فصل 07

7

On the first day at the Barn, all the Equity apprentices auditioned for the directors and members of the Equity company to get their specific casting for the summer. The core Equity company consisted of experienced actors, most from New York, who’d been hired for the whole summer. Many of them had worked at the theater before, and they all knew each other. They asked me a few questions, then chose a piece for me to sight-read: “Slap That Bass,” a Gershwin number from the musical Crazy for You. I didn’t know the song, but the whole point was to see how well we could perform with limited preparation. The rehearsal period for each show was only two weeks, so it was important to show them how quickly we could learn music and dance steps. I was nervous but not too worried, since in general I could sight-read pretty well.

Or so I thought.

Even though I was only expected to read off sheet music on the stand in front of me, I wanted to really perform the song, to prove I was not only a speedy learner and a good singer but a good actress too. My casting for the entire season depended on what I did in this audition. The pianist played through a few bars and hummed the melody for me until I felt ready to try the song alone. Then I took a deep breath and started to sing.

Zoom zoom zoom zoom

The world is in a mess

With politics and taxes

And people grinding axes

There’s no happiness.

Looking out at the sea of faces in the audience, I could tell right away that I was doing well. I felt relaxed and my voice sounded strong. People were smiling and tapping their toes to the beat.

Zoom zoom zoom zoom

Rhythm lead your ace

The future doesn’t fret me

If I can only get me

Someone to slap that bass.

I saw one of the Equity actors in the audience exchange a look with the music director. She clapped her hand over her mouth like she was stifling a laugh. He giggled back at her and slapped his knee, and I thought, wow—are they impressed or what? It’s almost as if they’ve never seen an apprentice perform this well on their first day. I wondered briefly if I had a chance at getting my Equity card in my first summer. I’d been told that never happened, but what if? They’d talk about it for years to come! Not only would my headshot be displayed in the lobby, but maybe they’d need a plaque touting my incredible accomplishment as well! APPRENTICE FOR A DAY. THEN STRAIGHT TO BROADWAY, it would say! A wave of extra confidence washed over me, hurtling me toward the chorus:

Slap that bass

Slap it till it’s dizzy

Slap that bass

Keep the rhythm busy

Zoom zoom zoom

Misery, you’ve got to go!

Everyone in the audience was laughing now, and I thought, well, that’s sort of weird, but they aren’t stopping me, and they all look pretty pleased. The problem was that they looked almost too pleased. I hadn’t really seen “Slap That Bass” as much of a comedic song, but maybe I was wrong? So I decided to go with their response and sort of shimmied my shoulders, adding even more personality and pizzazz.

Slap that bass

Use it like a tonic

Slap that bass

Keep your philharmonic

Zoom zoom zoom

And the milk and honey’ll flow!

There was no doubting it now—everyone was now becoming almost…hysterical? One of the actresses was wiping tears away, she was laughing so hard. I’m just naturally funny, I guess, I thought. I never realized it to this degree before. This is for sure the day I’ll be discovered! Never mind my promotion to the Equity company—maybe I won’t even last the summer here! What if they send me directly to BroadWAY? I wondered if I’d have to drop out of Barnard, and if not, how I would manage both my schoolwork and my full-time stardom. Flush with the excitement of my newfound destiny, I beamed back at them all and headed into my big finish:

In which case

If you want a bauble

Slap that bass

Slap away your trouble

Learn to zoom zoom zoom

Slap that bass!

Arms outstretched, I held the last note as long as I could. The entire room applauded, I bowed, and then they all dissolved into giggles. For a while they were laughing so hard that no one could speak. Finally the music director waved his arm over his head, signaling everyone to be quiet.

“Lauren,” he said kindly, “you have a good voice.”

A good voice? Didn’t he mean a spectacular, transcendent, unique, miracle voice from Heavenland?

“A very good voice,” he said, and paused. I could tell he was struggling to keep a straight face. “But I don’t think Ira Gershwin wrote this song about a fish.”

For a moment I felt surrounded by fog, or like I’d just been woken up from a deep sleep. What was he talking about? What about a fish? Why would he—

And then it hit me.

In my haste to show how quickly I could learn the song, I hadn’t really stopped to consider what the song was about, which was someone joyously playing the bass fiddle. I mean, I sort of knew that, but in my nervousness, I didn’t pronounce “bass” like the instrument—like “face,” “place,” or even “ace,” a word that was actually in the song. I pronounced it like “pass,” “grass,” or “ass”—which was also what I now felt like. Fueled by adrenaline and dreams of my Equity card, I’d turned a song about playing an instrument into a song about abusing a fish. Over and over, I’d just gleefully sung about hitting the poor fishy upside the head. I’d given “slapping a bass” a whole new meaning. No wonder they were laughing so hard.

In my mind’s eye, I removed my framed headshot from the theater lobby. My plaque faded into the wings. My Equity card evaporated in the glare of the footlights.

But eventually I recovered, and managed to get into the summer stock routine. The apprentices worked very, very hard. In addition to rehearsing during the afternoon, our duties included anything and everything it took to keep the theater going, including costume sewing, set building, and floor mopping. Mornings were spent doing chores like cleaning the bathrooms and painting the fence that surrounded the property. I lucked out and for a few weeks got a coveted job working in the box office taking ticket orders over the phone. The box office was luxurious compared to the outdoor activities we performed in the 100-degree heat. It had both air-conditioning and a constant influx of baked goods from the theater-loving locals. The baked goods were supposed to be sent directly to the Equity actors, but most never made it past whoever was manning the phones. Every day I’d have stolen cakes and cookies for breakfast, a Chinese chicken salad from McDonald’s for lunch (do they still make this? It was so good), and then came “dinner,” or what passed for dinner on an apprentice’s nonexistent salary, a combination of food and beverage that I loved more than I’ve loved some meals I’ve had at restaurants with Michelin stars. I’ll tell you what it was in a second, but I warn you—it appeals only to those with the most discerning palates.