lack of security.'
'That's the least of my worries,' Dennis said.
'What's the greatest of your worries, Dennis?' Steinberg said.
Dennis sat looking into his friend's face. 'Too many to enumerate, John,' he finally said.
They found their Kronstein, the Emperor's bastard half-brother, at the next day's auditions. His name was Wallace Drummond, although he preferred to be called Drummy. At his agent's urging he had flown up from Florida, where he was playing Curly in a dinner theatre production of Oklahoma, and sang Kronstein's big number, 'Take What Is Mine,' in a fine baritone voice. Dex approved of him vocally, and he read well. Quentin felt his dancing was 'less than terpsichorean perfection,' but since Kronstein did not have to dance, other than a waltz with Maria, his mistress and the Emperor's intended bride, he had no real problem. 'He's a mover-weller,' Quentin said. 'I can get him into shape.'
Drummy's appearance was his main selling point. Although he was slightly older than Dennis, he was approximately the same height and build, and with his hair dyed red and makeup covering the crow's feet, the resemblance would be close enough on stage. And when the false beard and moustache were put on in the final scene, when Kronstein tries to announce to the populace the Emperor's betrothal to the evil Maria, the expected success of the subterfuge would be believable enough. It was, after all, a show.
Terri moved out of Dennis's apartment and into Marvella's flat at the Dakota on Tuesday evening, and that night Ann slept in Dennis's bedroom. The windows overlooked Central Park, and when they woke in the morning, Dennis pushed a button by the bed and the curtains opened silently on smooth tracks, revealing a bright, clear morning.
'It's beautiful,' Ann said. 'An omen for the first day of rehearsal?'
'Maybe,' Dennis said, holding her tight, afraid to get up, afraid to go to the studio and try and perform and direct. 'Maybe.' He had never believed in omens before, but there were other things that he had not believed in either, and he knew now that they were real. Perhaps, he thought, he should believe in good omens too.
Rehearsals began at ten o'clock. The chorus and dancers were in the larger studio A, the principals in B. The studio was much as Dennis remembered it, large and white, ballet bars running down the wall of windows that looked across at the buildings in the next street. On the opposite wall was secured an unbroken expanse of mirrors. Several formica-covered pedestal tables sat here and there, as did twenty or so folding chairs. Curt had the lines of the stage floor laid down with masking tape, and tape numbers ran across what represented the front of the stage, with 0 at stage center, and 1 through 8 on either side of center.
The part of Act I, Scene 1 with Rolf and Inga had been scheduled for blocking from ten to eleven. Dennis guided the actor and actress through the scene, using the stage directions from the old prompt book that had served them through the revivals and several tours. Curt remained by his side, deciphering some of the directions that had been penciled and red-penciled into near obscurity. When they reached the song, Dex played, and Rolf and Inga, who had both performed their roles before, sang the song, using the actions they vaguely remembered from their past performances.
When the song was over, Bill Miley, the actor playing Rolf, shook his head. 'Dennis,' he said, 'we did some comic business in the second verse that never got into the prompt book. Do you remember what it was, something about her sitting on my lap, and my hand's there, and she jumped or something?'
Dennis licked his lips, looked down at the stage floor and tried to remember. Something funny, but what was it? He recalled the audience laughing somewhere in the song, not too long a laugh for fear they would miss the lyrics, but a laugh…
'No, I… I don't remember.'
'Maybe we could come up with something,' Miley said.
It was a plea for direction, and Dennis paused, trying to think of something funny, but nothing would come. He stood there for what seemed like hours, before Dex finally spoke.
'I think it was halfway through the second chorus, Bill. It was on the line, 'And bump, with a thump, all the sparks fly.’”
Miley snapped his fingers. 'Right! I remember – it was a little pat right when she…'
They worked it out while Dennis watched. He felt lost as they blocked it, confused when they laughed at how the action went with the music. Was it funny? he wondered. Had he ever laughed at that before? Had he ever, he wondered sadly, laughed at anything?
Later in the morning Kelly Sears arrived. It was the first time Dennis had seen her since Robin's funeral. She kissed him, then pulled out her copy of the sides, ready to work. They began rehearsing Act I, Scene 3, in which Lise first meets the Emperor in the forest without knowing who he really is. Curt called the blocking as they went, and Kelly glanced only occasionally at her set of sides, remembering her lines of many months before. Dennis, on the other hand, kept his eyes glued to his sides. Although he had played the role thousands of times, the words seemed only mildly familiar now, and he stammered several times per page.
Dennis knew that his reading was flat and lifeless as well as hesitant, yet he could do nothing about it. The more he tried to put emotion and life into the lines, the duller they sounded. He noticed with dismay that Kelly, who had begun the rehearsal with the perfect touch of feminine boldness that the character of Lise, the bright and lovely peasant girl, demanded, was now responding to his mood, and by the time the scene was blocked, both of them were murmuring their lines as though they were on Quaaludes.
Dex played the introduction to the song, 'Someone Like You,' but Dennis waved him to silence. 'Let's break for lunch,' he said, and the cast slowly filed out. Kelly put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it lightly. 'A little rusty?'
'Rusted shut,' Dennis said with a weak smile.
'Don't worry. It comes back.'
'I hope so. But do something for me, Kelly.'
'What?'
'Don't hold back. Don't go flat to try and make me look better. Because that way we both look like shit.'
'Dennis -'
'I know what you were doing, and I appreciate the thought. But the only way I'm going to come to life is if you and the other actors do. So don't patronize me. Challenge me.'
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. 'I'm sorry. You're right. But you'll pick up, old bear. You always have.'
'Kelly,' Dennis said, 'tell me something. The last year of our tour. Was I as good as at the beginning?'
Her face seemed to narrow as she thought. 'You were different,' she said. 'Your voice was as good as ever, and your scenes with me were fine. But at the end of the first act, and later, after Kronstein and Kruger kill Lise, there wasn't as much…”
'As much strength?'
She nodded. 'Maybe. Or 'command' is more like it. I mean, your sensitivity played fine, just like always, I really felt that, and sympathized. But where you're supposed to become the Emperor – in the scene with Count Rinehart? – it was the words more than your manner that offended him, and it has to be both for the scene to really work.' She gave a self-conscious smile. 'I'm sorry, old bear, but you asked me.'
'I did. And I value your telling me the truth so much that I'm taking you to lunch.'
'If I tell you your singing stunk, will you take me to dinner?'
Dennis had two drinks with lunch. They relaxed him enough so that he didn't try so hard that afternoon, and his readings were better, although nowhere near performance level. Kelly, true to her word, let out all the stops, and her believable display of constructed emotion seemed to spur Dennis on. Three more scenes were blocked that afternoon. Although what Dennis did could have generously been called acting, he did very little that could have been called directing.
That evening he poured out his frustration to Ann and Evan as they sat at the table in his dining room. 'I couldn't seem to feel a thing,' he said. 'And as far as directing went, there wasn't a thing I could offer. What was funny, what was sad, what movements, what gestures to use – the well was dry.'
'You can't worry about it,' Ann said. 'It'll be there when you need it to be.”
