Secrets of My Hollywood Life #5: Broadway Lights (13 page)

My line! "Are you talking to me?" I ask, sounding confused. I'm wearing black Bermuda shorts and a fitted white Juicy tee that says "Juicy loves drama." We haven't worn costumes for rehearsal yet, not that our stage clothes are really binding. Riley wears a cheerleading uniform and I'm in jeans. "I'm Andie," I say and enunciate loudly the way my acting coach taught me.

This is really fun. Acting on stage is just like rehearsals for
Family Affair
. We always ran through everything before shooting. Except on stage, your first take is your only take--when you've got an audience I mean. And I think I'm going to like that a lot. It's live and anything can happen.

Riley shakes her head at me. "Kaitlin, I was supposed to say 'yes' before you said 'I'm Andie.' Remember?"

She's right. I know she is. Just like she was right in the last scene when I accidentally cut out one of her lines by skipping her. "Sorry."

"I know you are," Riley says patiently and fiddles with the tiny purple pearl earring in her right ear. "This is very different from cinema, I'm sure. If you trip me up, then I trip up Karen and she trips up Dylan and it's all rubbish. Do you see what I mean, lovely?"

I shake my head, aware that the rest of the cast is watching me, including Karen, who plays Jordan. Everyone looks uncomfortable, as they usually do when Riley berates me. I just wish I knew if it's because she's being obnoxious or because I'm such a rube. Forest isn't here today. It's just the cast members. Whenever Forest's not in the house, I get more anxious around Riley because she tends to make a spectacle of the fact that I don't know theater the way she does.

"Now did you watch that video on stage direction on the American Theatre Wing website I told you to?" Riley questions. I nod again. "We don't want to have what happened yesterday, do we? When we queue up in the cafeteria, I'm behind you, not in front of you. Something like that can mess up the show's whole aesthetic."

"Riley, come on now," Dylan tells her. He's wearing an outfit similar to his character, a black tee that shows off his fit upper torso, tight jeans that are torn at the knee, and black Converse. Running his hand through his dark, short hair, he looks tired of having to talk her down for the millionth time today. "Kaitlin is working her arse off. "

"I know she is, Dylan." Riley crosses her arms over her chest and I notice the small ruby ring on the middle finger of her right hand. "Everything I tell her is for her own good. I don't want her going on stage opening night, messing up like she continually does, and feeling like a total wanker. She should shine!"

"You're right," I tell Riley, blushing, and ducking behind my hair a little. But why does she have to constantly bring up every little thing I do wrong?

"Now let's try that again, shall we?" Riley claps her hands. She's somehow taken over Forest's role when he's not around. ("I do have the most experience, having been on stage since I was two.") "Let's take it from the next line."

Riley rolls her shoulders back, shakes her head, and takes a deep breath. She even closes her eyes and I try not to snort. Yesterday she caught me laughing at her "mental preparation," as she calls it, and I got a ten-minute lecture on theater etiquette.

"Whatever," Riley drawls in a dead-on American accent. I have to admit, Riley is good. "Listen, Andie, whatever it was you were trying to say to my partner back there, you can save your breath. Leo..."

"Boyfriend," I interrupt and Riley just blinks. "You said 'partner.' Isn't it 'boyfriend'?" Everyone is looking at me. I look at Dylan. He tries not to smirk. Oh no. I probably shouldn't have done that.

"Bugger! Kaitlin's right," Riley smiles at me thinly. "It is boyfriend. We say partner in England, you know. It's so hard keeping track of two dialects, you have no idea." She walks across the quiet stage, her white sandals making clomping sounds. "You're so lucky all you've ever had to master is your own accent, Kaitlin. You'd have the hardest time trying to speak like a Brit."

"Actually, I used a British accent in..." Dylan coughs and I shut up. I've learned his cues to navigate Riley's wrath. Right now, he's inconspicuously trying to signal me to close my mouth. Which I do. "You're right, Riley." I smile patiently trying to glue my lips shut to keep from screaming.

"You're lucky you have me, Kaitlin." Riley strides back my way and puts her arm around me, turning me slightly to face the others. "On the stage, there is no 'I,' only 'we.' We work together or we all fail. When I was in
Gypsy
--you've seen
Gypsy
, haven't you?"

I don't look her in the eyes. "I haven't."

Riley gasps and drops her bony arm as if I'm on fire. "Kaitlin, it's another classic. I saw
Gypsy
when I was just a wee one. It was the second play I saw after
Jesus Christ Superstar
."

My voice is even smaller. "I haven't seen that either."

Riley looks around at the others. Some actually look surprised too, I notice as I lift my eyes ever so slightly to peek at the others. Some just roll their eyes. "Can you imagine? These are staples every trained theater actor has seen! You should really see a local production, Kaitlin. It's so important to view others' works for your craft."

"I just got tickets to see
Rock of Ages
for this week." I look at Riley hoping this will appease her. Instead she looks at me like I've just suggested she watch
American Idol
.

"
Rock of Ages
can't compare to
Jesus Christ Superstar
!" She's so shocked she's stuttering and she looks to the others for support, but no one gives her any. "That's like, that's like, comparing
Gypsy
to
Mary Poppins
!"

"I liked
Mary Poppins
." I'm beginning to realize I can't win. "I saw it the other night." I'm trying to see as many plays as I can before I start my own show.

"A Disney show!" she laughs. "Oh, Kaitlin, whatever will we do with you?" She looks at her shiny silver Movado watch. "Loo break! We'll reconvene in fifteen minutes."

Karen and Riley head off to the bathroom and I collapse cross-legged on the dusty scuffed-up floor, knowing I'm dirtying my Rebecca Taylor shorts, but I couldn't care less. All I want to do is hear Austin's voice. I dial his number and wait patiently till I hear him pick up.

"Hi, you've reached Austin," I hear him say.

"Austin! Hey, it's me," I say quickly, excited to finally catch him. "I haven't talked to you in two days..."

"You know what to do at the beep," he says. "I'll call you back soon. Promise."
BEEP
.

It's a message. A new message that I don't recognize, which is what confused me. "It's me." I can't help sounding glum. "Call me, okay? Miss you." I hang up and shove my phone into my overstuffed snakeskin bag. (I'm carting around a change of clothes for the meeting I have with Laney later.) Why did he change his message since yesterday?

"Chin up, mate." Dylan joins me on the floor, not minding that his battered jeans are getting dirty too. He offers me half of his Cadbury bar, and I look around for Riley ("No more cupcakes, Kaitlin! Theater is about being dedicated to your body!") before I take it. He has them shipped over here from the UK because he swears the Cadbury sold in the States tastes different. "What's that saying you guys have? Riley's bark is worse than her bite?"

I laugh. "That's it. I hope you're right."

Dylan is sitting right next to me and our knees are touching. He smells a little like pineapple. Maybe it is CK One cologne. And even in just a faded Ed Hardy tee, I've been sneaking looks at him all rehearsal. His biceps peek through his tee. He must work out a lot.

"It's too bad
Meeting of the Minds
already opened." Dylan snaps me out of my thoughts. "You could really use the Gypsy Robe."

"I read about the Gypsy Robe," I tell him excitedly. It was in one of the books I read about the Great White Way. HOLLYWOOD BROADWAY SECRET NUMBER SIX: The ritual of the Gypsy Robe occurs on the opening night of a Broadway musical right before the curtain goes up. The whole cast and members of the production get together on stage and form a circle. In the center is a performer who is supposed to be a representative of Actors' Equality and a former recipient of the ritual from the last musical that opened on Broadway. The performer holds a gorgeous decked-out robe that has memorabilia from past Broadway musicals all over it. The recipient of the robe is usually someone from the chorus who has performed in the most Broadway shows and embodies the qualities of the Broadway "gypsy"--someone who is dedicated, is professional, and has a seasoned career. The hope is that the robe brings luck and charm to the play's opening night.

"I don't think it would work here, though," I tell Dylan, tracing my pointer finger along the floor. "This isn't a musical, this is my first show, and I'm not in the chorus."

"Bollocks, you're right," Dylan says with a laugh. He rests his head on his knee. "You don't need it anyway. Everyone likes you, and you're going to be brilliant on opening night."

"You think?" I know I'm fishing for it, but this is the sort of reinforcement that I shamelessly know I need right now. I pluck at the fabric of my cotton shirt, fretting. I'm freaked out enough about being on stage without worrying how I'm going to sound. I was hoping Austin would say the same thing, but he's been out of reach the past few days. I know he's just busy with finals and getting ready for lacrosse camp, but I really feel how much I miss him.

"I know," Dylan tells me firmly. "Rehearsal is done in an hour, and I was going to take the tube uptown to get some lunch. You interested?"

"Yes," I tell Dylan regretfully, "but I have a meeting with my publicist. She's in town with another client who is doing the talk shows."

Dylan smiles, knits his forehead, and looks down at the painted black stage. "Maybe tomorrow then," he suggests. "We can even stay after to go over a few more scenes if you like."

"I could really use the help." I struggle to get up and Dylan offers me his hand. He pulls me up and I find myself looking into his green eyes again.

"Happy to," Dylan says and gives me the most amazing grin. Huh, look at that. He actually has two dimples, not one. It makes me blush, oddly, and I feel the heat move over my face.

"That would be great." I feel my iPhone vibrate, and I run for my bag. "Will you excuse me a second?" Dylan nods. "Hello?"

"Hey, stranger." Austin's voice growls in my ear.

"Hey!" I'm so excited I practically scream. "I mean hi. And
you're
the stranger. I haven't spoken to you in two days."

"Well, it feels like a lot longer," Austin tells me. "But I'm really sorry, Burke. We had those two meets in San Diego and we wound up staying overnight and by the time I went to call you, I realized it was too late."

"It's okay," I say. Did I even know about those two meets? I can't remember either way. Then again, I didn't tell him about the charity kissing booth, which I have to do now. Eek. "I just wanted to hear your voice."

"Does it sound good?" Austin teases.

"Yes!" I laugh.

"So what is it you wanted to talk about?" he asks. "I'm all ears."

Okay, here it goes. "Do you remember me telling you about that Operation Read America event I went to the other night?"

"Um... did you tell me you went to an Operation Read America event the other night?" Austin laughs. "Sorry. I can't remember."

I'm a tinge annoyed. I did tell him and I talked about it for like an hour because it was at the Waverly Inn and I was really hoping to bump into Graydon Carter. But now is not the time to point that out. "That's okay. It was this event for charity and they had this kissing booth with the stars where people paid money to kiss celebrities."

That gets his attention. "Go on."

"And Sky and I were two of the kissers," I continue nervously. I can't think of a time I've ever been this nervous to talk to Austin, ever. "We wore wax lips and we kissed babies and it was all for a good cause." God, I sound like Laney. "Anyway, I just wanted you to know because you might see some pictures in the tabloids."

"Huh." Austin sounds sort of quiet, but my phone is a little fuzzy. Oh wait, that's the air conditioner unit blowing backstage.

"And well, one of the people I kissed was..."

Say it.

"... Dylan Koster. You know, my costar."

"I know who he is." Austin's voice sounds strange, almost as if he is about to laugh. Or maybe cry.

"The pictures are probably online already and
People
will have some this week." I can't stop talking. "It was great publicity for the play and he was a really good sport. Oh, and I also kissed Chace Crawford and Jimmy Fallon."

"How was Jimmy Fallon?" Austin asks.

"Funny," I squeak. "He wanted to kiss my elbow." Now it's my turn to let the dead air hang between us. "I've been trying to reach you for days so I could tell you. Are you mad?" I finally ask.

Austin takes a while to answer me. I hear him sigh on the other end. "No." He sounds like he is choosing his words slowly. "I don't
like
it, but I know it's work. Sort of. I'm glad you told me though."

I feel like I could exhale for a whole minute, I'm so relieved. "Of course. It was nothing, but I didn't want you to think it
was
something so I thought I should tell you about the nothing."

Did that even make sense?

"Glad you did." Austin still sounds off. Or maybe it's just me being paranoid.

I've got to change the subject fast. "All ready for the dance?"

That topic perks Austin right up. "Limo is booked, dinner reservations are made, and I've already picked up my tux."

"My dress is already in L.A.," I tell him. "And Paul and Shelly are coming to the house to do my hair and makeup."

"Sweet." I'm paying attention to every word Austin says to hear if he's still mad, but he sounds okay again. And I know he is when he says: "Burke, I can't wait to see you. Liz told Josh your flight gets in at three. Make sure you sleep on the plane okay?"