Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [70]
As he exited, he saw Mr. N., clipboard tucked under his arm, jumping and clapping, tears in his eyes. Brady would never be able to get enough of this. He suddenly knew what he wanted to do with his life. Nothing could stop him. He imagined himself moving from the high school boards to community theater, a college scholarship, being discovered by a talent scout, getting to Broadway, then a TV series, maybe a recording contract, and the movies. He would have the same impact on the public that Conrad Birdie had.
He’d show everybody: Coach Roberts, Dean Hose, his mother, even Alex North and his snooty parents and snotty little sister.
The rest of the musical only got better. Yes, technically, Birdie was not the lead character. That was the agent/manager, and Alex was great in the role. But Birdie was the one who lit up the stage and brought squeals and laughter each time. And because Brady had been unknown before this, he could sense the wonder and mystery on the part of the crowd. He imagined them murmuring, “Who is this guy?”
Between scenes, as Brady waited in the wings or backstage, he realized he had a whole new image before his castmates. He had gone from curiosity to star. Nabertowitz kept grinning and giving him thumbs-up. Guys—except for Alex—clapped him on the back, shook their fists at him, mouthed “Way to go, man!” Best, girls hugged him, not once but often, and not one but several. This was the life.
With about twenty minutes left in the show, noise from the back of the theater distracted the crowd, and Brady noticed that even those onstage sneaked a peek. Brady moved to where he should have had a line of sight, but the spotlights blinded him.
Was it a fight? Mr. N. sent two stagehands running to the back of the house to deal with it. When they returned and whispered to him, he glanced at Brady, then shook his head. “No!” he said. “It’ll wait!”
“What?” Brady said.
“Nothing to worry about,” the director said. “Let’s finish strong. Ignoring distractions is what being professional is all about.”
Brady was in the middle of one of the final segments, a poignant train depot scene, when he heard loud talking from the back and people shushing the offenders. Soon there was shouting before security removed someone. Brady’s heart sank. Had that been his mother’s voice? Her drunk voice? There was no way, was there?
Whoever it was, he would not let anyone spoil this for him. He was going out with a bang. And as his character left the stage, rumbling away on the train, the laughing crowd bid him a warm adieu. As he disappeared into the wings and stood next to Nabertowitz to watch the final scene, he was so drained he felt he could melt all over the floor.
Mr. N. looked at him with such gratitude and admiration that Brady was intoxicated by it. But the director soon turned back to the stage to study every detail of the finale. Brady stood there fearing he might burst into sobs. He had been so uptight, so scared, yet so ready for this. And it could not have gone better.
He forced himself not to weep. The houselights would be up when he joined the rest of the cast for the bows, and there would be no hiding it if he was out there bawling. Talk about breaking character. His whole aura would be lost.
Yet he would not completely maintain the Birdie image. He would look the same, but he would not act the same. Now was the time for class, for a genuine, humble smile, a receiving of the adulation that was sure to come. He bucked himself up for it.
As the last song segued into the musical themes, the chorus burst back onto the stage, and the houselights came up. Mr. N. had said it was hard to read an audience for high school productions, because they felt obligated to respond with standing ovations just because the kids were young and had tried hard, regardless how good they were.
But there was no doubting the sincerity of this crowd. They cheered, they