I sit up. “Oliver, Anything Goes, Gypsy—”
“She’s like a Broadway encyclopedia,” Mom cuts in again.
“I’m up on the newer stuff, too,” I say sheepishly. “Like, Dear Evan Hansen, Mean Girls, Six...” I trail off, and there’s another moment of silence. What is happening here? “Is everything okay?” I finally blurt.
Now the casting director speaks up again. “Jerzie...” Sandi says. “How would you feel about joining the cast as Jewel’s understudy?”
Understudy? Wait...what? Did she really just ask me to be an understudy? I look at Mom for a reassuring expression, but her face is straight-up lacking in the comfort factor. She’s lookin’ a mixture of shocked, confused, and heartbroken, which is probably how I look, too. My gaze shifts back to Alan and Robbie, and for a second I wait for them to say, Sandi’s just kiddin’, gotcha! But there’s only silence. Painful silence.
“If it was up to us...” Robbie’s Bronx accent pierces the quiet “...you’d be our girl. But there are the powers that be.”
“You’re not the powers that be?” Mom asks.
“In this case,” Alan replies, “the powers that be are the producers who are putting up the millions it takes to fund the production. They want a big name. They’re convinced the show needs it.”
Is that true? I’ve been so excited about possibly joining the cast, I didn’t think about things like ticket sales and whether or not the show would do well. To me, Broadway has always been entertainment. To them, I guess it’s business. An opportunity to make lots of money.
“So I’d be the understudy for that other girl? The one who just left?” Maybe she is a big name, but I’ve never seen her before today. I force a smile, even though the thought of being that girl’s understudy is making me wanna run from the room screaming nooooooo at the top of my lungs.
“It’s not her,” Alan says. “She’s not our Jewel.”
“She’s not?” I’m not sure I wanna know the answer, but I ask anyway. “Then who is?”
“Cinny.” Robbie says it with about as much excitement in his voice as the worker at the movie theater who tells you that if you get the bucket-size popcorn instead of the size you ordered, it’s only a dollar more.
“Cinny?” Mom exclaims.
“Cinny?” I repeat. “Cinny is Jewel? Cinny the singer? Cinny?!”
There’s a strange and eerie synchronization as they all nod their heads in reply. So this wasn’t the final audition to be Jewel. This was the final audition to be Jewel’s understudy.
“Two of the girls in the chorus will be covering Jewel as well,” Sandi says. “So Cinny will have two understudies and a standby. You will, of course, be the standby.”
“What’s the difference between the two?” Mom asks.
“An understudy is typically somebody already cast in the show,” I explain glumly.
“Right,” Sandi adds. “As chorus or another small part. A standby has only one job. To stand by and replace the lead in the event something happens. Sickness or otherwise.”
Exactly. Which means I’m not cast as chorus or another small part. They just wanna pay me to stand around the theater. The job shouldn’t be called standby, it should be called Stand Around And Do Nothing. How do you even brag about this? Sorry, I can’t come to the party, guys. Flip of the hair. I gotta stand around backstage at a Broadway theater and stare at Cinny in case she literally breaks her leg.
Alan sighs. When I met him during the beginning of this audition process, there was a light there. He seems dim now. Like someone blew out his flame. This is not what he wants. I sense it. I feel it. (I mean, I know it, since he did just tell me. But regardless.)
It is what it is. I didn’t get the part. I’m just an understudy. Heck, I’m not even an understudy. I’m a Stand Around And Do Nothing.
I turn to my mom. “Can I do it?”
“What does being a standby entail?” Mom asks, her voice calm and composed, though her brow is furrowed.
“Rehearsals start right away for the principals. Jerzie will join the cast in a few weeks, but will practice privately right away, here, to learn the songs.”
I tune out as Alan, Robbie, and Sandi explain the particulars to Mom. Nod every so often so it looks like I’m paying attention. Throw in a smile here and there so it appears I’m grateful and enthusiastic. By the time Nigel returns with everyone’s coffee orders, they’re wrapping up the conversation.
“This is gonna be a good opportunity for you, Jerzie,” Robbie says almost apologetically.
“A lot of the Broadway greats started out as covers,” Sandi adds. “You’ll learn so much. You’ll get your Broadway feet wet.”
“Who’s Roman?” I’ve found my voice again.
“Zeppelin Reid.” Alan picks up his buzzing phone to silence it. “Don’t try Googling him. He’s a rare breed of kid who’s not on social media. He’s new. Nineteen. This will be his Broadway debut.”
And it’s official. My heart has shattered into a million pieces. The boy who’s playing Roman gets to be an unknown, not-even-on-social-media debut, and the girl has to be an international superstar. How is this fair? It’s not FAIR! I want to stand on top of my chair and shout, What’s happenin’ here is some serious BS!
But rather than make that dramatic proclamation, I pull my shaking hands apart, grab my water bottle, and take another sip.
“We’re thrilled to have you in whatever capacity we can, Jerzie.” Robbie smiles. “You know, when I wrote these songs so many years ago, it was your voice I heard in my head. Jewel came to life because of you. Not often that happens.”
I know that’s a compliment. But for some reason, it just makes me wanna cry. I swallow to hold back the tears. “Thanks for this opportunity,” I say as evenly as I can manage. “I’m grateful to be joining the cast.” I look at Mom. Her shocked expression has been replaced with the classic, all-knowing Mom look I was hoping for earlier.
“Yes, thank you,” she says. “This is very exciting.”
Mom and I both stand.
“Welcome to the cast, Jerzie Jhames,” Sandi says warmly.
“Thank you.” I wave to the table of solemn faces before following Mom through the door and back into the dimly lit hallway. We move toward the elevator in silence.
“Are you disappointed in me?” I finally whisper.
“Disappointed?” We make it to the elevator, and Mom turns to me, takes both my hands in hers, and squeezes tightly. “You shot for the stars and landed on the moon. I couldn’t be more proud.”