“It is?” I reply breathlessly.
They all laugh.
“I mean.” I take a moment to compose myself. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Mr. Ruiz.”
“God, am I that old?” He leans back in his chair. “Call me Robbie.”
“And don’t you dare call me Mr. Kaplan.” Alan runs a hand over his bald head. “I am old. But I don’t take kindly to reminders.”
“Stop.” Robbie laughs. “You’re not that old, Alan.”
I love Robbie’s accent. It’s super Bronx. Plus, I know from reading all about him that he was born and raised in East Tremont. I don’t have a Jersey accent. Some words, I guess. Actually, when I’m visiting my aunt in Brooklyn, her friends always say, Girl! Where you from? Jersey? So whatever. Fine, I have an accent. I grip my water bottle and exchange a nervous glance with Mom.
Nigel is kneeling beside Robbie now, typing something into his phone as Robbie speaks softly to him. Nigel speaks to Alan. “You want anything?”
“Coffee. Black,” Alan replies without looking up, deeply engrossed in his own phone. I’d guess he’s typing up an email. Probably so much to do when you’re a director on Broadway.
“Got it. And just the espresso for you.” Nigel nods to Robbie. “Sandi?”
“I’ll take an espresso, too. And one for Mae. She’s stuck in traffic.” Sandi pulls her long brown hair into a bun on top of her head. “Bring the raw sugar please. And stirrers.”
“Copy that.” Nigel stuffs his cell into his front pocket and rushes from the room.
“We have another set of auditions in a half hour,” Sandi explains to us. “We’re pretty much stuck in these seats till sometime tonight.”
“We’ve got so many people to hire over the next couple of days.” Alan scratches his bald head, and I notice his eyes look tired. Like he could use a nice long vacation that he’s not gonna get anytime soon.
Something seems weird. Like, why is Mom in here with me? And why is the pianist packing up all her music and closing the piano? Shouldn’t I be getting ready to sing again?
Alan leans back in his chair and crosses his legs. “I wanna apologize for the insane amount of auditions we’ve put you through.”
“It wasn’t bad.” My voice echoes in the large rehearsal space. “I had fun learning the songs.” I twist the cap off my water bottle and take the tiniest of sips to show Mom I got this and will not injure my bladder or choke on any more ice cubes.
“I know Jewel’s songs are intense.” Robbie slides his baseball cap off, revealing a head full of salt-and-pepper gray hair. He definitely doesn’t seem like a fancy New York type at all. Maybe that’s because he’s from the Bronx for real. He’s dressed in simple jeans, sneakers, and a faded Journey T-shirt, and his face is showing signs that he hasn’t shaved in a few days. Little sprouts of unkempt fuzz. You’d never guess he was a millionaire playwright, composer, and actor.
“Yeah. Jewel’s got some tough songs,” I agree.
“You make them sound easy,” Robbie replies. “I watched all the recordings of your auditions. I was captivated. You’re captivating, Jerzie.”
“Thank you!” I scoot to the edge of my chair. “Super confession? I used to think Bernstein wrote the trickiest arrangements. Some of those songs in West Side? Can barely sing along to. But, man, Bernstein’s got nothing on you.”
“You just compared me to Bernstein?” Robbie laughs. “Bless you, child.”
“And Sondheim,” I add.
“Oh, now you just tryna humor me, Jerzie.”
“Are you kiddin’?” I lean forward. “‘Getting Married Today’? It kinda reminds me of the reprise of ‘I Defy’ when Jewel finds out she’s not allowed to see Roman again.”
Alan and Robbie both sort of smirk.
“What?” I lean back now. “I say somethin’ wrong?”
“Not at all, honey.” Alan smiles. “I literally said the same thing a few days ago.”
Robbie holds out his phone and loads his Spotify app. “And look what I was listening to on the way here.”
I squint to see what’s on his screen. “You were listening to Company?” I grin.
“Always gotta check in to Stephen’s arrangements,” Robbie says. “Unspoken Broadway rules.”
Did he really just call Stephen Sondheim Stephen? Like they were old friends or something? Were they? My cheeks are hurting from smiling so hard.
“Jerzie, I think you’re a rare and amazing talent,” Robbie adds.
“Voice lessons twice a week since she was seven,” Mom cuts in. “Piano, too. She knows more music theory than I do. And I have a BFA in music.”
I turn and blink in her direction. I was so focused on the people in front of me, I forgot Mom was even sitting here.
Alan nods. “Her knowledge of music shows. We’ve been searching for Jewel for a long time. We’ve seen hundreds of girls.”
“Must make it hard, huh?” I take another sensible sip of water. Oh, God, now’s the time. I think they’re about to deliver my verdict.
“Yes and no.” Alan runs another hand over his bald head. “Jewel’s a tough character. She has to have the classic Broadway belt.”
That’s me. I’ve got the classic Broadway belt! I taught myself to belt by singing along to Liza Minnelli and Bernadette Peters when I was little. The showstopper, “Maybe This Time,” from Cabaret? I can sing that song like nobody’s business.
“She has to carry the show,” Alan continues. “But also be young and innocent enough to be endearing and believable.”
Young, innocent, endearing, and believable? Check, check, check, and check! “Kinda like Kim from Miss Saigon,” I add.
“Yes,” Alan agrees. “Exactly like that.”
“Well, not exactly like that,” Robbie adds with a chuckle. “Jewel’s gotta be able to rap.”
I can rap! I mean, I’m no hip-hop diva, but I can hold my own with the arrangements. Which are similar to Angelica’s songs in Hamilton.
“You’re the best we’ve seen,” Alan says.
I am?
“You really are. By far,” Robbie adds. But he sounds so sad when he says it. Why does he sound sad?
Robbie slides his Giants cap back on, casting shadows over his dark eyes. “You’re probably too young to be a fan of Patti LuPone—”