I was so
out of my league!
Sometimes
we do things that, as Forrest Gump would say, "Just don't make no
sense."
And I am
guilty of such an act, mostly because I ignored the numbers and severely
overestimated my abilities.
I have
written about the fact that I performed in a community theater production of
the musical Company in the past. Though it was initially
terrifying, in the end I made friends and had fun. So, it seemed rational that
I give it another try. Mamma Mia was coming up and I wanted to give
it a shot.
I started
singing along to the Mamma Mia CD in my car in February. I thought
I was ready. Even the cast descriptions didn't deter me. Though, admittedly,
the fact that the "elder" female characters were listed as "late
30s-early 50s" should have tickled my spidey senses.
This time
around, auditions were very different. Four times the number of actors showed
up. And there was improv involved. Still, I thought I had a shot at making the
cast, until I arrived at the dance callbacks.
My first
clue should have been the young lady spread-eagled flat on the floor,
stretching in preparation. In fact, the stage was littered with bodies of those
limbering up. I was a tad bemused, as I had seen the movie and didn’t notice
too much complicated-looking dancing, at least not from the named characters.
Had I considered that the stage version might be vastly different from the one
with Meryl Streep and her pals, I might have been forewarned.
Those
hoping for a spot in the cast filled the stage facing a thin, twenty-something
with a high, tawny pony tail and black leggings. She announced that we would be
learning a series of dance steps.
“OK! Face
the back," she said, reminiscent of a drill instructor. " Now, hips
left, then right, and spin to the front. And … right arm up high. Good. Now
side step. And back. Other side. Full turn to the left and drop to your knees.”
My head
popped up. Drop to my knees? Did she mean the ones that have
functioned for the last 15 years thanks to the miracle of modern science,
infusions injected with big-ass needles that always make me wince? Those
knees?
Not
wanting to stand out, I dropped to the floor. I almost bellowed like a moose
giving birth, but managed to stop myself.
“Now roll
over on your butt and jump up.”
In my
case, said roll did not occur. I just stared at the choreographer.
“Now … leap!”
She took to the air.
Leap? The thing about leaping is there
always tend to be landings involved.
The choreographer encouraged us to leap in this fashion.
Don't you agree it hurts just to look at this picture?
“Those of
you who want to can bend your leg while leaping. Like this.” She launched
herself skyward again. “Point your toes,” she said, alighting gracefully.
“Second line, move up to the front.”
Hoping no
one would notice, I melted into the back, which would be my primary strategy
throughout the ordeal.
After an
hour, we took a break. To my horror, five minutes later we were at it again.
“Let’s do
another one,” she said. “This one will be easy. Even I can do it.” She smiled
prettily.
What I
wanted most was to go all Tonya Harding on her kneecaps. “See what you feel
like when you’re over 60,” I muttered under my breath, as I mounted the stage.
Another
hour passed. I longed for my chiropractor.
I know
what your thinking. Why didn’t I just go sit down? Pride, I suppose. Or maybe
just plain stubbornness. A few other older women had taken seats. I say “older”
here with a caveat. If I had to guess, with the exception of my friend Scott,
there was probably no one over 50 auditioning. Clearly, I was pretty much alone
as a mid-sexagenarian.
Mercifully,
the dancing finally ended. But my humiliation was not over.
Scott
appeared. “Hey! You need to go in the back.”
I heard
women’s voices singing Dancing Queen from backstage. “Why?”
“The
mothers are auditioning,” he explained, using the term applied to the older
adult women trying out for a part.
Not
knowing how I could have missed the others being called away, I leapt – OK, in
my mind, I leapt – onto the stage and bolted through a curtain and down a
ramp toward the piano, where about eight women were lined up single file.
“I am so
sorry I’m late!” I shouted.
All heads
turned toward me. A woman looked up, paper and pencil in hand. “Your name?”
“Anne.”
She
scrutinized the document.
The
director rose from his seat.
“You’re
not on the list,” he said. “You were called back only for a dancing part.”
I suddenly
realized that if getting a part hinged on my dancing skills, I would need
other plans for the summer. “I am … so sorry!”
I fled.
I found
Scott in the seats and chastised him. It wasn’t his fault, though. He simply
assumed I should be back there with the others, which in retrospect was sweet.
The
director soon dismissed those of us who wouldn’t be invited to participate in
any further auditions. Totally dejected, I sneaked out the back door.
When I got
home, my sweetie pie stared at me. “I’m sorry,” he said without asking what
happened.
I wondered
if he’d had a premonition, since he already had a glass of wine poured and
waiting for me.
“Maybe
they did you a favor,” he said a short time later, as I sat in my jammies
feeling sorry for myself, rubbing my aching knees.
I sipped
my wine and pouted. “Maybe.”
Later that
night, wrapped in two cold packs and a heating pad, I licked my wounds and
considered whether I would ever try out for another play.
I'm
thinking about it. I'll let you know.
Here's a little from my suspense novel based on a true incident. I hope it intrigues you.
As a Vietnam veteran and former Special Forces sniper descends into the throes of mental illness, he latches onto a lonely pregnant teenager and a group of Pentecostal zealots – the Children of Light – who have been waiting over thirty years in the Arizona desert for Armageddon.
When the Amtrak Sunset Limited, a passenger train en route to Los Angeles, is derailed in their midst in a deadly act of sabotage, their lives are thrown into turmoil. As the search for the saboteurs heats up, the authorities uncover more questions than answers.
And then the girl vanishes.
While the sniper struggles to maintain his sanity, a child is about to be born deep in the wilderness.
BUY LINKS
Anne Montgomery has worked as a television sportscaster, newspaper and magazine writer, teacher, amateur baseball umpire, and high school football referee. She worked at WRBL‐TV in Columbus, Georgia, WROC‐TV in Rochester, New York, KTSP‐TV in Phoenix, Arizona, ESPN in Bristol, Connecticut, where she anchored the Emmy and ACE award‐winning SportsCenter, and ASPN-TV as the studio host for the NBA’s Phoenix Suns. Montgomery has been a freelance and staff writer for six publications, writing sports, features, movie reviews, and archeological pieces.
When she can, Anne indulges in her passions: rock collecting, scuba diving, football refereeing, and playing her guitar.
Learn more about Anne Montgomery on her website and Wikipedia. Stay connected on Facebook, Linkedin, and Twitter.
