Fear of slipping into another nightmarish vision made it' difficult for me to fall asleep that night, but once I did, I slept solidly and could not remember any dreams when I awoke Wednesday morning. I walked to the meal hall with Shawna and Lynne, who reported that last night's adventure had been pretty dull. The girls had simply stood at a window of one of the frats and talked for a while to the guys.
In the middle of her analysis of this year's selection of guys, Shawna suddenly stopped and pointed to a group of kids clustered around the back door of Stoddard. 'They posted the cast. Come on!'
She and Lynne rushed down the path. Tomas, who had been standing at the back of the crowd of campers, hurried toward me, grinning.
'You did it, Jenny. You did it! Congratulations! I knew you would get the part.'
'Part-what part?'
'Puck,' he said.
'As understudy, you mean.' Please let that be what he means, I thought.
'No, no, you're it,' he announced happily. 'Isn't that great?'
'Yeah, real great… if you like a fairy that looks nauseated, sweats profusely, and speaks in a squeaky voice. I have to talk to Walker.'
'Jenny,' Lynne called to me, 'you're Puck.'
'Way to go, Reds!' Shawna hollered.
'I'm Hermia,' Lynne called. 'Shawna is Peter Quince, the director of the rustics.'
'Congrats!' I turned to Tomas. 'Did you get a part?'
'Not even understudy,' he said with relief. 'I'm head of scenery and props. This is going to be great. Want to eat? I sure do.'
'You go ahead. There's something I have to take care of. Tell Shawna and Lynne I'll catch up with you at the theater.'
Tomas walked on happily and I retreated to the porch of Drama House. From there I watched the four houses empty out. When it looked as if everyone had seen the posting and gone on to breakfast, I headed back to Stoddard. At the door I stopped to check the list. Mike had gotten the role of the lover Demetrius, Paul was Oberon, the jealous king of the fairies, and Keri, his queen, Titania. I-under my new 'stage name,' Jenny Baird-was listed next to Puck. Liza would have been astonished.
When I entered the building I heard voices coming from a distance down the hall. One of them, Walker's, bristled with irritation.
'You've always got an excuse.'
'I asked for a ladder,' came the quiet reply. 'Asked for it last Friday. When I get it, I'll do the job.'
'I want it done now, Arthur.'
I followed the voices past a series of doors marked Women's Dressing Room, Wardrobe, and Props, and reached the corner of the building, where the hall made a right-angle turn. Rounding the bend, I came upon Walker standing in an office doorway, his hands on his hips, a scowl on his face. He was talking to a man whose streaky hair was either blond turning gray or gray turning yellowy white. His veined hands had a slight tremor. Suddenly aware of me, he glanced back nervously.
'You don't need a ladder to get to the catwalk,' Walker continued. 'I told you before, there are rungs on the wall.'
I tried to imagine this fragile man climbing the rungs to a narrow walkway hanging thirty feet above the stage. I had seen custodians like him before: tired, emotionally worn men just trying to get to the end of each day.
'Tell your boss I want to speak with him,' Walker went on. 'I'm tired of the crap they're sending me for custodians. You're worse than the last guy.'
The custodian took a step back. 'Yes, sir, I'll tell 'im. And maybe he'll climb up those rungs,' he added. 'You and him together.'
I fought a smile. Arthur was tougher than he looked.
He walked away, his pale blue eyes glancing at me as he passed.
'Miss Baird,' Walker said, 'we don't meet till eight-thirty.'
'I wanted to talk to you about the casting. I can't play Puck-you know I can't and you know why.'
He cocked his head. 'I'm afraid I don't. You do gymnastics.'
'Yes, but-' 'Don't you ever compete?'
I shifted my weight from foot to foot. 'Well, yes, I'm on the school team, but-' 'Performance is performance,' he said. 'If you can do one, you can do the other.' He turned to go back in his office. 'Now, if you don't mind, I-' 'I do mind,' I said, following him in. 'I need you to listen.'
He sat in his chair and checked notes on his desk. He didn't look too interested in listening.
'We are talking about two different things,' I explained. 'When I compete in gymnastics, the performance is on a gym floor, not up on a stage. I don't see a sea of strange faces looking up at me. I'm not in a spotlight-the gym is fully lit. And any butterflies I get are over as soon as I start, because I can shut everyone out.
Now he was attentive.
'I don't have to interact with other actors. I'm not supposed to respond to the audience. I seal them out and concentrate on my routine.'
'Concentration is essential in theater as well,' Walker said. 'You already have tremendous energy and instinctive stage presence. I am going to teach you to transfer your ability from gymnasium to theater. You'll be doing your gymnastics as Puck, giving Puck quickness and strength, making him lighter than air. Oh, yes, you'll do well.'
'Maybe in rehearsal,' I argued. 'But I told you-' 'You mystify me, Miss Baird,' he interrupted. 'I checked your application last night. Unlike my friend Tomas, you listed no specific skills in set design, costume, makeup, lighting, or sound. What on earth did you plan to do here?'
I felt caught. 'I, uh, I guess I thought I could overcome my stage fright, but when I saw how good everyone was, I figured this wasn't the place to do it. I don't want to sink the production.'
'But you're not going to. You're going to pull this off.'
'You're taking a big risk,' I warned him.
'I've always been a director who takes risks. That's why I didn't make it in New York, where bottom-line mentality rules.'
It was the usual artistic gripe, but I was surprised by the bitterness in his voice.
'You will discover, Jenny, that my shows, cast with a bunch of kids and produced in the boonies, are better theater, more imaginative and compelling fare than Broadway shows in which people pay to see Lee Montgomery play himself over and over again.'
'Really.'
'You're not a fan of his, I hope.'
I wondered if my face had given me away. 'I've seen him perform,' I replied, 'in Hamlet.'
'Ah, yes, he played that role a good fifteen years longer than he should have. I began to think it was a play about a man in midlife crisis.'
Tell that to the people who flocked to see him, I thought, but I couldn't defend my father aloud.
'So, Puck, we understand each other,' Walker said, his eyes dropping down again to the notes in front of him.
Hardly, I mused, and left.
We spent Wednesday morning reading the play aloud as a cast. A few kids sulked about not getting the parts they wanted, but most were pretty excited. Brian worked with Tomas and two other tech directors-heads of lighting and sound-putting down colored tape on the stage, mapping the set we would soon be building. In the afternoon we began blocking the play.
My part was blocked sketchily. It was decided that I'd be given certain parameters-where I had to be, by
