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"Echoes from a Wishing Well"
Copyright Ritch, 2007
(Copyright revised,2013)
A Story
by
Ritch Christopher
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chapter eight
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Trent wasn't sure if he had slept at all, but when his alarm went off at 6:30 that morning, he'd been watching it 'forever', waiting for it to sound. Turning off the alarm, he got out of bed to shower and shave what little there was to shave and, opening the closet, he picked out a pair of Ronnie's new jeans, one of Ronnie's polo shirts, along with new underwear, new socks, and his own new loafers which matched Ronnie's from Miller's Dry Goods Store in Weston, Tennessee. Ronnie couldn't be with him in fact, but this way at least, Trent could have some of Ronnie touching him all day. He knew that his new high school would commence at the same time as Weston High did...eight-thirty. He had time to eat breakfast, tell Uncle Cyrus and Uncle Dean goodbye since they were flying back to Tennessee later in the day. Also, he would get some idea if Art was leaving for Boston today and, if so, should he or Art contact Colette to tell her about her newest charge.
Trent had gone about his morning routine as quietly as he could, tiptoeing, making a minimal amount of noise, so as not to disturb his elders. He figured he would be doing quite a bit of dancing or movement at school, so he put on an extra bit of deodorant as to not offend his new classmates. Finally, before exiting his new bedroom, Trent took time to comb his hair nicely and check himself one final time in the mirror. 'Smashing', he said to himself...a word he had learned from Ronnie. He was now ready to say `take me to the world' for real.
He twisted the bedroom doorknob silently to make a quiet trip to the kitchen when, to his amazement, a fanfare sounded, loud enough to be heard all the way to Broadway blasting out of Art's 5.1 Dolby Digital speakers! Looking up, Trent saw Art, Cyrus, and Dean standing in a line, smiling and saluting at Trent as Barbra Streisand sang the appropriate Sondheim lyrics:
"There won't be trumpets or balls of fire
To say he's coming,
No Roman candles, no angel's choir,
No sound of distant drumming,
He may not be the cavalier
Tall and graceful, fair and strong,
Doesn't matter just as long as he
Comes along.
But not with trumpets or lightning flashing
Or shining armor.
He may be daring, he may be dashing
Or maybe he's a farmer,
Who can wait, what's another day?
He has lots of hills to climb
And a hero doesn't come till
The nick of time.
Don't look for trumpets or whistles tooting
To guarantee him,
There won't be trumpets, but sure as shooting
You'll know him when you see him.
Don't know when, don't know where,
I can't even say that I care.
All I know is the minute you turn
And he's suddenly there.
You won't need trumpets.
There are no trumpets.
Who needs trumpets?"
Trent listened to every word with awe. He didn't know whether he felt like celebrating or crying. This was the kind of send-off that Ronnie surely would have given him. He returned his 'uncles'' salute as they gathered around to embrace him...while messing up his neatly combed hair.
"Thanks! Do you think maybe Barbra was singing about me?...'Maybe he's a farmer'?"
"Could be," Art said, "But I'm positive that Steve had someone like you in mind when he wrote that song for his 'Anyone Can Whistle'. I thought all night about what song to awaken you with. My first choice was Ethel Merman singing, 'Everything's Coming Up Roses', but then I thought of this one...and every line reminded me of you, Trent."
"That's one I have to learn to sing." Trent said. "You know, suddenly my life seems to be revolving around Stephen Sondheim songs. Ronnie taught me, 'Take Me To The World', and then yesterday, we all shared the importance of 'No One Is Alone' at his service."
"Steve has given many people credos to live by. One day I hope you'll meet him...not that I'm not proud of Dean's and my songs, but Steve is an absolute genius. He is probably the most important man ever to write for Broadway. You know, it's incredible to think that Steve was only twenty-five years old when he wrote the brilliant lyrics to 'West Side Story. His lyrics along with Lennie Bernstein's magnificent 'Somewhere' has almost become the official American hymn."
"Uncle Cyrus, I love yours and Uncle Dean's music as well. You both should know that!"
"By God, you'd better!" Cyrus chuckled. "You are probably the only person in the world who could get me and Dean to consider coming out of retirement to write a new show."
"Thanks, but that's still a dream, Uncle Cyrus."
"Keep on dreaming it. I might have to call you during the night over the next few years to give me some song ideas!" Cyrus retorted.
"How's this?" Dean interrupted. "The echoes grow as the crows crow in the twilight glow?"
"Oh God! I'm gonna be sick!" Cyrus growled. "You sound as bad as that 'moon, June, croon, tune' guy, Paul Francis Webster!"
"Well, he had Oscars on his mantle, didn't he?"
"Yeah, well, so does Eminem, Prince, and Isaac Hayes! But that doesn't mean they're any good!"
"Come on, Trent, let's all sit down for breakfast. This'll probably be the last time we all sit down together until Thanksgiving," Art said. "I don't know much about Southern cooking, but perhaps you'll find something to enjoy."
Art had fried a plate of sunny-side-up eggs, bacon, sausage, English muffins, bagels with cream cheese and grape jelly. The four sat down at the table and Trent immediately spied a bagel and, picking one up, asked, "What are these? Hard doughnuts?"
Art, Dean, and Cyrus laughed. "No, Trent, that's actually a New Yorker's favorite. It's called a bagel. Even though it appears to be hard and stale, it's actually freshly baked. Some people up here eat them with all three meals...well, mostly at breakfast and lunch."
"Bagel?"
"Yes, it's Jewish doughnut. It's loaded with yeast. water, flour,...when no one is looking, a dash of salt and it'll give you some extra energy for school!"
"I just hope I don't break a tooth!" Trent replied.
"If you do, I have an excellent dentist," Art said.
"I...I've never been to a dentist..."
"You're kidding? Why, your teeth look so good and strong. Your Granny Dee must make you drink lots of milk."
"Yep! Straight from Sally's tit!" Trent said.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Oh, sorry. Sally's our cow. I milk her every morning!"
"Oh! I thought..."
"We know what you thought, Art." Cyrus remarked. "You never lived on a farm?"
"The only live cow I ever saw was at the Central Park petting zoo."
"That's the trouble with you heteros. You think milk only comes from big-breasted women. As I recall, women don't give milk any more...their milk is synthetic, mixed with silicone!"
Trent's eyes bulged at the thought. "Is that true, Uncle Cyrus?"
"Every woman I know in the theatre's has 'em. You know 'Tits and Ass' from 'A Chorus Line'?"
"Oh, you mean from breast implants?"
"Yes, and that's something you have to be really careful about. I don't know if you'll find a girlfriend in New York, but when and if you do, make sure her breasts are natural before you suck on them!"
"Cyrus, for God's sake! Why are you filling Trent's head with your bullshit?" Dean asked, joking. "No, Trent. Your Uncle Cyrus was making a joke. I doubt that he ever touched a woman's breast since his mother weaned him at the age of sixteen!"
"Hey, I'M fifteen! You mean that...oh, now I see YOU'RE kidding, Uncle Dean!"
"Try one of those English muffins, Trent! They're delicious!" Art interjected, trying to change the subject. "And don't worry, they aren't made in England. You can buy them at any supermarket or delicatessen."
Trent reached for a muffin and bit it. "Hmmm. This is good. It tastes sorta like Granny Dee's soda bread."
"Soda bread, huh? I'll bet you didn't know that, up here, soda bread is called 'Irish bread'."
"No. I guess I have a lot to learn."
"By Thanksgiving, you'll be speaking Brooklynese. You'll need an interpreter when you go back to Tennessee."
"What's Brooklynese?"
"Where are you?"
"New YORK."
"Well, in Brooklyn, they speak Brooklynese...and they call it NU YAWICK!"
"Which is correct?" Trent asked.
Cyrus quickly replied. "If someone asks you, just say, 'Manhattan' and let it go!"
The four of them bantered for about fifteen minutes, devouring the food which Art had prepared. Trent looked at the clock on the stove and said, "I guess I'd better get going."
Art left the table while Trent began his 'goodbyes' to his uncles.
"Excuse me, Dean, do you mind if I have a private word with Trent?"
"Of course not, but make it quick. He doesn't want to be late for his first day."
"Let's go into your bedroom, Trent." Cyrus said. Trent led the way and Cyrus closed the door behind them.
"What is it, Uncle Cyrus?"
"I wanted to tell you something in private. Have you ever seen the Rapid Express Credit Card commercials on TV?"
"Sure!"
"Have you ever noticed the jingle they sing on the ad?"
"Yes. It ends with 'R.A.P.I.D. Express...it's the best!'."
"That's the one. Well, I wrote that for them way back in the sixties and they're still using it."
"Wow! I didn't know that!"
"I doubt if either your Uncle Dean or Art knows."
"What about it?"
"Well, every week for the past thirty-or-so years, they've paid me for it and put it in a special fund. It's been sitting there growing all these years."
"You must be rich!"
"It comes to about five-hundred a month or roughly one-twenty-five a week. Starting this week, I'm gonna have that one-twenty-five-a-week sent to a Chase-Manhattan bank account in your name. That'll give you a little spending money on the side. Just don't tell anyone...not Art, not Dean."
"I can't take your money, Uncle Cyrus!"
"Why not? I don't need it and I've never touched a cent of it...ever. So, I'll never miss it. Why not put it to good use? I'm certain you're gonna have to buy tights, a dance belt, ballet AND character shoes, and a makeup kit. You might need to buy some books or scripts from the Drama Book Shop and I'm sure with the fall Broadway season, you're going to want the original cast recordings of the new shows or any of the 'old-timers'. Make sure you get VERY familiar with Alfred Drake, Robert Weede, John Raitt, and even Robert Goulet...four fabulous baritones that NEVER needed a stage mic to be heard in the last row of the top balcony. OR, if you want to go out with some school friends or buy something for yourself...you know, go get a pizza or a hot dog...Also, if there's some show which you'd like to see, first, ask Art if he can get you house seats and if he can't, give me a call. I still have MY connections of getting free seats...Bring a friend along if you like because they like to give away house seats in pairs."
"Gosh! I don't know what to say!"
"A simple thanks'll do."
"Oh, thanks...I mean, THANK YOU, UNCLE CYRUS!"
"When I get back to Tennessee later this afternoon, I'll call the bank and tonight I'll call you with your account number with instructions how to get it. They'll issue an ATM card and you can withdraw any time you wish!"
For a moment, Trent just looked deeply at this man who had helped him find a new world. "I...I'm really gonna miss you...AND Uncle Dean."
"I know, and we'll miss you, too. ...and don't worry about Granny Dee, we'll watch her like a hawk."
"Ha! She'll probably watch the two of you like a hawk."
"Study hard, Trent! Learn all that you can. They'll throw things at you that'll have you wondering what the heck do I need to know about that for, but some time, maybe years later, you'll be doing a show and you'll wonder what to do with the character and something way back when...something that you learned, maybe today..will come back to you...and you'll say, 'I know how to do that. I learned that when I was in high school. The greatest gift an actor has, Trent, is his brain. MEMORY! Your brain must act as a sponge and absorb EVERY thing you learn. Often it's the wrong thing you need to remember about how NOT to do something."
"I'll remember that, Uncle Cyrus!"
"I know you will. Now come and give me a hug...one that'll last me 'til Thanksgiving."
Trent walked over to Cyrus, put his arms around Cyrus' neck and squeezed with all his might. "Please don't take this the wrong way, Uncle Cyrus...but...I love you."
"There's only one way to take that expression...and I'll take it just the way you mean it. I love you too, Trent."
They walked out of the bedroom and Trent ran to Dean and hugged him as well, Dean whispered, "I love you, Trent..."
Trent replied, "And I love you, too, Uncle Dean." Then Trent turned around to say goodbye to Art and saw Art standing by the door with a new leather jacket in his hands.
"Trent, I...I bought this to give to Ronnie for Christmas, but I want you to have it."
Art stretched out his arms to help Trent into the jacket. It was a perfect fit.
"Gosh!" Trent said, feeling the smooth leather. Looking up at the three men, he said quietly, "You guys are so wonderful! I feel like I have a whole new family."
"You do, little man!" Art said, putting his arms around Trent. "I'll be gone when you get home from school, but Colette will be here for you. I'll call you tonight. Now, I want you to take this twenty dollar bill and take a taxi to school until you learn how to take the subway or the bus. Also, buy yourself some lunch. Tomorrow whatever you need in the way of money or other material things, just ask Colette."
Cyrus and Dean went toward Art and Trent and the four of them got into a huddle for one last hug. Releasing the trio, the young man walked strongly down the short hall. stopped and turned back, facing the three older men. Totally speechless, he gazed, as though memorizing the moment. Then Trent went out the door.
"Well, there goes our future!" Dean said. "Now, all we have to do is make sure 'Echoes From A Wishing Well' is a hit!"
"Don't worry, Dean! It will be! I can promise it! I'm thinking about having a big oaken bucket about the size of a chandelier fall from the ceiling of the theatre. That ought to guarantee that it's a hit!" Cyrus growled.
"Oh?" Dean added. "I thought for sure that we'd build a REAL wishing well about thirty feet deep...right into the New York sewers,
Cyrus thought a minute, scratching his chin. ",,,not a bad idea only we'll have to write a song about alligators when they begin popping up all over the stage! HA! HA! Let Lord Webber top that!"
The three showmen laughed heartily, locked arms around their shoulders and danced back into Art's apartment, a la Dorothy and the Yellow Brick Road.
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The cab driver, at Trent's request, let him out at Broadway and W.52nd Street, one block east of the school. Trent didn't want anyone to know that he was so unfamiliar with New York City that he had to take a taxi. The high school was located between Broadway and 8th Avenue, upstairs at the new Merman Theatre. Halfway down the block, Trent saw a mass of young people, his age, standing outside, apparently waiting for the first class to commence.
The junior class was to meet in the Merman Theatre for orientation, to get their class assignments and schedules. As he neared several students, three boys held up their hands, waving, and shouting, "Hey, Ronnie!". Then a female student rushed over to them, explaining that the boy they were waving at couldn't be Ronnie...Ronnie was dead. The boys became even more confused. Whoever this new guy was, he looked exactly like Ronnie...so who was he? As Trent got closer, the whispering spread throughout the entire group until EVERYONE was looking at Trent in silence and wonderment. This kid, whoever he was, was the spitting image of Ronnie Whitman!
Somehow Trent had feared that something like this might happen. If both Ronnie's father and his assistant had mistaken Trent for Ronnie at first, then no doubt all of Ronnie's schoolmates might well do the same. Trent stopped about three feet from the crowd and managed to say, "Hello," very politely. A few students spoke back to him, while others stood there as though struck dumb, still not knowing what to think. Could the rumors of Ronnie's death been false?
Finally, one male student, a bit taller than Trent, with dark hair and olive Italian skin, stepped forward to offer his hand. "Hi, I'm Angio Marcano."
Trent took Angio's hand, shaking it as he replied, "Nice to meet you, Angio. I'm Trent Matthews."
Angio was probably the first full-blooded Italian Trent had ever seen, much less met. Angio had light olive skin, thick black hair with surprising crystal blue, Paul Newman eyes. Trent was positive that he felt a spark of electric shock when the two shook hands as when you scrubbed your shoes against Granny Dee's wool rug and shocked the next person you touched with static electricity.
"I hope you'll pardon our gawking at you...it's just that you look so much like...another kid who goes...well, who went to school here."
"You mean Ronnie Whitman?" Trent asked.
"You mean you know him?"
"Yes...I...I knew him."
"You're related to him, right? I mean, are you Ronnie's cousin or a close member of his family?"
"No, we weren't related."
"Well, you must have heard what happened to Ronnie."
"Well, yes, I did. We, well, Ronnie's dad, had a special memorial service for Ronnie yesterday."
Two more boys and two girls joined Angio.
"Guys, this is Trent Matthews. He knows Ronnie...or well, he DID know Ronnie, but they aren't related. Trent, this is Rick Hesso and Steve Dunaway." Rick and Steve exchanged handshakes with Trent while they greeted each other. "...and the blonde here is Linda Lawrence and the brunette is Laura McCormick."
The two girls made google eyes at Trent as he gave them both a courteous once-over.
"Are you going to high school here?" Linda asked.
"Yes, it's my first day," Trent replied. "I'm a sophomore..."
"Honey, no one is a sophomore, we're ALL juniors!" Laura remarked. "The senior classes began two weeks ago. Only they go from two p.m. to six today is when the juniors register. We have class meetings every morning at eight-thirty and our first class begins at nine. At noon we take a half hour for lunch, then come back at twelve-thirty and stay until two."
Trent was elated to learn that he had jumped from being a freshman to the junior class. "School lets out at two every day?" Trent asked.
"Just for juniors," Steve added.
"So, Trent," Angio said. "What's your forté?"
Trent turned slightly red as he wasn't sure what 'forté' meant and he didn't want to seem like a uneducated Tennessee hick to the first students he met.
Luckily, Rick broke in and said, "Yeah, Trent! What do you excel in...singing, dancing, straight drama...what?"
Trent felt a sigh of relief. "Well, my 'forté' is mostly singing, but I DO love to dance."
"Oh, so you go more for musical comedy?" Steve asked.
"Yes. Uh...what are y'all's forte's?" Now Trent wanted to die. Ronnie had tried to break Trent from saying 'y'all'...and dammit, he'd just said it! To cover his faux pas, he spoke with a hillbilly twang..."I mean, I s'pose y'all like cuntry music." Then he laughed nervously.
"Ah, how'dja know that Linda was from Kentucky?" Angio asked. "She's worked hard on getting rid of her southern accent."
"I...I didn't know she was from Kentucky. I...I was just making a joke. Linda, I'm sorry! I would've never known you were from Kentucky. You don't sound as if you are."
"Oh?" Linda said, still a bit miffed. "You've been to Kentucky?"
"Oh, a few times. My folks used to go to the Kentucky Derby every year. I went with them a time or two," Trent lied. "I used to love the mint juleps they served."
"They let you drink when you were there?" Linda asked.
"No, but my dad slipped me a couple anyway!"
Laura stepped forward and said, "Well, if you're into musical comedy, who's your favorite composer and lyricist?"
With great pride, as if making an announcement, Trent replied. "Stephen Sondheim! I...I specialize in Stephen Sondheim songs."
"Oh, I adore him. What's your favorite?" Laura quizzed.
"My absolute favorite is, 'Take Me To The World'."
"I don't know that one."
"Oh, it was very EARLY Sondheim...from a show he wrote for Anthony Perkins, called, 'Evening Primrose'."
"Oh, you'll simply have to sing it for me."
"I will. It's my favorite."
Linda, trying to show of HER musical knowledge interjected, "Well, Sondheim doesn't have the gift of melody that Andrew Lloyd Webber has."
Trent was very glad that his Uncle Cyrus was not present to respond to Linda as he would have a few choice curse words to utter. Trent knew that he could easily defend Sondheim and put down Webber, but he didn't want to make an instant enemy out of Linda and so he bit his tongue and swallowed his vitriolic reply.
Just then, the bell rang and the doors to the Merman Theatre opened while sixty sophomore students swarmed in to find seats. Trent was pleased he had found five new friends and was even more glad that they had accepted him since Angio sat Trent in between him and Steve, who was sitting next to Rick. Linda and Laura had sauntered off into the crowd to sit with some fellow female students.
Leon Timmons, one of the directors at the school gave a big opening speech and welcomed all the new students. His assistant, Tess Handley, had a stack of papers on her clipboard and after Leon was finished, Tess was told to read out the names on the papers and allow each student to come forward to get their class schedules and let everyone get a good look at their new mates for the new school term. She not only read the names, but, to Trent's dismay, she also announced where each was from.
Tom Black had come to New York all the way from Seattle, Washington. Claire Nathan was from Hollywood, California. There were two students from Florida, which was really a suburb of ol' NYC, but the only two from the true deep south were Linda Lawrence from Kentucky and Trent Matthews from Weston, Tennessee. Trent wasn't sure why he was embarrassed, but he felt he would be in for a good razzing from a few Yankees and he dreaded it.
Something unusual happened while Trent was sitting next to Angio. Angio slid his foot over toward Trent's, just close enough for Angio's knee to touch Trent's. Trent moved his knee away to give Angio more leg room. Trent thought nothing about it until Angio repeated the action and once again touched his knee against Trent's. The second touch riled Trent's curiosity. One touch---an accident; two touches---a coincidence. Trent tempted fate and moved his knee away for the second time as he waited to see if Angio followed suit a third time. The third touch occurred which Trent KNEW was on purpose, but what did it mean? Was Angio playing kneesies? Did he have a sore crotch and needed more room. It never occurred to Trent that it could be a sexual overture. So Trent crossed his right leg over his left to make matters more comfortable for Angio. Once Trenet crossed his leg, Angio moved his leg back to the original position and whispered, "Sorry" to Trent.
The orientation was over and every rose to go to their first class after the schedules were handed out.
The classes were divided into eight thirty minute periods daily. Half were made up of scholastic studies...biology, math, English Lit, and Social Studies, the four remaining thirty-minute periods for Trent today, included, movement, speech, scene study, and singing. He looked forward to that last period the most. The 'school' subjects stayed the same, Monday through Friday, while the theatrical studies changed every day. During the rest of the week, Trent would have classes in voice, not singing, but speaking, as well as mime, fencing, make-up, dance, both ballet and a combined contemporary and jazz class, theatre history, acting style, and three more sessions of acting and scene study. It was going to be a lot of work, but it looked like a lot of fun.
Trent recalled another lesson from Cyrus. "You can learn just as much by watching a bad amateur as you can from watching the best actor on Broadway. When a bad actor is on stage, on screen, or on TV, it's so easy to see his faults, so identify them, be aware of the mistakes he makes. That can be very beneficial when it comes your time to act...not to fall into his tracks or imitate his flaws. Whereas, when you watch an Olivier or an Anthony Hopkins perform, you can sit in awe of how wonderful he or they are, but never learn anything personally to help your own ability to act. It seems impossible to compare yourself with those talents." Trent suddenly found himself hoping that none of his fellow students ever picked him out to learn from. That could be a real curse or embarrassment!
The scholastic curriculum was boring...the same as it would've been at Weston High...but the theatrical studies were grand! Trent was impressed by all his teachers. Most had had experience working on Broadway in various capacities...acting, directing, stage-managing, props, costuming, or make-up. He realized that he had a lot to learn and THESE were the teachers. THIS was the place to learn his craft. By the time two o'clock came, Trent was exhausted, but he was ecstatic at the same time. This was going to be a wonderful year, but, he thought, it would have been so much better if only Ronnie were here to share it with him.
Trent discovered his favorite teacher on his first day when he went into scene study and acting, a Mr. Ritchard, whom later Trent would find out, had also been born in Tennessee! Each of the students in that class was handed a notebook and pencil to jot down important acting skills as fast as they could write them. Mr. Ritchard threw many important ideas at them, the first of which was, 'obey your instinct. Often an actor will be right on target if he goes forward with movement, a gesture, or an emphasis that feels right to him.' The second was, 'one of the most important, but also one of the most difficult things about acting is 'learn to listen'. Mr. Ritchard explained that two of the greatest 'listeners' of all time were George C. Scott and Spencer Tracy. When a fellow actor was speaking a line to either of the famous actors, one could actually see how the actor was affected by just merely listening. Most of the time when an actor forgets his next line, it's because he didn't 'listen' to what was said to him and respond accordingly. The next lesson was about making an entrance onto or an exit off stage. When entering, KNOW where your character's just come from and when exiting, KNOW where he's going. Also, when on stage or performing, 'STAY in the scene, at all times'. One more rule was don't speak unless you feel it...say what you mean and mean what you say.
Trent and his fellow acting students, who had been divided into groups of fifteen, were writing down everything their director was saying, as fast as the pencil would go across the page. What Cyrus had told Trent made even more sense now. 'You might not use what you're taught for years, but LEARN everything because the day or time will come when you're stuck, not knowing what to do, suddenly something you learned many years ago will come back to you and you'll find your solution'. Trent was thrilled by how much he had learned just the first day. But had he learned it or had he merely stumbled across it, not yet fully understanding its depth?
His final class of the day was singing. Boy! What a wonderful way to end a perfect day! Trent couldn't wait to sing for his peers. Florence Taggart was the singing teacher. Before she sang professionally and starred on Broadway, she had been in the chorus of the Metropolitan Opera and had played the lead in several Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals at City Center. Trent wanted to hear her sing almost as much as he wanted to sing for her. Since not all the students in his group were singers, but were attending the high school to focus on dancing or straight acting, the instructor didn't want to embarrass those that were virtually tone deaf...so their first assignment for her was to stand and sing one chorus of 'Happy Birthday'...as she figured that everyone should know that song.
It just so happened that Trent was sitting at the end of the line and would be the last to sing. Over half of the fifteen were close to being tone deaf and their singing talent brought an onslaught of nervous giggles, mostly from the off-key performer. What saved some of them was the fact they were singing a capella which helped. Had they been singing with a piano, they would have exhibited a pitch problem. Susan Strawn, who was number fourteen, sang fairly well. Miss Taggart thanked her and pointed to Trent.
Trent stood and sang the childhood song with a pure tone and controlled vibrato. Heads turned to look at him and then at each other. Even Miss Taggart turned to fully face him, her back straightening as she gave him complete attention; there was no doubt in her mind--- she recognized sheer vocal talent from Trent. She walked to the piano and asked Trent to sing 'Happy Birthday' once again while she accompanied him. She raised the key several times until he had sung the song six times as she was trying to find his vocal range. She discovered soon that Trent had almost a three octave range from low baritone to tenor which was astonishing for a fifteen year old.
Everyone in the room was more than impressed with Trent's singing. Miss Taggart asked if he would mind singing a solo...a Broadway show tune of his choice. Trent thought for a minute and asked if she knew 'Being Alive' from Sondheim's 'Company'. His choice of material amazed her even more. As she began vamping the intro, Trent began right on cue, 'Someone to hold you too close. Someone to hurt you too deep...".
The song swelled and the experienced singer risked changing the key of the accompaniment after the second bridge and Trent went right along with her. Trent got to the last section:
"Somebody crowd me with love.
Somebody force me to care.
Somebody make me come through.
I'll always be there,
As frightened as you, to help us survive
Being alive, being alive."
The ending of the number consisted of the phrase, 'Being alive' being sung four times, each repetition expressing more understanding in the character, each building in strength, each showing more self-assurance than the one before, calling on Trent to use the full power of his voice. The accompaniment concluded with a bass tremolo while Trent held the last note for eight bars. His fellow classmates were in tears. They arose en masse, giving him a standing ovation. Miss Taggart was all but in shock, tears in her eyes as well. Trent stood quietly, embarrassed by the acclaim but basking in his glory, knowing he had done his best. His new instructor didn't have much to say after Trent's solo, but thanked the class and told them that she looked forward to seeing all of them next Monday at the same time.
The final bell rang and Trent's group headed for the door, as did Trent...only the fifteen fellow students stood aside, parting the way, to let Trent exit first...just as if a big Broadway star was making a grand exit. 'Wow! What a great start!,' Trent thought as he went down the stairs to Fifty-second Street.
Another good thing Trent had learned from the other students was that he could take the Eighth Avenue subway down to Times Square and then switch trains and go from Times Square up to Amsterdam Avenue and Seventy-Second Street, putting him only two blocks from home. 'Home'?. Was this really Trent's home now? He hoped it was...that it would be for the rest of his life!
By the time he reached the apartment, Colette was there waiting to greet him. She had to know ALL about his first day at school. She fixed Trent a bagel with cream cheese and a Coke and the two sat down while Trent talked non-stop until six o'clock. It was too late for Colette to cook a full meal, so she suggested that she and Trent go to a nearby restaurant for dinner.
"Have you ever eaten Indian food?" Colette asked him.
"Uh, sorta..."
"What does 'sorta' mean?"
"I guess Indian food is like what my Granny Dee makes for Thanksgiving...turkey, corn-on-the-cob, pumpkin pie..."
Colette laughed. "That's native American food. I'm talking about Indian food from India!"
"OH!...then, no!"
"Would you like to try it?"
"Colette, I want to try EVERYTHING in New York...everything that's legal, that is."
"Oh, Indian food is legal. It'll burn the hair off your tongue and make it grow on other parts of your body, but it's really good."
"Shoot! My Granny and I grow these long green peppers in her garden...and I swear, they're so hot, you can almost start a fire in the stoker with them!"
"That's just about the way Indian food is..."
"Sounds like fun! Let's go!"
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Colette had been right about the Indian food. It WAS hot. Trent wasn't sure just what he had eaten...perhaps goat---it was on the menu, prepared several ways. He enjoyed the meal, but privately hoped the food wouldn't be as fiery when it passed through his digestive tract, on the way out the other end. As they left the restaurant, he thanked Colette for showing him something of a world he'd never known before.
Back at the apartment, Trent took a few minutes to reflect on the day just ending. One day at school in New York had taught him more than he could have learned in a whole year at Weston High. Never had so much happened in a single day in Trent's entire life. First of all, never had he thought his life could change so much in such a short period of time...his home in Tennessee with Granny Dee, then finding himself in New York with these exciting new surroundings, coming home to a tremendous private room, furnished with everything a teenage boy could wish for, and topping it off by going to an Indian restaurant. Trent was completely exhausted...never happier, but exhausted just the same. But he kept thinking 'If only Ronnie...'. Cyrus was the first to call Trent that night around eight-thirty. Trent had SO much to tell both him and Dean, but before Dean was allowed to get onto the phone extension, Cyrus told Trent privately, that his bank account had been opened and gave Trent instructions about whom to see to file his signature and get his ATM card at Chase-Manhattan Bank. Once that was settled, Cyrus told Dean to get on the other telephone line in the kitchen to hear what Trent had to say about his first day at school.
"So, young man, did you like it?" Cyrus asked.
"Oh, Uncle Cyrus, it was like a dream come true!"
"Did you make new friends?"
"Lots! They all seemed pretty nice. I guess they were just as scared as I was...and we sorta teamed up to support one another."
"Did you get to perform for them?"
"Well, some of them. Hey! I'm in the JUNIOR CLASS!!! The junior class...about sixty students, were divided into four groups of fifteen. I sang for the other fourteen."
"What did you sing, Trent?" Dean asked.
"First we all had to sing a solo of 'Happy Birthday'. I was dead last, but when I sang, the teacher, Miss Taggart, asked me to sing a solo of my choice."
"Florence Taggart?"
"Yes,"
"I wondered what had happened to Flo," Cyrus interjected.
"You know her?"
"Know her, hell, she was in one of our shows, "Tomorrow's Treats"."
"Good heavens, Uncle Cyrus. You and Uncle Dean seem to know EVERYONE!"
"The next time you see her, ask her if she'll sing, 'The Joys of Jonquils' for you. It's a funny little comedic song we wrote just for her character, 'Little Bonnie', and she brought the house down every performance with it."
"Maybe I can find a copy of it and sing it for her and surprise her when I have singing class again, next Monday."
"She'll shit a brick if you do, Trent. She'll love you for it!"
"So what song did you choose to sing for her?"
"'Being Alive'."
"I might have known it would be a Sondheim song. You couldn't have chosen a better one." Dean said. "...and did they like it?"
"I got a standing ovation."
"Didn't I tell you that would happen, Cyrus?" Dean asked, ecstatically.
"How about your other classes?"
"I've got a fantastic director. His name is Mr. Ritchard..."
"Chris Ritchard?"
"I think his first name is 'Chris'."
"You won't go wrong there! I think he's one of the best...and his resumé backs him up."
"I learned SO much about acting from him...just from the first lesson!"
"Trent, did you eat dinner?"
"Yes. Colette took me to an Indian restaurant...not an American Indian...but Indian like in India."
"How'd you like it?"
"I loved it, but my insides are still burning!"
"Wait until you have to take your first crap, Trent," Cyrus chuckled. "You don't know what burning is. You'd better see if Art has any Unguentine in his medicine cabinet to spread on your butt."
"CYRUS, HUSH!" Dean all but shouted. "He'll never eat Indian food again! Trent, the best way to cool down Indian curry is to eat it with milk."
"Well, Dean, you know 'I' don't eat it."
"You don't eat a lot of things."
"I ate Granny Dee's collard greens tonight, didn't I?"
"You had dinner with Granny Dee?" Trent asked with excitement.
"She had a big meal all prepared for us when we got back to Weston...squash, butter beans, fried okra, corn on the cob...all of my favorites!" Cyrus said.
"You liar!" Dean said. "If Granny Dee hadn't cooked them, you wouldn't have touched a bite of any of those vegetables."
"I dipped back into the bowls for seconds, didn't I...and the squash...I had thirds."
"How is she?" Trent asked.
"She misses you, but I think she's gonna adopt the two of us. She's insisting that we eat with her not less than four times a week. I agreed only if she would eat every Friday and Saturday with the two of us at our home."
"That's such a load off my mind!" Trent said. "I won't worry so much about her now!"
"Don't worry, Trent. We'll keep an eye on her at all times."
"So you think you'll last all through your first year at the school?"
"All this year and the next!"
"I'm so glad, Trent! Dean and I BOTH are happy for you."
"Everything would be perfect if only Ronnie were here to share it with me."
"You might not be able to see Ronnie, Trent, but believe me, Ronnie's in your heart and he's watching and guiding you in whatever you do."
"I actually felt him a couple of times today," Trent said, surprising himself that he felt it was only right to open his mind to these friends so easily.
"That's good. I'm glad that you got to know what love is all about and the next time you meet someone, you'll appreciate him or her even more."
"Oh, I learned how to get to the school and back on the subway. It was loads of fun."
"Just be careful, Trent, and don't trust ANYONE on the subway OR the subway stations. It can be very dangerous. People'll lie to you, try to trick you, steal your money...all kinds of bad things can happen...and I'll be damned if I'll write an entire Broadway score if you're not there to play the lead."
"That's two years from now, Uncle Cyrus."
"Maybe so, but when you're having a good time, as you apparently did today, those two years will go by quickly and, before you know it, the orchestra will be tuning up for the premiere performance of 'Echoes From A Wishing Well'!"
"Have you heard from Art today, Trent?" Dean asked.
"Not yet, but I'm sure he'll call as soon as his curtain comes down after eleven o'clock."
"Well, go pat Colette on the ass for me, but tell her it's from me and not you!" Cyrus joked.
"I will," Trent laughed.
"Oh, you'll be getting a goody bag from your Granny Dee this weekend. She wanted to send it by Greyhound, but I told her I would ship it to you via Fedex. That way it'll arrive at your door and you won't have to trek to the bus station to get it."
"Thanks, Uncle Dean."
"Well, we'll let you go. If you feel like it, go look in Art's DVD collection in his musical section and try to watch a musical or two every night."
"Anything I should look for first?"
"'Brigadoon', by all means...and 'Seven Brides For Seven Brothers' next."
"I'll go look for them now."
"Well, good night, little man. I hope you have as much fun tomorrow and the next day as you did today," Cyrus said.
"I KNOW I will. I...I love you both!"
"And we love you, too. Good night, Trent."
Trent smiled as he placed the telephone back on its cradle. He began singing, 'Almost Like Being In Love' as he headed to the DVD collection to find 'Brigadoon'." He thought his heart would burst with pride when he sang the first line, 'What a day this has been...'. He would wait for Art's call.
For a lonely boy from Tennessee, he surely had a 'growing' family and one that would always be there for him for years to come...
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(To be continued in "Echoes From A Wishing Well" chapter nine.)
Author's note:
I thought you needed a happy chapter after the last three. However, THIS is the one that makes me cry as I recall entering my junior year and graduating the next from The American Academy of Dramatic Arts. I taught musical comedy there in 1968 and about ninety percent of this chapter is true. The names were changed but they were ALL there only "Being Alive" hadn't been written. My audition piece was "Hey There" from "The Pajama Game". ENJOY the next few chapters. I didn't have an Uncle Cyrus to give me a stipend, but my first job was as a personal assistant to the composer, Irving Berlin. That wasn't too bad for a kid from Tennessee.