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Cheeseburger #6. I can has
Story : There Are No Small Parts
Rating : PG
Word Count : 1195
A heavy sigh and a thrashing of papers from the second row brought the action onstage to a sudden halt.
“It’s missing something!” Flo called from his seat, thumping his script on the back of the chair in front of him in frustration.
Fran’s cheeks burned as she fumbled with her own script. “Did I get something wrong?”
“No! no, you’re fine,” called Flo. “You’re all doing a splendid job, it’s just something doesn’t feel quite there yet. A certain bit of ambiance. If I could just put my finger on what’s lacking…”
In the seat beside him, Al snapped to attention, suddenly beaming at the lot of them onstage.
“A musical number!”
Flo didn’t even look his way as he waved the suggestion off. “No, I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”
Rolling her eyes, Merry turned to Fran and Gilda, who was seated at the edge of the curtain, sewing in hand, and muttered, “Here we go again.”
“What?” said Fran.
“Alastair thinks everything needs a musical number,” said Gilda, still focused on her needle as her hand darted back and forth over the pool of dark cotton in her lap.
“But we don’t have a single show in the lineup with so much as a hint of music,” said Fran.
Upstage, Duane was making a rather pathetic attempt at pretending he wasn’t listening to their talk. He wrinkled his nose at Fran’s comment.
“Right,” said Merry. “Al thinks everything needs singing and dancing. Flo disagrees.”
Flo was out of his seat now, punctuating his speech with dramatic flailing of his script to a much less animated and still very much seated Al. “We’re doing Rothbert’s Golden Throne here! It’s a dignified, classic tragedy about the fall of the Queen of Ancient Jehrna. I don’t see how you expect to turn that into a musical, love.”
Al shrugged. “I’m sure I could come up with something catchy.”
Merry groaned. “I am not singing my way to the gallows. Especially not something catchy.”
Gilda snickered but kept her eyes on her work. Duane covered a yawn with his script. Fran figured it was about time one of them joined the discussion, so she stepped forward.
“Well, what about The Heroes of Alduris?” she said, loudly enough to carry to the seats, but still timidly. Flo and Al both turned her way and she stumbled on. “I mean, maybe The Golden Throne isn’t really the place for musical numbers, what with it being so morbid, you know, all the dying and all. But Heroes? It’s just screaming to be glammed up a bit. Give the whole epic quest for the Sword of Ormbanon a little slapstick twist. Throw some glitter at it, some sequins.” She shot Gilda a wink and Gilda shook her head, but she was grinning.
Duane stepped up to meet her, rolled up script poised before him. “I’m not sure how I feel about-”
Fran caught him by the shoulders and spun him towards the audience. “And the Dark Lord just has to have a solo, don’t you think?”
Duane gave her a sideways look. “A solo?”
“Mm-hm.”
Al was out of his seat now too. “I like it!” he said, clapping his hands. “Where did you find this girl?”
Flo curled a hand around the back of the seat in front of him. “The circus,” he said sourly, and Fran bit her lip and clutched at Duane’s shoulders as she blushed again. Flo’s look softened and he settled on her with a smile that she took to mean it wasn’t really her he had a problem with, but she still couldn’t help feeling bad. “Look, we’re rehearsing The Golden Throne here. I would like to get the new folk up to speed, add a few things to our repertoire and maybe start selling some tickets again. We can talk about musical numbers some other time.”
Al sank back into his seat with a pout. “You never appreciate my ideas.”
“That is hardly true!” Flo dropped back into his own seat, firing that same apologetic smile Al’s way. “I appreciate your ideas very much. When I have time for them. Oh, don’t look at me like that. This wasn’t even your idea! It was Fran’s.”
“It was,” called Fran, stepping out from behind Duane, who seemed all too eager not to be any part of this anymore. “And it’s okay! I’m used to people not liking my ideas!”
But no one was paying her any attention. “You shoot down music every time it comes up,” said Al.
“If The Golden Throne or The Heroes of Alduris or any of the other shows you’ve wanted to throw music at had been meant to have it, they’d have been written that way.”
“What about a Bertok?” said Fran. “Oh, I just love Dance Along the River!”
The look Flo gave her had her quickly regretting that suggestion. “Not on my stage,” he said.
“What if I wrote something?” said Al. “From scratch.”
Flo scooped up Al’s hand between his own and took up a look fit for placating a toddler and a tone to match. “Al, you’re a brilliant writer and all, but-”
“You don’t think I could do it?”
“You barely play the piano.”
“I’ll help!” Fran couldn’t help herself, the idea of music on the stage was too tempting. “I play…” She paused to count on her fingers. “Six different instruments, and I’m good at notation, and- Am I supposed to shut up again?” Flo and Al were staring at her, one glowering, the other beaming, Merry had her face buried in her script, and Gilda was quietly smirking at her sewing.
“See?” said Al. “She’s just what we’ve been needing. I keep telling you, Flo, musical theater is the next big thing. Look at Fridwald down the street and the cash he’s raking in since he went musical.”
“I thought you were all about the art,” Flo snapped.
“Ah, but what is there that’s better than art that also sells?”
“It’s just so…unsophisticated, so vulgar.”
Al sniffed. “It doesn’t have to be, it’s just more fun that way. I can write everyone their own part, tailor made just for them. It’ll be bigger than House of Cards.”
“I don’t know,” said Flo, “House of Cards was pretty big.”
“And I was just getting warmed up.”
“Do I still get a solo?” Duane asked.
Al looked him up and down thoughtfully. “Can you sing?”
Duane drew himself up as tall and stiff as he could go. “Well, of course I can.”
“Then yes,” said Al. He turned to Flo, all puppy dog eyes and said, “Trust me?”
Flo sighed. “Yes, of course I do. If anyone has a chance at making me like a musical…” He gave Al’s hand a pat. “Go write me the biggest, best musical I’ve ever seen.” As Al looked as if he would leap out of his seat, Flo pulled him back. “Later. For now, we’re working on The Golden Throne. You know what I think it needs, a nice fog rolling in around the gallows. We’ll have to get Lloyd to rig something up.”
Story : There Are No Small Parts
Rating : PG
Word Count : 1195
A heavy sigh and a thrashing of papers from the second row brought the action onstage to a sudden halt.
“It’s missing something!” Flo called from his seat, thumping his script on the back of the chair in front of him in frustration.
Fran’s cheeks burned as she fumbled with her own script. “Did I get something wrong?”
“No! no, you’re fine,” called Flo. “You’re all doing a splendid job, it’s just something doesn’t feel quite there yet. A certain bit of ambiance. If I could just put my finger on what’s lacking…”
In the seat beside him, Al snapped to attention, suddenly beaming at the lot of them onstage.
“A musical number!”
Flo didn’t even look his way as he waved the suggestion off. “No, I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”
Rolling her eyes, Merry turned to Fran and Gilda, who was seated at the edge of the curtain, sewing in hand, and muttered, “Here we go again.”
“What?” said Fran.
“Alastair thinks everything needs a musical number,” said Gilda, still focused on her needle as her hand darted back and forth over the pool of dark cotton in her lap.
“But we don’t have a single show in the lineup with so much as a hint of music,” said Fran.
Upstage, Duane was making a rather pathetic attempt at pretending he wasn’t listening to their talk. He wrinkled his nose at Fran’s comment.
“Right,” said Merry. “Al thinks everything needs singing and dancing. Flo disagrees.”
Flo was out of his seat now, punctuating his speech with dramatic flailing of his script to a much less animated and still very much seated Al. “We’re doing Rothbert’s Golden Throne here! It’s a dignified, classic tragedy about the fall of the Queen of Ancient Jehrna. I don’t see how you expect to turn that into a musical, love.”
Al shrugged. “I’m sure I could come up with something catchy.”
Merry groaned. “I am not singing my way to the gallows. Especially not something catchy.”
Gilda snickered but kept her eyes on her work. Duane covered a yawn with his script. Fran figured it was about time one of them joined the discussion, so she stepped forward.
“Well, what about The Heroes of Alduris?” she said, loudly enough to carry to the seats, but still timidly. Flo and Al both turned her way and she stumbled on. “I mean, maybe The Golden Throne isn’t really the place for musical numbers, what with it being so morbid, you know, all the dying and all. But Heroes? It’s just screaming to be glammed up a bit. Give the whole epic quest for the Sword of Ormbanon a little slapstick twist. Throw some glitter at it, some sequins.” She shot Gilda a wink and Gilda shook her head, but she was grinning.
Duane stepped up to meet her, rolled up script poised before him. “I’m not sure how I feel about-”
Fran caught him by the shoulders and spun him towards the audience. “And the Dark Lord just has to have a solo, don’t you think?”
Duane gave her a sideways look. “A solo?”
“Mm-hm.”
Al was out of his seat now too. “I like it!” he said, clapping his hands. “Where did you find this girl?”
Flo curled a hand around the back of the seat in front of him. “The circus,” he said sourly, and Fran bit her lip and clutched at Duane’s shoulders as she blushed again. Flo’s look softened and he settled on her with a smile that she took to mean it wasn’t really her he had a problem with, but she still couldn’t help feeling bad. “Look, we’re rehearsing The Golden Throne here. I would like to get the new folk up to speed, add a few things to our repertoire and maybe start selling some tickets again. We can talk about musical numbers some other time.”
Al sank back into his seat with a pout. “You never appreciate my ideas.”
“That is hardly true!” Flo dropped back into his own seat, firing that same apologetic smile Al’s way. “I appreciate your ideas very much. When I have time for them. Oh, don’t look at me like that. This wasn’t even your idea! It was Fran’s.”
“It was,” called Fran, stepping out from behind Duane, who seemed all too eager not to be any part of this anymore. “And it’s okay! I’m used to people not liking my ideas!”
But no one was paying her any attention. “You shoot down music every time it comes up,” said Al.
“If The Golden Throne or The Heroes of Alduris or any of the other shows you’ve wanted to throw music at had been meant to have it, they’d have been written that way.”
“What about a Bertok?” said Fran. “Oh, I just love Dance Along the River!”
The look Flo gave her had her quickly regretting that suggestion. “Not on my stage,” he said.
“What if I wrote something?” said Al. “From scratch.”
Flo scooped up Al’s hand between his own and took up a look fit for placating a toddler and a tone to match. “Al, you’re a brilliant writer and all, but-”
“You don’t think I could do it?”
“You barely play the piano.”
“I’ll help!” Fran couldn’t help herself, the idea of music on the stage was too tempting. “I play…” She paused to count on her fingers. “Six different instruments, and I’m good at notation, and- Am I supposed to shut up again?” Flo and Al were staring at her, one glowering, the other beaming, Merry had her face buried in her script, and Gilda was quietly smirking at her sewing.
“See?” said Al. “She’s just what we’ve been needing. I keep telling you, Flo, musical theater is the next big thing. Look at Fridwald down the street and the cash he’s raking in since he went musical.”
“I thought you were all about the art,” Flo snapped.
“Ah, but what is there that’s better than art that also sells?”
“It’s just so…unsophisticated, so vulgar.”
Al sniffed. “It doesn’t have to be, it’s just more fun that way. I can write everyone their own part, tailor made just for them. It’ll be bigger than House of Cards.”
“I don’t know,” said Flo, “House of Cards was pretty big.”
“And I was just getting warmed up.”
“Do I still get a solo?” Duane asked.
Al looked him up and down thoughtfully. “Can you sing?”
Duane drew himself up as tall and stiff as he could go. “Well, of course I can.”
“Then yes,” said Al. He turned to Flo, all puppy dog eyes and said, “Trust me?”
Flo sighed. “Yes, of course I do. If anyone has a chance at making me like a musical…” He gave Al’s hand a pat. “Go write me the biggest, best musical I’ve ever seen.” As Al looked as if he would leap out of his seat, Flo pulled him back. “Later. For now, we’re working on The Golden Throne. You know what I think it needs, a nice fog rolling in around the gallows. We’ll have to get Lloyd to rig something up.”