Incredibly Alice

  It was funnier still when Brad Broderick looked around to find the rest of his family, and Pamela and I together yelled, “Daddy!” Everyone laughed, and he came over and hugged us both at the same time, then turned to Liz and said, “Well, Ma, looks like we created quite a clan!”

  Sam Mayer got the role of Dr. Burton; Jay, an intense guy from my speech class last year, got the part of Frank Jr., whose dialogue with Pamela opens the play; Tim Moss, Pamela’s ex, would play Fred, one of the sons; and a guy I didn’t know, Ryan McGowan, from my physics class, won the part of Larry, my crush.

  “Looks like we’re going to get better acquainted,” he said, smiling down at me as we studied the list again, checking out all the actors.

  “First reading today!” I said, looking at the note at the bottom. Read for characterization: Friday, February 18, 3:00 p.m.

  All morning people congratulated me on getting a part in the play. “Is that the part you wanted?” some of them asked. And “Were you disappointed you didn’t get the part of the mother?” as though if the dad were the star, the mom was also.

  “It’s exactly the part I wanted,” I told everyone, and drifted from class to class in a happy daze.

  Mrs. Cary stopped me in the hall, smiling, and said, “I guess you won’t be part of the set design crew, Alice. Congratulations!”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, but … ,” I began babbling.

  “Of course you’re not! You should be excited. It’s wonderful!” she said.

  I called Dad over the lunch period and told him the news.

  “Terrific, Al!” he said. “You think you can handle this now, with all you’ve got on your plate?”

  “Sure,” I said, and didn’t repeat Patrick’s line about how he’d have had to give up eating and sleeping if he took on something like this. “I’m giving up yearbook to do this. I’ll work it in.”

  The whole cast, including understudies, was supposed to show up at three o’clock, but Jill wasn’t among us. Charlene Verona, though, was there with an announcement. She waited until we were all seated and then, before Mr. Ellis could even start the reading, she said, “I didn’t want to leave without explaining, so I just came by to say that I got the second best part in The Wizard of Oz with the Montgomery Players, so I’m going to have to give up the part of Miss Brill. If it wasn’t for that, I’d have loved to work with all you guys, but I know you’ll do a fantastic job. So break a leg, everybody!”

  Penny and I rolled our eyes at each other, and we each looked so funny, we almost laughed out loud.

  Mr. Ellis smiled a little. “Good luck, Charlene,” he said. “Thanks for letting me know.” Then he looked at the understudy who had been sitting beside Charlene and said, “Well, Jenny, looks like you’re Miss Brill.”

  Charlene smiled around the circle, picked up her backpack, and even waved to us as she went out the door. People ducked their heads to hide their laughter, and Mr. Ellis began reading stage directions.

  Things still seemed unreal. When I went to my locker later, I thought, When I was a freshman, I never would have believed I’d get one of the lead roles in the play. I marveled at the coincidence that Pamela and Liz were in it too, even though it wasn’t quite the way we had pictured it. Maybe, because we knew each other so well, the familiarity showed in our readings.

  Liz had read her lines in the same comforting tone she used with her little brother when he was upset, and Pamela’s voice was just right for Ernestine when she related some of the family’s funniest memories, like the two noisy canaries—one that the father named “Shut Up” and the other, “You Heard Me.”

  But the biggest mystery of all: How did I get the part of Anne? Was I really that good at it? Jill had added some anger to the role—more than I had—and that was good, wasn’t it? Original? Another girl had played it with more sadness, and that seemed real too. Anne seemed conflicted to me—love for her dad along with dismay and resentment, a subtle mix. Was it possible that this was what Ellis was looking for and that somehow I had pulled it off?

  I called Patrick that night.

  “Hey!” Patrick said.

  “Hey!” I responded. “This is Anne.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then he yelled, “Hey! You got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Way to go!” Patrick said. “You did it!”

  “And guess who’s my understudy.”

  “Pamela?”

  “No. Jill.”

  “Huh?” said Patrick. “I don’t quite see that.”

  “I don’t either, and neither, evidently, does Jill. She didn’t show up at rehearsal. But Pamela got the part of the next-oldest sister, and Liz is the mother. Can you believe it? That all three of us are in the play?”

  “You guys hit the jackpot,” said Patrick. “Anyone else that I know?”

  “Penny as Mrs. Fitzgerald, the housekeeper.”

  “The housekeeper? And what about the guys? Aren’t you supposed to have a boyfriend in the play?”

  “Yes. A guy in my physics class, Ryan somebody. Sam got a part. So did Tim.”

  “Uh, let’s get back to Ryan. What’s he like?”

  I laughed. “Are you jealous?”

  “Sort of. Is he hot or not?”

  “Well … yeah. I’d say he is.”

  “Tall, dark, and handsome?”

  “Tall and handsome, anyway. Sort of a brownish blond.”

  “Hmmm. Maybe I should come back for the play.”

  “Maybe you should,” I said.

  When we finally finished our conversation around ten, I reached for the schedule Mr. Ellis had passed around before rehearsal. Every single day except Saturdays and Sundays. Performances Friday and Saturday, April 8, 9, 15, and 16. I had to squeeze the rest of my life into what was left.

  The home phone rang around ten fifteen as I was collecting my papers and books and putting them in my backpack. Dad and Sylvia had already gone to bed, so I hurried out in the hall to pick it up. “Hello?”

  At first I didn’t think that anyone was there or that someone was playing around with the phone—the fumbling, the breathing, the background noise—but then a man’s voice said, “Alice?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Jack.”

  Which character was that? I wondered. It was a voice I knew but couldn’t place. Then I realized it was Marilyn’s husband.

  “Yes?” I said eagerly.

  “Just wanted to tell you about our new baby daughter,” came his excited but weary voice.

  “Oh, Jack! Wonderful! How’s Marilyn?”

  “More tired than I am, that’s for sure, but she and Summer Hope are doing just fine.”

  Summer Hope. It was so right. So … Marilyn!

  “What a beautiful name. What’s the baby like?”

  “Scrunchy-faced and scrawny, but already sucking her fist,” he said. “We’ll e-mail some photos when we all recover. It was a long labor, but Marilyn’s doing fine. I’ve got a list of people to call, and you and your dad were on it. Just wanted you to know.”

  New life, I thought as I put down the phone. I guess that’s what I was feeling right then. New everything.

  When Jill didn’t show up at rehearsal on Monday either, Mr. Ellis announced a new understudy for me, someone I didn’t know. He gave no reason for Jill dropping out, but on Tuesday, when Jill and Karen condescended to eat with us at lunchtime, Jill explained in an offhand way:

  “I’m just going to be too busy planning my wedding,” she said.

  “Wow! You’re really going to do it?” said Liz.

  Jill popped a cherry tomato into her mouth, closed her lips to crush it, then leaned back and folded her arms across her chest.

  “Of course we’re going to do it! If the Colliers won’t agree to a church wedding, we’ll just have a civil ceremony. And I don’t think Justin’s parents would care for that. They have to do everything up big.”

  “Have you told them? About the baby?” Pamela asked.

  “J
ustin did last weekend. He said it would be better if I wasn’t there, that his mom might say something she’d regret. She freaked out as it was. Kept screaming that she knew it, she knew I was going to pull something like this, and how did they know the baby was his?”

  “She actually said that?” Gwen exclaimed.

  “Yeah, before Justin’s dad shut her up. He said why didn’t they all just try to calm down and not make any big decisions for the next month.” Jill stared out the window a moment before she picked up her club sandwich and took a bite. Tore at it, really, with her teeth, hardly letting it touch her tongue.

  “He’s at least trying to be reasonable,” Liz said, in her usual soothing manner.

  Jill gave a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, like maybe I’ll miscarry or something.”

  “I thought you said he wanted a grandchild,” I reminded her.

  “He does. I’m probably not being fair, but he’s not wild about me either. It’s the witch who runs that household, and he’s probably under her spell.”

  I couldn’t help myself. “Jill,” I said, “how can you … I mean … manage with all that hostility? I’d be a wreck.”

  “Well, we’re not moving in with them, that’s for sure,” she said. “Justin and I love each other, and we’re not going to let them break us up. Justin says his dad will support us till he gets through college—he’s not worried about that. But his mom will pull every trick in the book to make it hard for us. You can count on it.”

  We were sprawled on the floor by the window in the hall. The only reason I could figure that Jill and Karen were eating with us was because we had one of the few spaces left. No, I think there was a bigger reason: Jill wanted the largest audience she could get whenever she talked about her wedding. If she couldn’t have a zillion bridesmaids, she wanted an envious crowd of enthralled girls listening to her every word, and that was us.

  For a minute or so the only noise came from the cafeteria at the other end.

  Then Pamela asked, “You’re still planning a June wedding?”

  “May or June.”

  “But … like … won’t you be showing?” Pamela asked.

  “Probably. A little. But I’ve already picked out my dress. It’s gorgeous,” Jill said, and her eyes were alive again. “Lace over satin, neck to hem. We’ll make it work. Everyone knows a baby’s coming anyway. Justin and I are even going over names: Isabella Paige and Ethan Alexander.” She gave a satisfied smile and took a bite of cookie.

  “Do you ever expect to go to college?” I asked, and immediately wished I hadn’t. Jill’s expression went from day to night, and there was the slightest downturn at the corners of her mouth.

  “Do you expect me to plan my whole life right now?” she asked. “Don’t you think I have enough to deal with?”

  “Sure,” I said quickly. “That’s me—always jumping ahead.”

  Amy Sheldon had just joined stage crew, someone told me. And I heard it firsthand from Amy the next morning.

  “Alice!” she called when I was heading to second period. “I’m doing what you did last year!” When people turned to look at her, she waited till she’d caught up with me to tell me the rest. “I signed up for stage crew,” she said, walking along beside me, several feet away.

  “Yeah, I heard!” I told her. “That’s great, Amy. I think it’ll be fun for you.”

  “I’m on props,” she said, and dug one hand in the side pocket of her bag, then pulled out a sheet of paper. “Here’s what I have to get: a book—that one’s easy; a manicure set; handkerchief—my dad uses handkerchiefs. Mom and I use Kleenex. A sofa pillow, a plant, and a sandwich. Only I’ll wait till the last day to get the sandwich on account of it would be spoiled if I got it now. There’s lots more stuff, but the other kids will get that. One boy has to find a dog.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, I wondered about that.”

  “It’s a good thing a large lollipop was on someone else’s list because if it was on mine, I’d probably eat it. They’re bad for your teeth, though, because the sugar stays in your mouth for so long. I’ve had two cavities, but I don’t get them anymore. Do you?”

  “Not often,” I said.

  “We’re both working on the same thing, only you’ll be onstage and I’ll be behind the curtain, but I’ll be cheering for you. I won’t make any noise, though. If you’re on stage crew, you can’t make any noise.”

  We turned the corner, and I stopped to get a drink of water at the fountain.

  “And I have to dress in black. I don’t like black, do you, Alice? Am I talking too much?”

  “Sometimes you do rattle on, Amy,” I said, grinning up at her.

  She looked confused. “I don’t rattle. Dishes and pans rattle.”

  I realized how difficult it must be for Amy when speech is inexact. Amy’s world is so black-and-white, so either-or.

  “You’re right. And yes, sometimes you do jump—I mean, switch—from one subject to another without waiting for an answer. And sometimes I just use the wrong words. You’ll have to stop me when I use the wrong words,” I told her.

  “I’ll just give you a signal,” said Amy. “Like, maybe I’ll hold up my hand or something. Or maybe just a finger on one hand.”

  “Got it,” I said. “I mean, I understand.”

  12

  ROOMMATES

  I had only been home fifteen minutes, and was eating the dinner Sylvia had left for me, when my cell phone rang. I swallowed a bite of lasagna and pushed away from the table, ambling into the living room in my socks to check the caller. It was Pamela, so I took it.

  “What’s up?” I said.

  Her voice was almost a scream. “I’m in! Alice, I’ve got a scholarship to the Theater Arts College in Manhattan!” She was screaming.

  “What?” I cried.

  “The letter just came! Dad’s at Meredith’s, so you’re the first one I’ve told! I went to New York and auditioned, and I’m in!”

  “Pamela! My God!” I said. Why hadn’t she told us she’d applied for a scholarship? Why hadn’t she told us she’d been in New York? I might have known that theater arts people had to appear in person, but … What was I, jealous? Shouldn’t I be congratulating her? “It’s wonderful! It’s amazing! It’s incredulous, Pamela! When did you audition?”

  “Remember last December when I stayed home because of a sore throat? I was really in New York that day. Dad gave me the money.”

  “And you’ve kept it secret all this time?”

  “I didn’t want everyone feeling sorry for me if I failed, Alice. I mean … all that grief over my pregnancy, then the miscarriage … I was tired of people feeling pity for me. It’s only a half-tuition scholarship, but …”

  “Well, I don’t feel sorry for you, Pamela, and I think it’s great! Really! What did you do for your audition?”

  “That ditzy Adelaide scene from Guys and Dolls. I guess I nailed it, Alice! Yay!”

  All I could think of was that the University of Maryland had been her safety school, and down deep, I had imagined her being my roommate if I couldn’t room with Gwen. Next selfish thought: “Does this mean you won’t be working on the cruise ship with us this summer?”

  “It means I absolutely will. Do you know what it costs to live in Manhattan, Alice? I’ll need the money more than ever. Of course I’ll be on that cruise ship.”

  And so I loved her again, but I wondered if I’d ever look at her the same. The girl whose grades were good but not remarkable, who had been careless enough to get pregnant, had somehow gotten her act together and was accepted into a theater arts school in New York City… . Maybe someday I would quit pigeonholing people—would realize how much they can change.

  “I’m standing here listening to all of this and feeling so … proud of you, Pam!” I said. “Listen, call your mom. Let her in on it.”

  “I will. Right after I call Dad,” she told me, and gave a little shriek again of pure joy.

  It was hard to be as excited about the school play with
Pamela destined for New York. I’d made a decision: If William & Mary would take me, I was going to go there. I could be adventurous too. But getting the part of Anne was still a big step for me—strange to be one of the cast, no longer part of the stage crew. I was so used to staying in the shadows, never venturing farther out in the wings where the audience might see us.

  Now, after a week of reading the play together in the drama classroom, Mr. Ellis moved rehearsals into the auditorium and up on the stage, facing rows and rows of seats that morphed into darkness at the back of the cavernous hall. I was part of the curtains and lights now, not just the paint and the props.

  When the actors weren’t needed in a particular scene, we sat in the seats below. Ryan sat down beside me while Pamela and Jay were rehearsing onstage.

  “The only time I can take a break is when you do,” he said. “I’m never onstage if you’re not.”

  “Ah! Power!” I whispered back, smiling at him.

  His knees almost touched the seat in front of him and his jeans stretched tightly over his thighs. The body of an athlete, I thought, or maybe a dancer. I didn’t know much about him except that he was playing the part of Larry, my boyfriend.

  “I was surprised Ellis dug out this old play,” Ryan went on. “My cousin said they did this nine years ago.”

  “Why did you try out if you don’t like it?” I asked.

  “Experience,” Ryan said. “Don’t you know that everything we do in senior year counts as ‘experience’?”

  Mr. Ellis, in the front row, looked around to see who was whispering, and we immediately faced forward, totally focused on Pamela and Jay.

  Becoming a part of my stage family made me feel even closer to my own. The dialogue between Anne and her brothers made me think more about Lester and something he’d said in our last phone conversation, about how so many of the girls he used to know had moved away.

  I called him that evening.

  “How are things?” I said.

  “Need you ask?” he answered. “Andy’s here, the weather’s lousy, we’re out of cheese, and the Super Bowl’s over.”

  “Want some company?”

  “You could come by Friday night, if you want. We had some guys in last week, but I’m the designated sitter for Mr. Watts this Friday.”