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Authors: Barbara Ashford
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tried to remember if I’d ever heard her laugh before. It made her seem less of a world-weary adolescent and more like…a kid.
“Watch it,” I warned her. “Or thirty years from now,you’ll be back on this stage singing about clambakes and June bustin’ out all over. Unless, of course, you’re on Broadway. In which case, I expect you to tell everyone that working at the Crossroads changed your life.”
She laughed again, and I sent her back to the dressing room to prepare for Act Two. As I turned toward the men’s dressing room, I discovered Debra standing outside one of the bathrooms. I raised my eyebrows in silent inquiry.
“Not bad,” she admitted. “Maybe there’s something to all this touchy-feely crap you and Alex have been dishing out. For the kids, anyway.”
It was as close to a compliment as I was as likely to get from Debra, and I acknowledged it with a smile.
Janet’s seat remained vacant after the house lights went down for the “Entr’acte.” When she finally appeared, the stage lights were coming up for The Oxydent Hour of Smiles radio show, giving me no opportunity to ask about her role in averting Chelsea’s meltdown.
Both versions of “Fully Dressed” worked like a charm. Less charming was the interminable Cabinet meeting, but Otis won the restless audience back with “Something Was Missing.” His slow waltz with Chelsea standing on the toes of his wingtip shoes provoked sighs. So did Chelsea’s reprise of “Maybe” which had all the bittersweet longing I could desire.
When the Secret Service agents led off Rooster, Lily, and Hannigan, the audience cheered. They even clapped along to the horrible reindeer number. And when it was all over, they gave Chelsea a standing ovation. Of course, Annie
always
got a standing ovation. I was more relieved to see the cast smiling and clowning during their curtain calls.
Maybe I would never be able to heal the wounds of the Mackenzies or help people find their paths in life or create the ineffable magic that held an audience spellbound. But I had helped Chelsea and Amanda and Otis. And with the staff’s talent and dedication and just a dashof magic, the new Crossroads Theatre would be a success.
After the house lights came up, I was surrounded by board members and neighbors and parents. I made the kind of gracious remarks every director offers at such moments: “I’m so glad you enjoyed it.” “The credit really goes to the cast.” “Yes, they were wonderful.” It was more professional than screeching, “We pulled off a fucking miracle!”
After a brief detour to the Dungeon to congratulate my cast, I headed to the breezeway to make the rounds of newspaper critics and theatre “Angels” and indulge in hugs with my staff. I kept an eye on the stage door, waiting for the cast to appear, eager to see the reaction of their relatives.
Chelsea looked embarrassed but proud when her mom burst into tears. Paul and his wife broke into an impromptu duet of “Fully Dressed.” Otis’ face lit up when he spied Viola, then went utterly blank when he saw his children standing behind her.
As he covered his face with his hands, the trio made their way over to him. Otis’ son awkwardly patted his shoulder. His daughter hugged him. Viola’s gaze met mine and we shared a conspiratorial smile. I didn’t know how much persuasion—or bullying—it had required, but she had gotten them up here. I just hoped that sharing their father’s triumph would help them see him with new eyes.
“Was that your doing?”
I turned to find Lee watching the family reunion, too.
“Not really. Viola and I both had the same idea.”
“I remember when my mom came up to see me in
West Side Story
. It was the first time she and Reinhard had spoken in…God…forty years? And when Hal’s mom dragged his dad from California to see the first show he designed.”
And when Mom broke down after listening to me sing “You’ll Never Walk Alone.”
“This is
“Watch it,” I warned her. “Or thirty years from now,you’ll be back on this stage singing about clambakes and June bustin’ out all over. Unless, of course, you’re on Broadway. In which case, I expect you to tell everyone that working at the Crossroads changed your life.”
She laughed again, and I sent her back to the dressing room to prepare for Act Two. As I turned toward the men’s dressing room, I discovered Debra standing outside one of the bathrooms. I raised my eyebrows in silent inquiry.
“Not bad,” she admitted. “Maybe there’s something to all this touchy-feely crap you and Alex have been dishing out. For the kids, anyway.”
It was as close to a compliment as I was as likely to get from Debra, and I acknowledged it with a smile.
Janet’s seat remained vacant after the house lights went down for the “Entr’acte.” When she finally appeared, the stage lights were coming up for The Oxydent Hour of Smiles radio show, giving me no opportunity to ask about her role in averting Chelsea’s meltdown.
Both versions of “Fully Dressed” worked like a charm. Less charming was the interminable Cabinet meeting, but Otis won the restless audience back with “Something Was Missing.” His slow waltz with Chelsea standing on the toes of his wingtip shoes provoked sighs. So did Chelsea’s reprise of “Maybe” which had all the bittersweet longing I could desire.
When the Secret Service agents led off Rooster, Lily, and Hannigan, the audience cheered. They even clapped along to the horrible reindeer number. And when it was all over, they gave Chelsea a standing ovation. Of course, Annie
always
got a standing ovation. I was more relieved to see the cast smiling and clowning during their curtain calls.
Maybe I would never be able to heal the wounds of the Mackenzies or help people find their paths in life or create the ineffable magic that held an audience spellbound. But I had helped Chelsea and Amanda and Otis. And with the staff’s talent and dedication and just a dashof magic, the new Crossroads Theatre would be a success.
After the house lights came up, I was surrounded by board members and neighbors and parents. I made the kind of gracious remarks every director offers at such moments: “I’m so glad you enjoyed it.” “The credit really goes to the cast.” “Yes, they were wonderful.” It was more professional than screeching, “We pulled off a fucking miracle!”
After a brief detour to the Dungeon to congratulate my cast, I headed to the breezeway to make the rounds of newspaper critics and theatre “Angels” and indulge in hugs with my staff. I kept an eye on the stage door, waiting for the cast to appear, eager to see the reaction of their relatives.
Chelsea looked embarrassed but proud when her mom burst into tears. Paul and his wife broke into an impromptu duet of “Fully Dressed.” Otis’ face lit up when he spied Viola, then went utterly blank when he saw his children standing behind her.
As he covered his face with his hands, the trio made their way over to him. Otis’ son awkwardly patted his shoulder. His daughter hugged him. Viola’s gaze met mine and we shared a conspiratorial smile. I didn’t know how much persuasion—or bullying—it had required, but she had gotten them up here. I just hoped that sharing their father’s triumph would help them see him with new eyes.
“Was that your doing?”
I turned to find Lee watching the family reunion, too.
“Not really. Viola and I both had the same idea.”
“I remember when my mom came up to see me in
West Side Story
. It was the first time she and Reinhard had spoken in…God…forty years? And when Hal’s mom dragged his dad from California to see the first show he designed.”
And when Mom broke down after listening to me sing “You’ll Never Walk Alone.”
“This is
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