she’d had any sense, she’d have made plans to travel to London or Paris for the summer—
Anywhere but Oklahoma!
The moment she started to sing, I just wanted to cringe with embarrassment for her. Midway through the pain of hearing her struggle with “I Cain’t Say No,” Corky stopped her and asked if she’d prepared something more appropriate for her range, letting her know that she could try one of Laurey’s songs.
I couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t doing that in the first place. Laurey’s the lead female character in Oklahoma!. If I’d been born a soprano, it’s the part I’d have tried out for. Apparently, though, Heidi was just determined to try and torpedo me, her supposed new rival. She finally sang “Out of My Dreams,” from Act II. It was better than her first attempt, but there was no way I could see Corky casting her in a principal role. She just didn’t have it. No presence, no real sound. Just a cute little girl onstage.
Polite, insincere applause followed her audition. She stormed down the aisle, grabbed her bag from Finn, and stomped out of the theatre. He followed, albeit, with obvious reluctance. He gave me a thumbs-up sign as he passed, and then leaned over.
“See you at the first rehearsal—Annie.”
“Looking forward to it—Will.”
That rehearsal was scheduled for two days later. I stood outside the theatre, early, reading the casting results. I already knew that I was playing Ado Annie. Jennie, the stage manager, had called the day before. I scanned the list.
Much of the cast I’d worked with in previous shows. Stephen was playing Curly, the male lead. Colleen was Laurey. I’d predicted that that role would be locked up long before Heidi had ever even attempted to sing. Colleen was incredible—beautiful voice, beautiful girl, amazing actress. She’d also been in the December production of Pippin, and she and I’d gotten to be friends. I might have a reputation for discarding men after three months—tops—kind of like mascara, but I’m very careful not to infringe on another girl’s territory, so I haven’t alienated all the women I know.
I continued to read the list. There it was: Will Parker—Finn Doran. No surprise, but nice to see, anyway. The other romantic interest for my show character was the Persian peddler—Ali Hakim. I scanned down and saw a name I wasn’t familiar with: Red Arrow Chekhov. Wow. A real mouthful. Then, I saw Heidi’s name listed among the chorus. Brendan’s was there, as well. Corky, the director, came by as I was reading the list.
“Hey, Belinda! I’m glad we’ll be working together again! I can’t wait to see what you do with this character!”
I hugged him. “Hey, thanks for casting me!”
Newman came up to both of us. “Belinda, my love, my sweet! Have you had a chance to meet your Will Parker yet?”
“Yes, Newman, I have. Looks like a great dancer, sings well—I’m really looking forward to working with him!”
Newman chuckled. “I’m looking forward to the fireworks when the man-eater and the lady-killer get together!”
Suddenly, Finn appeared from behind the door of the theatre. “Did I hear my name mentioned?”
Corky shook his hand to greet him. “Strictly speaking, Finn, Newman didn’t say your name. All he said was lady-killer. Guilty conscience?”
Both Corky and Newman were doubled over with laughter. I looked at them. I looked at Finn.
“Do they know something we don’t?”
“Beats me. Hey, wanna grab a hamburger before rehearsal?”
“Sure. We’ll let Tweedledee and Tweedledum hold their sides till we get back.”
Finn and I walked to his car. The whole way, I could hear our director and his partner howling. As mature adults, we chose to ignore their silliness and pretend that our notoriety for breaking hearts hadn’t been the cause for their side-splitting humor. We drove to the nearest fast-food joint and managed to keep our conversation geared only to the show schedule. We got back in plenty of time for rehearsal and carefully sat far away from each other for the initial read-through of the script.
I didn’t really see much of Finn the first few days of rehearsal. The cast was primarily working on music, and since we each had solos, we were called in at different times. But once Corky started directing scenes, things changed. When I wasn’t needed onstage, I hung out in a little corner in the back of the theatre under the light booth. Red Arrow Chekhov, the actor playing Ali Hakim, was usually up there with me.
Mr. Chekhov was, to put it bluntly, a hunk. His ancestry had been amazingly pure Cherokee up until his mother married Igor Chekhov, from the former Republic of Czechoslovakia. Little Deer and Igor christened their firstborn son Red Arrow, eventually sending this bronzed skin, blue-eyed, chiseled-jawed, muscular heartthrob out into a world of susceptible females.
“Call me Red,” was the first comment he made to the cast. We did.
Ado Annie and Ali Hakim are together quite a bit in Oklahoma!, so Red and I spent a lot of time running lines with each other, talking probably more than we should have. For some reason, we had immediately established a kind of brother/sister relationship. I was glad. He was being chased by every female—and some of the males—in the chorus, and I was fending off my own share of advances from the guy playing Jud, the dancer playing Curly in the “Dream Ballet,” and, of course, Brendan, the ex, who was still moping. It was restful to have at least one relationship with a man that didn’t include sexual tension.
Gradually, though, Finn began to join us more and more in our corner. We all tried to stay professional, going over lines with each other, wandering into the lobby to practice dance steps, but that rapidly disintegrated, since all three of us were quick studies and serious talkers with too much extra time on our hands. We’d chatter nonstop until Corky would call from onstage, requesting one or all of us. Finn, Red, and Belinda were quickly becoming good friends. Finn and Belinda were quickly becoming interested in each other. Still, Finn and Belinda were not ready to admit it. So teasing became our flirtation ritual.
“So, Belinda, you’re looking a trifle tired this evening. Partying too much last night?”
“I’ll have you know that I’ve been a very good girl. I’m teaching for the Junior League summer drama program. I have twenty fifteen-year-olds trying to learn to tap all at once at eight in the morning five days a week. They’re wearing me down! And what’s your excuse for those dark circles under your eyes?”
“You try defending underage delinquents on charges of every kind of drug possession and joyriding offense known to man and see if you don’t develop instant crow’s-feet.” I’d heard that Finn worked in the public defenders office. This verified it.
“Hey, Finn—be nice to those kids. I bet I teach half of ‘em during the year at the Academy! No. Wait. Come to think of it, sic the prosecutors on ‘em!”
“What do you teach?”
“Dance. Since it’s a chi chi private school, the little dears have their choice of artistic disciplines, and many future terrorists have decided that ballet must be an easy ‘A’, so they all sign up. But I’m being too cynical. I actually do have some really special students.”
“And
