6

Monday | Backstage, Little Theater | Forest View High School

Brady had seen Clancy Nabertowitz only from a distance. He was thick and seemed robust for a short man, sporting a full shock of curly hair and a loud bow tie.

“Auditions begin in twenty minutes, young man. I can give you exactly half of that.”

They sat in dim light on either side of a folding table amid the ropes and pulleys. Brady explained that Coach Roberts had suggested he look into drama.

“Well, he ought to know,” Mr. Nabertowitz chirped. “Have you ever seen anyone so animated on the sidelines? I’d love to see what he could do onstage. But regardless, why you? Wait, don’t tell me. Omigosh, I hope you can act. We’ll find out soon, won’t we?”

“I don’t know. I—”

“Of course we will. Unless you’re just wasting my time. You’re here to audition, right?”

“I didn’t even know today was—”

“Well, you’re here. Listen, you have to know I don’t get—don’t take this wrong—‘your kind’ here often. Ever, actually. Is it a look, just for today? You trying out for the role of Conrad Birdie, or—?”

“Like I said, I didn’t know. But I’d rather try drama than football, so . . .”

“Experience?”

“You mean in drama?”

“What else? You’re, what, a senior?”

“Junior.”

“You look so old, and you have that ethnic thing happening, almost Italian. Are you Italian?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Dark skin. Fast beard growth, am I right?”

Brady nodded.

Nabertowitz seemed to study him. His delivery slowed. “You know what I’d do with you? I’d lose the ’burns, and you could play much older. You could be the dad. I mean, you look like Birdie, but I’m pretty sure I’ve got the guy for that. Unless you have experience. What did you say about experience?”

“I didn’t. I don’t.”

“But you love drama. Live theater.”

“Well, I love movies, and I mean love ’em.”

Nabertowitz looked crestfallen. “So, like, what, Terminator 2, Naked Gun?”

“Nah. I’m goin’ down the list of the best hundred ever and trying to see them all. My favorites? Of all time? The Verdict and, um, Deer Hunter.”

The drama teacher nodded and smiled with his mouth closed, then slapped both palms on the table and roared. “I get it! This is priceless! It’s a gag, right? Someone put you up to this! Who was it?”

Brady shook his head. “You’ve lost me.”

“C’mon! You come in here looking all retro—and, pardon me, but like a burnout—yet your two favorite movies just happen to be mine, too, and you expect me to believe . . . ?”

“You pulling my chain?” Brady said.

“No! You’re pulling mine! I love it! Okay, quiz time. Tell me your favorite picture this year.”

“I’d have to think about it.”

“Of course you would. Until you remember what someone told you mine was. Come on, there’s lots to choose from. Crystal and Martin have comedies out. Costner as a really bad Robin Hood. The Jodie Foster–Anthony Hopkins vehicle that’ll probably win it all.”

“Fried Green Tomatoes actually.”

Nabertowitz leaped from his chair. “I love it! You’re good! Now who?”

“Who?”

“Who set me up? This is priceless.”

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know you or anybody who knows you, and I feel like you’re laughing at me.”

“What’re you, serious?” Nabertowitz said, sitting back down.

“Dog-dyin’ serious.”

“I like that line. Now, are you swearing on a stack of Bibles no one told you that the three pictures you just mentioned include two of my all-time favorites and my favorite from this year?”

“How many times do I have to say it?”

The teacher finally fell silent and just stared. “All right,” he said at last, “pop quiz. Tell me what you liked best about each of those pictures.”

Brady leaned back and looked at the ceiling. “Can’t pick just one thing about Deer Hunter. The acting was dead-on. The torture scenes were like you were right there. Everybody was good. Streep was fantastic. But, okay, favorite? Christopher Walken when he was, you know, shell-shocked.”

In Brady’s peripheral vision, Clancy Nabertowitz sat nodding. “Where have you been all my life?”

“The other two? I just think Newman was at his best in The Verdict. But mostly I like movies that aren’t afraid to be quiet.”

The teacher cursed in a whisper. “You’re going to make me cry. Tell me one more time this isn’t a put-on.”

“Ask me that again and I’ll punch you in your face.”

Nabertowitz held up both hands. “I believe you. It’s just . . . I work with a lot of great kids. But what do they love this year? City Slickers, Addams Family, Sleeping with the Enemy, Father of the Bride.”

“Those were okay.”

“But you know what I mean.”

“’Course I do,” Brady said. “There’s good, and there’s great.”

“What’d you say your name was again?”

Brady told him.

“Your last name’s an anagram of your first. How quaint. Was that on purpose?”

“I don’t even know what that means, so I doubt it.”

“You must audition today, Brady. Tell me you will.”

“If you think I should. Like I said, I got no experience.”

The teacher tossed him a script. “Speed-read. Everyone else knows what they want to try out for. And as I said, the role of Birdie is set.”

Oldenburg

Thomas Carey found himself relieved that Paul Pierce had not joined the swarm from the church that was busy transforming the parsonage from a hovel to a cottage. He was twenty-sixth-mile exhausted, and Grace looked the same, but it had to warm her heart as it did his to have so many people determined to make them feel welcome and comfortable.

The Jonah sermon had seemed to go over well, and the crowd was the biggest in a long time, according to Paul. People were already taking turns committing the Careys to meal invitations. Grace said, “Thomas, I may not have to cook for weeks.”

Paul finally showed up late in the afternoon, dressed in a suit.

“I thought you were retired,” Thomas teased.

“And I thought you’d be ready,” Paul said.

“For . . . ?”

“The ride to Colfax. You’ve got just enough time to jump in the shower.”

“We’re meeting them tonight?”

“They’re having church tonight, Tom. And don’t worry, Jonah will suit ’em just fine, though you might want to shorten it a tick. We’ll meet with their board after the service.”

“Paul, I wasn’t even aware—”

“Come on, Pastor. You put me in charge of overseeing all these churches; you got to know I’m on the job.”

Thomas stole a glance at Grace. “Why, I haven’t even eaten, and I’m bushed.”

“We’ll grab something on the way,” Paul said. “And your wife ought to be there too.”

Little Theater

“I’ve got to run, Brady,” Mr. Nabertowitz said, looking at his watch, “but here’s how this works: Everybody who wants to audition sits in the house, and I talk about the play—in this case, the musical—from the stage. Then we switch places. I sit in the middle of the house, and everyone gathers backstage and picks a number. They audition in that order. Got it?”

“I don’t even know what to try out for.”

“Well, read fast. Look at the part of the father, like I said.”

“I need more time. Is today the only day?”

“Today and tomorrow, but there might not be much left by then.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”