifi’s legs wobbled, and she lurched sideways.
“It could be worse. It could have happened opening night.”
Before I could do more than recall my mother’s words, Fifi regained her balance and began crawling on her belly toward Chelsea.
I slumped back in my seat, drenched by a wave of flop sweat. Maybe Fifi had stepped on something or gotten a cramp in one of her stumpy legs. It didn’t matter. She was fine now.
But Chelsea wasn’t. Instead of speaking the lead-in lines to “Tomorrow,” she just crouched there, staring at Fifi.
I’d run this scene half a dozen times with both girls. Amanda had broken down the first time Fifi appearedinstead of Arthur. If Chelsea had been shaken, she’d hidden it well.
But she was clearly rattled now. She took a series of deep breaths before she finally began to speak. Her voice was so high and quavering I barely recognized it. When she broke off, unable to say the line about taking care of Sandy, my fingers closed convulsively on Janet’s arm. She shook me off impatiently, her face screwed up in a frown of concentration.
Alex signaled the band to begin the intro to “Tomorrow.” They repeated the vamp once. Twice. A third time.
Oh God, oh God, oh God…
Chelsea’s head jerked up. For a moment, she stared out at the audience. Then her dazed eyes focused on Fifi. She flung her arms around the dog’s neck and began to sing.
Her voice was halting and uncertain at first. When she scrambled to her feet for the bridge, Fifi yipped once as if to encourage her. Chelsea nodded firmly and sailed through the rest of the verse with confidence.
“Good old Sandy” hit every cue during the dialogue interlude, crossing to Chelsea when called, jumping up to place her small front paws on Chelsea’s thighs, wagging her tail as Lieutenant Ward strolled off, and obediently trotting downstage for the repeat of the bridge.
Chelsea ruffled the curly fur on Fifi’s head. Then she stuck out her chin and grinned and belted the bejesus out of the D flat.
Goose bumps rippled up my arms. The audience broke into spontaneous applause. They quieted down immediately so they could hear the rest of the song. But when Chelsea hit the final note, they began to cheer and kept on cheering long after the music ended.
As soon as the lights came up for intermission, I rushed to the women’s dressing room and drew Chelsea into the corridor.
“Are you okay?”
She stared at the scuffed linoleum floor and nodded. “I’m sorry I screwed up.”
“You didn’t. The song was wonderful. The best you’ve ever done it.”
Her head came up. “Really?”
“Really.”
“It was just…when Fifi stumbled…all I could think of was…”
“Me, too. But you kept going. That’s the important thing.”
“It was funny. All of a sudden, I felt…”
“What?”
“It’s stupid.”
“Tell me.”
“It was kind of like…an arm around my shoulders. Not a real arm. Just something telling me that everything would be okay. I know that sounds totally lame—”
“No. That happened to me once.”
Rowan’s touch before “You’ll Never Walk Alone,” as reassuring as if he cradled me in his arms.
“Maybe it was knowing there were so many people rooting for you.”
“Maybe,” she said, clearly unconvinced.
“Well, whatever happened, you were a pro out there. I’m really proud of you.”
Her expression grew thoughtful. “You were right. About the song. I always thought it was stupid. But when I sang it tonight, it felt…real.”
“I had a song like that. In
Carousel
.”
Chelsea grimaced. “That ‘when you walk through a storm’ song?”
“You got it.”
When I grimaced, too, she surprised me by laughing. I
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