Look Both Ways(63)

Bob’s office is cluttered and cheerful, the walls crowded with framed Allerdale show posters and children’s drawings. Barb and Marcus are seated on either side of the desk, and the third-rotation stage managers, Lauren and Magdalena, are crammed into narrow folding chairs against one of the walls. Russell and I sit down in the two remaining seats, and Bob boosts himself up onto his desk like a little kid and plunks down right on top of a pile of papers. I see the word “INSURANCE” poking out from under his thigh.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we’ve called you here,” he says.

“Yeah,” Russell says, at the same time that I blurt out, “Are you kicking us out?”

Bob laughs. “No, of course not! Far from it. We have a proposal for you, actually. You two were the brains behind A Midsummer Night’s Dreamgirls, correct?”

I nod. “I mean, the cast helped. But yeah, we wrote pretty much all of it.”

“Wonderful. As you know, we’re in a bit of a bind right now. We’re down a performance space, but we can’t cancel any of the actors’ contracts or shorten the run of either Birdie or Macbeth. We considered trying to run the shows in repertory in Legrand, but we don’t have the resources or the crew to do that many changeovers. So we wondered if the two of you might be interested in helping us create a new show, one in which the actors from both casts could perform.”



We’re both silent for a minute, and then Russell says, “Wait. You want us to write another mash-up?”

“Precisely! A full-length one, this time. We were thinking the original Macbeth actors could perform most of Shakespeare’s text as planned, and you two could rewrite all the lyrics to the songs from Birdie to fit in with Shakespeare’s story. Whenever it was time for a song, the Macbeth actors would leave the stage, and identically dressed Birdie actors would take their places and sing. That way, everyone can be included, and everyone can play to their strengths.”

“It’s not a perfect solution, of course,” Marcus says. He’s obviously disgusted by the whole idea.

“But it’s the best one we can think of on short notice,” Bob says. “What do you two think?”

Russell and I look at each other, and the stunned expression on his face mirrors my feelings exactly. This whole Shakespeare-musical mash-up thing was supposed to be a silly joke. And now this is happening?

Bob must take our silence for reluctance, because he starts talking again. “We wouldn’t be able to compensate you properly for all your hard work, and I’m sorry about that, but we can offer you a small stipend. And you’d be released from any prior obligations, of course—crew calls and assistantships and whatnot. We’d need you in rehearsals full-time.”

“I’d get to withdraw from Se?or Hidalgo’s Circus of Wonders?” I ask.



“Do you have a large role?”

I sneak a glance at Russell, and we both bite back a laugh. “Replacing me shouldn’t be a problem,” I answer.

“Perfect. Consider it done. So? What do you say?”

No more ridiculous ensemble work and slam poetry and pretending the floor is made of tar. No more gluing sequins or sorting screws. No more master classes that reinforce my lukewarm feelings about performing. I’d get to be in charge of something again, to immerse myself in work-that-doesn’t-feel-like-work for more than a fleeting twenty-four hours. I’d get to mess around on the piano with my friend all day every day, and I’d get paid for it. For the last three weeks, Allerdale could be exactly what I want it to be.

“I’m in if you are,” Russell says. His fingers are tapping his thighs like they can’t wait to get to a keyboard.

“Let’s do it,” I say. “We can call it Bye Bye Banquo.”



Russell and I arrive late to the company meeting and lurk near the back of Legrand as Bob makes an announcement about the new show. People congratulate us over and over as they pass us on the way out the door, and a couple of girls even ask us to make sure they get solos. I hear a lot of grumbling, too—two non-eqs from Macbeth complain that their serious show is being “tainted” with songs, and a few girls from the Birdie ensemble bitch about how they’ll need to learn all new choreography. But the only reaction I really care about is Zoe’s. Her beautiful lead role is being snatched away from her, and I’m afraid she won’t take the news well. Even though none of this is my fault, I’m so involved in the new show that I’m scared she’ll blame me anyway.



But when she spots me near the theater door, she breaks into a huge smile and throws herself into my arms. “Holy crap, Brooklyn, I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks,” I say. “It doesn’t even seem real yet. How are you feeling about the whole thing?”

“It totally sucks, to be honest. We’ve put so much work into Birdie, and it seems kind of unfair that we have to start completely over and the other cast barely has to change anything. But at least I’ve got someone on the inside who’ll make sure I still get lots of stage time, right?” She bats her eyelashes at me.

I have no idea if I’ll get any say in casting, but I say, “I’ll do what I can.”

Zoe grabs my hand. “We should go celebrate. We have the whole day off. Let’s go somewhere special.”