Thanks, all, for your responses. And a special thank you thank you to Grace_Dimitri_fan for her essential assistance in transcribing scenes I couldn't see, so I could be as accurate as possible.

This is a long one. Enjoy.

***

Chapter 4: Casting

Chris… married. A chapter ended, a story finished. Distance, distance is good for clarity. We each needed it. I was grateful for the distraction of my students, the minutiae of assignments, the urgency of their lives. And glad for the play, something else to occupy my mind and time fully outside of class work.

An odd thing happened today, after the callbacks.

I had listed Jessie, along with Cynthia and Grace, as a callback for Rosalind. She had been auditioning for the smaller role of Phoebe; this was her first play. But, she seemed to have the potential to be very good. Still, unless Grace truly flubbed her lines or was totally tone deaf, she was my pick. Yet… I didn't want her to be complacent about getting the role. I had the sense that Grace was used to doing well in school, to getting the parts she tried out for, with minimal effort. It could be good for her to feel the bite of competition. Jessie, with that voice, just might push her into a better performance.

Cynthia, Cynthia was fine, but no Rosalind. She would be good as Celia. Jessie's acting was stronger this time – she'd had time to read Rosalind's lines, and her singing still sent a chill. Voice of an angel. Celia was a bigger speaking part, but I'd given Phoebe, as a shepherdess, more songs.

Grace's reading of the lines at callbacks was even better than her initial audition. Perhaps Jessie's better performance had indeed brought out her competitive edge. She gave a little bow at the end, and I responded, "I must say, I enjoyed that very much." Wanted to encourage her, hoped she'd be relaxed when singing, hoped she could sing. "Now, let's hear your song."

She closed her eyes a moment, licked her lips, reached into her pocket for something. "Whenever you're ready," I said. I heard a faint note – she'd brought a pitch pipe. Taking no chances. She took a breath, and then she sang. To my… what, relief? joy? Grace had a lovely singing voice. Not the breath-stopping clarity of her stepsister, but quite nice, strong, the voice, actually, I'd consider Rosalind to have. Rosalind wouldn't have a high, sweet, porcelain voice – that would be more suitable for Phoebe. Grace's voice was solid, rich, and made me smile.

I'd pretty much made up my mind for most parts by the end of callbacks, but knew from experience I should sleep on it and think a bit more, discuss it with my stage manager. And the male roles were less certain. Though I know the auditioners would prefer to know the results immediately.

Grace was the last callback. When she finished, I climbed on stage. "Okay," I said. "You were all great, thank you for preparing your songs so nicely. I will be posting the cast list… let's see… Friday afternoon." Groans – that meant two full days of waiting. I continued, "The cast should meet here for the first rehearsal this Monday. See you lucky actors then!"

Everyone filed out of the auditorium. I looked around, wondered where Alexa was – I needed to go over the casting with her, especially for Orlando, Silvius, and Oliver. I stepped into the back hallway to get a drink and saw a figure down the hall. "Alexa?" I called. But it wasn't Alexa, who, I realized, had probably taken one of her annoying clandestine cigarette breaks. It was Grace, leaning against the wall near the soda machine. She straightened up when she heard my voice, and we both said "Hi" simultaneously. I walked to the machine, and Grace said  "Hi" again as I approached her. Her face was flushed – post performance jitters, perhaps. "So, who knew you had such a great voice?" I commented.

"Yeah," she said, surprised. "Who knew?"

I tried to insert a dollar bill into the machine without luck. Too crinkled. I smoothed it out. Success. "It really was quite an audition," I added, thinking of her strong overall performance, between the acting and the singing. "You should be proud."

"Thanks," she said, and she smiled then, with almost a complacency that unexpectedly irritated me. I didn't want her to think she was a shoo-in for this. Even though she was. I felt compelled to test her then, remembering, suddenly, a fellowship I had applied for my senior year of college.

There were five us, Creative Writing majors, finalists for a Reynolds Fellowship. It was a graduate residency plus a stipend of $10,000 – not a huge amount, even 20 years ago, but a decent amount for an aspiring author. They pick one writer from each of seven colleges; it was a plum position, so naturally many applied. The selection narrowed down to five, and then came the second part of the application. They already had writing samples, recommendations, interviews. But now we had to write a one-paragraph evaluation of each competitor from our school, highlighting their strengths and weaknesses.

I remember at the time resenting the hell out of this assignment. The five of us had taken many classes together, we knew each other well, and I was close friends with two, Bill and Sonya. But if I praised them too much, would they be chosen over me? If I accentuated the negative too much, what would that say about me? I was tempted to withdraw from the application, until Bill told me he had finished his and sent it in. What did he say about me? I speculated. I stayed up late writing my own evaluations and sent them off the next day, not saving a copy, not wanting to read again what I had written. 

I did not get the fellowship, and neither did Bill, and I always wondered what we had said about each other, how it had affected the decision. Had we betrayed each other or ourselves?

I looked at Grace thoughtfully and said, "But…" her smiled thinned as I continued. "I guess you'll have a lot of competition."

"Yeah, I guess I will.," she said, not knowing where I was going.

"Now, Jessie Sammler is your stepsister?'

Grace's smile was gone now, her voice guarded. "Yeah," she answered.

I took a bottle of water from the machine and opened the top. "Do you guys get along?"

"Sure. Yeah. Well, it can be, you know, awkward."

I laughed. "This must be really awkward, huh? Both up for the same part?"

Grace laughed too, slightly forced. Not her best acting moment. "I'm fine with it," she lied.

"Really. And if she gets the part?" I pushed her further, wanting to see where she'd go.

"It's okay. I mean, she's good. She's…" Her breath caught, as if she were going to say something more. I took a sip of my water and waited. "Jessie's really sensitive." She looked at me, then looked away. "Which makes her a good actress."

Sensitive. That's always a code word for something. Was Grace trying to sabotage Jessie's audition? Was I? After all, I had pushed this conversation here, Grace hadn't approached me. Why was I doing this? I couldn't seem to stop. Putting Grace to the test I had undergone and resented. Exposing her to herself. Exposing her to life. "What do you mean?" I asked.

Grace hesitated, and I saw that her cheeks were flushed again. The words came out quickly. "Just that she's sensitive. Which is good. But it also might make it hard for her."

If Grace was going to say whatever she was implying about Jessie, I wanted her to come right out and say it. Not hint around with veiled code words. She should be specific. "How?" I asked. "How would it be hard?" Should I be concerned? Was this a real issue, or just Grace's jealousy?.

The hall was still, quiet. Would anything Grace said now actually change any decisions I would make? Grace looked up at me nervously, her brown eyes closed off. Then down at her feet. "I don't know. Never mind," she said, ready to retreat.

I shook my head. "What?" Forcing it out of her.

She looked at me again. I couldn't read her expression in the dim light of the hallway. "If she got the part, it might be difficult."

"Why?"

Grace sighed, in all the way now. "Because she's had some problems."

I stepped closer to Grace, trying to understand her expression. "What kind of problems?"

Still looking away from me, Grace said, "Well, she had an eating disorder last year. It was really tough on her." She turned and looked up at me quickly, and I saw that same guardedness in her eyes. "I just hope this wouldn't be too much pressure." Ah yes, sisterly concern, that's all. Subtle but sharp.

The doors to outside opened suddenly, and there was my errant stage manager, appearing in a waft of fresh smoke. She saw me and started. "Just had to go to my locker," she said guiltily, never mind that the lockers were in the opposite direction.

I had to say something. "Uh huh. Alexa, you really shouldn't smoke."

She smiled weakly, said, "I know," and rushed into the auditorium. I turned back to Grace, who was now looking at me, searchingly. I was reacting on several levels. To the actual information, to the fact of her telling me what she did, to the fact of me pulling it out of her. Jessie was anorexic? She did look thin, but it hadn't affected her performance at the auditions, which can be even more stressful than the actual play sometimes. I had already determined she wouldn't be the best Rosalind, and Grace's words hadn't changed my mind about wanting to cast her in the play. They didn't change my mind about wanting to cast Grace, either; she obviously wanted this part very much. She had… responded as I had, and probably as Bill had. We knew each other well, too well, better than the other candidates, and knew the weaknesses that could seem weakest.

Competition does funny things to people, to artists, and by artists I mean writers and actors as well. And teachers. We are a sensitive lot.

Theatre is a release from daily life too, whether on stage or behind. As a director, I get to create a little world, an alternate reality. And an actor gets to disappear into that fantasy, which is more of a certainty, with its set lines of action, predetermined ending, than everyday life, with its unpredictability and unasked for surprises. Like divorcing parents, second weddings, sudden siblings.

Acting must be a release for Grace, something that would take her away from the confusion of her life. And as I remembered only too well, being 16 was confusing enough. Which brought me back to myself. Why had I pushed her like that? Perhaps I knew she wanted to say what she did, some part of her needed to. Why did I need her to say it? Why did I need to hear it? I actually admired her.

Abruptly, I didn't want to think about it anymore. What's said was said. I raised my hand in a wave. "Bye, Grace," I said, and headed back into the auditorium.

"Bye." I heard her say behind me.

***

Alexa was sitting on the stage, with a pages spread out in front of her. "Want to know what I think?" She asked as I approached the stage. "I've made notes for each callback."

"Sure," I said. "Though I'm not ready to make any final decisions right now."

She gathered together the various pieces of paper and tapped them into a neat pile. "Well, why don't we go grab a bite for dinner, and we can discuss it?" she suggested. I looked up, saw that familiar hopeful look in her eyes that I've had occasion to see more than once over the past ten years. It's not like I'm some amazing example of maleness; teachers, especially male teachers, invariably get picked as the object of some student's affection. And when that happens, when it becomes obvious, which it usually is, it needs to be discouraged from the get-go.

I couldn't tell Alexa she could no longer be stage manager because I suspected she might have a crush on me, but I could make sure we related solely on a student-teacher level, and all interactions were strictly impersonal. The auditorium was safe, big, public, people came and went. Dinner would not be, and a private tete a tete was not something to encourage..

"Can't do that. Just give me your notes and I'll go over them. If I have any questions, I'll ask you before the next tech meeting. I make all final picks on my own, anyway."

"Oh, I know," she rushed to say. "I just thought it would be easier if I explained my notes, and we could, you know, talk about it."

"I'm sure your notes will be fine as they are, thanks Alexa." I reached for her the stack of pages, which she handed me. "I must away now. I'll let you know if I need any more info." I got my coat and valise from a seat in the auditorium and left before she could ask again.

***

I did have questions for Alexa for the next day. I asked her to come to the classroom at lunchtime, again, safe public territory, door left open. When she came in, she initially sat at the edge of my desk, but I indicated she should sit in one of the chairs. She told me what I needed to know in ten minutes.

When she left, I shut the door and put a tape in my walkman. Nothing like vintage Linda Ronstadt to help me concentrate. "Dark End of the Street"… "Heart Like a Wheel"… "When Will I be Loved"… I realized I wasn't going to have my final decision made by three that day, wouldn't have time to post the cast list. I'd just call everyone instead. I didn't mean to prolong the agony, but I wanted to make the best decisions. I put together my papers into my valise and left the room, thinking about Tad as Orlando, and crashed right into Grace, who apparently had been lurking by the door. I caught her arm to steady her, greeting her.

"Hi," she said. She was probably waiting for the cast list, I thought, though it was still early in the day. To save her the trouble of coming back, I told her, "I've decided not to post the cast list – I'm think I'm going to call everybody up at home instead." I locked the classroom door. "It's less ferocious." And I started to walk away.

Apparently that wasn't the reason she had been lingering about. "Oh… okay. So you've decided already?" She asked, a false casualness  effectively masking her nervousness. Her question annoyed me too, disproportionately; obviously, if I had decided already the cast list would have been posted by now.

"Pretty much," I answered, taking my walkman out of my pocket and heading to the teacher's lounge for new batteries.

"Oh," she said, and I looked at her, really looked at who she was then, Grace Manning, a junior, looking very worried. Distraught.

"Is there something else?" I stopped and asked.

She looked around. Students were moving down the hall in the end-of-lunch rush. "I hope you… I hope you understand that what I said about Jessie was in the past, and she's fine now -- " I touched Grace's shoulder. She didn't have to do this. She shouldn't be feeling so guilty, still. It's not so bad to be human. Her eyes shifted to my hand on her shoulder, and it looked suddenly unnatural there, conspicuous. "And I don't think it would be a problem." 

I moved my hand to my side. "You don't?"

"No," said Grace, with determination.

"But you brought it up," I pointed out. I had reached the stairs and climbed a couple.

"I did," she admitted. "But…"

I looked down at her. Here eyes were filled with guilt. But, she had said what she said. "But what?"

Grace followed up a few steps. "But… what I said, it doesn't mean anything."

I stopped climbing the stairs. I really wanted to get everything straight so I could make the decisive calls by 6 that evening. Jerry had insisted that I go with him and Rene into town to hear a new local band. And I wanted Grace to accept to herself that she had told me things about Jessie that maybe she shouldn't have, but that she needed to at that point in time. I turned and faced Grace. "Grace," I said. "Everything means something." Words I would remember later.

She said nothing else, just slumped her shoulders, looking defeated. I continued up the stairs to the teacher's lounge.

***

Jerry was there, grading papers. "Yo, August!" he said as I came in. I went to get a cup of weak coffee and pulled out a sandwich. "Play time, huh?" he said.

"Yeah," I said, pulling the callback list from my valise. "Casting decisions. How's Tad Lafferty?"

"Princeton?"

"Yeah."

"He's fine. Not the most expressive actor, but he'll learn his lines. And he'll probably have a fling with at least one of the female leads."

"Yeah… Alexa Yagoda said as much."

He looked up when I mentioned Alexa's name. "Yagoda? Is she your stage manager?"

"Yeah… why?"

"Just, watch out. She tends to get very chummy during play productions. I started having Rene come to rehearsals as a buffer." Rene was Jerry's girlfriend. Live-in.

"Did it help? She's already asked me to dinner."

"It did, actually. After a few times of warm greetings from Rene, she backed off. Still did a good job. She just seems to like teachers, I don't know. Todd Malcolm in Geometry  had to deal with her in ninth grade."

"Thanks for the warning. Maybe I'll borrow Rene some time."

"In your dreams, man."

***

By six, I had finally settled on the entire cast. I pulled out the school directory and began making calls. I got to Manning, Grace, and paused. One phone call for two roles. Who would I ask to speak to? Would I tell each of them separately? But that seemed overkill. I'd ask for Grace. I wanted to tell Grace she had the part, hear her reaction. It would be a grand part for her. Rosalind was one of Shakespeare's best female characters. I really loved As You Like It. With its hidden questions of sexual identity and attraction, nothing was what it seemed. In the end, everything tied together yet there was a lingering element of ambiguity.

I dialed the number. It rang, twice, three times, four times. Was no one there? I'd leave a message, I thought, disappointed I might be denied hearing Grace's reaction. On the sixth ring, someone picked up. Must have been Grace's mother. "This is August Dimitri, director of the play," I began. "Is Grace there?"

A pause, and then I heard Grace's voice, sounding older, disembodied on the phone. "Hello?"

"Grace," I began. "I just wanted to let you know you got the part of Rosalind."

Silence on her part. Had she heard me? "Grace? The play, you got the lead."

"Oh, okay," she said. Not exactly the reaction I had anticipated. This thing with her stepsister must have affected her more than I realized. "Can you let Jessie know she got the role of Phoebe?"

"Oh, okay," she said again, I wished I could see her face now, so I could sense what she was really feeling. Instead I got these odd monosyllabic responses.

"Try to curb your enthusiasm," I said into the void. "So we'll see you both Monday, then," I said. "Have a good weekend."

I hung up then, disconcerted. I knew I had made the right decision for the play, and I hoped I had made the right decision in pushing Grace.

I read Grace's journal that night, first in the stack, after I had made all the calls. On top of her dresser is a porcelain Angel. From her mother. White, fragile, yet solid, man-made stone named for a shell. The stuff of figurines and tea cups. Cowrie. Carved ripples of long, flowing  hair, painted the yellow of corn silk, eyes blue glass, cheeks tinted the palest pink. Because angels, after all, are perfect, angels can do no wrong, but angels do know wrong.  Terra-cotta is browned red, rough, bumpy with tiny, scratchy  imperfections. More practical, but less noticed. Less lovely. The stuff of flower pots and bricks. Sturdy and dependable, needs no care, baked earth. Porcelain shatters when it breaks. Terra-cotta crumbles back into dirt.

Sometimes the teacher in me loses sight of the person behind the student.

Everything means something.