rehearsal. Before long I find myself lost in it. The rewritten scene is wildly improved and for the first time includes some of the feedback we beauty queens provided. If Enzo and Oliver work this kind of magic on the rest of the libretto, it’s just possible that the poster for Dream Angel won’t land on Joe Allen’s redbrick wall after all.
The rehearsal breaks and Trixie consults her watch, a casual Timex with a fabric band featuring white dots on a navy background. “It’s already six,” she says. “Lord, I need more coffee to get through the next two hours.”
“You may not want it,” I tell her, “if you hear the story Enzo told me today. He swears it’s true.”
We head backstage and I begin the tale. “This was during a Broadway run of Les Misérables .”
“One of the longest-running musicals of all time,” Shanelle says. “I always call it Les Miz .”
“I do, too. Anyway, as you know, it has lots of child actors and their contracts include appearance clauses.”
“All performers must have that,” Trixie says.
“They do. Enzo told me there are all kinds of rules, about tanning and tattoos and weight and you name it. He said he’s worked on productions where the female performers are weighed every week.”
“And not the men?” Shanelle cries. “That would get on my last nerve.”
We arrive backstage and sneak into a corner. I keep my voice low. “The production went on for so long that one of the girls had a growth spurt and outgrew her part, according to the specs in her contract. So she got fired.”
Trixie’s face falls. “Oh, how sad for that poor child.”
“It’s a lesson in real life,” Shanelle says, “not just a lesson in show business. Anyway, what happened?”
I can’t help chuckling. Nervy girl: I’ll give her that. “She peed in the backstage coffeepot.”
“What?” Trixie squeals.
“Yup. People were drinking the coffee and saying, wow, this tastes tinny.”
“Oh, my Lord, can you imagine!” Trixie shudders. “Everybody must’ve wanted to skin her alive after that.”
“Apparently the girl’s mother didn’t want to believe her daughter did it, which got all the mothers accusing each other’s children. It got so bad that two moms got into a fistfight at the stage door. The cops had to be called.” I pause before I deliver the punch line. “So after that, what do you think they called the production? Les Wizz .”
After that cautionary tale, we approach the backstage coffeepot with trepidation. But with at least two more hours before we can call it quits for the day, caffeine is called for.
Tonya Shepherds, the platinum blond onetime beauty queen who plays the lead in Dream Angel —and darn well, too—sidles close to me as I’m loading my java with low-fat cream. She looks cute in raw edge skinny jeans and a flowy green utility shirt partially tucked in. “I love the rewritten scenes,” she whispers. “Was it you who fed Enzo that line about rhinestones and roses?”
“That was Trixie. How much rewriting is Enzo doing?”
“A lot . I don’t know how I’m going to nail it all by Sunday.”
“Are you saying—”
“We’re back into previews on Sunday,” Tonya tells me.
Wow. Only 48 hours from now.
“Between you and me”—Tonya lowers her voice even further—“Oliver wants to take advantage of all the publicity we’re getting because of Lisette.”
That would be cynical of Oliver, but I wouldn’t put it past him. “He’s not worried that Lisette’s family would think restarting Dream Angel so soon is disrespectful to her?”
“Go online and read the update in the Times . There’s a quote from her father that Dream Angel is his daughter’s legacy and the best way to honor her is to resume production. You know the story of Rent , right?”
Since I don’t, she tells me.
“The creator, who wrote not only every single word but also composed the music, died the night of the final dress rehearsal. I think it was a
The rehearsal breaks and Trixie consults her watch, a casual Timex with a fabric band featuring white dots on a navy background. “It’s already six,” she says. “Lord, I need more coffee to get through the next two hours.”
“You may not want it,” I tell her, “if you hear the story Enzo told me today. He swears it’s true.”
We head backstage and I begin the tale. “This was during a Broadway run of Les Misérables .”
“One of the longest-running musicals of all time,” Shanelle says. “I always call it Les Miz .”
“I do, too. Anyway, as you know, it has lots of child actors and their contracts include appearance clauses.”
“All performers must have that,” Trixie says.
“They do. Enzo told me there are all kinds of rules, about tanning and tattoos and weight and you name it. He said he’s worked on productions where the female performers are weighed every week.”
“And not the men?” Shanelle cries. “That would get on my last nerve.”
We arrive backstage and sneak into a corner. I keep my voice low. “The production went on for so long that one of the girls had a growth spurt and outgrew her part, according to the specs in her contract. So she got fired.”
Trixie’s face falls. “Oh, how sad for that poor child.”
“It’s a lesson in real life,” Shanelle says, “not just a lesson in show business. Anyway, what happened?”
I can’t help chuckling. Nervy girl: I’ll give her that. “She peed in the backstage coffeepot.”
“What?” Trixie squeals.
“Yup. People were drinking the coffee and saying, wow, this tastes tinny.”
“Oh, my Lord, can you imagine!” Trixie shudders. “Everybody must’ve wanted to skin her alive after that.”
“Apparently the girl’s mother didn’t want to believe her daughter did it, which got all the mothers accusing each other’s children. It got so bad that two moms got into a fistfight at the stage door. The cops had to be called.” I pause before I deliver the punch line. “So after that, what do you think they called the production? Les Wizz .”
After that cautionary tale, we approach the backstage coffeepot with trepidation. But with at least two more hours before we can call it quits for the day, caffeine is called for.
Tonya Shepherds, the platinum blond onetime beauty queen who plays the lead in Dream Angel —and darn well, too—sidles close to me as I’m loading my java with low-fat cream. She looks cute in raw edge skinny jeans and a flowy green utility shirt partially tucked in. “I love the rewritten scenes,” she whispers. “Was it you who fed Enzo that line about rhinestones and roses?”
“That was Trixie. How much rewriting is Enzo doing?”
“A lot . I don’t know how I’m going to nail it all by Sunday.”
“Are you saying—”
“We’re back into previews on Sunday,” Tonya tells me.
Wow. Only 48 hours from now.
“Between you and me”—Tonya lowers her voice even further—“Oliver wants to take advantage of all the publicity we’re getting because of Lisette.”
That would be cynical of Oliver, but I wouldn’t put it past him. “He’s not worried that Lisette’s family would think restarting Dream Angel so soon is disrespectful to her?”
“Go online and read the update in the Times . There’s a quote from her father that Dream Angel is his daughter’s legacy and the best way to honor her is to resume production. You know the story of Rent , right?”
Since I don’t, she tells me.
“The creator, who wrote not only every single word but also composed the music, died the night of the final dress rehearsal. I think it was a
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