professional and amazingly strict during rehearsals. I respected their talent; they respected mine. Of course, they also took great delight in teasing me about the fact that I’d gone through two boyfriends during the run of Pippin, my last show with them. They’d even started calling me “Man-eater” after male number two—I believe that was Fenton—finally fell by the wayside.
I slid carefully by the battling duo in the aisle on my way to the stage. I could feel Finn’s warm eyes on me the whole time. I could also feel Heidi’s. Hers were the icy darts piercing a hole between my shoulder blades.
The casting notice specified that Corky wanted those songs actually sung by the characters in Oklahoma!. I’d chosen “I Cain’t Say No!” as my audition piece. I was going after the part of Ado Annie—it’s her big number, and I do it well. My roommate, Tessa, says it’s because I agree wholeheartedly with the underlying philosophy of the song—being as fickle as possible and dating a multitude of men. I disagree.
“It’s a great song for me to sing because it’s in a dancer’s key. Not too high, not too low. Just right.”
Tessa had handed me my dance bag and car keys, and shooed me out of the huge house we share, calling out in a high-pitched cheer:
“Good luck, Man-eater!”
Great roommate. If Rick had been gifted with even half her sense of humor, he and I might’ve been honeymooning in Barbados by now.
Owen, the musical director for this production of Oklahoma! was doing double duty as the audition accompanist. He and I had worked together on two of the shows I’d done at Heaven’s Hollow, and I was very comfortable with him at the ivories. Nonetheless, I felt a twinge of nerves as I handed him my music, took a deep breath, faced the audience of show hopefuls, and started to sing. A little voice inside of me was telling me to do my best for that freckle-faced Casanova still standing in the aisle.
About midway through the first sixteen measures of the song, I just went ahead and aimed my words right at him. He was grinning widely, and his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend was scowling like she’d just bitten into a very rotten egg. I couldn’t help noticing that Brendan was now seated in the audience, as well. He was scowling like he’d just swallowed that very same rotten egg.
Song sung, I cheerfully acknowledged the applause from the crowd of waiting hopefuls, and began to walk back to my seat, preparing to pass the couple once again.
“Nice job! I have a feeling you’re gonna make one heck of an audacious Ado Annie!”
A big hand had gently touched my arm. I felt an unaccustomed tingle.
“Why, thank you, sir! What part are you auditioning for?”
“Will Parker, Ado Annie’s love match.”
Sparkling green eyes peered into my hazels. Held. I covered confusion with sarcasm.
“Well, how nice to see that you actually know the show! So, you think you’ll get Will Parker? Can you dance?”
“Can I dance! Lady, be prepared for the Astaire of the twenty-first century! Finn Doran, at your service.”
He was extremely cocky for a slightly homely, too-tall lug.
I adore cockiness.
“Belinda Montague.”
“I know. I saw you dance when they did Pippin here in December. You were spectacular.”
“Thanks! Hmm. Finn Doran. Where do I know you from?”
Before Mr. Doran could respond, Heidi’s whiny voice sputtered behind my ear, “Excuse me, Ms. Montague, but you’ve interrupted a very private conversation between Finn and myself. Do you mind? And, by the way, there are other people auditioning for Ado Annie, so I wouldn’t start the congratulations just yet.”
Finn’s face wore a look of surprise. “Who’s stupid enough to audition for that role? Belinda’s just too perfect.”
Heidi’s cheeks flushed a rosy color that had nothing to do with blush. “Well, me, for instance.”
“I thought you were auditioning for Laurey.”
“I was. I changed my mind.”
“No offense, Heidi, but you’re a soprano, not an alto, and Ado Annie’s songs are kind of low for you.”
“I can do both! Anyway, Will Parker kisses Ado Annie in this show and there’s no way you’re getting anywhere near anyone but me! And as for you, Ms. Montague, I think I mentioned that I was having a talk here, and I don’t need you around.”
I was standing below the pair in the aisle, so Heidi’s face was thrust inches away from mine. Well, I like my space, and I don’t like jealous females. I bowed graciously, raised up my right hand in a “Hey, back off, I’m outta here” wave, smiled slightly sardonically at Finn, and plopped quickly back down in my seat to watch the rest of the auditions.
I was looking forward to seeing what Finn Doran could do with a song. If it was anything like his ability to charm offstage, we were surely in for a treat. Though I was not looking forward to working with Heidi in any capacity.
Corky called Finn’s name just then, and I watched his rangy form stride to the stage. He gave his music to Owen, faced the audience, grinned widely, and began to sing “Kansas City,” Will Parker’s wonderful number from act one.
There was nothing extraordinary about his voice, but Finn had a stage presence that drew the eye. I noticed everybody in the theatre had stopped digging through their bags for sheet music, whispering to neighbors, and stretching in corners, to listen to him. He’d even apparently asked Owen to include a portion of the dance break for his audition. And when Finn started to move, those legs and arms of his that looked impossibly long offstage came together perfectly to create a picture of sheer grace and energy.
“Gwen, look! That’s Finn Doran! Remember him from Hair last fall?”
Bingo! The conversation behind me, plus Finn’s dancing onstage, helped me place where I’d seen him before. He’d been in the chorus of Hair, wigged beyond recognition with a long, black curly mop. There was no disguising that energy and talent, though. Watching him, I couldn’t imagine anyone else playing the role of Will Parker—here, or at any other theatre in the country. The applause, whooping, and hollering that greeted the end of his audition convinced me that the rest of the crowd felt the same way. The two girls behind me squealed louder than the rest, and then one of them whispered:
“They call him Lady-killer. I heard he’s dumped more women than most men have ever dated! Did you know that he. . . .”
Her voice dropped too low for me to catch the rest, even though I was unashamedly trying to eavesdrop.
Finn left the stage, and started sauntering up the aisle at the same time that Corky was calling out: “Heidi Larsen.” She and Finn passed each other coming and going. She never said a word to him.
Finn took a seat several rows down from me, turned, and waved at me. I gave him a high-five sign, then quickly buried my nose in some sheet music. Heidi took the stage.
If
