"Delighted. I always thought she was the best of them. But no Kronstein.”
“No. Sam Reynolds is on tour with Me and My Girl, and Harry Barnes is about to open in the new Lloyd Webber show at the Kennedy Center."
"What about Andy Sims?" Dennis said.
Steinberg frowned. "Andy died. Three weeks ago. AIDS."
"God. I didn't even know he was sick."
"He kept it quiet. And we've had our own crosses to bear."
"So what will we do about a Kronstein? Audition?"
"Yes. Tomorrow afternoon. The agents know that he has to bear a striking resemblance to you. You wouldn't happen to have a twin I don't know about, would you?… What is it?"
"Nothing."
"You went pale for a moment," Steinberg said.
"I'm fine, fine." Dennis cleared his throat. "How did you get a studio at the Minskoff on such short notice?"
"Well, I've given you the good news, now it's time for the bad. There was, as I'm sure you realize, no space available. Not at the Minskoff, not at Bennett's, nowhere. There was, however, a show rehearsing that was, shall we say, in financial straits. So I made the producers a proposition. In exchange for their delaying their show for three and a half weeks, which is our required rehearsal time here in the city, we would help to finance their show to the tune of… well, perhaps I should give you the figure later. It's rather depressing, particularly when you realize their show is a musical version of The Divine Comedy. Overreaching, in my opinion. They welcomed the hiatus, in fact. I believe they want to give the book a bit of a polish. So we have both studio rooms they were using – one for chorus rehearsals, the other for principals."
"I didn't think you could do it so quickly, John. You're wonderful."
"I am indeed. And now it's your turn to be wonderful. Starting Wednesday.”
“How did people react," Dennis asked slowly, "when you asked them? I mean, was there any hesitance because of what's happened? All the tabloid stories and everything?"
Steinberg shook his head. "Not a bit. Everyone seemed very happy to be doing the show again, and not just because of what we're paying them. Now my job is to fill the house. But even if I do, it's a losing proposition. This is costing you a fortune, Dennis. Please note that I didn't say a small fortune. I mean a regular sized, Swiss bank account type fortune. No less."
"It doesn't matter." Dennis thought of the funeral then. "Are you still going to Whitney's funeral?" Steinberg nodded. "Did you send flowers from us?"
"No, a contribution to a children's hospital in lieu. A generous one. I did hear, however, from Marvella's daughter's lawyer on Saturday. He's thinking of bringing a wrongful death suit against us. Apparently because of our 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.