Chapter 29
The return to rehearsals was largely bittersweet for Ivy.
She was eager to return to the studio, the theatre was what Ivy lived for, her bread and wine. The two week interlude had been good for her, a much needed vacation, but one that was forced on her, not taken voluntarily. There had been classes of course, Ivy was determined to keep herself in top form, but it wasn't the same. The sense of unity you felt when a number finally came together, the satisfaction in nailing a chord, that was something unique to each production and it had been sorely missed during the brief hiatus.
Not to say that she hadn't enjoyed the little break, she had. Derek was near constantly at her place, venturing home only a handful of times, usually to grab a change of clothes or a forgotten Marilyn book. They'd go their separate ways during the day. Derek to meetings with the creative team or a potential investor; Ivy to seminars or the occasional matinee but their evenings were more often than not, spent together. The two would often stay up late into the night, discussing the show or Marilyn. Sometimes they would just talk about life. Ivy would vent after a bad audition, Derek would complain about the lack of anything substantial in the scripts he was reading. If you squinted, they could almost pass for a normal couple. But then again, from a far enough distance, everyone looked normal.
The matter of his family was still up in the air. He hadn't mentioned seeing his father again and she hadn't asked. From time to time he would "accidentally" give her another clue, but these moments were sporadic and the information was often rather trivial. Still, Ivy felt a certain pride in knowing that Derek's mother had hated mustard on her hamburgers. It wasn't the words that were important, it was that Derek was saying them.
It had been fun, if uneventful, but Ivy would have been ecstatic to be back to work, if not for the looming figure of Rebecca Duvall.
Movies stars were always the biggest threats to theatre actors, such as herself. They carried a box office clout that Ivy couldn't dream of possessing, one that was very attractive to investors. Not to mention that certain sense of celebrity. However unsuitable Rebecca Duvall might be to the part of Marilyn, she had star quality. It was undeniable. You didn't get where she was without it.
The reality of coming face to face with her replacement was terrifying. The slight possibility that she might bring something new to the role. That, god forbid, she might be better than Ivy, scared her half to death.
But she had to enter the room at some point and now was as good a time as ever. As Ivy pushed open the door, she was greeted with the sounds of an early morning rehearsal. That is to say, a lot of grumbling about the early hour accompanied by the occasional crack of someone's bones as they swung their leg over their head. But today there was also a murmur of anticipation.
Ivy tried to ignore it, dropping her stuff off and joining Jessica and Dennis at the ballet bar.
"Ivy!" chirped Jessica, abandoning her stretches to throw her arms around Ivy, pulling her into a tight hug. She was overcompensating but Ivy didn't mind. It had been weeks, since she and Jessica had really got a chance to talk. Towards the end, Marilyn had pretty much taken over her life and she hadn't had much time to socialize with her friends. But it seemed she would be welcomed back with open arms.
Once a chorus kid, always a chorus kid. Right now the positive connotations of the statement outweighed the negative. She returned the embrace with equal fervor, squealing happily about how great it was to see them again.
Ivy was engaged in a conversation with Josh, asking him a few questions about the choreography for the opening of Let's Be Bad, when it happened.
A hush fell over the crowded room, people stopped in their tracks. It was almost comical, a tableau entitled She's coming.
When the door finally swung open, everyone had returned to their former positions, chattering, dancing, doing anything but looking at the people who had just entered. This was, after all, New York. New Yorkers would never admit to being starstruck. Only Karen, still as midwestern as ever, remained googly eyed as Rebecca walked into the room.
Ivy herself had gone back to going over the combination, but she kept one eyed trained on the group.
Rebecca Duvall looked every inch the movie star she was. Her tall form was covered in a red trench-coat, her eyes shielded by a pair of sunglasses that probably cost more than Ivy's entire closet. She stood up straight, an air of superiority surrounding her. Perhaps she was biased, but Ivy immediately disliked the woman.
"Alright everyone." Derek called out, giving them all permission to acknowledge the presence of their new Marilyn.
"As you all know, this is Rebecca Duvall. You will have time to meet her later. Right now, we are getting straight to work." he said, immediately setting his bags down, leaving no room for argument. Rebecca looked slightly annoyed that she hadn't been given a star entrance. Ivy smirked. Working with Derek Wills, she wouldn't know what hit her.
"We're going to start with Let Me Be Your Star." Larry, the pianist nodded and began to play the beginning chords, as Rebecca stripped off her jacket and assembled herself behind him.
As she sang, Ivy watched as the production team's faces morphed into expressions of abject horror. Rebecca had taken the powerhouse opening number and transformed it into a bad Johnny Cash song. She spoke the words at first, then, noticing the thinly veiled looks of displeasure, attempted to actually sing, resulting in a succession of impressively off key notes. It wasn't long before Derek spoke up.
"Okay. I think we've heard enough of that. Let's take ten, shall we?" He quickly evacuated the room, pulling a gobsmacked Tom and Julia after him. Eileen followed a few feet behind. Rebecca, who somehow seemed as confident as ever departed with her assistants, muttering something about getting a smoothie.
When she finally exited, it was as though everyone in the room let out a collective breath. Bobby, Jessica and Dennis all but sprinted over to her, glee written all over their faces.
"It'll be yours within the week." Dennis said.
"Derek looked like he was going to have an aneurysm." Bobby added, laughing so hard he was shaking.
"How did she get cast before they heard her sing?" asked Jessica.
"Come on guys. She's not that bad." This was Sam, ever the voice of reason.
"Yes, she is. I haven't heard a note that flat since Laura Bell at Virgin." said Bobby, tossing his hair dramatically to further emphasize the point.
"Bobby!" cried Dennis, who'd done Legally Blonde with Laura.
"What? It's true." the catty chorus boy replied, proceeding to do a spot on imitation of Rebecca, until even Sam had to crack a smile.
Rebecca's complete inability to keep on pitch both irritated and pleased Ivy. There was a certain sting to being replaced by someone who so obviously lacked the qualities necessary to preform on stage, but there was also the knowledge that Rebecca posed no threat to Ivy in terms of technical ability. But then again, neither had Karen and look how close that had been.
"Well I think she's great." Speak of the devil. The Iowan had managed to sneak her way into the little group without Ivy noticing.
"Are you crazy?" Bobby said, cocking one eyebrow at the girl.
"I mean she's not the best singer but she's beautiful and famous and I wish I had her life." Something about this comment really rubbed Ivy the wrong way. She was about to respond with a snarky quip, but a look from Sam had her thinking twice. Sighing, Ivy bit her tongue. Might as well try to get along with Iowa. It seemed that most of the ensemble had taken a shine to her. Besides, what was the old saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
A minute later and the creative staff entered once again. Tom, Julia and Derek all looked equally upset. Only Eileen had managed to escape the meeting with a smile, although it looked rather forced. Linda called them back as soon as Rebecca returned, nearly five minutes after the allotted ten minute break was over. Derek, who's face was ruddy with discontentment, called out the plan for the remainder of the morning.
"We're going to begin with some of the scenes from Act two when Marilyn goes to the Actors Studio. If you are not needed for those, please go with Josh to run History Is Made At Night." Slowly, people began filtering out of the room, tossing not-so-subtle looks at Rebecca as they walked past. Ivy latched onto Sam's arm and was about to follow when Derek shook his head.
"Not you Ivy." She turned around, sending him a look of confusion. Understudies were normally not rehearsed until previews began, she wasn't sure what he could need her for now. Seeing her perplexity, he walked over and added, in a low tone.
"It's going to be too difficult to work you into that number so you might as well just stay here and watch." She understood what he meant. Now that Rebecca had proven to be a dud, she stood a chance at getting Marilyn back. But only if she kept up with the material. This was merely his convenient way of helping her along. Not that she really needed it, but she appreciated the gesture. She nodded.
"Sure. That's fine."
"Great." he responded vaguely, his hand resting on the small of her back as he guided her towards an inconspicuous chair in the corner, far enough away that her presence would not distract Rebecca. But the woman already seemed put off, her eyes trained on the two as they moved across the room. The expression on her face betrayed a rancor that made Ivy nervous. She immediately removed herself from Derek's grasp and made the decision to keep her identity as the understudy a secret.
"Alright Rebecca, do you know these pages yet?" Derek asked gruffly, passing her a handful of papers.
"I think so." she answered with a wink. But Derek hardly noticed, his gaze fixed on the script before him.
"Peter, from the top." he called, referring to the older gentlemen they'd brought in to play Lee Strasberg.
"Next." said Peter, now in character, pointing an index finger at Rebecca who, following the stage directions with puzzlement evident on her face, went and sat down on the stool placed at the front of the room.
"I'm Marilyn Monroe." she intoned, making her voice breathy to the point where it was difficult to understand what she was saying.
"And I'm so thankful to be here." The accent got stronger as she continued, now making a sweeping gesture with her arms.
"How can you be thankful before you know that I can teach you anything?" Peter replied, his eyebrows raised as he watched Rebecca crane her neck out until it looked almost detached from the rest of her body.
"Stop. Rebecca what are you doing with your head?" Derek asked.
"What do you mean?" the woman responded coquettishly.
"I mean that you look like a bloody ostrich." he returned. Rebecca looked visibly shocked. No doubt, she wasn't used to being talked to in such a harsh manner.
"I thought that's the way you theatre people did it. Big and broad." she retorted, throwing her hands into the air to illustrate her point.
"Yes, well there is a difference between playing to the balcony and making a spectacle of yourself." He was especially crabby today.
"Again."
"Next." repeated Peter.
"I'm Marilyn Monroe." Derek made a noise of aggravation.
"Dial down the voice please. It's too much." Rebecca nodded and continued.
"And I'm so thankful to be here." Peter's line and then hers. They got through nearly a minute without incident.
"It's just I feel a little dumb is all. You're all so talented." Rebecca made a 180 degree turn to face the invisible group at the back of the room.
"Rebecca. You can't look straight upstage. The audience won't see or hear you." She repeated the line, this time looking straight forward.
"Oh for heavens sake. Ivy!"
"Yes?" she replied quietly.
"Go sit in the back so that Rebecca has something to look at." She obeyed, dragging a chair to upstage left, so that if Marilyn turned to face her, she would still be three quarters toward the audience. This was all common sense to Ivy, but it confused Rebecca, who had clearly never done theatre before and she ended up looking the wrong way.
"It's not that difficult." Derek muttered, frustrated. Rebecca looked like she were about to cry. She was out of her element and her director certainly wasn't making it any easier.
"Ivy, do something to make sure she turns to right way. A noise, a signal, anything." he said, rubbing his temples as he met her eyes. She gave him a pointed look. Not only was the command unnecessarily patronizing but it was also the fastest way to get her into the star's bad books. He reciprocated with an expression that made it clear he didn't care. This silent exchange did not go unnoticed by Rebecca who immediately spoke.
"Again." she remarked sarcastically, more of a statement than a question. Derek looked away from Ivy and nodded.
The next time they ran through it, Ivy tapped the heel of her shoe lightly against the floor at a volume that was loud enough for Rebecca to hear but low enough that it wouldn't be picked up by a body mic. The movie star glared at Ivy as she delivered the line, hating that she was being babied by a chorus girl. Ivy wondered if this was how Karen felt when Derek had told her to sing Happy Birthday.
Eventually, Rebecca did get it right. But it was another excruciatingly long hour before it happened. First, Rebecca had been told to reign it in but she'd taken the note to such an extreme that they spent the next fifteen minutes getting her to a level where any facial expression was visible onstage. When they were finally dismissed, the woman made a point of snubbing Ivy, the witness to her humiliation. But as they both got up, they accidentally looked straight at each other and Ivy saw a mixture of emotions playing in Rebecca's baby blues. Shame, insecurity, anger; feelings that weren't unfamiliar to Ivy and stirred up a bit of empathy in the former Marilyn. But then her adversary's eyes narrowed, sending a simple message.
Don't fuck with me.
Oh, how the tables had turned.
A/N: It has just come to my attention that the way I've been describing Ivy's house isn't what has been shown on Smash. I've gone back and changed a few things so that it makes more sense. Sorry about that. For the purposes of this story, this is what her apartment looks like:
i1071. photobucket./ albums/ u511/ idbeinthefollies1/ Screenshot2012-06-30at11758PM. png
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Thanks for reading everyone.
