Offed Stage Left

"Be kind to your web-footed friends, for a duck could be somebody's mooo-ther," Sunil Kapany sang under his breath to the tune of "The Stars and Stripes Forever." "Shhh!" Isobel Spice elbowed him. "There's a rehearsal going on, in case you hadn't noticed." "You have to admit, it's better than the lame words we're being forced to sing," Sunil grumbled. He sank further into his cushioned seat in Livingston Stage Company's darkened theater, drawing up his knees against the scratched donor nameplate on the seatback in front of him. "Seriously, who thought it was a good idea to write lyrics to Sousa marches?" "I don't see how you can have a musical about the March King without using his music," Isobel said. She shifted the bustle of her pale-blue and white muslin gown, her act one costume for Sousacal: The Life and Times of John Philip Sousa. "Easy," Sunil replied. "You hire a composer with a sense of the period to write the book songs, and use Sousa's marches for the gazintas and gazoutas." Isobel frowned. "The what?" "The underscoring that goes into one scene and goes out of another. Gazintas and gazoutas." He looked askance at her. "Have you never done a musical before?" "Plenty." She bristled. "And I've never heard anyone use those words. You are totally making that up." "I am not," Sunil said, affronted. "Hey, Kelly!" Several rows in front of them, Kelly Jonas, the stage manager, held court behind a large wooden plank balanced across the seats, which served as a makeshift control center for tech rehearsals. She looked up from her prompt book, a three-inch binder stuffed with script pages and scenic renderings, fastidiously divided by brightly colored tabs. Pushing aside a long strand of graying hair, Kelly squinted at Sunil through her wire-rimmed glasses. "Yeah?" "What are gazintas and gazoutas?" Sunil asked. "The play-ons and play-offs before or after a scene," she answered distractedly. A movement onstage caught her attention. "Are we ready to move on?" Sunil turned triumphantly to Isobel. "See?" Isobel sighed. "This is going to be a long day." "They don't call it a ten-out-of-twelve for nothing." "Is there anything more tedious than spending ten hours waiting around while they set lighting and sound cues?" Isobel whined. "Um, yes. Doing the actual show." As much as Isobel hated to admit it, Sunil was right. From day one, it had been clear that Sousacal was a dog. There had been a buzz of anticipatory excitement in the air when the company assembled for the first read-through in the third-floor rehearsal studio of the sleek, state-of-the-art performing arts complex in downtown Albany. In addition to hosting the century-old Livingston Stage Company, relocated from its charmingly dilapidated (some said haunted) prior home in an old vaudeville house, the building had a black box theater and a café that served light meals before and after performances. Everything about her surroundings made Isobel feel like a working theater professional. Everything, that is, except the material. Sunil had politely informed her after the read-through that his shin was black and blue from her kicking it under the table. But having taken out her frustration on his tibia, she resolved to relish her first regional theater job rather than let the disappointing quality of the show get her down. Since moving to New York a year and a half ago, when she'd met Sunil at her very first audition, Isobel had learned that most acting work was to be found in summer stock or regional theaters. Isobel had resigned herself to the conundrum of living in New York in order to get work out of town, which was the best way for a young performer who was not yet a member of Actors' Equity Association to build her resume. Despite Sunil's increasingly steady stream of snarky comments, she had thrown herself enthusiastically into her small role as John Philip Sousa's first love, Emma Swallow, while assiduously preparing the larger role she was understudying: Jennie Sousa, the composer's wife. Isobel sighed again and flipped open her script to a scene between Jennie and Sousa, running her finger down the neon pink highlights. "I may as well use my downtime to memorize lines." Sunil jerked a thumb at the stage. "You really think Arden is going to miss a performance?" Isobel followed his gaze. Arden Claire was stalking the proscenium like a tiger that hadn't had its morning coffee. A statuesque, auburn-haired beauty, Arden had once represented New York in the Miss America pageant and was hailed as a minor celebrity, even though she hadn't made it past the swimsuit competition. So far, her portrayal of Jennie Sousa was not living up to expectations. Throughout the three-week rehearsal period, Ezra Bernard, the director, had pushed Arden to suppress her natural hauteur and find Jennie's quiet strength and self-deprecating humor. Their struggles swallowed up rehearsal hours, and the more Ezra tried to mold Arden's characterization, the more fiercely she clung to the glamour that had guaranteed her past successes, which didn't exactly endear her to the rest of the company. Chris Marshall, the charismatic, square-jawed actor playing Sousa, found her completely intolerable. All Arden's scenes were with him, which meant her epic ego flashes impacted him more than anyone else. Initially, Chris had struck Isobel as the sort of galvanizing personality who stepped up to lead the company, but after three weeks of Arden, he had withdrawn into sullen, stormy silence. Lately he had stopped addressing his leading lady directly and had taken to routing all his communication through Ezra, a gently bearish man who was growing increasingly frazzled as opening night approached. Isobel was surprised now to see Chris saunter onstage and whisper something in Arden's ear, prompting her to glower at him and retreat to the wings. "Even divas get sick," Isobel remarked. "Better safe than sorry." Sunil gave Isobel an appraising look. "If I didn't know you as well as I do, I'd warn that girl to watch her back."