said Frieda. “I was surprised when you showed up with him. And Peter.”
Ilene had said nothing about bringing Peter and David to Oliver! When she’d called the box office to order the tickets, she planned on getting just two. Then, she thought Peter might want to come. If nothing more, it would get them out of their increasingly claustrophobic home environment. And why get three tickets when she could even it up with four? She’d promised to take David out once he got settled. And this could be the perfect way to introduce him to Frieda. Ilene assumed that when Frieda saw Sam Hill onstage in his grubby costume with this shaggy fake beard and wig, she would come to her senses about him. As an alternative ideal, David would be sitting right next to her.
But things were not proceeding as planned. As soon as Frieda laid eyes on that huge poster of Sam Hill, she began talking about how exciting it was to see him in his element, and hadn’t stopped since. His element, much to Ilene’s dismay, wasn’t a rinky-dink off-Broadway showcase basement. City Center, a three-thousand seat theater, was opulent and well maintained. Glittering crystal chandeliers hung from a pressed-tin ceiling. The red velvet curtains and red carpet were lush. Overstuffed seats were covered with still more red velvet. She’d expected a card-table set-up for selling T-shirts and Cokes. Instead, she found a full-size mahogany bar staffed with three bartenders in tuxes serving champagne cocktails, large boxes of peanut M&M’s and a cast recording CD ($25!) The theater was sold out. The patrons represented a cross-section of New York: young and old, black, white, elegantly dressed matrons, and students in jeans. Thousands of people had come to see this show. Sam Hill was the star. It was impressive.
But nothing could change the basic truths of who Sam Hill was and what Frieda needed in a partner. Ilene would press her agenda, presenting David as a stable alternative to Sam.
Frieda said, “I had no idea Sam could sing like that. And so loud! Sam told me they’re not miked. Not even the child actors. That boy playing Oliver. He’s doing well. His mother must be proud. Sam told me he’s actually thirteen. And the Dodger is really sixteen, but he looks like a ten-year-old. I guess, to be a child actor, you’ve got to be tiny.”
Ilene said, “Small body, big head.”
“Sam was so funny in the pickpocketing scene, wasn’t he?” interrupted Frieda. “And he was wonderful in the ‘I’d Do Anything’ part. I felt like he was singing directly to me! I’m totally in awe. He’s so composed up there. So professional.”
“It is his job,” said Ilene. “Interesting, isn’t it, that Sam can have this degree of success as an actor, be this talented, and still have no money. Imagine what it’ll be like when he’s out of work.”
Frieda narrowed her eyes at the direct insult to Sam. “Imagine what it’ll be like when he gets even better work.”
And where would that leave Frieda? Ilene said, “All I’m trying to say is that the life of an actor must be hard. He is very good. Highly entertaining. We should enjoy him for his entertainment value.”
“Entertaining is where you start to talk about Sam,” said Frieda. She was bristling. Ilene had overplayed her hand. Stupidly. She should have realized that Frieda was nursing a serious infatuation, her defensiveness exacerbated by criticism.
Ilene should never have bought these tickets. Certainly not spent the additional $200 for Peter and David’s. The men seemed to like the show, but both were quiet tonight. She looked at the poster of Sam Hill in his red wig and beard, his huge, brown eyes riveting her attention despite the garish makeup and fake hair.
The lights under the marquee flashed. Intermission was over. Time to find their seats and rejoin the men. The sisters walked back inside, Frieda rushing to her seat like her pants were on fire (they were, actually). Ilene followed more
Ilene had said nothing about bringing Peter and David to Oliver! When she’d called the box office to order the tickets, she planned on getting just two. Then, she thought Peter might want to come. If nothing more, it would get them out of their increasingly claustrophobic home environment. And why get three tickets when she could even it up with four? She’d promised to take David out once he got settled. And this could be the perfect way to introduce him to Frieda. Ilene assumed that when Frieda saw Sam Hill onstage in his grubby costume with this shaggy fake beard and wig, she would come to her senses about him. As an alternative ideal, David would be sitting right next to her.
But things were not proceeding as planned. As soon as Frieda laid eyes on that huge poster of Sam Hill, she began talking about how exciting it was to see him in his element, and hadn’t stopped since. His element, much to Ilene’s dismay, wasn’t a rinky-dink off-Broadway showcase basement. City Center, a three-thousand seat theater, was opulent and well maintained. Glittering crystal chandeliers hung from a pressed-tin ceiling. The red velvet curtains and red carpet were lush. Overstuffed seats were covered with still more red velvet. She’d expected a card-table set-up for selling T-shirts and Cokes. Instead, she found a full-size mahogany bar staffed with three bartenders in tuxes serving champagne cocktails, large boxes of peanut M&M’s and a cast recording CD ($25!) The theater was sold out. The patrons represented a cross-section of New York: young and old, black, white, elegantly dressed matrons, and students in jeans. Thousands of people had come to see this show. Sam Hill was the star. It was impressive.
But nothing could change the basic truths of who Sam Hill was and what Frieda needed in a partner. Ilene would press her agenda, presenting David as a stable alternative to Sam.
Frieda said, “I had no idea Sam could sing like that. And so loud! Sam told me they’re not miked. Not even the child actors. That boy playing Oliver. He’s doing well. His mother must be proud. Sam told me he’s actually thirteen. And the Dodger is really sixteen, but he looks like a ten-year-old. I guess, to be a child actor, you’ve got to be tiny.”
Ilene said, “Small body, big head.”
“Sam was so funny in the pickpocketing scene, wasn’t he?” interrupted Frieda. “And he was wonderful in the ‘I’d Do Anything’ part. I felt like he was singing directly to me! I’m totally in awe. He’s so composed up there. So professional.”
“It is his job,” said Ilene. “Interesting, isn’t it, that Sam can have this degree of success as an actor, be this talented, and still have no money. Imagine what it’ll be like when he’s out of work.”
Frieda narrowed her eyes at the direct insult to Sam. “Imagine what it’ll be like when he gets even better work.”
And where would that leave Frieda? Ilene said, “All I’m trying to say is that the life of an actor must be hard. He is very good. Highly entertaining. We should enjoy him for his entertainment value.”
“Entertaining is where you start to talk about Sam,” said Frieda. She was bristling. Ilene had overplayed her hand. Stupidly. She should have realized that Frieda was nursing a serious infatuation, her defensiveness exacerbated by criticism.
Ilene should never have bought these tickets. Certainly not spent the additional $200 for Peter and David’s. The men seemed to like the show, but both were quiet tonight. She looked at the poster of Sam Hill in his red wig and beard, his huge, brown eyes riveting her attention despite the garish makeup and fake hair.
The lights under the marquee flashed. Intermission was over. Time to find their seats and rejoin the men. The sisters walked back inside, Frieda rushing to her seat like her pants were on fire (they were, actually). Ilene followed more
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