Chapter 44

The Show Must Go On

"Thirty minutes till showtime!" Sue Ellen called out to the crew backstage. Like her subordinates, she was dressed in black from head to toe, and judging from her stoic expression and the clipboard wedged tightly between her fingers and the crook of her elbow, she was taking her secondary role as stage manager very seriously.

Thirty minutes, thought Francine. Thirty short minutes until your doom. Our doom.

Already in makeup and costume, having cycled through her vocal warm-up, there was nothing else to prep, and so she had found herself wandering out of her dressing room, pacing back and forth, trying to tamp down her nerves. She had not eaten since breakfast, so at least she could not throw up. Dry heaving would not be nearly as mortifying as the real deal should she hit rock bottom during the show. She had promised Muffy and other cast and crew members that she would join them at the Sugar Bowl once it was all over. If she somehow made it out alive, Francine was sure she would wolf down a Bubsy with extra cheese in three freaking bites. Allowing her feet to carry her away from the crew, she rounded the black backdrop and strolled out onto the stage, which was set up for the "Rock Island" opener and obscured from the audience with a heavy grand drape, royal blue, of course, a display of MCM pride. Cast members darted across the stage in either direction to chat with each other in low voices, while others did fit checks of their early 1900's garb, tugging at their ties and buttoned collars. Binky and Maria stood at the edge of stage left, going over dance steps last minute, serious and determined expressions replacing the goofy grins they had often exchanged since dancing together at the Autumn Ball. Buster stood alone at the center of the stage's edge, dressed in Harold Hill's traveling salesman attire, peering through the gap in the curtains.

"They're really starting to file in," he told her as she approached, adopting a somber, wistful tone when he spied his parents. "Oh, look—there's Mom. And Dad. Taking seats next to each other. How nice. Oh, well…" He shook his head as if physically trying to clear his mind before regarding Francine. "Are you ready?"

"Hell, no," she said. "You?"

Buster abandoned the gap, letting go of the curtains to shrug. "As I'll ever be, I guess. Hey, Fern once told me it's a Not Ready for High School Players tradition for cast members to haze each other on opening night—you know, ad-lib and stuff—to keep each other on their toes." He waggled his eyebrows as a devilish smile spread across his face.

Francine smiled back at him, hoping her quiet tone still carried weight. "Buster… I am this close to the edge," she said holding the tips of her thumb and index finger a millimeter apart. "Try anything stupid tonight, and you may never father children."

Buster's eyes widened as he balked. "Sheesh, Frankie. Just trying to lighten the mood." He backed several paces away from her before turning and heading stage left, raising his voice loud enough for her to hear. "Better not take any chances with you. I think I'll run to the locker room, see if I can scrounge up a jock strap."

"I really don't think you have anything to worry about," came a voice from behind, and Francine was pleasantly surprised to see that George had sneaked up, unnoticed. His face was sweet yet sympathetic, and the suspenders he was wearing only added to his boyishness. In spite of her nerves, Francine could not help but find it endearing. "With Buster, I mean," he was quick to clarify. "Not that I think you should worry about anything else, the show especially."

"George," she said, trying to stop him before he could rev up.

"I was just–"

"You're nice…but I know you don't mean that. You don't have to make me feel better. This is no one's fault but mine."

But George still looked apologetic. "If I could do anything else to help you, I would."

Francine could not think of a single thing that would help her that George had not already done. He had been great, offering her words of encouragement before rehearsals and through text messages at night before bedtime. She thanked God Binky had chosen to work with Maria on choreography and entrusted George with the task of helping her learn all of Marian's steps instead. "Hey, you saved the Autumn Ball, buddy," Binky had told him Sunday at Arthur's house while deciding how to proceed with their emergency rehearsal. "I've seen you two on the dance floor—I know you know your stuff. You'll do awesome." She did not think she could have stomached Binky's domineering choreographer mode while under her current level of stress. George had been patient and unruffled and kind while they worked together, always complementing her when she got it right, pep talking her when she did not. And here he was, wishing he could do more. But that was George, good-hearted to a freaking fault.

"I know you would," she said.

"Do you want a hug?"

"Nah… Yeah."

She stepped in close and threw her arms around George's shoulders, fighting the emotion that welled in her chest, resisting the urge to bury her face in his shoulder and cry at the expense of ruining both her makeup and his costume. It felt almost greedy to desire comfort right now when she was the cause of everyone else's troubles, but she could not help it. She needed this.

"If you want to vent later," he said once they had parted, "I'll listen."

"Thanks, jailbird," she said, referencing his stint in ISS earlier that week. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in my dressing room, breathing into a paper bag."

Where is she?

Arthur stood just inside Francine's empty dressing room, perplexed. He figured he would find her in here, studying her script, or moping at the very least. He had passed Sue Ellen seconds ago, confirming that they would join everyone at the Sugar Bowl after the cast meet-and-greet. Maybe he could backtrack and ask her if she knew where Francine had gone.

I hope she didn't run away, he thought as he turned on his heel and collided with Francine, who was entering the room as he was exiting. "Whoops—sorry!"

"Hey!" she said at the same time, issuing an annoyed grunt and staggering backward a couple of steps. She inhaled deeply and sidestepped him in the doorway, crossing the room to her makeup table, where she picked up her script and used it to fan herself. "I mean, hey. What are you doing in here? Shouldn't you be in the pit?"

"Yeah, soon. I wanted to find you first and tell you to break a leg."

"Oh. Thanks."

"Yeah, well…you're welcome."

He was almost out the door when she called out, "You were right."

"About what?" he said, walking back to her.

"About my understudy duties, genius."

"I already told you, Francine, I'm not rubbing that in."

"I know, but just hear me out. I wish I had listened to you. Now my ass is grass. I'm so unprepared, so…scared."

It was surprising to hear her be this vulnerable when they had spent the past week at odds with each other. Still, that did not stop him from trying to ease her worries.

"Oh. Well…don't be. You're going to be fine."

"Aw, call a spade a spade, Arthur. I am unprepared. And let's face it—I'd be even more screwed if the rest of you guys hadn't carried me this week. Seriously, where did I put that damn paper bag?" She had muttered that last part as she began rummaging through her open backpack, which was perched upright against the back cushion of the brown loveseat.

"I am calling a spade a spade," he said in gentle defiance. "Yeah, everyone's worked hard this week, including you. You've been nonstop since Sunday, even though this has been a lot on you…even though you threw up Monday—I mean, I guess that's why you never came back to lunch…." Francine's arm was shoved into her bag up to her elbow when she paused to hit him with an incredulous stare. No one had told him she had thrown up that day, but that look was all the confirmation he needed. "I honestly don't think I could have kept going if I were in your shoes. This is what I was talking about the other day. You're dedicated. When someone gives you a job to do, you do everything you can to be your best, especially when the chips are down. I know you're feeling low right now, but if anyone can pull off learning a role in four days, I'd bet money on that someone being you. You're Francine-Fuh-reaking-Frensky."

Though Francine's eyes remained sad, he was pleased to see her crack the smallest of smiles at his last remark. "Thanks," she said. "I needed that… I also want to say—"

"FRANCINE!" shrieked a frantic voice from outside the dressing room. "FRANCINE!"

"Muffy?" said Francine.

Arthur heard slapping footfalls slowing down outside the room before Muffy rounded the door frame and sprinted inside, pulling Alan along by the wrist. "I'm so glad we made it in time!" she panted, clapping a hand over her heart.

"What's wrong?" said Francine.

"What's right? That's what you should be asking. Alan created something that'll make your musical problems vanish, just like that!" Muffy snapped her fingers for emphasis. She then beamed at her companion. "Show her, Alan."

"It's a rudimentary set-up," Alan said, quickly unshouldering the old backpack he was wearing and unzipping it, "but I managed to convert this walkie-talkie and this hearing aid into a radio earpiece." He held up a small brown hearing aid and camouflaged walkie-talkie as if he were performing a demonstration. "Just wear this and have someone standing by with the handset and script. They can send you a line if you get stuck. Simple. Boy, am I glad I saved the container of scraps I salvaged from the Dumpsters behind Shady Pines Retirement Home. You never know what will come in handy."

"That was in some old person's ear?" Arthur said, unable to hide neither his wonder nor his disgust.

"Shut. Up. Arthur," Muffy warned through a smile before Alan could defend his ingenuity.

"I don't care which body hole it was shoved into," said Francine. "I'm desperate. Give it here." She all but snatched the hearing aid from Alan and eyed it like a prize for several seconds before her expression wilted. Now she looked uncertain, her eyes flitting to each person in the room. "This is cheating, isn't it?"

"It's just something to help you get by," Muffy said reasonably. "You've worked hard and made tons of progress this week. It's a safety net, that's all."

"But everyone else has worked hard, too, for weeks and weeks. I'm a lot of things, but…I can't coast while the other Players are busting their asses. I'm sorry, guys. I know you're trying to help me, and I really, really appreciate it, but I just can't. It doesn't feel right." Francine gave the earpiece back to Alan, looking braver than Arthur had seen her look in a long time. "I'm going to go out there, and I'm going to give it everything I've got. And that's it. Whatever happens…happens."

"You're sure?" said Alan.

Francine nodded.

"Oh…" Muffy pulled Francine into a tight hug. "Break a leg, sis!"

"Sis?" Francine asked once she had let go.

"Just an expression," Muffy said sweetly before taking Alan by the wrist again. "Come on," she said to him, "Let's go grab our seats!"

"Wow," Arthur said once they had cleared the room. "That took serious guts."

"You don't think I just double-effed myself there, not taking the easy way out?"

"No. I really don't. I think you've got this… What else did you want to say?"

"What?"

"Before Muffy and Alan barged in?"

"Oh, um, just that I'm sorry."

"For?"

"Time is short. I can't go down the entire list. Basically, I'm sorry I tried to push you around. You know, with Sue Ellen. That wasn't my business. I just wanted you to have fun at the dance."

"We could have had fun at the dance."

Francine heaved a heavy and prolonged sigh. "I couldn't go with you."

"You wanted to go, and you ended up going anyway, so why not?"

"Because we both know it wouldn't be just a dance. Not for you. We used to be on the same page, but I don't think we are anymore." Francine appeared to be struggling to find both her courage and her words. She looked like she was about to rip off a particularly sticky Band-Aid before she continued. "I can't be what I think you want me to be, and you know why. But it's kind of already put this big effing wedge between us, and I hate it. I miss hanging out with you, but I can't stand it if you're just going to make things awkward. I wish we could go back to pizza and bowling and movies and just doing whatever, and that's all. Just being friends. Because I think that's all I'm capable of being. Why can't that be enough?"

That stung, hearing her say it, and Arthur knew that Francine knew it stung. The remorse was written all over her face. As much as he had hoped she would come around and return his feelings, he had equally feared that she would eventually turn him down in express detail. But at least he finally knew. It stung, but in a way, it was a relief to finally have an answer. "Was that so hard?" he said quietly.

"Harder than you think. I don't mind pissing you off, but I don't like hurting your feelings. I'm so sorry I've been such an A-hole about everything."

"If you weren't being an A-hole, I'd be concerned about you," he joked after a moment's thought, inching toward her until he was close enough to extend a hand. "And don't worry. It's enough. Friends?"

"Yeah," she said, eyeing his hand before shaking it. "Friends."

And that felt good. Good enough.

"Not that it matters now," he said, feeling the freedom of the severed tension between them, "but if Sue Ellen had asked me to the Autumn Ball, I would've said no. I'm sorry I asked her out just to make you mad. It wasn't fair to her, either. It was a jerk move all around, I guess. But…I'm also kind of glad I did. We had fun, you know, once the party really got started."

"I'm happy for you," Francine said. "I really am. You dork."

"Francine!" called another voice, and within seconds, Sue Ellen was knocking on the open door. "We're on in ten, so please stand by, okay?"

"Thanks, Sue Ellen."

"And you—" Sue Ellen pointed at Arthur, "You need to get to the pit A-S-A-P."

"Be right there," he said, flashing Francine a thumbs up as he raced to catch up to Sue Ellen backstage.

"You're headed in the wrong direction," Sue Ellen said, making notes on her checklist.

"I know. I just thought of something—I think Muffy's going to the Sugar Bowl later. Do you think she'll give us a ride?"

"Actually," she said, not looking up from the paper, "I've decided to go home after the play, sorry. It'll be late, and I've got way too much homework. Plus, I'd like to check in with Fern again, if she's awake. Eight minutes, Arthur. You'd better go."

"Oh. Okay…."

Arthur hurried to join the other pit members, trying to ignore the small wave of disappointment that washed over him, trying not to wonder why he was disappointed in the first place. It was just the Sugar Bowl, after all, not the end of the world, and he could definitely go it alone. And he would see Sue Ellen tomorrow. He joined his fellow pit members and took a seat at the piano, wondering why that thought made him so eager for the next day to come.

It was thirty-three minutes past six. Francine was barely listening as she stood off stage right. Players were already in place on the "Rock Island" set, though the grand drape was still closed. Coach Sorrell had just stepped out of the curtains and onto the stage's apron to give her introduction. She talked about how honored she was to coach the Players and how proud she was of the hard work and passion they had put forth. She talked about Fern and what a shame it was that she could not be here to perform with her friends, expressed sympathy for her condition and wished her a speedy recovery. And finally, she asked everyone to give a warm reception to Francine, Fern's replacement, and assured them they were in for a treat when they heard her sing.

And that was where Francine lost her. Her thoughts drifted to how much her mood had changed over the past few minutes. She was glad she had talked with Arthur. She had thought turning him down would make her feel horrible. It did not necessarily make her feel great, but the conversation had been a long time coming. For months, it had felt as if a huge gloomy cloud of unspoken frustration filled the air around her. Now, having said her piece and knowing he respected her wishes, the air felt a lot clearer, and she could breathe a little more easily.

That left the matter of the musical. She owed it to everyone on this stage, seen and unseen, to be the best damn Marian she could be. Her biggest regret apart from dismissing her job as an understudy was spending so much time inside her own head, making herself sick with worry. If she had not done that, she really could have shown them what she was made of. Movement over on stage left caught her eye, and she looked to see George waving at her. He gave her a double thumbs up, and she returned the gesture with a genuine smile.

"And now, without further ado," came Coach Sorrell's disembodied voice once again, "I present to you the Not Ready for High School Players in Mill Creek Middle School's production of Meredith Willson's The Music Man."

Applause followed. Seconds later, the grand drape parted. It was showtime.

And what exactly am I made of? she asked herself, feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline.

Everyone would find out soon enough.

To be continued…