Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [52]
Mr. N. had warned the cast that he would not hold back during dress rehearsal, even when outsiders were there. “You screw up, I’m going to tell you, so be prepared.”
Not unkindly, he urgently told the boy, “You have got to get this. This is a showstopping song. You’re getting better on most of it, but you need to find those notes and nail them. Otherwise the show is stopped for the wrong reason.”
They ran through the scene a couple more times, and the actor got no closer. Finally Brady asked if he could talk to Mr. Nabertowitz privately.
“Make it quick.”
“I have an idea, if you want to hear it.”
“I’m desperate, son.”
“He’s not going to hit those notes. That’s not something you can learn. The problem is when he breaks character and acts disgusted with himself. Tell him to play it straight and belt it out at the top of his lungs, like he’s proud of himself for hitting the notes he’s missing. People love a buffoon.”
Nabertowitz studied Brady. “You might be on to something. He’s perfect in the speaking parts, and he knows all the lyrics. But we’re going to bog down waiting for him to do something he seems incapable of.”
The director called the boy over and briefed him. The actor looked dubious but said he’d give it a try. “Kids!” Nabertowitz shouted. “From the top!”
This time, when the actor got to the difficult parts, he spread his feet, squared his shoulders, planted his fists at his waist, threw his head back, and belted it out for all he was worth. He missed the notes by a mile but sang with a sneer of confidence, as if performing an aria at the Met. The audience erupted in cheers and laughter, and Forest View’s Bye Bye Birdie had its singular moment.
Brady’s performance was stellar. He hit every line and note and step with just enough charm and swagger and danger for the role, and Mr. N. crowed to everyone that he was also like an assistant director. He let it be known to all that the idea that made the father’s performance work was Brady’s alone.
All the success served to make Brady Darby the most popular, talked-about, sought-after kid in the school. He even had attention from girls—real women, cheerleader types—like he had rarely experienced before. He wasn’t stupid. He knew the type. They loved the attention of getting next to the bad boy. They weren’t really going to date him or fall for him, and while he daydreamed about several of them, no preppy girl and he were going to become an item.
But this was sure fun.
As opening night approached, so did midterm exams. Brady hoped everyone in authority—though he had been warned otherwise—was prepared to make an exception in his case. Because while he was as ready for opening night as he had been for anything else in his life, he was not ready for midterms.
Adamsville State Penitentiary
Thomas had never worked for the state before, and he was pleasantly surprised to find how nice bureaucrats were to newcomers. He was treated the same at the main gate as he had been at the guardhouse, with two officers assuring him they would recognize him from now on and telling him they hoped he’d work out the way Chaplain Russ had and stay at least as long.
That was Thomas’s dream too. He couldn’t help himself. He was an optimist. He had seen every new church and ministry opportunity as something unique from God, and while each in its own way had gone south on him over the years, nothing had ever fully taken the wind from his sails. He was committed. He would remain true. He would stay in the Word, as he and people like him were wont to say about studying the Bible every day. He would rise at dawn and kneel and pray and read and memorize. He and Grace would sing together other each evening. And he would look for opportunities to introduce people to Jesus. Adamsville State Penitentiary sure seemed the ideal place for that.
He had to admit that there were parts of ministry he wasn’t that good at. The preaching thing, for one. Oh, he had tried, had given it all he had. He