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Denied Again

.

It was performance night, yet my heart wasn't

thumping as I had expected it would. Nervousness had turned into raw fear and that had dropped a sheet of thin ice over me, making me feel numb to the point where I couldn't feel my own heartbeat. It was being smothered by a pillow of tension. Philip Roder was finishing his dance selection taken from The Nutcracker He looked so graceful and perfect. Why did I have to follow him? The distinction between someone who was well on his way to becoming a professional and me, a naked amateur, would never be as clear.

Sarah Broadhurst, whom I knew was green with envy because I had been chosen over her to perform the cut from Hamlet, made a point of coming up to me while I waited in the wings to tell me that the audiences who came to the school's showcase evenings were very sophisticated.

"These are the same people who frequent the London theater and there will be many agents and even some directors sitting out there looking for potential new talent.

It's far different from performing in some high school in America," she said with disdain. "It's not an audience clumped with doting relatives who refuse to see mistakes and mediocrity. These people have seen and heard Hamlet many, many times and will know immediately whether you are any good."

"Thanks," I said, refusing to show her how much she had unnerved me. "It's nice of you to care enough to want to help me."

"Help you?"

"I hope I can do the same for you someday, Sarah," I followed just as Philip's dance piece came to an end. The applause was deafening.

The school's theater was small, intimate. The audience was practically in the lap of the performers. Every sound resonated. I anticipated hearing my own voice reverberate, making me even more aware of every sour syllable I might utter.

Now that I was moments away from stepping onto that stage, my smothered heart burst out and pounded madly. The curtain was closed to give the audience the sense of

a change of setting. One of the first things that had been taught in drama class was that an actor must establish an awareness of place, give the audience a feeling for the scene. One of the other drama students, Clarence Stoner, would read the lines of Laertes, Ophelia's brother, to help set up the situation. It was the point in the play after Hamlet has accidentally killed Ophelia's father and she has gone mad.

In a way it wasn't hard for me to understand her insanity. Her father had been taken from her and she felt lost and alone and terribly betrayed.

I waited in the wings. Clarence took his position. Sarah was right about one thing: the audience had that look of anticipation, clearly illustrating that they knew exactly what was to come.

The curtain opened and Clarence turned and said, "How now, what noise is that?"

I entered slowly, paused and looked up as if I had heard something. The audience was so still, I thought for a moment that they all might have left, including my Great-aunt Leonora and my Great-uncle Richard who were seated in the second row center.

Clarence finished Laertes's speech to express his shock at seeing his sister turned into a madwoman.

I smiled as insanely as I could at the audience. Caught in the spotlight, I could barely make out any of their faces, which was good.

"They bore him barefac'd on the bier," I began and sang, "Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny.

"And in his grave rain 'd many a teal: Fare you well, my dove."

It didn't take more than five minutes or so to do the scene of madness. I crossed from one side of the stage to the other and when I entered the wing on the opposite side, I felt as if I had walked barefoot over a bed of nails.

The applause that followed was almost as loud as it had been for Philip Roder. Mr. MacWaine was waiting there to greet me.

"You're launched," he declared. "Hear that?" he asked referring to the ovation. "Remember it well. You'll hear it many, many more times, my dear," he promised.

Behind him, Randall was glowing. He was scheduled to sing his solo in a moment.

"Was I really all right?" I asked.

"You looked and sounded like you were born to be in the lights," Randall said. He gave me a quick peck on the cheek and strutted out onstage, looking buoyed by my performance. He sang beautifully. By the time all our performances were over, Mr. MacWaine was floating with such happiness, I didn't think his feet touched the ground.

"This was one of the best showcases the school has ever had," he declared.

Sarah Broadhurst grimaced so sharply, she looked like she was in pain.

Afterward, at our tea-and-cake reception, Mr. MacWaine's evaluation appeared to be justified. People were fawning over us, giving us so many compliments, I felt guilty of sinful pride. My greataunt basked in the accolades I received, declaring at least a half dozen times that I was her au pair from America. My Great-uncle Richard was as reserved-as ever, but I noticed he looked at me differently. Twice before the evening ended, I caught him staring at me. It was as if I had turned into Cinderella. There was a glint of respect, of appreciation in his eyes, although he never betrayed it in his voice or manner.