Augie
P.S. By the way, Hello, Dolly! finally opened. It’s a good thing we saw it over Thanksgiving, or else we’d be out of luck.
THEATRE
HELLO, DOLLY! AT THE HARBORSIDE
BY LISA WEI HWONG
It doesn’t matter if you’re short, tall, quiet, loud, agnostic, asexual, intelligent, a gibbering idiot, an international terrorist, or the Hillside Strangler—Dolly Gallagher Levi will fix you up with a partner whether you want one or not. For a fee, of course. That’s because she’s a matchmaker. If she were working Tremont Street after 7:00 p.m., she’d be called a pimp.
* * *
Here’s a woman so greedy, so avaricious, and so lacking any sense of propriety, she drove her hus-band Ephraim to an early grave—and now, pre-sumably without a hobby, she appears determined to cast a far wider net. By evening’s end, she’s destroyed four lives and three relationships, lied to twenty-six featured players and an entire chorus, and cost at least seven people their respective jobs. This is a reason to sing?
* * *
Jerry Herman’s always-endearing melodies should not mislead anyone into thinking that Hello, Dolly! actually deserves him. Herman—a national treasure—is perhaps the only composer now or ever who could just as easily leave an audience humming the Nuremberg Trials. And boy, does Dolly! need him. All it would take is a score by Stephen Sondheim to make you want to kill yourself.
Dear Angie,
Briar Hearth Inn looks like a cross between a gingerbread house and a von Trapp Family guest cottage for 158 of their friends. The outside is made of dark brown logs with pointed roofs, apple-colored shutters on all of the windows, and vanilla icing on the top whenever it snows. Seeing it for the first time in the middle of a curvy driveway lined with pine trees, all you want to do is drink hot cider and sing “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas.”
My favorite room is the Briar Lounge on the second floor. One whole wall is a stone fireplace that stays lit 24/7, with enough couches and stuffed chairs in front of it to keep you there all day, especially if you have a ginky vacation assignment to read like Great Expectations. Best of all is the bay window that looks out across the whole valley, with the kids’ slope front and center. This is where we took Hucky as soon as we’d unpacked. Mom and Dad rented him the smallest skis you’ve ever seen, and Pop walked behind him—hands on shoulders—all the way down the hill, which maybe slants twenty degrees, tops. Dressed in his Red Sox ski jacket (from Mom and Dad), Red Sox ski cap and gloves (from me and Tick), and Red Sox muffler (from Pop), he looked like a frozen little Ramon Garciaparra who was scared to death—but once he’d made it to the bottom in one piece, the cheers and high fives changed his mind. So did the trophy (HUCKY HARPER—BRIAR HEARTH SKI CHAMPION). After that, he wouldn’t let Pop help him out anymore. “But you can watch me.” He figured out the rope pull that took him to the top all by himself, and by the time he’d finished his first solo run, he was on his way to the Olympics.
Tick and I were supposed to practice on the beginners’ slope, but we decided that the mountain air had made us susceptible to the cold, so Tick headed off to the Briar Lounge to warm up and I went back to our room.
www.augiehwong.com
PRIVATE CHAT
AugieHwong: Know what I really hate? When people use words like “puppy love.” What’s up with that?
AndyWexler: I don’t know. Maybe we’re supposed to go pee on trees. Spidey, this isn’t fair. All there is to do in Cleveland is watch my aunt Ett chew Chiclets or listen to my grandpa remember about when tariffs were paid in gold, so I can afford to spend the whole week online with you. But you could be out skiing.
AugieHwong: Does it sound like I think I’m missing anything?
AndyWexler: Just me. :)
AugieHwong: Oh. You noticed. Besides, my brother’s been on the phone with Alé a lot longer than we’ve been online. He’s waiting for the magic moment to tell her they should just be friends—which is supposed to make her fall in love with him. What’s up with that?
AndyWexler: Jealous that you didn’t think of it first?
AugieHwong: I never had to.
Dad and Pop had booked a deluxe double for the kids, which meant two big beds for me and Tick, and a cot for Hucky and Shut-the-Door. “Wow! A little mattress with wheels! Dude! Fold me up inside it and then roll me around.” In between pillow fights on our first night there—and while Hucky was brushing his teeth with his Shrek toothbrush and Hey, Arnold! toothpaste—my brother and I decided that if he started crying in his sleep, whichever one of us woke up first would take the shift.
“Like a two a.m. feeding?” I asked, whacking him over the head. Nobody gets the best of Augie Hwong in a pillow fight. My dad teaches tae kwon do. I inherited all the right moves.
The initial tour of duty turned out to be mine. It was around 3:15 a.m. when the whimpering made me open my eyes and figure out what was going on. But Tick had already briefed me on the drill, so I climbed out of bed automatically, sat down next to the cot, and worked the Stuffed-Dog-in-the-Arms/Head-Patting maneuver like I’d been doing it my whole life. Since it only took about ten minutes before he quieted down and I could hit the sack again, I assumed I had the magic touch—until I woke up an hour later to go pee and discovered Tick sound asleep on the floor with his arm stretched across the cot and around Hucky. This is SO not going to work, I thought. So while I was dragging him back to his deluxe double across the room, I drafted an emergency battle plan of my own: For the rest of the trip, Tick and I would just take turns sharing our beds with him. It’d be a lot easier on all three of us. And we could always use the cot to fold him up and roll him around in.
“Good idea,” mumbled my brother, crawling back under the covers. “G’night.”
www.augiehwong.com
PRIVATE CHAT
AugieHwong: After four pancakes and one toboggan ride, Tick pulled a mostly effective “I’m sleepy” routine so he could go back to the Briar Lounge and call Alé. When it worked, I started yawning too.
AndyWexler: Now I’ve got you all to myself. The whole world is jealous.
AugieHwong: How come we can’t talk like this to each other when we’re together?
AndyWexler: Maybe because I don’t think I’m all the way used to it yet. Not like you. You’re sure of everything. And my dad used to be an Air Force pilot. He’d never go along with the program.
AugieHwong: Your dad already knows.
AndyWexler: Knows what? That I’m crazy about Wonderboy?
AugieHwong: Gulp. You said it first.
AndyWexler: But you’ve been thinking it too.
AugieHwong: Only since October.
AndyWexler: I can’t remember October. I got hit in the head by so many softballs from trying not to look at you in the stands that the October part of my brain was damaged. After a while it got pretty annoying. I even thought about kicking your ass. Would you let me teach you how to play football?
AugieHwong: Where did that come from?
AndyWexler: Anybody who’s good enough to letter in soccer, swimming, and track should be playing football too. It’s a boy thing. You practically have to.
While we were at lunch in the Lookout Mountain dining room (all four walls are made out of windows), we got a big surprise. Who was eating scallops at the next table? Lori! It turned out that she needed some downtime after six days in Queens with her family, so out of all the places in New England to go to, she just happened to pick the Briar Hearth Inn. What are the odds?
“Ted?” she called out, looking a little startled. Pop turned around at the sound of her voice and smote his forehead as soon as he saw her.
“Oh, my God,” he blurted, jumping to his feet. “Talk about synchronicity!” There was a scene just like this one in Muriel’s Wedding. (“Deidre Chambers! What a coincidence!”) I didn’t believe it then, and I didn’t believe it now. Tick and I swapped fish-eyes with Mom and Dad, and then I whispered to my brother, “How long do you th
ink they’ve been planning this?” Tick listened for a second to how fast Pop was talking, and then he turned back to me.
“At least two weeks.”
As soon as Lori sat down with us, she introduced herself to Hucky in a confident kind of sign language that proved she didn’t realize that what she’d just said was “I ate Lori”—but Hucky caught on anyway. And since it was obvious that Pop had other things on his mind for the rest of the afternoon, it seemed like a good idea to go back to the room for a nap while Mom and Dad took Hucky snowboarding. Tick was already in the Briar Lounge. He didn’t even wait around for the hangaburs.
Why does Andy want me to play football??
INSTANT MESSENGER
AlePerez: Have you seen any of Vermont?
AugieHwong: About as much as you’ve seen of Mexico City. Why aren’t you on the phone with my brother? They’ve practically bronzed a chair for him in the Briar Lounge.
AlePerez: Our batteries died. We’re recharging.
AugieHwong: By the way, last night I wore the brown sweater you gave me for Christmas. When we walked into the dining room, heads turned—and I’m not kidding. Three of them were boys, and one of them had to be at least 16.
AlePerez: I told you I know how to dress men. Wait until you see what Anthony’s baby blue sweater does for his eyes. He promised me he’d wear it to dinner tonight. Make sure he does.
AugieHwong: Do you know what you’ve achieved? My brother hates sweaters the way he says JFK hated hats, but he packed yours anyway. So you’ve already won the round. And every time he gets off the phone with you, he stares into the fireplace for an hour and doesn’t respond to any external stimuli. We’re afraid he’s going to burn his retinas.
Hucky’s teaching himself how to slalom, but he only wants to do it on flat ground and without skis. The hotel’s ready to hire him as their mascot. By the time we leave, he’ll own Vermont. And he stopped the nighttime crying once he realized one of us would always be next to him. We were going to tell Pop, but now we can’t find him anywhere.
AlePerez: Check the ski lift, especially if it’s stuck. He and Lori’ll be in the top gondola, she’ll be panicking, and he’ll have his arm around her. Adults become so obvious when they’re in love.
AugieHwong: Gotta go. IM from Andy.
AlePerez: My cell’s ringing. It’s your brother.
AugieHwong: Ask him if they’re serving hot chocolate yet.
AlePerez: Hello? I’m in Mexico. You’re down the hall. You ask him.
Alé has a point. This is family vacation. We’re supposed to be sharing quality time with each other. Thank God we’re leaving tomorrow night. This has been the longest 192 hours of my life.
Love,
Augie
THREE WEEKS ONLY!!!
THE LYRIC STAGE
PRESENTS
FOLLIES
BOOK BY JAMES GOLDMAN
MUSIC AND LYRICS BY STEPHEN SONDHEIM
* * * * *
Dear Angie,
What have I done? How could I have been so clueless? WHY DOESN’T SOMEBODY JUST TELL ME TO SHUT UP AND BE NORMAL???
It wasn’t Aunt Babe’s fault. When she saw that Follies was playing at the Lyric, she flew up for a day and a night just to take me to see it. (She knows how I feel about the CD, and Mom once told her that I could pronounce “Yvonne DeCarlo” before I even learned to say “Grandma Lily.”) So when Andy and I were at The Word Shop Café this afternoon, it was only a matter of time before I began singing “I’m Still Here” for him over hot chocolates and lemon loaf cake. I mean, who wouldn’t share something like that with a boyfriend, right? Pretty soon I had my usual audience, and at the end of it I got a bigger hand than the diva who sang it at the Lyric did. (Let’s just say she didn’t exactly give Yvonne anything to worry about.) But why didn’t I notice that Andy wasn’t clapping before I nailed the “Could I Leave You?” encore????
www.augiehwong.com
PRIVATE CHAT
AndyWexler: Do you always have to do that?
AugieHwong: Do what?
AndyWexler: Augie, you’re a guy. Once in a while you need to remind people before they forget.
AugieHwong: But I do! I play soccer and I’m on the swim team and—
AndyWexler: And you tell people that in your last life you were the Andrews Sisters. All I’m saying is that sometimes it gets a little intimidating. Just a little.
I don’t remember the rest of what he said. And I probably wouldn’t want to anyway.
Augie
Dear Jacqueline,
In 1951, everyone knew you as Black Jack Bouvier’s radiant daughter. You’d gone to all of the best schools, you’d studied with the most gifted professors at the Sorbonne, and you were as dainty and delicate as a porcelain Southern belle who hadn’t heard of the Civil War yet. Then Charlie Bartlett introduced you to a young senator named John F. Kennedy, who wasn’t exactly paparazzi bait yet. In fact, he was so minor league when he first winked at you, I’m surprised you didn’t make him wait in the lobby. And yet something clearly happened to transform the fluttery Ms. Bouvier into a national legend, because twelve years later the London Evening Standard wrote: “Jacqueline Kennedy has given the American people from this day on one thing they have always lacked—majesty.” That difference could only have been Jack.
Suddenly I find myself following in your footsteps, and frankly (no offense), who needs it?? In September, I owned academic honors from the most respected academies in Washington, D.C., and Mexico City, I’d made friends with some of the most well-known people in the world, and I had the answers to just about any question put to me. Now I’m writing letters to Mary Poppins and trying to build a baseball diamond in a wasteland. And I don’t even know why!!
It was his Christmas present that did me in. If I’d thought the “sway-ah” had compromised my resistance to its limits, I was in for an even ruder shock—and opening Augie’s gift first only set me up for it. Underneath the wrapping, I found a silver-framed 1948 photograph of Patricia Morison singing “So in Love With You Am I” in the original Broadway production of Kiss Me, Kate, along with an inscription that read: “This is just the beginning. Merry Christmas. I love you. Augie.” So I was already weepy when I discovered that his brother had managed to track down an out-of-print hardcover rarity that’s escaped me for two years: The Burden and The Glory: The Speeches and Hopes of John F. Kennedy. Beneath the black and gold cover, he’d written on the flyleaf: “For Alé. Let us never negotiate out of fear. But let us never fear to negotiate. Love, Anthony.” Know what got me? It wasn’t the quote from the inaugural address, and it certainly wasn’t the “Love” (boys apply that word just as liberally to lizards and auto parts). It was the “Anthony.” He hates being called Anthony—which is precisely why I began using it in the first place. I thought it would chase him away, but I was wrong. Who knew it was such a strong and honorable name after all?!
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] I just got a letter from Fred Hoyt at Manzanar. “Dear Ms. Perez and Mr. Keller: Thank you so much for your interest in the Manzanar National Historic Site. We are most grateful for your proposal to restore the camp’s baseball diamond, and we will consider the various possibilities. Meanwhile, if you and your young friends would like to think about organizing a baseball game to celebrate the Park’s official opening in April 2004 (at a nearby ball field off the premises, of course), we might even make it part of our festivities! Very truly yours, Fred Hoyt; cc: United States Senate (individually).” I think we’ve won.
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From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Oh no we haven’t. “Young friends” is the tipoff. Translation: “Dear Ms. Perez and Mr. Keller: No way are we going to restore your baseball diamond, but we need to keep you ginks occupied until April so you won’t have time to write any more pissy letters to senators.” Trust me.
There won’t be a baseball game either. This whole thing is a ruse. Now it’s time to step up the pressure. If you’re not doing anything on Thursday after rehearsal, I can explain things a lot better over hangaburs and fries.
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From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] How did you become such a cynic?
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From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] It’s part of the Red Sox gene. Hey, have you heard from my brother? He dropped off my scope two days ago.
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From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] I was going to ask you the same thing.
I couldn’t find much time to visit with friends in Mexico City over Christmas because my calendar didn’t have any more room on it. If I wasn’t on my cell with Anthony, I was sitting in front of our television set with a workbook in my lap and a DVD entitled American Sign Language for All spinning in its tray. (I’m sorry—I simply cannot allow him to know more things than I do.) You’re lucky that Jack didn’t have any deaf adversaries in his life, because nothing in American Sign Language for All would have prepared you for the basic niceties like “How are you enjoying the Politburo, Mrs. Khrushchev?”
Things I Hoped to Learn
“A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.”
“It’s a jolly holiday with Mary.”
“Wipe the hot chocolate off your face.”
“Anthony said no, and that means no.”
“Use the red crayon for that.”
Things I Learned
“I’d like a room on the second floor.”
“Where is the post office?”
“Do you serve luncheon here?”
“I’m allergic to cats.”